damned_institute | Day 39: Sun Room [Fourth Shift]

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Day 39: Sun Room [Fourth Shift]

Yue was all too pleased to leave the cafeteria by the time lunch was over, even if he still wasn't satisfied that Fai was properly taking care of himself. It was clear that Touya hadn't accepted the answers he'd been given and intended to find out just what the guardian wasn't telling him, and being watched so closely was beginning to get uncomfortable.

It was clear that the truth would have to come out at some point, especially if they were going to be spending any amount of time together. Avoiding him was entirely out of the question, but at the same time Yue stubbornly refused to consider the idea of just outright telling him about what had happened in the last week. It was a dilemma indeed, and only served to make him even more irritable than ever.

How could he admit any of it? That he was weak and crippled, betrayed and altered by his creator? That he'd almost broken the promise he'd given in exchange for Touya's power? The latter he couldn't help but be reminded of every time he saw this Touya, who had only just gone through it, and would remember it even more clearly.

Fortunately Yukito was staying silent for the moment, although he could feel his other self's disappointment at being unable to speak to Touya so far, and it didn't make him feel any better.

In the midst of all this Yue was rather dismayed to realize that the nurse wanted to lead him to the music room, of all places: that was the room where he'd met the Sakura-who-wasn't-his-Sakura the week before, and needed neither the reminder nor the inevitable noise in that room. He abruptly halted in his tracks and refused to continue on. The nurse seemed initially disappointed, but finally agreed to let him stay in the Sun Room instead; the guardian found a corner in which to stand, arms folded across his chest and lost in his own ~~brooding~~ thoughts.

[for Sokka]

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The boy seemed pretty unresponsive, but Angel figured turning away after he'd just asked a question would be rude, so he watched him, trying not to seem too intense. It was a little concerning, he supposed. The way the boy was acting, that was. Angel hadn't seen him before, either, so he was likely new. Which...maybe was explaining his behaviour. It would make sense.

That was an interesting trick, in any case. Was he a witch, too? It was possible; Willow had similar healing capabilities. For a moment, Angel contemplated bringing it up, but in the end, he decided not to. The boy didn't appear to want to interact all that much. Considering Angel's somewhat dismal track record when it came to socializing in general, it occurred to him that any attempt to make conversation with someone who wasn't interested in conversing at all in the first place would be doomed before it even started.

So he simply sat back on the couch and flipped open his journal, deciding he'd leave it up to the boy, whether or not he wanted to talk.

The man didn't bother him, and for that, Albedo instantly liked him more than anyone else he had met in this place. The loudmouth woman and Meche had been far too involved with telling him what to do and how to do it, and someone that could just sit and allow others to be was a relief.

Like it would be when he killed Nigredo. He didn't know why the youngest Variant insisted upon locking Albedo's powers, but Albedo would soon remedy that. He knew Nigredo's little trick now, and it was only a matter of time before he found a way to work around it. It wasn't like he could really die. No, that was Nigredo's fate.

The sound of flipping pages knocked him out of his endless staring at the floor in front of him, and he peered at the man from the corner of his eye. Paper? A book? More ancient things! Curious despite himself, Albedo asked, ever the petulant child. "What's that?"

Oh. That didn't take as long as Angel thought it might've and he smiled a little at the boy's obvious curiosity.

He hadn't written anything in his journal, just absent sketches that were mostly done to take his mind off things or kill time considering there wasn't a lot for him to read here. His nurse kept handing him novels by some Stephen King and really, he lived that kind of life. He didn't need to read about it, too, especially when half of it was so obviously inaccurate of reality.

In any case, it wouldn't hurt if the boy wanted to see the contents of the journal; there wasn't anything particularly revealing in there.

"This?" He held it out to show him, the pages opened to a half-finished image of Willow. "It's just a drawing."

The drawing was neat, to be sure, but Albedo was more interested in the fact of paper. It wasn't printed paper, like the books Rubedo would hide away, but it was something he wasn't used to, just the same. It distracted him entirely from the issues of abandonment and murder.

