[attr="class","illeana"]

[attr="class","illeana b"]

[attr="class","illeana i"]she listens with a soft silence. patient, warm despite anger moments prior.

and as he recounts an explanation, the memory of him showing up at her door months ago with news of his father's death come back with a vengeance. he had been lying, then, too. truth paired with a persistent lie.

will it end now...? is he finally telling her everything?

somewhere between spaces in words and sentences, she sees their similarities. two sides of the same coin: he had lost his coin flip while she had won hers.

"your father did that?"

to August Gallagher of all people...

she tightens her grip on felix, snuggles a little closer into solid warmth.

her voice returns in a quieter way, barely above a whisper.

"you could have told me sooner."

she would've understood. she could've helped. he didn't have to shoulder this alone.

"is that why you're..."

rocket.

Felix Gallagher

[attr="class","illeana"]

[attr="class","illeana b"]

[attr="class","illeana i"]”are you lying to him too?”

she doesn’t miss a beat. and while it sounds accusatory, there’s a softness to her delivery. as if she knows August Gallagher is his achilles heel.

her voice returns again, then, and it’s rushed. pleading, bordering an emotional desperation like she’s at her limit and another second will break her.

”you don’t have to be like him.”

he can be good. he is good… isn’t he?

”we can’t be like our parents.”

she sounds so small when she says it. it’s half to herself, too, as if she needs to reaffirm being as far away of a concept from her father as possible. rocket is in their blood. it doesn’t mean they can’t change.

Felix Gallagher

[attr="class","illeana"]

[attr="class","illeana b"]

[attr="class","illeana i"]she stills.

the admission is not what she wants to hear. it hurts in a way closely tethered to betrayal.

and she knows, god does she know... he had a choice.

they come from similar roots. similar families, tied to the same organization he's found himself in. and their choices are so vastly different she wants to cry.

her voice is quiet, constricted when it returns.

"you did have a choice."

she wants to put distance between them, wants to retreat behind walls and scream and cry and give in to her rage.

somehow, her body doesn't move an inch. her body craves closeness, craves him... but her anger is warm and familiar and she can't give it up. she can't let it go so easily.

"you can protect someone without being with them."

her eyes narrow in accusation, intention smudged beneath waterworks she can't quite seem to stop.

"and you sure as hell didn't have to lie about it."

Felix Gallagher

[attr="class","illeana"]

[attr="class","illeana b"]

[attr="class","illeana i"]his voice climbs. and despite knowing better, despite knowing this isn't the same situation...

she's brought back to when she was a child. the wrathful masculine voice. the coldness. the barely concealed anger trembling through syllables. the searing rush of pain that comes after. and the bandages, tear stained and bloody as they try to cover what damage has been done.

felix gallagher is not her father. he would not inflict pain upon her, no matter how angry he gets. she knows this. understands this.

and yet, she flinches away from him all the same.

her body writhes and struggles to get away from him. panic overtakes whatever semblance of composure she had.

she has to get away. before pain, before screaming, before blood.

and only when she's safety tucked in a corner of her kitchen away from him with his gallade hovering close to her does she dare speak.

"you act like you're the only one with an abusive father."

she can't even look at him.

he doesn't know of past instances hidden behind family ties and a carefully placed act. he would never know. scars became constellations all over her body and it still cannot map out the full extent.

kitchen tiles provide little solace but it's enough to keep going. to keep speaking. her voice barely climbs above a scared whisper.

"there's ways to not be like your abuser! why do you think i'm aligned with the league?"

and in this moment, she aims to hit him where it hurts. it's petty, spiteful, cruel... but she aims for whatever might save her. backed into a corner, more wounded animal than woman... it is all she knows.

she wishes this wasn't so goddamn familiar.

"how do you think august will react to this? to you lying to him? to you doing the same work your father -- no, our fathers -- did?!"

Felix Gallagher

[attr="class","illeana"]

[attr="class","illeana b"]

[attr="class","illeana i"]he didn't know...

he didn't know and it makes it worse.

she had been withering away back then, more husk than girl. skin carved out with punishment, her own mistakes eternally stuck against her body. even now, she still harbors that girl like a small little bird in a cage. every move she makes is for her.

and she can't help the way she cowers at a raised voice so many years later.

anger is a weapon, sharpened against whetstone until she expects it to cut away at her body.

it's agonizing to even entertain the thought of felix wielding that blade.

"what?"

her voice is low, simmering fear and rage held close. she will not let it go. white knuckles keep it tethered.

"please what?"

she feels safe in this little corner of the kitchen. tucked away, as if an invisible barrier she can't possibly see keeps her from facing the full extent of his coldness, his rage.

and she sounds small, despite the concoction of emotion spilling out like blood from an open wound.

"are you going to keep yelling at me?"

it rises an octave, higher pitched and breathy with panic.

"are you going to --"

she doesn't finish the accusation. she can't bring herself to even breathe life into the idea.

Felix Gallagher

[attr="class","illeana"]

[attr="class","illeana b"]

[attr="class","illeana i"]stop.

she stills, eyes wide as realization hits like a truck.

silence persists after his voice. she doesn't stab at him again. doesn't lash back out. doesn't... do anything.

she simply stares. her eyes finally see the damage done when they drag up from tiles.

and he looks so broken here, on his knees against her kitchen tiles.

was... that her doing?

guilt settles quickly, suddenly, without warning.

self sabotage from her own shaky hands can easily unravel everything. and she's never meant for impulsive destruction to make him into a casualty but there's a new fear here: losing him.

"i --"

she realizes, perhaps, too late.

Felix Gallagher

[attr="class","illeana"]

[attr="class","illeana b"]

[attr="class","illeana i"]he leaves with little to no reaction on her part.

she faintly hears the advice for the bouquet. even fainter is the concept of letting him know if she needs anything.

white noise against their conversation -- no, she can't call it that -- playing over and over until she's lost track of how long she's stayed there.

and when day creeps into night and night creeps toward dawn, she picks herself up off the kitchen floor.

if his gallade was taken in the fight, she didn't notice. even now, she doesn't pay attention to much of anything.

tunnel vision hones in on the flowers, on the petals they've already dropped.

they feel like poison to look at. no longer beautiful or a symbol of apology... they've long since grown venomous and vile.

and yet, somehow she just cannot bring herself to throw them away.

they sit there until they shrivel up and die. a metaphor, perhaps.

the next passing days are spent avoiding her house and Felix Gallagher. one distraction after another until she can feel some semblance of composure creeping back into her fingertips.

Felix Gallagher