[ Maybe she should let Phoenix down, wouldn't that be funny? Billy's attention is on her, a little skeptical but not distrusting. Mouth doing that uncertain twitch of consideration.
And then wordlessly, he sits down on the floor and closes his eyes. ]
[ he isn't sure. that much is obvious. but agatha gives him a nod, watching as he sits. eventually, she sinks down there with him. it's familiar. of course, her mind goes right back to the trial.
his eyes are already closed. but she keeps hers open. irises glow purple and a spark of magick blooms at each of his temples, before burrowing beneath his skin, fracturing off like lightning bolts.
the memory is almost grainy, like old film. a side effect of being transferred. it starts at the top of the stairs. the body (the recorder) they now both inhabit goes down them, calling for his parents. there's a rush of air as he -- you -- sits down. the confession comes, along with a swell of fear. he is not their son. he is a pretender.
(agatha's own fear even lurches forward, even though she knows the outcome of this.)
confusion and grief overwhelm within the memory. feelings that he's sensing from his parents, and his own roiling emotions. before anymore words can be spoken, his mother tugs him into a hug. the grief lingers, heavy enough to feel like sinking into the earth. but there's a bright spot outshining all of it, tugging them all back up: love and understanding.
the confession does not come with the heavy cost of truth. he is not their son. at least not wholly. but they love him all the same.
once it's done, agatha pulls back and out of his mind. she lifts her arm, attempting to hide watering eyes behind wiping at her nose. ]
[ It's funny when you think about a similar scene a near year ago. The distrust that had ebbed that one isn't a container for this moment. Another him supposedly giving her something isn't the reason for the trust, it's his relationship with Agatha herself. How far they'd come since his Trial even if he feels trapped in this place. ]
[ There's a sharp intake of breath at the undeniable feeling of magic on his skin and before he can ask his vision shifts. No longer the darkness of eyelids, he finds himself on the staircase of his family home. Not truly, of course, the grainness of the transported memory from Agatha is proof of that even if the emotions feel as real as they did the day it was given. ]
[ In some ways, he doesn't have the bandwidth to take in the fear of Agatha's response. Not in the moment. Not as he lives through a moment that has plagued him from the moment he arrived here, in the months that had followed. Am I William or am I Billy? Can I give up being William if they never had the truth? His throat constricts the more it goes on. ]
[ And when it ends with the mixed warmth of love and acceptance and the coldness of sorrow and grief, Billy takes a sharp intake of breath. His eyes do not snap open, instead remaining more firmly closed, and he shifts in his position. Brings his knees to his chest and presses his head to them as he takes a deep shuddering breath. He does not yet cry, but he wants to. The added pressure of the knowledge that Agatha is trying not to do the same does not help. ]
[ There's quiet and stillness, not entirely unlike the one that usually envelops him in moments like this. But instead of emptiness, perhaps, it's sobriety. Softer instead of intense and when he does finally speak it's without looking up, voice thick, and it's two simply words: ]
[ she breathes deeply through her nose, trying to steady herself. it's easier the second time around. she'd managed to block out the depth of the emotions, which had come as a surprise when phoenix had originally passed it to her. it was already overwhelming enough, feeling the way that billy did. but those specific emotions--
now, there's perhaps a twinge of jealousy. a kind of odd yearning tangled up with bitterness. of course, she tells herself, the world is different now. plenty of parents were cold back then. others had managed just fine (why does it still affect her like this?). she tries to focus on her happiness for him instead. ]
... you ought to be thanking yourself.
[ after all, the only thing that separated them were memories. to her, the core was the same. she ignores the implications of that, given her own experiences with the memory shifting. ]
[ It's the fact he can see the reminder of his own power in it, that he doesn't doubt the authenticity. Not that he doubts Agatha, especially given her reaction, but Billy has spent so long being afraid of a different reaction... Has thought he'd never even get that one now.
He's yet to open his eyes. ]
Someone had to deliver it.
[ He's not letting her deny the thanks. Half rubbing his face against crossed arms to gather himself... At least the statement earns a snort. ]
You only ever cared about my connection to Wanda. [ Pointed, sharp. It doesn't last. ] They're the best people in the world.