Albedo reached a hand out cautiously to touch the edge of the notebook with his fingertips, glancing up at Angel like he expected to be hit for it. The material was smooth underneath his pores, and he stared downwards. Living in the past was all he thought it could be. There was so much to experience. He glanced up again, watching carefully. "...Are there more of these?"

Angel studied the boy for a second or two. It was...curious, his reaction, as if he'd never seen something so interesting before. There wasn't anything special about the journal. It was just the common style of notebooks found everywhere and Angel wondered if maybe the boy came from somewhere that didn't use these things. He'd encountered all sorts of people since being here, so the possibility was there.

Still, the boy seemed almost in a kind of awe to the point where Angel felt it was almost too personal to ask for the story as to why. He could tell there was simply something...different about the kid.

He chose not to bring it up, instead pressing forth the journal into the boy's hands, indicating that he was free to hold it for himself if he wanted. Though Angel wouldn't mind if the boy wanted to keep it altogether. It wasn't an important keepsake; he could just ask a nurse for another one and he almost never looked back at his finished sketches. He already remembered everything too vividly as it was.

"There's one in your room, in the desk," he said. That was where he'd found his, anyway, and given the neat layout of all the rooms, he suspected everything was identical. "There should be some pens for you there, too."

Albedo grasped the journal automatically when it was pressed forward, bringing it towards his chest. He looked up curiously once, before flipping through the pages. He was more willing to see what was actually on them now that he could hold the notebook. He rubbed each page between his fingers before turning it, as if savoring the sensation.

The boy didn't know much about drawing. The man seemed to only sketch people, and there were a few of the same repeated. A girl, mostly. He made a face. Of course. A picture of an alien that resembled the Gnosis he stayed on, analyzing the features. After a period, he realized it didn't matter. Albedo didn't know if it was a Gnosis--he had never seen one face-to-face.

He whipped his head up at the statement, eyes wide. "There's one for me?!" This place was getting better and better. He could deal with decaying copies from the mirror strangling him if things like this were common. And the food was entirely better than at the Yuriev Institute, and what U-TIC grudgingly handed over. There was so much fun to be had here....

Smiling like a child, and not something twisted, Albedo lowered his head to the notebook again, flipping a page. He peered upward. "I'm Albedo."

Angel let Albedo flip through the pages at his own leisure, not commenting while he did so. He could've simply explained that the people in those sketches were "a friend" or something had Albedo asked, but he was glad when the question never came regardless.

At least the boy seemed to be feeling better, even if the source of his uplifted mood was a bit of an unexpected one. But if it made him happy, Angel couldn't say that that was entirely a bad thing. It was kind of nice to see that people were still capable of being in a good mood, especially with someone so young.

"Yeah." He returned the smile briefly. "There's one for you. I'm Angel." He paused, considering. "Did you just arrive this morning?"

He didn't remember him, at least. If Albedo was new, though, that was a little bit troubling, that he might end up out alone tonight.

His grin grew wider for a moment. Oh, wait until he had his very own. He could do all sorts of things with it. And maybe he could make up some kind of secret code, to share with--

Albedo's smile lost the softness to it, gaining an edge unlike a child's natural expression. His eyes, as well, seemed to darken with something deep within their depths. "This morning?" he asked calmly. "No. Last night. It was very fun. I learned many new things."

And started to plan many ways for two brothers' demise. Oh, yes. That would indeed be fun.

Okay. Albedo was full of unexpected answers, it seemed. He made Cordelia's moods appear stable in contrast. Angel studied Albedo for a moment, trying to determine exactly how he should tread here. He used to make a hobby of driving people insane; it didn't take a lot for him to know when someone was maybe just a bit off and the boy wasn't even pretending to hide it here.

Though he was concerned as for Albedo as much as anything else. Angel wasn't so oblivious as to not recognize that someone who found waking up in the dark in a strange building fun spelled possibly dangerous, but that didn't mean Albedo should be left to the wolves.

He could've asked exactly what it was Albedo learned, but what the boy had already said told him enough and he didn't think talking about what appeared to be a triggering subject was a way to get Albedo to open up.

