There's an explosion inside of John. Fury, yes, but there's a gully in it that runs hot with an emotion that tears against the grain of his being. It floods through his mind, dragging it into a whirlpool of thoughts too sharp and hot to hold together - he doesn't need him - he's not wanted - he's right - how dare he - why would he be wanted - FUCK him -
His grip on Arthur's shirt grows loose, his breathing harsh in his mask. Internally, the blaze still burns, a raging war between outrage and hurt, needing to return the pain tenfold while knowing it's all true. Trying to reconcile this Arthur fighting him and saying these things with the desperate plea to remember his name.
But that had never meant anything more than an attempt to survive, had it? The entirety of their partnership was built around that, a mutual need, and that is all it ever meant. For both of them. Means to an end, no more meaning than that.
The edges of his mind feel jagged, and there is an urge to introduce himself by a different name, a name he was an idiot to reject - but despite it all, there is still that kernel he found in the hospital. The idea that there can be change, that there can be meaning found in the meaningless, time found in the fleeting instant, company in aching loneliness of the universe.
His grip relaxes completely. He has his answer.
"Yes." John says, voice dripping malice. "And Arthur is useless to me now."
no subject
His grip on Arthur's shirt grows loose, his breathing harsh in his mask. Internally, the blaze still burns, a raging war between outrage and hurt, needing to return the pain tenfold while knowing it's all true. Trying to reconcile this Arthur fighting him and saying these things with the desperate plea to remember his name.
But that had never meant anything more than an attempt to survive, had it? The entirety of their partnership was built around that, a mutual need, and that is all it ever meant. For both of them. Means to an end, no more meaning than that.
The edges of his mind feel jagged, and there is an urge to introduce himself by a different name, a name he was an idiot to reject - but despite it all, there is still that kernel he found in the hospital. The idea that there can be change, that there can be meaning found in the meaningless, time found in the fleeting instant, company in aching loneliness of the universe.
His grip relaxes completely. He has his answer.
"Yes." John says, voice dripping malice. "And Arthur is useless to me now."