He won't mention Trevor bending, asking him how much time he needed. It wouldn't change anything, and it hasn't. But Ellie?
It certainly changed something for him.
He's crying again, but he expected that, "I can't keep doing this... it's killing me, Oscar..." truly he thinks it is. Like securing gear to rock surface, trusting it to hold you only for it to fail and he falls back to where he started.
Audrey let's of a soft trill, comforted by Oscar's presence and very gently mleming his chin when Oscar kisses them.
All he has left of her is the virus and the lab coat he got her for Christmas, hanging on the hook. He doubts it will move from that spot ever again. His hands grip a little tighter into Oscar's bright shirt, the tone of it entirely contrasting his mood.
"You can't do shit for the dead, Oscar... not here." Aside from the rules of demotion, that seems to be the only one that is established and proven.
Nothing could bring that Ellie back once she was gone, it wasn't in the Admiral's power.
Later he will be more receptive to this, he knows thats what he's promised, but committing to it is a dice throw every day. Good days find it easier to visualize his goals, what he said he would do.
Bad days find him wishing the Admiral's hold slipped him right through his fingers too.
"Don't." He shoulders passed him when the door opens onto the second floor, wiping his face with his sleeve, "you sound like Vash..."
Comparing his partner to a man he despised? Definitely bad fucking mood.
He's fucking tired but he leads them that way anyways, right back to work and giving looks to anyone who dares look at him as he leads Oscar to the Memorial room.
When they're both inside, he slams the door just for the satisfaction of the sound of it, walking passed Stewards candle, and letting himself melt into a chair and over the table. Stewards candle burns a little more brightly when he's in the room.
He has his attention long enough to see him prop the chair under the handle and a ghost of a smile crosses his face for half a second. Good man, Oscar.
Being in here floods his senses with the smell of Drohane, and he takes in deep breathes, chin on the table, hands clasped at the back of his head with his eyes closed. It's calming, in a way, and he tries to get himself to relax further. The silence stretches for a good fifteen minutes of calming, deep breathes before Varker speaks again.
"You asked me why I owe Simon." Of course Ellie would come after, she wasn't being forgotten, but his heart was aching for the way Trevor's agenda just pulled the hurt right up to the surface. "Did you still want to know why?"
Oscar is glad for the silence, for him and for Clement. It's a good thing and he needs to take a bit of time to calm down, having thought that he would have come in to find...Varker in a far worse state then he was. Maybe he should ask if Trevor wanted a heating pad or something.
He stirred at the sound of his partner's voice, and blinked, before offering a slow nod. "Yes. If you feel-if you feel ready."
Because clearly Varker was heartsore and full of grief. More then usual.
"No one's ever ready, or prepared enough to rip their heart out, Oscar. It just happens." He lifts his head just a little so he can rest his chin on his arm and looks down at him from his spot on the floor.
"We launched Varika in 1992, but in 1991, Simon Birkov married, and Mackenzie was born. He was my god son, poor choice on Simon's part, Steward would have been better, but it worked out when he discovered we were more than friends that same year."
He hummed because...well, how many times did he feel his heart was ripped out, by his own actions or another? Rarely, thankfully.
"He likely thought that you two would look out for him together." Or it might have been for...various other reasons. But he watched him, and thought of the baby Mackenzie must have been. So small and precious.
What ever the reason, Mackenzie had grown up loved, "we did, when Simon's wife insisted they get away. But Simon? I heard him threaten a child with burning their house down for bullying his son once. He was...overly protective." To a neurotic degree, but no one really expected what happened later.
Varker sighs heavily and runs his hand through his hair, pulling at it, "when it was time for him to go to college, we all ganged up on Simon, convinced him to let him enjoy dorm life. We'd done it, it would be good for both of them." He laughs humorlessly and buries his face in his arm, shaking his head.
It should have been fine. But accidents aren't something anyone can predict.