Angel only nodded and steered the topic back to what appeared to have the safest. "Do you usually write, then? Or...draw?" He gestured vaguely at the notebook Albedo still had in his hands.

The distraction worked flawlessly, and Albedo looked down at the notebook again, brushing a hand against the page. Something in him was grateful that the man allowed him to touch this, experience it, but that was not something that Albedo knew, and if he did, the contrary child would never voice it. So instead, he continued the conversation. A thanks in its own way.

"No," he said, shaking his head as he lightly traced the lines of a drawing. "We didn't have books or paper. Computers. But we were mostly lectured." A tutor to teach them history and the sciences, combat arts and warfare, strategy and language. Computers were for children to learn from--genetically engineered bioweapons were given information to memorize. And Albedo was never one to pay that well of attention. At least to certain things.

The page shifted under the slight pressure, and he was reminded of the smooth texture of the flashlight--torch?--of the night before. Another thing, altogether strange and ancient; something only heard about before. "This is the past to me."

Wait, he was from the future? Angel had known about it, sure, given what was going on here and Willow and Anya had both technically been from the future, too, but this was something else altogether. From the way Albedo spoke, it was as if he was far in the future, to the point where the world just wasn't the same anymore.

His first instinct had been right, though; Albedo simply hadn't ever seen anything like this before. But it was still interesting how he seemed to be more fascinated than confused or dismissive of so obviously not advanced. There was a innocent curiosity to him that reminded Angel a little of Drusilla. He couldn't decide if this was a good thing or not, but he found himself taking interest in Albedo either way.

"Everything here?" he said. It was enough for most to be pulled from their homes, but to be sent back in time must've been even more of a shock. "You must be finding a lot of new things. Or." He considered. "Old things."

He nodded with a smile smile. "Yep. Everything's so new. Old." He laughed a little, before making a face. "Flashlights are weird.--Are they called flashlights or torches? Because this loudmouth lady told me they were torches."

Unlike earlier, Albedo seemed to realize he was rambling, and fell silent, glancing up at Angel watchfully. It was too easy to irritate adults, and he knew too well how they could react. This man didn't seem like a doctor or scientist, but there were other ways to be cruel. And if the man was one of the very few people that weren't cruel... Albedo didn't want to irritate him anyway. Angel was the first person here that treated him as a person.

He turned another page, again lightly tracing the lines of the drawing. "This is good," he said quietly, not truly knowing if it was or not. Albedo thought it was, but he didn't have much to go on. It seemed like it could be. It was. Maybe. He tilted his head, continuing to trace the outside lines. "This place doesn't exist anymore, in the future," he added. "I found out this is four thousand years in the past."

He looked up, smiling. "It's exciting."

Albedo looked nervous all of a sudden, so Angel returned the smile, genuine instead of the half-polite, half-awkward one he usually reserved for clients he had no idea what to say without running the risk of scaring them off somehow (and subsequently the risk of Cordelia's wrath at the loss of a paycheque). Or, not just clients, maybe. Essentially two thirds of anybody he ever encountered in his life.

But Albedo was—unusual; Angel suspected he didn't quite fit in so much most of the time. And Angel supposed that was something he could understand, which wasn't always the case when he met people.

"It's, uh. Both. It depends on where you're from. Flashlight might be more common here, though." Wherever they were, it appeared most people leaned towards being more Americanized and the place itself was the same. Just one of the several things he had no idea why. It seemed like it was an important detail, meant something, but he still hadn't been able to fit it into the puzzle.

Four thousand years, though—he couldn't help but blink once at that. Angel wasn't exactly young himself, but that was still a long time ahead even for him. And the truth was, time never lost its length no matter how long you lived. A year still felt like a year.

Angel let out a quiet laugh. "Yeah. That could be one way of looking at it. You're not..." He hesitated. "You don't miss your home?"

The smile worked to calm him, and he lost some of the suspicion still floating in his head. This person was like his Kirschwassers, maybe. Just people that were nice. That helped. Albedo couldn't claim to know--his dealings with people like that were limited to the past week of his life. Either way, he lost the tightness in him and half turned towards Angel.

