almost_knightly | Photo album spread out on my bedroom floor...

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[phdr]

Photo album spread out on my bedroom floor...

There was nothing remarkable about the day when Break got up this morning. There was nothing remarkable lying in wait in his bathroom, and nothing remarkable between himself and the kitchen, and nothing remarkable between the kitchen and the library.

The library, however, held something new today. It was lurking on the bottom shelf, easily missed but for Break's habit of crawling around on the floor -- a large binder, sedate red leather and several inches wide.

Break knows that binder.

Fingers shaking, he snatches it up out of the shelf. He fumbles it, and it falls open, and the first thing he sees is Faneuil Hall at Christmas, covered in snow. Below that is a photograph of Shelly, his own Shelly, dressed in winter clothes and laughing with Sharon when she was still small, and there's his ponytail in the photograph next to it because no one could ever get him to look at the camera that first year and he's seen these pictures a thousand times --

He slams the book shut, suddenly unable to look. A cruel gift, in a way; there are days that he wonders if he'll ever see this place and these people again. But on the other hand, now -- now he can show people, he can let them see things he's only described. It's as precious as it is mean.

Gathering the photo album up close to his chest and clutching it as though he's afraid it'll vanish, Break leaves the library, in search of some of the people he trusts most.

[ooc: Locked to

hadengineered,

retraced,

of_murder,

standstilltime,

smallkindnesses,

info_barma]

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He doesn't protest the dragging, but he also doesn't stifle the small noise of surprise as he's pulled into the parlor. Whatever it is, he's expecting it to be trouble, and prepares himself for such. Another dead body, maybe? Or just another stupid prank of the mansion.

"What is it-?"

Break lets him go only long enough to snatch a pillow from a couch and chuck it on the floor by the coffee table; he wants something comfy to sit on. Then he reaches out to tug at Gilbert's coat, insistently, pulling the taller man down next to him as he plops down.

The heavy book is dropped onto the table, and Break opens it up and flips through it until he finds the photograph he's looking for.

"That's Boston," he declares, almost breathlessly. "That's Boston, that's where I live. See?"

"That's..."

Holy crap, huge buildings. In color! And...are those boats? In comparison, the buildings and the bridge are even bigger than he thought! He just stares down at the image, reaching forward to let his fingertips rest along the bottom of the photo.

"Where did this come from?"

"From home. This book belongs to Shelly. My Shelly."

Reluctantly, he leans back away from it. As he moves, the photos on the other open page are revealed. There's a few more shots of Boston and its skyline, but the one at the very bottom is Break and his own Liam walking down a city sidewalk in the rain. Break has climbed onto an old-fashioned street lamp and is leaning half off of it, waving his umbrella around and apparently singing. Liam, from underneath his own umbrella, glowers up at him and reaches out -- probably yelling at him to get down.

It's an old photo, and in it, Break is the spitting image of his younger counterparts in the mansion. The only difference is the clothes, and with his penchant for long coats, even that's not entirely dissimilar.

He leans in for a better look, his eyes wide and curious and looking very much like the child version of himself. He'd never doubted that Break's universe existed, but to actually see it - and see Liam in there as well...

"You really do look just like him."

Break's mouth twitches into a quiet smile. He hasn't looked like that in ages, and seeing this picture after watching his counterparts running around the mansion for months -- it's almost a disjointed feeling, as though he's not quite looking at himself at all, even though he remembers that day and remembers that he did slip. Liam caught him before he could brain himself on the sidewalk, which was exactly what he'd been saying would happen.

Teasing, he disguises his accent like he does at home, adopting the wry tone he's heard his counterparts use and imitating them flawlessly.

"I am quite sure I could still pass for him if I tried. I'm only five years older, after all, and I look young for my age even without a contract~"

He only looks away from the book when he hears that covered accent, in a tone that's far too familiar to him. Five years or not, Break had said that back home he doubted he had another year to live...Gilbert would never see his own Break at this age, in this state. This man might have won against disease, but the strain of his second Contract would definitely kill Break eventually.

"It's a little creepy that you can do that," he says, meaning the identical voice and inflection. "Are there...any pictures of your Gil?"

"I speak wivout the accent at home, you know," Break tells him, slipping readily back into his usual lilt. "I had to work hard to learn that."

There are pictures of Gil, in fact -- mostly when he's a bit older than this one is. Break flips closer to the back of the book, and the pictures he ultimately stops for are from a party of some sort. The most prominent on the first page is a group photo with Gilbert in the middle, looking sheepish and embarrassed and refusing to gaze directly at the camera. Vincent holds onto one of his arms, smiling pleasantly as he side-eyes Oz, who is latched onto the other one and practically grinning his teeth out. Elliot is just behind Oz, but he's not paying attention to any of the others -- he's turning over his shoulder to yell at Oscar, who has been caught in the process of jumping into the photo at the very last minute.