Varker's fingers tighten in his hair. He'd paused not for dramatic affect, but because it was a hard thing to talk about even now. Or perhaps especially now, because Mackenzie was alive again, and he shouldn't be.
"G-gas explosion. A freak accident" The word is mumbled, catching his lip with his teeth just long enough to split it and softly swear. He still forgets he can't do that any more. "He survived the initial explosion, but... there was nothing they could do. I thought Simon was going to murder the trauma team when they gave him the news..."
He hadn't blamed him for it, or thought much of it. It was Simon, of course he would if his son was clinging to life and yet nothing could be done to save him.
Perhaps as a request for something less than smothering his hand reaches out across the table, palm up. He wants something, but doesn't at the same time and that feels like a happier medium.
"He and his wife separated shortly after the funeral. He claimed it was because they had a difference of opinion on what grieving looked like, but he had barely taken two days off. Half when he got the news, and one for the service."
Varker's head hits the table, slipping off his arm, "he asked me to help him, he wanted to try reproducing the serum that made- made Audrey, and I refused. What he was talking about, we'd never be able to do it in a way that was legal, ethical. But he didn't care, and...I thought, if I just let it go, kept my eye off what he was doing, it...it would be fine. That's what he needed. Abandonment wearing the guise of 'healthy distance'." He hates himself for it, and its clear as he speaks about it.
"Everything that happened afterward, I enabled him to do it. So I do owe him... but I owed it to Mackenzie too, to take care of his father, and I failed him."
Oscar moved forward to lightly touch their fingers together. Not a full on grasp, but a touch, if that was anchoring enough.
And he listened, trying not to grimace. Difference in grief indeed. He loved his boy so much that he did what many parents would try to do- get his son back.
But he thought about it. Owing...being owed. He shook his head, but he was frowning, thoughtful.
"Simon paid you back by harming you, harming Stew to the point that it killed him. Not to mention all of the people of the company. I don't know if owing is...the correct term, Clement."
His pointer and middle fingers curl, pressing against Oscars fingers with a gentle pressure. It's not much but its enough, and unlike fully grasping his hand, he doesn't mind it so much.
"He lost his mind, Oscar. Simon isn't Simon any more. I let go of his hand, and I let him fall. That's who I owe it to, not... not the fucked up thing I refused to look at, who he became." He can't look at Oscar, because he doesn't really want to know what he might think of him. He hasn't even mentioned what he did to Audrey, how he'd abandoned her too, but perhaps he still wants to hold his hand.
Oscar is a much better person than he is after all.
It's the lightest touch to keep them connected. He liked that it was a connection for the both of them to appreciate.
"That is...perhaps I was focusing my words on the wrong thing." He focused on the sensation of their fingers just touching. It was a marvel, he thought. Touch. How anchoring it could be.
"Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends." He sighed, and looked up to Clement. "Were you the only one that could have reached to Simon, helped him in his time of need? His wife, his family, his friends, his coworkers? Is this all on you, a chain around your neck?"
Gentle questions, as he kept their fingers touching.
Varker goes silent, staring at the table, letting the scent of Stewards cologne try to ground him as much as the touch.
But...perhaps he had been looking at it wrong. "I never got to speak to him, after he let me loose...but perhaps thats why he consumed Varika... it wasn't just an extension of my punishment, he-" he sucks in a breath, it was everyone he'd worked with? But that seemed..? He shakes his head, sitting up and talking quickly, distressed.
"No, no...that can't be right. He was private, he even- Birkov didnt even want a seat on the board when we built it together, he wasn't social...it's- It's my fault. I even kept Stew from him, he had no idea what he was doing, because I lied to him about the books..."
"Let you loose, like you were cage." He hated that for Clement, and he had seen in the months in how much pain and terror that his partner had gone through. How the scent of Stew was keeping him from breaking down again in the same day.