"Both?" he asked, wrinkling his nose. "That's confusing. Is paper called something different, too?" Things were so strange here! He'd have a lot to get used to.

The man's laugh was interesting. Albedo had spent most of his life watching people, and quiet laughs like that usually came from people who were used to being alone. At least, feeling alone. He let that thought gravitate in his mind, not putting much into it. His laugh, when he returned it, was more bitter. "That place was never home," he responded, shaking his head.

Albedo looked up at Angel, eyes clear with, if not belief, a kind of faith all the same. "Home is within people," the boy said. "Everything else is just things." And because of that, home being a place within and not outside, Albedo knew he would never find that again. Rubedo was home. And Rubedo had left him.

The boy stopped tracing the lines and just placed his hand on the notebook, staring downwards. Why couldn't... Why couldn't he just hate Rubedo? Why did it have to hurt so much?

There was a brief pause. Angel had never actually thought specifically about it before; no one had ever given him cause to do so. Though Buffy had, on occasion, come to him for her history homework which he had to admit, he didn't mind. It was one of the few times he could talk to her safely about the past.

"Well." He shifted. "No, not usually. But you know, if you really want to know more, you could ask to see the dictionary the next time you're in the library."

Albedo had mentioned having no books. Angel suspected the library in and of itself might make his day even more. It wasn't bad, that Albedo found everything here so fascinating, but it was a bit worrying at the same time that the boy appeared to have so little investment in his own life. He was awfully young. Still, with his comment about his home being with people, maybe he used to have someone who looked after him back home.

Though apparently, whoever those people were, they weren't here with him. Angel hadn't ever been around others that much, but Albedo wasn't wrong, in a way. He'd staked out L.A. as his territory from the start, but Cordelia and Wesley were the only reasons he might actually agree to calling it his home.

"Sometimes the people you know, they show up later," Angel offered. It was the truth, even if he left out the parts where a) there was just as good a chance that they wouldn't show up and b) sometimes they vanished without a trace in a matter of days. "Not everyone arrives at the same time."

The thought of a library had Albedo wide-eyed again. He hadn't even considered.... "When can we go there?" A dictionary would be interesting. He's like to see the different words and meanings for things. He'd be interested in that, maybe. He'd have to see.

Angel's comment was easy to understand. He thought that Albedo was reacting that way because Rubedo wasn't. Au contraire. His beloved sibling was here, along with the baby. And that in itself was the problem. Rubedo was here. After the Song... Albedo thought he had a plan, had made a loose decision in what he would do next. He was at least resolved, fortified in his pain, to seek vengence for his pain at some point. But now....

Seeing him, being near him. It wasn't as easy as it had been planets away from his twin. He couldn't hold to his dedication to ruin Rubedo, and that unnerved him. Albedo couldn't just forgive what had happen. Rubedo had always pushed him aside--Albedo was never first in Rubedo's life--but this was a step further than Albedo could afford to take. No. He wouldn't... forgive him for this.

He couldn't. He just couldn't.

Albedo shook his head again, looking off to the side. Rubedo couldn't be his home anymore. (Rubedo was his only home.) "He's here. He was here before me."

The last time Angel had been in the library, it'd been a few days ago, but he knew you could pick out a book essentially any time you wanted.

"If you ask, I think they'll let you go in briefly."

He looked up, a little surprised at first until he considered the first time he'd run into Willow and Anya, being from different points in the future like that. It'd certainly been confusing as hell, though after that, it'd always been something low on his list of concerns; he hadn't given it much thought after they'd established they didn't have the same experiences because not much had seemed to change otherwise. And everything that did, Angel simply didn't want to think too hard about.

Angel, though, was used to these things. Albedo probably wasn't.

"But?" he prompted gently because the but was so evidently there, unspoken though it was.

He thought about it. Maybe next time. He was far too intriqued with this one notebook for now, to have his attention drawn everywhere at once by a library filled with books.

'But.'

