xp_logs | log: Liam and Sharon

xp_liono posting in

In the aftermath of BAPH, Liam goes to think and work on a project in the woodshop. Sharon seeks him out.

The woodshop was not Sharon's favorite place; too much sawdust, too much noise, and too much required protective clothing. But Liam liked it, and right now he didn't seem inclined to come out any time soon.

This shouldn't have been a problem. Sharon had an ambush predator's patience. She could stalk a target for hours. So why, then, did she feel like she couldn't wait?

At last, close-toed shoes firmly on her feet, she had let herself in.

Bent over a work station, Liam drew a mark on a piece of lumber before checking it and then activating the saw. He wore protective goggles around his head and a baseball cap backwards to protect his ears. Sliding the wood, he cut it quickly before taking it over to where he'd set other pieces, checking it and moving on.

Glancing at Sharon, he motioned her to join, handing the piece to her, "Hold that," he instructed, going to get the wood glue and clamps.

"Okay." With uncharacteristic obedience Sharon padded over and did as she was told. She had a vague idea that small talk was called for. This was never a skill she had bothered to develop.

"This is for what purpose?" she asked.

"A project," Liam had started working on it a while ago actually, but had let it sit, busy with school and hanging out and stuff. Life. Today was a good day to get back to it though. "You'll like it though." Liam didn't want to give it away yet.

"I will like it," Sharon repeated, uncertainly. She probably would. Liam might have all the powers of emotional observation typical of a sixteen year old male -- which was to say "erratic and often stunted" -- but he, too, was an expert in Cat. The problem was that Sharon felt sure there must be some correct way to lead the conversation from this question to the one she really wanted to ask, but she didn't know how. It was just one more thing she had never learned. Finally, she gave up.

"What is 'overwatch'? Obviously is not the game."

"Have you played the game?" he asked. He didn't think so, but sometimes she surprised him.

Sharon shook her head. "Familiar with memes only. FPS is not for me."

"That's what it is, though," Liam answered, finally looking at her, eyes wide. "First person shooter. An 'overwatch' is a sniper."

Sharon's tail hung low and still. He had said there was a sniper. Sharon knew that; she had read the text several times to be sure. It did clarify certain aspects of the day.

"You said you were spotter," she said, slowly walking her way through facts she knew were accurate as if she could make them otherwise. "Meaning it was for you to choose targets?"

Liam nodded, shortly. "And confirm they were hit. I've done it before, hunting. But this was... people," and that made all the difference.

Sharon's fingers curled hard against the wood, her claws catching in the grain. The intensity of her own distress startled her.

"That job should not have been yours," Sharon blurted. "That is -- Liam, that should not have been for you."

Maybe not. Probably not. "Yeah, well... woulda coulda shoulda. Too late now," some guys he knew would be crowing about it, so proud, but Liam just felt nauseous. He'd tried to play it cool and in the moment he'd taken the responsibility seriously. "I think it's safe to say I don't want to ever do it again. Or go hunting."

"Liam." It was wrong, but Sharon was struggling to put the why of it into words. She hadn't lost sleep about clawing open the back of an FOH member, nor did she see much point in agonizing about the men Felicia had rescued her from with potentially lethal force. Maybe it was because that had all been simple: a direct response to an equally direct threat. Sniping was calculated, intentional.

"You were being chased and the guy chasing you was shot. I told our sniper to do it and confirmed the kill."

And it was different in other ways, too. Sharon and Felicia were adults, or at least Sharon considered herself to be so. For all that he outstripped her in social experience, Liam was still young. He was Kitten.

He should not have been the one to have to save her.

He turned, looking over his shoulder before checking the clamps again. "You can set it down gently, the glue needs time to work," he instructed. "I keep thinking, if I'd stayed home, and not come here, things would be... easier. But that's but really true, right? Because then I'd be in some little bubble, unable to leave and function in the real world and I'd probably end up in a lot of trouble. Everyone has to be somewhere. I'm here."

Sharon glanced at the wood in her hands, momentarily thrown, then did as she was told.

"I do not understand," she frowned, tail now starting to flick. "Implication is that to witness and participate in violence is a requirement of maturity, but this is not so. You have only to listen to true crime to see the carceral system is filled with those raised in violence who took from it no lesson but how to perpetrate it without thought."

"No, not violence specifically," he shook his head, trying to think of how to explain, "I just mean... life experiences and stuff. Not all experiences are good but... what's life without a little trauma?"

Now Sharon's tail actually lashed. "You speak as if it is no matter, just a thing that happened. But you are upset. This -- this experience, you did not need it to function in the real world. Liam is . . ." The older girl paused to hiss between her clenched teeth, for once frustrated not with Liam, but herself. "You understand things I do not. About people, and how they think and behave, because some things you see more clearly. In these ways you are more clever. We are both Cat, but you are . . . Liam is more . . ."

Sharon struggled to finish the sentence, but failed. This sort of abstract thinking was beyond her.

If she'd had the words, she might have said "human."

"Of course it matters!" Liam yelled, "Those people had families and jobs and people who care about them too! And they're dead! And I played a part in that because they made choices to attack people and that.... actions have consequences. But that doesn't change that their families are grieving and we're still here!" Because they won. Whatever that meant.

Sharon darted forward and pulled Liam into a hug. She gave him no choice. Her arms wrapped tightly around the younger boy as she pushed her face into his hair, cheek pressed gently against one ear. Just holding him.

Shaking, Liam clung to Sharon, not fully crying, but clearly not okay. He wasn't usually one for hugs like this, but he needed it. A cathartic release.

For a long time neither spoke. Then, with one final, fierce squeeze, Sharon pulled away.

"I am glad Liam is still here," she said. "Because of you I am here also, maybe." She reached up to pet Liam's ear with the same soft, soothing touch as a parent stroking the hair of a feverish child. "Am sorry only that I was not with you. You should not have had to do such a thing yourself."

"Maybe. But, I did. And I'll be okay," Liam reassured Sharon, nuzzling into her chin, "You'll be okay, too."

"This is assured," Sharon said. Butting him gently with her chin, she gave his ears a final ruffle.

"Do we not always land on our feet?"