Xaviers!

Drinking wasn't really a thing in Hollydale -- at least, not the '50s version of it. Wouldn't be clean and wholesome, after all.

Maldon wasn't clean and wholesome, though! And thus, Will had strolled into a local bar-like establishment, and ordered a pint.

When that pint had mysteriously vanished, he ordered another pint to go looking for it. Concerned for it's welfare, he followed it up with a couple of other pints, figuring that there was safety in numbers.

((open))

Tereza steps up to the bar and motions for a pint of her own. Where she managed to find her "Leader of the Pack" jacket is anybody's guess. She tosses a bill to the bartender and picks up her pint, "So what are we drinking to?"

"To unconsciousness seems like a pretty good start.

Or, since we're in college, to flunked exams," Will said, chin in his hands. "That seems thematically appropriate, yeah?"

"That second one sounds more like me. Not sure I can do the first anymore," she says, "More's the pity some days. Which exam are you about to flunk?"

"Got your tenses mixed up there. I just did flunk an exam. An important one, too."

"Hmm, how's that?" Tereza sets down her drink and looks at him.

"Tell me again how you broke out of Conduit's mind-whammy thing. About when and why you figured it out, and what you did when you figured it out."

"Ah," said Tereza in that universal knowing tone. "I'll only repeat it if you repeat the other things I said."

"You mean how the thought of you sneaking around behind my back was the catalyst? Or the part about you not being a homewrecker? Those things?"

"No, the part where I said that it was okay to be selfish on occasion. Or how the only one who's upset over your attraction to Sam is you."

"There's selfish, and then there's actively harmful, you know? There's a line between being normally selfish and being a failure as a person, and I vaulted right over it."

"When did you figure out that something was wrong?" She hasn't touched her drink again, still watching him.

"I first caught on to something about...an hour? Less than that? into the thing. It was too recognizable, but wrong -- too hackneyed, too cliched, too...obvious.

But it really clicked when I was alone for a bit. Sam had gone out for shopping...or whatever, and I was looking through photo albums. And they were wrong. They were all wrong."

"Wrong because?" Her tone is probing.

"Wrong because they weren't how it happened. The wedding photos. They were pictures of me in a suit and three Sams, all in versions of the same dress. And it...it never happened like that."

Will took a long pull of his drink before continuing.

"This gets complicated, so let me try to ramble all this out."


"Back home, Sam -- my Sam -- got married. You probably have come across the doppleganger here -- Nailah Weaver, though this Nailah is different enough to essentially be an entirely different person, which makes thins easier. Nailah's dress was...it was this kaftan thing, all white with gold accents, because she was really, really into this whole Egyptian high-priestess revival...thing. All kinds of magic and talking to pantheons and stuff; really rather neat. And then Sam was in feathers and looked, as you might well imagine, amazing, all Phantom Queen and intimidating and powerful. Not something out of the '50s, Leave-it-to-Beaver style world, but something...something that befitted her status.

I was there, too; I was fortunate enough to be part of the wedding party, on Sam's side. Sort of a matron of honor sort of thing, and I was happy for her, and for them. And if that's where the story ended, it probably wouldn't have stuck in my head like it did, and I probably wouldn't have pulled out of the trance by the photos, and things would probably be easier."

He took another swig, frowning at his now-empty glass.

She looks at him for a long moment and pushes her mostly full glass over to him. "But you wanted it to continue. You wanted her to be yours."

"No. No, I didn't," Will said, shaking his head vehemently. "I'm not a homewrecker, either."


"I was happily married myself. Husband to a wonderful wife. Father of a wonderful daughter. You'd like Robin. You two would get along famously. That, or raise hell throughout Maldon, which may or may not be the same thing.

I was happy and content just being Sam's Champion, and I got along fine with Nailah. I even started sitting in on some of Nailah's magical mumbo-jumbo sessions, to see if I could pick anything up myself. I don't have the knack, though, or whatever the mystical version of 'the knack' is. Mostly just got an appreciation for various flavors of incense, if I'm honest.


And then...Nailah died. Big battle, fate of the university at stake, and she sacrificed herself to save everyone else. Big and dramatic, it was, and earth-shaking. And it left Sam wrecked, as you might expect; it took four or five of us to get her to calm down enough to actually absorb what had happened. But we didn't know then just what had happened.

Nailah was...Nailah was precognitive, so she knew this was going to happen. She knew everything that was going to happen. She knew she was going to die, but she knew she could save herself. Or part of herself. The ba, everything that makes a person unique. She needed somewhere to store it. She needed a vessel in which she could project her essence, for later recovery. She needed something she could mold and shape. She needed some idiot sitting in on her magic sessions, not knowing exactly what she was doing.


The memories...they started coming slowly, at first, but they picked up in regularity. I had trouble distinguishing which were mine and which were...

I remember being a young girl in Minnesota, knowing that I would one day meet this...this wonderful woman and fall head over heels in love. I remember meeting her for the first time, I remember going out on our first tentative dates. I remember our wedding day. I remember how nervous I was that I'd trip over my tail and fall face-first in front of everyone. I remembered everything, just as if it had been me doing it. I remember marrying Samantha McManus and thinking I was the luckiest girl in the world.


Even later, when we were able to re-create a...version, let's say, of Nailah, and restore her ba to herself, the memories...or the memories of the memories stayed, like a residue. My marriage -- my first marriage, my real marriage -- fell apart, and we were estranged for a few years before we came to understand everything and reconnect. How could I love two people with all my heart, especially when one of them wasn't mine? It took a long time for everyone to come to grips with this -- me, Sara, Sam, Robin, Nailah, Miranda. But we eventually settled in to our own little weird, interwoven...family.


So the photos were wrong. Because I remember getting married to Sam. I remember being Sam's wife. And Conduit's photos? They were wrong, and I felt that in my soul.