And what could Albedo say to this? What was there to say? (And why was he saying anything? He owed this man nothing--No, he was kind to him, kind like--) There were a million answers and they all said the same thing, some in harsher ways then others; some with hope, some with despair, others laced in hate, but all shadowed by love. And that would not change. That would not go away. No matter how Albedo wished. And the ways he wished changed day to day. Was he thankful--cursed--that it wouldn't subside? He had yet to make up his mind.

Surprisingly, the prompt didn't shift his mind. The child was the calmest he had been at this Institute. He looked up at Angel, morose but resigned. "But he abandoned me."

And so much more, and so much less, but that was not something so easily said.

...Oh.

Angel wasn't even sure what relationship Albedo had with the person he was talking about, but he knew it didn't matter whether it was family or a friend. If they were important, they were important.

He couldn't help but feel somewhat guilty, too, for how this evidently affected Albedo because it hit just a little close to home. He'd walked away from a lot of people in his life. It'd been the only way and he knew Buffy had moved on, but...

And Darla. Darla and the rest of them, Spike and Dru. He tried not to dwell on that, either.

"I'm sorry," he said finally.

The sharp replies that were quickly becoming second nature were forgotten. There was a sort of comfort in this stranger, in this dark-haired adult, and Albedo wasn't on the defensive, as he usually found himself.

So instead of a scathing remark, Albedo pulled the notebook to his chest before curling in on himself. He didn't want... Didn't want this. Couldn't take that.... The boy shuddered, making a noise that sounded like a laugh. His voice was no more than a whisper. "I am, too."

None of this would have happened if Rubedo stayed.

Angel was quiet for awhile. There was a lot he could've said, but he wasn't sure how much any of it would help. Because the reality was, moving on was hard. Some things just lingered.

He thought Albedo seemed to do better when he was left alone to talk about these things on his own, anyway, and the topic appeared to have been closed for now.

He glanced over, noting the way Albedo had latched onto the notebook. There was no way anyone could have the heart to ask for that back. Especially since he had no great need for it.

"That's yours," he said. "If you'd like."

Albedo looked up, completely startled. There was more surprise in his face now than when his decaying double crawled out of the mirror the night before. He couldn't begin to fathom the reasons why Angel would give him this, especially since it held the man's drawings. It was his, and.... And why would he want to give Albedo anything?

A brief thought made him want to hug the man, but Albedo wasn't that trusting of strangers, no matter how nice they were. But Angel was comforting, and that was something he was sorely lacking.

The surprise trickled out of his eyes, to be replaced by a tired sadness. "I can't--it's yours." He looked down at the notebook. "It has your drawings."

The boy looked up at Angel questioningly. "And why would you...?"

Angel shook his head, dismissing the apparent value to him Albedo had placed on the notebook. It wasn't that he hadn't expected Albedo to be react like that, but it was still. Different, he supposed, for something that he knew most people wouldn't consider more than a nice bonus. It struck him that Albedo didn't seem to expect much from people which...

Angel supposed he used to feel that way, too. Before Sunnydale.

"It's not—I draw a lot," he replied, somewhat lamely, but it was true. "You look like you could use it more."

"But if...." Albedo held it out to him slightly, looking down. If Angel drew then he'd need it, and Albedo didn't even.... He'd never even used a pen or paper before. So he couldn't understand....

...Maybe he could. If he thought of it like family... like if Rubedo shared his food with him, or found something interesting during free time. Someone giving something to someone else because they really thought the other would enjoy it more.

But someone he just met doing so... and to Albedo of all people....

The boy swallowed, unsure of the world around him once more. (Perhaps everything wasn't as dark as he was sure.) He slowly lowered the notebook back to his lap. "It's... for me?"

Angel watched him carefully, thoughtful. He didn't know what had happened to Albedo, but he supposed it didn't matter quite just yet. Eventually, he'd get the story, if the boy wanted.

But there'd been Faith and her lack of belief in anyone; Angel didn't really want to see Albedo fall down the same road. A life alone had sort of picked him and Angel wasn't sure if he deserved any different, but it didn't have to be that way for anyone else.

"It's yours." He nodded. "If you want it."

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