"This is from the party we frew for him when he got his chef's whites," Break says, pointing to that photo in particular. It's his favorite of the lot.

Gil stares for a good, long time at his identical face on the page. Even though he's used to seeing himself from different times and universes...seeing a photo of such an intimate situation that he wasn't a part of makes his heart ache a little. Oz still looks like Oz, Vincent is still the same as ever. This photo could have been taken at home, with a few changes to the clothes and sepiatone rather than color, but...

He raises a hand to cover his mouth, shoulders slumping forward just a bit.

"Somewhere...it could have been like this."

No Chains, no Contract killing his master from the inside. No guns. No violence. A carefree life - the exact thing that his master has always wished for.

But a sharp pain erupts inside of the corner of his temple, reminding him of his duty, his promise, his 'absolute'. Longing and regret...there was no time for any of that, even here. He winces and brings the hand up to rub at the side of his head, eyes still focused on the photo.

Break turns to glance at him as his demeanor changes. It hadn't occurred to him that seeing these could trigger anything for anyone, but -- well, Gilbert had asked.

The other photos on these pages are all from the same party -- Break conspicuously absent, as he'd been growing his hair back out from the chemo at the time and spent the party hiding from the camera like he'd done as a young man. The Rainsworth women smile and laugh as they raise their glasses in a toast; Sharon looks a little older, her features a bit more mature, but she's still just as petite as the ones in the mansion and Shelly has gray in her hair. Oz is caught kneeling with a fancy camera much like the one the modern Liam carries, an expression of absent concentration on his face as he takes his picture. Alice unapologetically collects an enormous plate of food from a table laid out with all manner of appetizers and Ada laughs merrily at something Oscar says. Finally, at the very bottom of the second page, there's a picture of Gilbert himself in his whites, leaning against that table and smiling cheerfully -- though he's blushing, just a bit.

He'll let Gil look a while longer and ask any questions he might have before Break tries to turn his attention to other things.

As much as it still hurts to look at it, Gilbert does allow himself a small grin at the sight of Sharon. So this is what she'd look like if the Contract hadn't stopped her in place...she really did turn out to be a beautiful young woman. And Shelly. He'd never met her when she was 'alive', only here in the mansion, but it's still nice to see in front of him. Such a different life...a better life?

No, he can't think like that.

"She's a glutton even now, huh?" he mumbles, pointing at the one of Alice.

Break grins a bit; he's fond of Alice, since getting to know her a bit better. "Well, she's an aflete, you know. Her metabolism's even crazier than mine. Nobody will take us out to dinner in the same group anymore, 'cause between the two of us we can just about eat an entire restaurant."

Okay, more or less nothing that he just said made sense, and that's obvious from Gilbert's confused expression. Sorry, Break.

"Metabolism...?" he repeats, stumbling over the word a bit. ~~Anime logic doesn't account for things like this, okay.~~

"Hmm? Oh."

Right. Modern sciencey whatnot. Break sits back a bit to explain this.

"The way your body works is that it converts the food you eat into energy and that's how it runs, right?" Right. "Well, your metabolism is sort of -- it's the rate at which your body does that. The more active a person you are, the more energy you need to burn just to keep yourself going.

"So someone like -- I dunno, like Miss Ada, who isn't particularly physically strong -- she only has to eat a fairly normal amount to have enough energy. But someone like me or Alice, who bofe have a lot of muscle and spend a great deal of time running around -- we burn energy a lot faster, even just sitting, so we need to eat a whole lot more to keep going."

"That makes sense," he mumbles, turning back to look at the photograph. Even though he's seen some of Liam's photos already, it's still shocking to see these memories so clearly. It almost feels wrong - like he's intruding on something. But he still looks, one hand drifting up to rub at the back of his neck.

"What else is there?"

"Mm -- you remember I was telling you about the Christmas lights in the trees?"

Break flips ahead in the book a bit and points out a photograph of a bench on Commonwealth Avenue, surrounded by lights. It's one in a series of photos; the next shows Break and Liam from behind as they walk down that path, Liam holding Break's elbow to keep him from slipping on the ice. In the third, someone apparently called out to get their attention -- they're both glancing over their shoulders at whoever's holding the camera. Liam wears an expression of gentle curiosity; Break looks inquisitive over the giant green and gray striped scarf covering the lower half of his face, but pale and tired, his face a bit too thin and his hair too short under his hat. At that angle, his bad eye isn't visible, which is the only reason Break had allowed that photo to exist. There had still been a patch over it, then.