[ It's no wonder he still really only sees them as his parents, if they can love him so much still. ]
[ she'll let him thank her, even though the reality is it's something she does without thought. her rare moments of selflessness are often instinctual. for them to be acknowledged at all makes it feel like there's a transaction; some lingering form of manipulation on her part. ]
...well. You're welcome.
[ just as odd as a 'thank you' in her mouth once you take away the sarcasm and pride. she's glad he asked. because it means that someone trusts her. even if it's just another version of him.
she scoffs at the comment about wanda, pursing her lips and narrowing her eyes at the accusation. he isn't wrong at all. ]
I told Phoenix this, too... before. But I'm glad that you have them.
[ Billy's lips curl a little in mild amusement. It's like getting something out of a stubborn horse, but he's not going to say that. Another beat passes. The hand drops from his face as he opens his eyes. Gray eyes still light from moisture as he arches a brow.
It's true. The motion says - She'd cared about Wanda and Billy Maximoff. Not Billy Kaplan, who feels more like the son of the Kaplans than he did of Wanda and Vision. He swallows. ]
[ Must have gone over well, since he didn't have them. Not really, not truly. Just another life he wasn't sure he was stolen from or reincarnated from. Isn't that funny? ] Thanks, I'm glad I have them, too. They're as much, if not more, my parents than anyone else.
[ the eyebrow raise earns a dismissive flap of her hand. but he's right, so she doesn't argue.
it's there again but faint. that little prickle of jealousy. and maybe it's somehow both. jealousy for his parents who have a child. and envious of him for having them, something stable and soft. but agatha's quick to swallow it down.
she doesn't tell him what she told phoenix. that seeing this makes her more certain that she made the right choice. ]
We're gonna figure it out. Other people have disappeared, so... -- maybe there's something that triggers it.
[ Wow, Agatha, can't believe you'd be jealous of a sixteen-year-old. Or, well, actually I can. ]
[ Should he tell her one day that he hears her now? No, absolutely not, but it does mean that all of the things she thinks she's hiding he does hear. That he feels that jealousy and dips his head down and tries to ignore the rest that comes with it. ]
[ Because, no, some days he's not sure she made the right choice. ]
[ The response is one that makes him look up, confusion etched in his features. It's a shift from the statements moments ago so he has to ask - ]
she gives him a scathing glance, as if she's irritated that he's asking her to spell it out for him. and bites back a comment about his mind reading being good for nothing if she has to explain everything all the time.
and then softening a little as she realizes he has no way of knowing, with how quickly she changed gears. she throws her hands up and they land back on her thighs with a slap. ]
How to get home. Obviously. There's gotta be a way. Just because our benevolent leaders haven't shown their hand yet, doesn't mean they won't. [ a fact she'll be even more convinced of once she's realized that rio is gone. ]
[ He should know what she's talking about and he doesn't - not really. It's an unexpected sentiment from Agatha who, beyond all that, would die as soon as she returned home. He knows it for a fact. So does she.
Selfishly. He wants to get home more than anything. The only thing he can focus on remains the same as ever - Tommy. Always Tommy. ]
If there's a way, I can't take it without ensuring anyone who wants a way back themselves has it.
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no subject
And then wordlessly, he sits down on the floor and closes his eyes. ]
no subject
his eyes are already closed. but she keeps hers open. irises glow purple and a spark of magick blooms at each of his temples, before burrowing beneath his skin, fracturing off like lightning bolts.
the memory is almost grainy, like old film. a side effect of being transferred. it starts at the top of the stairs. the body (the recorder) they now both inhabit goes down them, calling for his parents. there's a rush of air as he -- you -- sits down. the confession comes, along with a swell of fear. he is not their son. he is a pretender.
(agatha's own fear even lurches forward, even though she knows the outcome of this.)
confusion and grief overwhelm within the memory. feelings that he's sensing from his parents, and his own roiling emotions. before anymore words can be spoken, his mother tugs him into a hug. the grief lingers, heavy enough to feel like sinking into the earth. but there's a bright spot outshining all of it, tugging them all back up: love and understanding.
the confession does not come with the heavy cost of truth. he is not their son. at least not wholly. but they love him all the same.
