Something about the stubborn look on his face almost crumbled when he refused to come over, and when he started saying things that were obviously meant to be an excuse to dip out, and the reality of the conversation they'd had only minutes before came rushing back. This was it. He was leaving. And there was no guarantee he'd ever see him again. Even with Blondie working so hard to be the calm in the storm of every bad emotion that was roaring through the room, the grief still managed to resurface. He wasn't panicking, but that didn't mean the grief just magically went away.
When Blondie pulled away to address him properly, he stepped back, stuffing his hands in his pockets and clenching his teeth so hard he could hear the muscles in his jaw hissing faintly in his ears with the effort, but he was doing his best not to go off again, calm enough to want to avoid another outburst like before, either out of some sense of trying to maintain his own pride or a refusal to make the situation worse than it already was.
But then Needle-noggin had to put those last words that way, and Nicholas felt like he'd been slapped across the face. It sounded too much like things he'd heard him say before, things he'd refused to talk about at the time but had sat painfully in his memory for years, now, just weighing his guilt down like a ten ton boulder.
Being able to sit down and have a couple of drinks before the end...It was nice.
"Don't."
One of his hands darted out of his pocket to point an angry finger in his direction. Anger was safe. Anger was the shield he'd hidden behind his whole life, to keep people from seeing how much everything hurt. If he didn't have the courage for any other emotion, he could do anger, even as his lip trembled and he had to blink back even more ugly tears.
"Don't say it like that." He worked his jaw, chewing on his tongue and almost wanting to leave it at that. But if this was it...he huffed out a miserable little breath and shook his head. He couldn't leave it on angry words, even if the emotion he was expressing was exactly that. "You..." What? What does he want to say? What does he need to say? After everything he's already said? And what won't cause just even more pain than he already has? "When you go out there...I want you to...be happy. And don't try an' feed me some chirpy little line, I know better. I don't care how long it takes, I know it's not gonna happen next week or maybe not even for a buncha years. But you've got your family now, right? The fighting is over. You can finally stop running."
He stopped pointing at him to rub his hand angrily across his eyes with a furious little sniff before shoving the hand back into his pocket, sitting heavily back into the chair and only breaking eye contact for a brief moment when the leather shoulder holster holding his sidearm and the glass vials, now filled with cigars instead of drugs, caught his attention from the table out of the corner of his eye. He pulled one of the vials out, angrily popping the cork across the room and going through the motions of cutting and lighting it the cigar with enraged little hand motions that helped hide the way his fingers shook. The first hit of smoke that hit his lungs helped settle some of that, and the distinctive nausea that had started to surface in his throat.
"I know the shit I've been through don't even hold a candle to the shit you have." Holding eye contact was easier when he let himself be angry, too. The more he spoke, though, the softer his voice got. The anger was bleeding out of him. It hadn't been real in the first place, really, but he could pretend, as long as he needed to. Be more like the asshole he'd always been, put up those barriers, make himself an obnoxious, insufferable shithead so that if this was the last time he saw Vash, it would be easier for him to make a clean break, and maybe he wouldn't carry this guilt forever, too. "I probably don't have any right to make these sorts of demands, either, not after the shit I put you through. But you deserve to be happy. Even if I'll never be able to see it. So go be happy. At least..."
And that was the point when he couldn't look him in the eye, because part of him felt guilty for the thing he was about to say. But he believed wholeheartedly, with every fiber of his being, that it was true.
"At least, if you can't do it for yourself, then...do it because He would want you to. He wouldn't want you to go on sufferin' the way you have. Even if you can't believe you deserve it, I promise you, he would."
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When Blondie pulled away to address him properly, he stepped back, stuffing his hands in his pockets and clenching his teeth so hard he could hear the muscles in his jaw hissing faintly in his ears with the effort, but he was doing his best not to go off again, calm enough to want to avoid another outburst like before, either out of some sense of trying to maintain his own pride or a refusal to make the situation worse than it already was.
But then Needle-noggin had to put those last words that way, and Nicholas felt like he'd been slapped across the face. It sounded too much like things he'd heard him say before, things he'd refused to talk about at the time but had sat painfully in his memory for years, now, just weighing his guilt down like a ten ton boulder.
Being able to sit down and have a couple of drinks before the end...It was nice.
"Don't."
One of his hands darted out of his pocket to point an angry finger in his direction. Anger was safe. Anger was the shield he'd hidden behind his whole life, to keep people from seeing how much everything hurt. If he didn't have the courage for any other emotion, he could do anger, even as his lip trembled and he had to blink back even more ugly tears.
"Don't say it like that." He worked his jaw, chewing on his tongue and almost wanting to leave it at that. But if this was it...he huffed out a miserable little breath and shook his head. He couldn't leave it on angry words, even if the emotion he was expressing was exactly that. "You..." What? What does he want to say? What does he need to say? After everything he's already said? And what won't cause just even more pain than he already has? "When you go out there...I want you to...be happy. And don't try an' feed me some chirpy little line, I know better. I don't care how long it takes, I know it's not gonna happen next week or maybe not even for a buncha years. But you've got your family now, right? The fighting is over. You can finally stop running."
He stopped pointing at him to rub his hand angrily across his eyes with a furious little sniff before shoving the hand back into his pocket, sitting heavily back into the chair and only breaking eye contact for a brief moment when the leather shoulder holster holding his sidearm and the glass vials, now filled with cigars instead of drugs, caught his attention from the table out of the corner of his eye. He pulled one of the vials out, angrily popping the cork across the room and going through the motions of cutting and lighting it the cigar with enraged little hand motions that helped hide the way his fingers shook. The first hit of smoke that hit his lungs helped settle some of that, and the distinctive nausea that had started to surface in his throat.
"I know the shit I've been through don't even hold a candle to the shit you have." Holding eye contact was easier when he let himself be angry, too. The more he spoke, though, the softer his voice got. The anger was bleeding out of him. It hadn't been real in the first place, really, but he could pretend, as long as he needed to. Be more like the asshole he'd always been, put up those barriers, make himself an obnoxious, insufferable shithead so that if this was the last time he saw Vash, it would be easier for him to make a clean break, and maybe he wouldn't carry this guilt forever, too. "I probably don't have any right to make these sorts of demands, either, not after the shit I put you through. But you deserve to be happy. Even if I'll never be able to see it. So go be happy. At least..."
And that was the point when he couldn't look him in the eye, because part of him felt guilty for the thing he was about to say. But he believed wholeheartedly, with every fiber of his being, that it was true.
"At least, if you can't do it for yourself, then...do it because He would want you to. He wouldn't want you to go on sufferin' the way you have. Even if you can't believe you deserve it, I promise you, he would."