okteiviakom | MCA #9, Saturday Noon

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MCA #9, Saturday Noon

Of course Octavia didn't have a key. What she did have were semi-rusty skills at picking locks. She'd practiced, down in the bunker, and taught it to Niylah in the early years, but it had been a while. Duke could've done it faster, but she insisted on doing it herself.

Took longer, but she did it, then straightened up with her hand against the door - and paused, instead off opening it, instead of marching right in.

This'd be just fine, right?

It was just an apartment.

[ooc: For that one guy, pls.]

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Duke leaned against the wall next to her, watching the lock picking without comment.

"You know you don't have to do this yet, right?"

"I do," Octavia replied, staring at the door but not really seeming like she was seeing it. "I do have to do this now."

It'd just keep weighing on her if she didn't, she was sure.

"If you're sure," Duke said, not looking at all sure about it. "Should be mostly how you left it. Everything but what I brought back to the boat."

Octavia nodded. Maybe to acknowledge his words, maybe just to tell herself she was doing this. She breathed in, and opened the door - and walked through.

Her shoulders stiffened immediately.

Because it immediately felt like a mistake.

Duke noticed, but didn't call her on it. Just followed her into the apartment, keeping close, his hands tucked into his pockets in an attempt to project nonchalance.

It was safe to say Bellamy hadn't been here, either. Octavia hadn't realized she'd been holding out hope for that before that hope was shut down.

The apartment felt like a mausoleum. She tried not to even look towards the couch, knowing all her brother's things would be there, from that brief period of time they'd actually gotten to live like something approaching regular people.

She strode stiffly through the living room, towards her own room.

Duke gave her a minute, looking around the living room.

Wondered what had happened to Bellamy. What she'd want to do with all his things, when she was ready to deal with them.

He had a feeling he'd be hiring some people to clean this place out and donate everything, in the next couple weeks.

When Octavia got to the doorway into her bedroom, she stopped. Because it was all there, exactly as she'd left everything. Her bed, her drums, her bookcase.

Her life.

The steps she took into the room, the steps she forced herself to take, were shaky.

Duke watched her go, then looked around and grabbed a seat within sight of the door.

He was there when she needed him, but he had a feeling she needed to do at least some of this alone.

Not very long after, there was a loud crash.

That was just the natural result of someone kicking a drum kit hard enough to send the cymbals falling over.

Duke was up and in the doorway to the bedroom in an instant.

"You, uh."

Are you okay? was a stupid question, so he bit it back.

"Drums have it coming?"

Octavia didn't hear him.

All she saw were the remnants of a life that had been taken from her. Of a person who'd had the time and space to have hobbies, who'd played along to music and quietly dreamed of gathering up the courage to go see live shows, who'd had a room where no one had ever come in asking her to be responsible for the hopeless cause of the survival of a thousand people.

All Octavia saw were the remains of a girl she'd had to bury without ever having the time to mourn her.

She picked up the snare drum and hurled it violently towards the wall.

"Woah!" Duke rushed over to her. "While I definitely have no room to talk in the 'throw your feelings' department, there might be a better way to do it."

What he said probably made sense, but was she still trying to reach for the hi-hat with very similar intentions?

You bet.

"Okay, okay." Duke rested his hand on the hi-hat. "Just -- just think for a minute, okay? You might want these later."

"Why?"

So everything her could keep feeling like knives in her chest?

The anguish in her face was turning into anger. But if he was trying to block her from attacking the drums, fine. She turned and went for the bookcase instead, intending to tear everything down.

"Because it won't hurt forever!" Duke said, quick and loud. He reached for her arm, softening his tone. "It won't. And when it stops, you might want the reminder."

Octavia shook his hand off her arm, but she stopped.

And then she screamed.

It was a wild, raw sound that tapered off into a sob.

"Okay." Duke wanted to grab her, wrap her up in a blanket and hold her together, but worried she might react violently if he did. "Okay, good. Let it out. Good."

Octavia reacted with violence anyway, but the shove to get him further away was uncoordinated and flaily and not very forceful at all.

Then she spun around and tore the sheets off the bed. Tried to rend the fabric into pieces with her bare hands.

Her breathing was nothing but gasps and strangled sobs.

Duke rocked back with it, but followed close on her heels anyway. "Tavi. Tavi, hey, look at me." He reached for her again. "Please, just talk to me."

He sounded like her ears were underwater again. Octavia kept trying to tear the sheet. Something needed to be under her control.

But her vision was starting to blur.

Duke did grab her this time, arms looping around her waist, gentle but firm. "Hey," he said again. "Hey, hey, hey, it's okay. Talk to me. What do you need?"

Octavia made a pained noise, and automatically struggled against his hold.

Just not enough to actually break out of the circle of his arms. She could've done it easily if she'd actually wanted to.

Duke knew that. So he held steady, pressing his head into her shoulder. "I got you," he said. "You're okay. I got you."

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