once it's done, agatha pulls back and out of his mind. she lifts her arm, attempting to hide watering eyes behind wiping at her nose. ]
no subject
[ There's a sharp intake of breath at the undeniable feeling of magic on his skin and before he can ask his vision shifts. No longer the darkness of eyelids, he finds himself on the staircase of his family home. Not truly, of course, the grainness of the transported memory from Agatha is proof of that even if the emotions feel as real as they did the day it was given. ]
[ In some ways, he doesn't have the bandwidth to take in the fear of Agatha's response. Not in the moment. Not as he lives through a moment that has plagued him from the moment he arrived here, in the months that had followed. Am I William or am I Billy? Can I give up being William if they never had the truth? His throat constricts the more it goes on. ]
[ And when it ends with the mixed warmth of love and acceptance and the coldness of sorrow and grief, Billy takes a sharp intake of breath. His eyes do not snap open, instead remaining more firmly closed, and he shifts in his position. Brings his knees to his chest and presses his head to them as he takes a deep shuddering breath. He does not yet cry, but he wants to. The added pressure of the knowledge that Agatha is trying not to do the same does not help. ]
[ There's quiet and stillness, not entirely unlike the one that usually envelops him in moments like this. But instead of emptiness, perhaps, it's sobriety. Softer instead of intense and when he does finally speak it's without looking up, voice thick, and it's two simply words: ]
Thank you.
no subject
now, there's perhaps a twinge of jealousy. a kind of odd yearning tangled up with bitterness. of course, she tells herself, the world is different now. plenty of parents were cold back then. others had managed just fine (why does it still affect her like this?). she tries to focus on her happiness for him instead. ]
... you ought to be thanking yourself.
[ after all, the only thing that separated them were memories. to her, the core was the same. she ignores the implications of that, given her own experiences with the memory shifting. ]
You didn't tell me they were absurdly nice.
no subject
He's yet to open his eyes. ]
Someone had to deliver it.
[ He's not letting her deny the thanks. Half rubbing his face against crossed arms to gather himself... At least the statement earns a snort. ]
You only ever cared about my connection to Wanda. [ Pointed, sharp. It doesn't last. ] They're the best people in the world.
[ It's no wonder he still really only sees them as his parents, if they can love him so much still. ]
no subject
...well. You're welcome.
[ just as odd as a 'thank you' in her mouth once you take away the sarcasm and pride. she's glad he asked. because it means that someone trusts her. even if it's just another version of him.
she scoffs at the comment about wanda, pursing her lips and narrowing her eyes at the accusation. he isn't wrong at all. ]
I told Phoenix this, too... before. But I'm glad that you have them.
no subject
It's true. The motion says - She'd cared about Wanda and Billy Maximoff. Not Billy Kaplan, who feels more like the son of the Kaplans than he did of Wanda and Vision. He swallows. ]
[ Must have gone over well, since he didn't have them. Not really, not truly. Just another life he wasn't sure he was stolen from or reincarnated from. Isn't that funny? ] Thanks, I'm glad I have them, too. They're as much, if not more, my parents than anyone else.
no subject
it's there again but faint. that little prickle of jealousy. and maybe it's somehow both. jealousy for his parents who have a child. and envious of him for having them, something stable and soft. but agatha's quick to swallow it down.
she doesn't tell him what she told phoenix. that seeing this makes her more certain that she made the right choice. ]
We're gonna figure it out. Other people have disappeared, so... -- maybe there's something that triggers it.
no subject
[ Should he tell her one day that he hears her now? No, absolutely not, but it does mean that all of the things she thinks she's hiding he does hear. That he feels that jealousy and dips his head down and tries to ignore the rest that comes with it. ]
[ Because, no, some days he's not sure she made the right choice. ]
[ The response is one that makes him look up, confusion etched in his features. It's a shift from the statements moments ago so he has to ask - ]
Figure out what, exactly?
no subject
she gives him a scathing glance, as if she's irritated that he's asking her to spell it out for him. and bites back a comment about his mind reading being good for nothing if she has to explain everything all the time.
and then softening a little as she realizes he has no way of knowing, with how quickly she changed gears. she throws her hands up and they land back on her thighs with a slap. ]
How to get home. Obviously. There's gotta be a way. Just because our benevolent leaders haven't shown their hand yet, doesn't mean they won't. [ a fact she'll be even more convinced of once she's realized that rio is gone. ]
no subject
Selfishly. He wants to get home more than anything. The only thing he can focus on remains the same as ever - Tommy. Always Tommy. ]
If there's a way, I can't take it without ensuring anyone who wants a way back themselves has it.