Work Text:
Fit sat near the grave.
Not his grave, not his actual one. Not the one he was buried at, if he was buried at all. There was no way to know, no way to check that wouldn't have been a betrayal, wouldn't have torn him in two. He was already torn in two since discovering the small gravesite. In learning the terrible truth of his absence. Some part of him berated Fit for thinking it was his fault. Who knew what had happened while he was trapped by Madagio? He had no one to ask when he was there and now it was far too late to know the answer. If no one was around, if he could find absolutely no one, maybe something terrible happened on a large-scale. But even if that was the case, Fit couldn't escape the guilt that lived in his chest, that climbed into his throat, holding him hostage. He couldn't protect Pac, couldn't have saved him. Couldn't do a damn fucking thing to keep him safe, keep him alive. Maybe it was delusional and selfish to think he even could do that if he was there, maybe he would have died too or made it worse.
Maybe he would have watched Pac die in front of him.
It didn't matter. Why he was dead, what had happened. The cause of it. Fit wasn't there and that would eat him alive. He did his best to fight off those thoughts, the one that clung to him, that tried to take root in his brain. That tried to poison him with guilt and pain and sorrow. That whispered in his ears in the dead of night, when he failed to help someone. Being consumed by guilt was a severe detriment in the Wasteland. Not something he had really experienced last time. But last time he didn't have someone he cared deeply about. He didn't have a family, have a son and a lover. Didn't have friends that he missed so much that the aching felt like a hole in his chest. He didn't have to deal with the guilt of failing someone he loved. Or the worry about the son that went missing. Who could be dead or alive.
This was not a grave, not in a traditional sense of the word. There was no stone that gave a name and the date of birth and death. That spoke of the deceased. Instead, it was a thing of life, of a love that once had blossomed. The rose bush looked so alive, so out of place here, but Fit was relieved to know it was still here. Perhaps he could take a bit of comfort in that. That it lived in a place full of death and destruction. Hardier than it looked. He reached out to touch the soft petals, to run his fingers over the thorns, not pressing hard enough to cut him, but enough that he could feel them. A reminder that he was alive too.
It was difficult but also strangely easy, settling back into his life here in the Wasteland. Some part of him, the part that couldn't move on, hated him for returning to a lot of his old ways. Even if they were for survival. He was a changed man and he'd never go back to who he was before, but that didn't mean he was a good person, granting the Wasteland some unearned kindness. He laughed bitterly, trying not to think too hard about it. He was better, he knew he was, and he knew that he couldn't stay here either. No matter what he had to do, Fit had to leave again. He told himself he'd be smarter about it, more careful who he'd make deals with, but who knew. Would he be so lucky to find someone who'd help him escape who wouldn't take everything from him again?
"I'm sorry Pac."
It was the first words he had spoken in an hour. His mouth was dry, unbearably dry, and his voice broke at the words.
"I'm sorry I left you. I'm sorry you died thinking I had abandoned you."
No, he shouldn't say those words. Maybe Pac had faith until the very end that Fit would come back. That he hadn't left because he wanted to, but because he had no choice. Anger flared in the same part of him that held the guilt and pain, pushing blame back on to Madagio. If he hadn't taken Fit that day, if he hadn't kept him in that hole for over a month. If he hadn't been so cruel to stab him in the back, show him a home that wasn't a home any longer, tossing him back to the Wasteland like an unwanted hound. Fit's hand curled around the stem of a rose and he didn't react as the thorns pierced his skin.
"You could have been happier without me."
If it had been someone else, if Pac had fallen for someone else, then maybe he would have been happier. He wouldn't have been left all alone.
"I was such a fool. I thought we had all the time in the world. Could you ever forgive me for that? For asking you to take it slow? For denying us both so much?"
Could he forgive himself? Some days he thought he could, but others he felt so angry at himself. So angry about how unfair it was they never got to have their romance. Didn't get to have dates after dates. Kiss and hold hands. They never even had a chance to finally want to get married. Everyone was telling them they should and maybe they should had listened. But would it have been worse if they lost a husband instead of a boyfriend? Fit wasn't so sure.
"Sometimes I think of buying rings. I know I can't ask you that any longer, but I think I'd like to pretend. Just for a little bit. That it was possible. That we lived a happier life."
Fit laughed, pulling the rose free of the bush. The stem was glistening with his blood, red just like the petals of the flower. He brought it to his mouth and kissed it. The petals were sweet and soft. He'd never know what kissing Pac would be like, but if he closed his eyes for a moment, he could pretend he knew. He could live with these lies for a little longer before he was forced to put them behind him.
"I'm afraid Pac. I'm afraid of moving on. I don't want to leave you behind. I don't want to forget about you, or any of the others. I love you. I was going to tell you when I got back. I love you. You're the first person I've ever loved." Fit paused, looking down at the rose in his hands, feeling the words catch in his throat. It felt like a betrayal if he spoke the rest of the sentence out loud. Like he was confirming the things he was terrified of. So he didn't. He hadn't mourned fully yet. He wasn't ready. The pain too bitter, too sharp.
Fit sighed, tucking the rose away and starting to wrap up his injured hand. He knew that soon enough someone would see him sitting all alone and he didn't want any fighting to ruin the rose bush. He didn't really care about himself, but he didn't to be the reason it was destroyed.
"I'm sorry Pac. You don't have to forgive me. You don't even have to return any of my feelings anymore. I just hope when I see you on the other side you... you smile at me one more time."
Fit stood, ready to get back to his job. He didn't look back at the bush, pushing all the thoughts down and tucking them away for another sleepless night. Before he fully stopped thinking about him, he had one more thought.
He hadn't cried at all this time.