"He did not have a Church, a social group, people he worked with closely, his other friends his wife's family and community...he did not reach for your hand. He demanded a miracle from your hands. Is that an act of a friend?"
He blew out a breath. "Did you truly keep Stew from him? Or did you just make sure Stew didn't see the numbers?"
Varker would raise an eyebrow at Oscar if he could. He basically was. He might be upset but he at least has enough tact to not go into gross detail about how he'd been tortured in a basement while tied to a chair.
"I was ignoring his calls, Oscar. For six years, I made up every excuse." He sits up, breaking the connection to hit his fist against his chest, "I'm a terrible person, and a worse friend. S-stop trying to make excuses for me, I don't deserve it."
He isn't touching the comment on Steward, he doesn't have the strength or will.
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His lips press together before he finds the courage to whisper, "Ellie Williams"
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Ellie and the boys who dislikes his name.
One less child that they could save for now. His eyes closed and he held Clement tight.
"I'm...that poor girl."
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He won't mention Trevor bending, asking him how much time he needed. It wouldn't change anything, and it hasn't. But Ellie?
It certainly changed something for him.
He's crying again, but he expected that, "I can't keep doing this... it's killing me, Oscar..." truly he thinks it is. Like securing gear to rock surface, trusting it to hold you only for it to fail and he falls back to where he started.
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Children and distraught chemists alike.
"Sssh, ssh.' He pressed his lips against Audrey. They were both in so much pain.
"We can do this. You can. We'll do what we can for her. All right? And for you."
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All he has left of her is the virus and the lab coat he got her for Christmas, hanging on the hook. He doubts it will move from that spot ever again. His hands grip a little tighter into Oscar's bright shirt, the tone of it entirely contrasting his mood.
"You can't do shit for the dead, Oscar... not here." Aside from the rules of demotion, that seems to be the only one that is established and proven.
Nothing could bring that Ellie back once she was gone, it wasn't in the Admiral's power.
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"We do what we can for the dead. And we do things in the name of the dead. And we live for the dead."
He moved to cup Clem's cheek. "So they can be remembered."
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Bad days find him wishing the Admiral's hold slipped him right through his fingers too.
"Don't." He shoulders passed him when the door opens onto the second floor, wiping his face with his sleeve, "you sound like Vash..."
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But he moved to follow him, moving to slide the baton into his back pocket.
"Let's go to the memorial room."
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He's fucking tired but he leads them that way anyways, right back to work and giving looks to anyone who dares look at him as he leads Oscar to the Memorial room.
When they're both inside, he slams the door just for the satisfaction of the sound of it, walking passed Stewards candle, and letting himself melt into a chair and over the table. Stewards candle burns a little more brightly when he's in the room.
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And he moved a chair to be in front of the memorial door, before moving to sit down on the floor, taking in a deep, slow sigh.
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Being in here floods his senses with the smell of Drohane, and he takes in deep breathes, chin on the table, hands clasped at the back of his head with his eyes closed. It's calming, in a way, and he tries to get himself to relax further. The silence stretches for a good fifteen minutes of calming, deep breathes before Varker speaks again.
"You asked me why I owe Simon." Of course Ellie would come after, she wasn't being forgotten, but his heart was aching for the way Trevor's agenda just pulled the hurt right up to the surface. "Did you still want to know why?"
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He stirred at the sound of his partner's voice, and blinked, before offering a slow nod. "Yes. If you feel-if you feel ready."
Because clearly Varker was heartsore and full of grief. More then usual.
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"We launched Varika in 1992, but in 1991, Simon Birkov married, and Mackenzie was born. He was my god son, poor choice on Simon's part, Steward would have been better, but it worked out when he discovered we were more than friends that same year."
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"He likely thought that you two would look out for him together." Or it might have been for...various other reasons. But he watched him, and thought of the baby Mackenzie must have been. So small and precious.
