Welcome to Gaia! ::

Grayson had never felt so overwhelmed in his life.

Everything had happened so fast; dying, though he'd been ignorant of his own death, seemed like such a surreal concept to him. He was alive now, wasn't he? The horror of Barren Pines was behind him but not forgotten, haunted his thoughts when he closed his eyes, and it wasn't even the fact that he'd stood against evil and had died. It was because he'd forgotten.

Chronos. Virgo. Aries. All of them. He'd forgotten all of them. It was like a fist squeezing tight around his heart, something pressing down on his lungs so that he couldn't breathe, if he thought about it too much. He could handle dying to save the princess - he could handle dying by the side of his comrades, the people he loved and trusted. He could handle killing himself while grasping hands with a boy who had never really known him, he could handle brushing lips against what was surely a corpse, and he could even handle almost eating someone.

But he couldn't handle forgetting, not really. Not everything he was, everything he'd stood for. The people he loved, as dearly as he loved his own family; the people who were his family, from this life and the past, who would be his family in every life after it. Even when he was pulled close in the embrace of his parents, even when he held his brother long enough to embarrass him, even when everything was all right --

Something wasn't all right.

And so he found himself outside, walking. He was bundled in a sweater, a scarf wound around his mouth, hands shoved deep into the pockets of the first pair of jeans he'd found. His eyes were downcast, turbulent and a little haunted, and he watched the scuffed toes of his favorite boots pick up one after the other.

Step, step.

You're alive, Grayson.

Step, step.

You remember.

Step.

A scream. A crash.

Eyes lifting, he slowed, already beginning to turn away. With the way he felt, with all that had happened, Grayson didn't want trouble. He didn't want to deal with anything breaking, didn't want to argue with someone he didn't know. Didn't want to have to make the decision to leave; he just didn't want to know. His shoulder was jostled by someone hurrying away, and his body moved with the force, chin jerking back and free from his scarf as he did.

His eyes fell on the lone figure not hurrying in any direction, and he stopped completely.

It was strange, how quickly it had all come back. A week ago, he would have said: Jude Lawson, that's someone who goes to school with me. Today, it was Jude. Oh, Jude. What are you doing? Sagittarius, what are you doing?

Freeing his hands, the air cold against his fingers, he started forward, knowing that he would not be appreciated. From the look on Jude's face, from the set of his shoulders, he knew he wouldn't be welcome. But he was here, wasn't he? It was him and Jude, and he knew Jude. Not well, no, not well, but he knew Jude.

He knew him and remembered him, and even if he hadn't, he'd know this was not a man who needed to be alone.

So, he reached out, walking slowly, running his tongue over lips chilled from the air. When he got closer, he spoke; his voice was quiet, calm, as it always was.

As it always had been, really. "Jude."

That was all.

Just Jude.

Grayson could take a lot of things. He'd taken a lot from Jude in the past; he'd taken punches, he'd taken snide comments, he'd taken long, disappointed looks that broke every rule Jude had ever made about men gazing at one another. He had patience, and it was something he prided himself on. More importantly, he had patience for his friends, and he considered Jude that.

They didn't have the most solid friendship. It was based on duty to one another, as Zodiacs; it was based on duty to one another as fans of the Indianapolis Colts. Sometimes, it felt like it was based on quicksand, and he was sure he never knew what was going through the other's mind. It bothered him, but Grayson was capable of dealing with things that bothered him.

He was also capable of shoving himself aside, taking his own worries and tucking them away in the face of a greater need. He'd always been able to do that; had always expected himself to do that. He didn't want company that night, had been about to leave. But then there was Jude.

He had an obligation to Jude, one that came from both his head and his heart. The simple fact that he wasn't a stranger made Grayson decide to shoulder any abuse that came his way, to simply take it in stride. Jude needed someone, whether he wanted to admit it or not, that much was clear.

He was certain Jude didn't want him there. But sometimes, life wasn't about getting what you wanted. It was about doing the best you could with what you had.

Grayson was the best he had at just that moment.

So, he stopped, well within arm's reach. It was a gesture of trust as much as it was confidence, and he half-expected to be slugged for daring to get close enough to smell the alcohol on his breath and body. His eyes didn't show it, but his stomach dropped a little, his hands tightened against nothing in the air.

Jude, really.

"Jude, it's just me." His mouth lifted into a half-hearted smile, and his hands hovered in front of him before dropping uselessly. What could he do for Jude with them, really? Jude didn't like to be touched, as far as he knew. That would just make things worse.