So yeah. I twigged on rather early," he said, quietly, as he finished up.

Tereza eyes watch him carefully for a long moment and then she flags the bartender down. "If it's empty, fill it up," she instructs him, pushing Will's empty glass towards the bartender. When the bartender's replaced it, she takes a sip from the new glass. "That's an impressive story, but there's a unanswered question hanging there. If you knew, why didn't you fight it?"

"Because, as I said earlier, I am a failure as a person.

It was...," he trailed off.

"It was selfishness. Pure and simple. I felt...like the universe owes me a break. And even though this wasn't real, this wasn't right, it was still...a home. And, it was close enough to spend some time there and try to make it work.

Did I care that Sam clearly wasn't in her right mind? No. Did I care what it would do to you, where it left you? No. Did I care that it would leave everyone else trapped inside Hollydale? OK, to be fair, I didn't know about that last bit, but I'm tempted to say no, once again. I fought back against it. I tried, I really tried, to convince Sam not to go down to the police station, to just...let everything go. But she wouldn't do it, because she's a stronger person than I am.

As are you. You figured out something was wrong, and fought against it. I figured something was wrong, and fought to keep it. Maybe it was just our subconscious personas struggling, but it just shows which of us is the better person. You passed. I failed."

Tereza continues to watch the back wall of the bar, sipping thoughtfully at her beer. "Not to sound insensitive, but 'So?' You feel like you're a bad person. Welcome to the club."

"How the hell do you see yourself as a bad person out of all of this? This should be unassailable, undeniable proof of what a good soul you are at heart. You passed with flying colors."

"If I hadn't had other things to occupy my attention, if it'd just been me and Conduit... or me and Thresher..." She lets that hang for a moment, "Let's just say 'mercy' wasn't high on my priority list. That's not a thing a 'good person' does. That's not how a 'good person' operates. And let's not get into what my past makes me. The truth is, you had a failing, you stumbled. It's shit, maybe it makes you a shit person in some respects or in your estimation." She sets her drink down and turns, poking him in the shoulder, "So you've acknowledged that. What now?"

Will gave one, barked out laugh. "Well, plan A was to see how much alcohol I could pack away. I hadn't gotten to Plan B yet. Practice, maybe. Remedial courses."

She snorts, "Can you even get drunk?"

"Depends on what form I'm in. When I'm a person, sure. Less so when I'm a couch or something, which is really useful for sobering up quickly.

Frankly, all things considered, I'm a much better couch than person."

"I'll have to try the couch. If it's anything like the blanket or the body pillow, I think I'll be happy. I'm pretty okay with the person too, in spite of his flaws, or maybe because of them." She takes a long pull of her drink.

"How the hell are you so cool with what I did?" Will shook his head. "I half expected you to try to smash me across the damn bar."

"Would that help? Or would it just get us kicked out of this bar? If it'll help, I'll slam you across every bar in town." She lowers her voice, "I spent a lot of time at Muir, Will, and not because my power's dangerous. A lot of counseling to realize that the things I'd done were a part of me, but they were only a problem if I let them continue to define *me*. So I understand what it's like to be sitting in the shitty person chair. Maybe not your specifics, but in general. Maybe I'm a little pissed that you wanted Sam all to yourself, but you're pack, Will. We may need to figure out what that means for us, but I'm not going to turn my back on pack just because they have a weakness. If I did that, I'd be a pretty shitty friend."

"You're too damn good of a person, Tereza Rozanov. If our places were reversed, I don't think I'd be quite so...

...understanding. I'd be more stabby and growly."

She gets an evil grin, "Short term violence has an appeal to be sure, but no." She pauses to finish her glass, "I'm going to make you sit down and talk to Sam."

"...are you sure you don't want to see if you can shove me face-first into one of those beer bottles? That's probably less painful for all involved."

"I can still do that if you want, but we're still going to clear some air. Cause Sam will figure it out or pick up on it from one of our minds and then it'll be too late to sit down and talk about it, because she'll be pissed and angry fledgling war goddess is a terrible thing to behold. I don't want it aimed at me or you."

"Fuuuuuuuck," Will said, sinking lower into his seat. "Maybe I should just take a long vacation."

Tereza reaches over and hefts him back up, "You run and I will get Isolde and the two of us will hunt you." She pats him on the back, "It won't all be awful. I promise."

"Yes, ma'am," Will sighed.

"I don't...that is to say..."

He paused.

"What do you...what are you hoping the result of this conversation will be? Where, uh...where do you want us to stand after all this?"

"You want to have a define-the-relationship with me?" She raises an eyebrow.

"No, I want to drown myself in alcohol and find new and interesting ways to punish myself for letting both you and Sam down, but that wasn't an option."

She snorts, "Sorry to be a thorn in your side." She picks up the now full glass, because apparently the bartender was paying attention. "You mean a lot to Sam and Sam means a lot to you. I'd have to be blind not to see it, but now I understand it a bit more of the why. What that means for the two of you is mostly between you two, I can't speak for her. Not sure what that means for you and me. I haven't exactly had a ton of time to deeply consider how I feel about you in that context. And it may be that we talk about it and decide it doesn't interest anyone and we stay friends. We may also talk about it and decide any number of things, even just to feel things out. The important part is that we *talk*."

"You've decided one thing already. 'Pack'. You keep using that to describe me, and I'm not...not sure what you mean by that. Or what role that means I'm supposed to play. Is that a 'we go to the movies together' thing, a 'we run wild in the streets tonight' thing, a 'urinate on trees to mark it as property' thing..." he said, trying to joke.

"That means I have your back and I trust you to have my back. It also means I trust you to call me on my bullshit and I'll call you on yours... like I've been doing already."