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Varker sighs heavily and runs his hand through his hair, pulling at it, "when it was time for him to go to college, we all ganged up on Simon, convinced him to let him enjoy dorm life. We'd done it, it would be good for both of them." He laughs humorlessly and buries his face in his arm, shaking his head.
It should have been fine. But accidents aren't something anyone can predict.
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"But something happened when MacKenzie left home." Something that caused Simon to lose his mind with grief.
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"G-gas explosion. A freak accident" The word is mumbled, catching his lip with his teeth just long enough to split it and softly swear. He still forgets he can't do that any more. "He survived the initial explosion, but... there was nothing they could do. I thought Simon was going to murder the trauma team when they gave him the news..."
He hadn't blamed him for it, or thought much of it. It was Simon, of course he would if his son was clinging to life and yet nothing could be done to save him.
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Smothering even. But still, he ached with empathy. That poor boy.
"Clement..." He stopped, shaking his head, before sighing and gesturing for him to continue.
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"He and his wife separated shortly after the funeral. He claimed it was because they had a difference of opinion on what grieving looked like, but he had barely taken two days off. Half when he got the news, and one for the service."
Varker's head hits the table, slipping off his arm, "he asked me to help him, he wanted to try reproducing the serum that made- made Audrey, and I refused. What he was talking about, we'd never be able to do it in a way that was legal, ethical. But he didn't care, and...I thought, if I just let it go, kept my eye off what he was doing, it...it would be fine. That's what he needed. Abandonment wearing the guise of 'healthy distance'." He hates himself for it, and its clear as he speaks about it.
"Everything that happened afterward, I enabled him to do it. So I do owe him... but I owed it to Mackenzie too, to take care of his father, and I failed him."
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And he listened, trying not to grimace. Difference in grief indeed. He loved his boy so much that he did what many parents would try to do- get his son back.
But he thought about it. Owing...being owed. He shook his head, but he was frowning, thoughtful.
"Simon paid you back by harming you, harming Stew to the point that it killed him. Not to mention all of the people of the company. I don't know if owing is...the correct term, Clement."
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"He lost his mind, Oscar. Simon isn't Simon any more. I let go of his hand, and I let him fall. That's who I owe it to, not... not the fucked up thing I refused to look at, who he became." He can't look at Oscar, because he doesn't really want to know what he might think of him. He hasn't even mentioned what he did to Audrey, how he'd abandoned her too, but perhaps he still wants to hold his hand.
Oscar is a much better person than he is after all.
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"That is...perhaps I was focusing my words on the wrong thing." He focused on the sensation of their fingers just touching. It was a marvel, he thought. Touch. How anchoring it could be.
"Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends." He sighed, and looked up to Clement. "Were you the only one that could have reached to Simon, helped him in his time of need? His wife, his family, his friends, his coworkers? Is this all on you, a chain around your neck?"
Gentle questions, as he kept their fingers touching.
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But...perhaps he had been looking at it wrong. "I never got to speak to him, after he let me loose...but perhaps thats why he consumed Varika... it wasn't just an extension of my punishment, he-" he sucks in a breath, it was everyone he'd worked with? But that seemed..? He shakes his head, sitting up and talking quickly, distressed.
"No, no...that can't be right. He was private, he even- Birkov didnt even want a seat on the board when we built it together, he wasn't social...it's- It's my fault. I even kept Stew from him, he had no idea what he was doing, because I lied to him about the books..."
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"He did not have a Church, a social group, people he worked with closely, his other friends his wife's family and community...he did not reach for your hand. He demanded a miracle from your hands. Is that an act of a friend?"
He blew out a breath. "Did you truly keep Stew from him? Or did you just make sure Stew didn't see the numbers?"
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"I was ignoring his calls, Oscar. For six years, I made up every excuse." He sits up, breaking the connection to hit his fist against his chest, "I'm a terrible person, and a worse friend. S-stop trying to make excuses for me, I don't deserve it."
He isn't touching the comment on Steward, he doesn't have the strength or will.
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