"Just Grayson. No one sent me, no one knows I'm here." While his voice could have been soothing on another day, Grayson wasn't putting effort into it; it would only be effort lost. "What's going on, Jude?"

Jude was a loose cannon, everything that was swirling inside Grayson but kept beneath the surface out of sheer loss for how to handle it. The things he couldn't cope with he buried; he'd always been that way. In Barren Pines, he'd seen things, terrible things, and he'd pretended he hadn't. It had been easier that way, easier to simply go along and be Grayson Graves, the teenage boy who spun fire and was worried about his suit clashing with his prom date's. He hadn't wanted to recall, hadn't wanted to dig deeper, and the shame in that was like a knife twisting slowly in his stomach, an ice pick digging into his chest to carve out the heart of who he'd been.

He shamed Leo, the Zodiac, the princess; he shamed the man in front of him, who was not content to simply return to the world and move on. No, Jude wanted answers. He wanted to raise his voice and he wanted to be angry. And he had the right to be angry.

Grayson didn't think he had the right to be angry.

Still, violet eyes held on Jude's face, and he forced himself to look into Jude's own. He couldn't give all the answers... couldn't even give most of them. He couldn't take away the pain and the anger, and so he would do what he could.

He would be honest.

"I shot myself." He needed to use his hands - if he didn't, he would try to soothe with them, and he would only incite. He brought his fingers to his temple, mimed a blast.

And his stomach twisted again, because he knew Jude died. He'd known when Jude had died, and he'd been a little sad, but he hadn't really cared as deeply as he should have.

Because he'd forgotten, and he hadn't bothered to try to remember.

So, his voice was soft, and his eyes finally dropped. "I killed myself, Jude. So yes, I died at Barren Pines."

It really was too much.

The world had been turned on its side; the cities had fallen, the waters had broken through the streets and swept everything away. Nothing made sense, but worst of all, Grayson didn't know what to do. He didn't deceive himself into thinking that he was the kind of person who could comfort anyone, wasn't even sure he thought this was a good idea. The only thing he knew, really, was that he could not leave a comrade - a tentative friend - Jude - here like this.

He always wanted to be strong for others. Perhaps because he couldn't find the power to be strong enough for himself; he didn't know. It wouldn't have mattered if it was anyone in front of him. His chest would have still caught, throat would have tightened. And he would have felt the panic.

Panic, because Jude Lawson was leaning against him for strength, and he didn't know where he was supposed to pull it from.

So, he brought his arms up, pressed his hands so lightly against Jude's back. This was wrong, part of him screamed - Jude would never let you do this, Jude is really - something is really wrong.

His hands fisted in Jude's shirt, and he tried to ease the stiffness in his own shoulders. His voice was a little hoarse, but he forced it to even, forced it to hold steady when he said, "Don't be sorry, Jude."

So useless. Words, words were empty, but what did he have?

Suddenly fierce, he drew back, hands coming to Jude's shoulders to keep him steady. There was authority in his voice, but only because it had to be there; had Jude been sober, had Jude been master of himself, had Jude been Jude, none of this would have been happening.

"Do not be sorry for doing the best you could, Jude." Would any of this even get through to him? Would he even remember this conversation?

Part of him hoped he wouldn't. Anyone could do this better - anyone. He didn't even know Jude well enough to be having this conversation with him, and on any other day, Jude would have seen right through him. Right down to the way that his hands shook, still with Jude's shirt tightly gathered in them, only at his shoulders now.

"No one can ask any better of you - not even yourself."

The pen fit snugly into his palm, but it wasn't right. Grayson's first instinct was to shove it back - No, Jude, this isn't mine - but he barely resisted, instead curling his fingers around it tightly to ensure that he didn't drop it. What was this? What was going on?

His mind raced, because he felt like their roles had suddenly been reversed. Grayson had been the one wandering in thought, in control of where his feet took him, trying to come to terms with what had happened just enough so that he could bury it and forget it. Now, he was watching Jude's retreating form weave its way to God only knew where, and he hesitated.

That was Grayson; always hesitating. Always burying, always hiding. Always second-guessing when he was Grayson, because he didn't feel at ease with these people when he wasn't Leo; didn't feel like he was necessary to anyone but Elke, when he wasn't henshined.

He probably still wasn't necessary. Certainly not to Jude.

But he had his pen, and the man was stumbling away to --

"Jude." He began to lope after him, holding the henshin pen out as though it might burn his hand.