"That's..." he whispers, leaning in to get a better look at the lights. Lamps like this were common back home, of course, but these tiny lights that managed to shine so brightly...it's unreal to see it so vividly.

"This is from when you were sick?" he inquires, gently. It's obvious from the expression that Break has allowed himself to wear here that he's not feeling completely well.

"A good six months after the surgery, actually," Break says. "I was really a lot better by then, but it -- that was my first time going out in the winter and the cold made me hurt a lot, and breaving the air was hard."

On the next page, the photographs show the road in the other direction. Sharon laughs merrily while further back, Alice and Gilbert fling snow at each other in the midst of some argument or other. In one photo, Alice has climbed onto a bench and planted her foot on the back of it, apparently having claimed it as a mountain to be king of. There's a look of wild, confident glee on her face.

"I don't really go out in the winter anymore, unless I have to," Break adds quietly. The lights are something he doesn't get to see too often either, living in Boston.

"Is it still that painful?" he asks, eyes still on the pictures. After all, if the summer is this hot, the winter might turn just as cold to run opposite. In the two that he'd been here for, the snow had never gotten horribly out of hand, but there's always a first time for everything, especially when the Will was involved.

He does smile gently at the photo of his counterpart and Alice, though. It's familiar of a time that they shared here at the mansion once, even though that had ended with both of them equally covered in snow and freezing before they'd finally called a truce.

"It still aches when it's cold and wet outside, but no worse than any ovver old wound. Oh, oh, I know --"

Break reaches out to flip back to almost the beginning of the book -- vacation photos. They're from his first spring at Rainsworth, when the kids had been on break and Shelly had badgered them all into flying down to Florida. The picture Break points out is of he and young Liam and Sharon from behind, the latter two pressed up against a huge window. An airplane is visible just outside of it, making the three of them look tiny in comparison.

"That's one of our flying machines," Break says. "And that's -- that's me when I was your age." He'd hid from the camera as much as possible those days, but in another photo, Shelly had managed to catch him leaning up against the wall in his torn jeans and favorite leather jacket. He's far too skinny, and he's reaching up to brush his bangs self-consciously over his newly unbandaged eye, looking hilariously sullen. The old ponytail is flopped over his left shoulder, as always.

"Piece of work, weren't I?"

"Huh-?!" he nearly chokes at the sight of the airplane. Well, that isn't anything like what he'd imagined when Break had mentioned them before. Somehow, even after the description, he didn't think that it would be quite that large and...strange looking. But as he stares at it, he does realize that it looks a bit like a bird, even though the metal wings clearly don't flap. Finally, he turns to look at the photo of Break, and looks even more shocked if it's possible.

"You're...strange."

"Always have been, really, even in my world." Break is amused. "I fought I was tough shit. This was -- I hadn't been at Rainsworth a full year yet when that one was taken. I hated everyfing, back then."

Indeed, in all the other pictures he appears in over the next few pages, he's either hiding or moving to leave the frame entirely. There's one where the three of them are sitting on the floor in a different airport; Liam is sneering at him and Sharon is behind him, playing happily with his ponytail. Break is holding a book called "The Three Musketeers" up between his face and the camera, one finger inside of it to mark his place.

"...Kevin was the same way."

He didn't know Break when he was Kevin, but he's met Kevin here. He knows how skittish and wild he once was, before Shelly taught him how to smile again. At least, that's what he'd been told. The real curse of this place was just how many secrets were revealed against everyone's will.

"Well, yes. I was Kevin myself then, you know, name change or not."

Break is looking at these pictures almost fondly. He doesn't hold the hate for his younger self that his counterparts in the mansion do -- perhaps because he never had the chance to damn himself the way they did, or perhaps because he survived the time of life that seems to be killing them. One finger moves to rest against that only clear photo of him underneath the protective film of the photo album, tracing along the bottom of the jacket.

"He's still around, some days." The jacket now lives in the Rainsworth attic.

"I never noticed it, back home. The moments where 'Break' and 'Kevin' would overlap." Or at least, he hasn't noticed it because he hasn't seen it yet. Here, however, is another story. He's seen Break snap to the point that he and Kevin would have looked the same if they'd stood side by side in this place.

"Even when we change...we still stay the same."

And there's a little boy in an upstairs bedroom right now that proves just what Gilbert has always been capable of, and shows just how deeply his weakness really extends.

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...it's useful to hit 'post comment' when finished with a tag.

I have noticed this strange phenomenon

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