Silence

Who: Doc
Where: basement of the Martens home
When: night

Despite what Eva had said in her message, Doc still hadn't erased it. In fact, he'd listened to it a dozen times now, had tried calling her back twice as many even. He'd told Teddy to look for her, spread word to friends who owed him favors, checked local APBs and more. But she was gone.

Why? Why did she leave? Why hadn't she come to him for help? Doc could've hidden her, changed the files of the people searching for Eva, even altered the way she looked. Except that really, he knew he couldn't. It was direct action, and as far as he knew, it was forbidden for him. Maybe the prohibition was over, but deep down he remembered what he'd told the Mourning Star, and what she'd told him in turn.

He didn't want to know when it ended, he'd wanted to try and face his challenges without thinking he could just grab reality at the seams and twist it into the shape he wanted. And Star had been proud of him for that, but she'd also warned him. Your real trials aren't over yet. Was this one of them? Was the confrontation of loss in his personal life just some kind of test to see what he could deal with and what he would force to change?

Even if it wasn't one Star had planned, Doc knew it was a trial. As much as he hated it, it was about accepting that there were things he could never change or fix despite his power. That didn't mean he wasn't mourning. He wanted to see her, to hear her call him Eric again, to have the chance to say goodbye and see if he was strong enough to let go. But that would never happen.

He'd missed the call while off on a task of War, his phone left behind in a rare moment of absentmindedness, and when he'd gotten back Doc remembered why he never let himself make such mistakes. So he'd listened to her farewell, to her soft words in her native tongue that Doc understood instinctively, even without his demonic comprehension. He'd listened again and again, lingering in the garage until he knew the kids were all asleep.

Doc had descended after that, slipping into the basement and shutting the door tight behind him. He'd brought a few beers down with him, and they still sat unopened, warm by now as he stood far away from them, staring at the walls wordlessly. He wanted a fight so badly, if only for the feeling of control that came with reacting to violence. Doc wanted to go find a vampire and end it, or bust up a bar brawl, maybe even just start one so he'd have a reason to punch someone.

Still, there were lines. There were maddening fucking lines Doc wasn't going to let himself cross, even if he had a hundred reasons to. He also had one reason not to. It's not my right, he told himself, huffing a breath of frustration out through his nostrils. Doc stepped forward with a growl of anger over how true that was, smashing a fist into the heavy bag that hung from the basement ceiling. Demonic strength made it lurch back with a groan of protest from the chain holding it there as it swung wildly.

Catching it in both hands to let it stop, he frowned at the sounds the punch had made. As much as he loved the twins? This wasn't their grief, neither of them had exactly been wild about Eva. And Dylan? Well, he was a good kid, but this was far more than Doc would want to dump on someone who was coping with their own loss. So his concentrated in that moment, eyes shutting as his jaw tensed and the sound of the creaking chain gradually faded.

That loss of sound was the only indicator to the full extent of Doc's shaping, of the deep and impenetrable silence he had forced into the space around him. He could hear his own heart beating, sure, but his footsteps as he circled the bag again? They were perfectly soundless, empty on the level of hearing. "Why?" Doc roared suddenly, feeling his throat constrict and buzz without a sound as he smashed another punch into the heavy bag, "Why couldn't you come to me?"

He was more than ready, eager even as the punching bag swung back towards him, and Doc hammered another blow into it with a growl. "Why is there only ever goodbyes?" he screamed, smacking the bag again with a heavy roll of his shoulder. He'd always been a strong man, and the enhancements of War amplified that strength enough to wrench the bag's moorings free from the ceiling, dropping the bag as it swung away and hit the wall. He watched it fall, shoulders heaving as Doc wanted nothing more than to keep hammering on it, to tear it open and spill sand around the basement. The tactile distraction would be all too welcome, really.

That wasn't happening, though. Even venting this frustration was a moot point to Doc, it wouldn't bring her back, it wouldn't make him feel better. He moved over to it, sitting on the downed punching bag and dropping his head into his hands. He needed to find balance again, but Doc didn't know how. Diving headlong into work would only be a distraction, the same as indulging in rage. Ignoring this would let him seem okay, but he knew that behavior. It would bubble up inside of him, infect everything else in his life and tear it down. He couldn't walk away, he couldn't deny this. He'd tried once before.

For so long after the death of the twins' mother, Doc hadn't let himself grieve. Really, for every time he'd lost someone or something that mattered, he never let himself show it. He just walked away, kept looking for the next battle, walling himself up. And while he didn't know what might've been in the future for Eva and himself? Doc wanted to mourn. For what had been, and what might have been, he felt like it was owed.

His hands moved down his face, settling at his cheeks as he sighed and focused, feeling the skin there buzz and tingle. Hair sprouted under his touch, coarse and black, peppered with grey as it filled in his cheeks, lip, and chin. It was a small show, but to him it meant plenty. He didn't need to explain the beard, he just needed to admit to himself that the loss it represented was there. Once he could do that? Maybe he could start living with the grief of everything he'd given up or had taken away.

"Goodbye," Doc murmured soundlessly in the emptiness of the basement, staring down at his feet. "And I hope with all my heart to be able to see you again. Mi manchi già."