He caught up with him, and he didn't touch him. He didn't even brush their arms, because he was afraid if he nudged him, he'd fall over. Instead, he just walked in place with him, tried to time his own steps to Jude's uneven stagger.

Where the hell were they going?

It hurt a little, but in the way that it sort of hurts when you brush your hand over a piece of wood with a splinter sticking out; he acknowledged it, and quickly forgot about the slight. This was just Jude being Jude, in as much as he could in his present state. Gray felt for him, because he was obviously sick in body and heart, but he couldn't do much. In fact, the most he thought he could do would be to stay there, in the -- God, a storage unit? -- in the storage unit with Jude until he passed out.

Watch him. What did alcohol poisoning look like? Was he even that drunk? Grayson hoped not.

So, he cautiously took himself to the edge of the couch, lowered himself like he was almost afraid he was going to be shoved away at the last second. Miraculously, he wasn't, though that was probably because Jude didn't want to go to the effort to lean across the sofa and put actions behind his words.

He'd decided to put up with anything, right? So he'd put up with anything.

His eyes fell on the gun, and his mouth went a little dry. It was still hard to believe that he'd put one to his head, had thought of his family and pulled the trigger. Could he do it again, in a moment? Remembering what he did? Knowing what would happen to the rest of them if he died?

No, he couldn't. He had a duty to them. He didn't want to die.

He didn't want to even look at the gun, but he had to wonder. Why was it there?

Why the hell was there a gun on a table in a storage unit that Jude was apparently living in? Why did no one else in the team -- why was no one else there?

And then he realized it was because Jude's family was in Alabama. He was alone, and he knew even less than the rest of them, and he was sitting in the middle of a tiny, cold room with alcohol and a gun.

His hand tightened on the henshin pen, and he replied calmly, "I'll keep it."

His eyes left the gun, traveled back to Jude. This was... so awkward. Jude didn't want him there, and he didn't want to be there. But he had to. Someone had to.

Oh, God, he'd just wanted to go on a walk. This was too much after everything else.

Against his better judgment, he scooted over a bit on the couch, sitting between the edges of two cushions. His feet were under the table, still in those scuffed boots, shoved awkwardly where there was space, and there wasn't much of it.

And silence reigned.

Jude wasn't looking at Grayson; Grayson was not looking at Jude with equal fervor. He was tense, and his knuckles were nearly white from the death grip he had on Sagittarius' henshin pen. Of all the things he could remember, holding someone else's pen was not one of them - God, he really just wanted to put it down. Push it back in Jude's hand, insistently. Throw it on the floor, get up and walk out. This wasn't his territory, and while he loved Sagittarius as a brother, a comrade, he only felt a slow-building panic to be sitting an arm's length away from Jude.

He had no reference for this. He had a diary, at home, full of things that confused him, full of things that irritated him, full of things that didn't help him at all when it came to the situation at hand. He'd never had to deal with Jude like this, hadn't thought there would come a time when Grayson would be alone with Jude for anything aside from a football game.

And my God, wasn't he a coward.

He listened, because he was good at it. The story was a sad one, the accent was strange coming past Jude's lips, but he supposed that was the Alabama in him. It felt a little like a violation to hear it, but Grayson had already decided that, much like the other things he did not know how to handle, he would bury this night. He would get Jude through it, he would make sure he didn't have to go back to the hospital, and then they wouldn't speak of it.

He was sure Jude would agree. In fact, none of the other Zodiac needed to know of this - this wasn't Leo and Sagittarius, this was Grayson and Jude, so it would be best forgotten.

Just as soon as he got through it, anyway.

"Baby rabbits..." He cast his eyes to the ceiling, traced the lines of a spiderweb. "Maybe we are."

He didn't feel like they were, but what was he supposed to say to Jude? Jude wouldn't believe any We're going to be all right, everything will be just fine. speech, and he couldn't blame him. He wasn't so sure if he believed it just then, sitting where he was. Alone, except for the company of someone who wanted nothing more than to drown his own misery and anger.

"You know, though, Jude... I don't think so." Grayson wasn't much of a talker. Sure, he'd carry a conversation, but he didn't offer up much of himself unless you asked. It simply wasn't his way. Still, he found himself placing his fists atop his knees, looking at the wear in the denim.

"And even if we are, so what." White knuckles. Thin fingers, fingers that didn't seem like they could hold the weight of a bowling ball, much less the heavy burden of the henshin pen clasped in one hand. "We'll grow. We'll get strong. We'll rise above what we've been dealt."

He believed that.

He had to.