[ While Carlisle's busy putting the kids to bed, Qubit gets some time to himself in the wrecked anteroom immediately next door. There's nothing new here, it's all exactly as he remembers it. No new threats. No old threats. Just heat and debris and a defaced group portrait and the low, loud rumble of the volcano in the background.
He finds a wall and leans heavily against it, letting it take some of his weight, tilts his head back and presses both hands tightly to his face. He keeps them there for a while, and wonders how the fuck he let this happen.
"This" meaning... just... this. All of this. Everything.
He tries to go back over the facts of the incident in his mind, in a last-ditch attempt to occupy himself with something constructive. But that train of thought escapes him, and with it the last of the delusion that he's still in control of his own mind. God, what's the matter with him? Carlisle really was doing fine, they'd made it through the Redshift unscathed, but then Qubit went and lost his composure and nearly got them both killed. (So Carlisle is responsible for Carlisle's actions, but Qubit still gets to blame himself? Try and work that one out.)
He thought he was okay now. He can talk about the Paradigm without flinching, even if he does leave out everything from 9th July onward. He even told Peter what happened to Tony - sort of. That counts as addressing it. He's supposed to be stable. Is this really all it takes to compromise him? One familiar locale? Good Lord, what would happen if someone from his past actually arrived here? He'd spontaneously combust, probably.
After some time, he lowers his arms and looks to the portrait. The Paradigm, in their glory days. There's no real purpose to his gaze as he lets it drift over each of their faces. All he does is look, and recommit them to memory. They're faces he hasn't seen in a long time, except in dreams... but in his dreams they're never smiling.
By the time Carlisle emerges from the room, Qubit has calmed down considerably. Instead he's staring at the picture, no longer agitated, just... exhausted, and very, very sad. Spotting his friend, though, he resets his expression to something more typically stoic, and pushes off from the wall to approach him, hands in his pockets, ignoring the picture entirely. He does not get too close. ]
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He finds a wall and leans heavily against it, letting it take some of his weight, tilts his head back and presses both hands tightly to his face. He keeps them there for a while, and wonders how the fuck he let this happen.
"This" meaning... just... this. All of this. Everything.
He tries to go back over the facts of the incident in his mind, in a last-ditch attempt to occupy himself with something constructive. But that train of thought escapes him, and with it the last of the delusion that he's still in control of his own mind. God, what's the matter with him? Carlisle really was doing fine, they'd made it through the Redshift unscathed, but then Qubit went and lost his composure and nearly got them both killed. (So Carlisle is responsible for Carlisle's actions, but Qubit still gets to blame himself? Try and work that one out.)
He thought he was okay now. He can talk about the Paradigm without flinching, even if he does leave out everything from 9th July onward. He even told Peter what happened to Tony - sort of. That counts as addressing it. He's supposed to be stable. Is this really all it takes to compromise him? One familiar locale? Good Lord, what would happen if someone from his past actually arrived here? He'd spontaneously combust, probably.
After some time, he lowers his arms and looks to the portrait. The Paradigm, in their glory days. There's no real purpose to his gaze as he lets it drift over each of their faces. All he does is look, and recommit them to memory. They're faces he hasn't seen in a long time, except in dreams... but in his dreams they're never smiling.
By the time Carlisle emerges from the room, Qubit has calmed down considerably. Instead he's staring at the picture, no longer agitated, just... exhausted, and very, very sad. Spotting his friend, though, he resets his expression to something more typically stoic, and pushes off from the wall to approach him, hands in his pockets, ignoring the picture entirely. He does not get too close. ]
... How are you feeling?