Description: After the dramatic rescue of Chun-Li from Vice's (and, in absentia, Mature's) clutches in Myanmar, NATO eventually catches up to stabilize things. As the war moves into its indisputable endgame, an injured Howard Rust goes to pay a recovering Chun-Li a visit in the midst of his own efforts to physically pull himself together. From there... an understanding is made about what gave Chun-Li the strength to stand to Vega so many times before, one Howard Rust now gets to carry with him when he comes to China.
Following the NATO reclamation of Myanmar née Rugalistan, the military have rushed supplies into the gutted hospital; swiftly setting up a field headquarters for their medical staff. It's here that famed fighter and Interpol officer Chun-Li has been installed under what surveillance can be spared, a cot in one corner of the battle-damaged building dedicated to housing her equally-shattered person. Her professional status affords her some priority, at least, and she's on a heavy cocktail of drugs, seeing her through the worst of the after-effects both of the strenuous final battle and her weeks of physical and psychological torment...
It would be wrong to call her wholly readjusted, but she's getting there, a piece at a time.
It's late in the day when she's at her most coherent, an hour or two before the renewal of her morphine supply, an hour or two AFTER the potent antidepressants prescribed to see her through the psychic fallout. At the moment she's sat upright against the cold metal bedframe, clad in a plain white smock with the covers drawn up to her waist. A small, dusty window affords her some view of the shelled city landscape, and she's looking out across it with her mouth gently open, breathing deep and steady, a frown etched into her brow.
Her guilt has been the hardest thing to deal with, when she's lucid. Blood stains her hand, and she remembers everything; with crystal clarity she sees herself maiming innocent men and women, she can see the effects of the destructive kick that ended an unfortunate pilot's life - and almost did for May Lee in Korea. She can see, too, the horde of her countrymen whose destruction preceded her capture. She can also see HIM. Vega. His mocking face, ever in her nightmares, now a part of who she is; lodged deep inside her, forever.
If she was tormented before, driven to rash acts in search of vengeance, she's now unsure even of how to proceed to the next day. Everything is uncertain. Who she was, and who she is, she honestly has no idea. It seems her life to this point has been some kind of elaborate lie, a ruse of her own manufacture. Worst of all is knowing the shame her father would feel if he could see her, even hear of what she's done...
She is a monster. And they saved her.
Rust is a man that is - physically speaking - incredibly difficult to break. The constant warfare he's found himself a part of has proven this tenfold in ways that the gut-wrenchingly vicious beating he suffered by MUDERHOUSE Mick's hands on national TV sometime before all this began merely showcased.
After a month of constant mortal danger, a part of him still feels in the fight. Still feels the need to keep going, keep moving, even after a vicious beating by Vice's hands and a wholly mentally taxing interrogation by NATO - even after, at long last, he had done what he set out to do after assisting in the liberation of Russia.
Yet, Kim Kaphwan made it clear - his interest in helping her was genuine, but it didn't change what she /did/. Howard hadn't seen him since NATO forces asked him very politely to just sit there and rest - Zach did warn him before he left with some other soldier types that NATO would be here and they wouldn't be exactly playing nice with anyone.
Most importantly... he needed to see her himself. That brief moment where his dizzied, unfocused vision saw her smiling face as she used what strength she had despite her unimaginable injuries to save him from that collapsing mansion.
Chun-Li might hear the creaking of some bone in the hallways several moments before some discussion between a certain gravelly, sleepy-sounding voice and those who stand guard just outside the conventional door of a building that has a whole slew of fancy new entrances in the wake of shelling and military action upon this land.
Moments later, silence - and soon, the appearance of a man who would be described as shirtless were he not effectively wearing enough bloodied bandages around his torso to be effectively considered a proper shirt unto itself, the left side of his face bruised and bandaged with his left hand leaning up against the doorframe for something resembling support. His posture is especially poor, a bit of a subtle wheeze with every breath he takes. He is a fighter - these sorts of injuries tend to go away in an alarmingly short amount of time, even for a man who tends to take a little more time to put himself back together.
Injuries that, in spite of how grave a picture that being flung about a house to the mansion to the point of being a central reason it was demolished, pale entirely in comparison to the woman in the salvaged bed before him - a man who cannot comprehend what sorts of things might be running through her mind in the wake of anything and everything that happened through the war. It may be especially bad timing on his part, as he walks further inward - keeping a hand on a wall for support.
"Hey," says the one and only Howard Rust who coughs once after he says that single word before daring to pat himself in his sore chest to clear his throat, "'scuse me... Chun-Li?"
Though his words are stated in the form of a question, nothing else comes out of his mouth over the next several moments, as though perhaps having forgotten what he wanted to specifically ask her.
Gaining access isn't so difficult for one whose efforts in the war have been so notable. Organization is poor here at best, but those who man the proverbial gates must have some knowledge of Howard Rust - at this point he's a hero, even with the battles lost there have been several won due merely to his presence. In times as harrowing as these, any man whose resolve can carry him through such trials as the former shop teacher has faced is worthy of recognition. And for all the fault in modern times, there are positives too. Communication has never been better-- a good deed rarely goes unadvertised, or therefore unheard.
Rust's physical state is indeed matched by the woman he comes to find. Though she's placid, her injuries are almost obscenely severe; beneath the thick, oversized smock she's coated in bandages and dressings. More than a cursory glimpse at her figure reveals deep scratches and flesh alternately worrisomely pale and deeply reddened, bone visible through sallow skin. At least her veins show some strength, clear as they are. The worst of her wounds are beneath the surface, though; internal injuries and emotional scars that will take months to repair, if in some cases they will ever heal at all. But they're both tough, he and she. Chun-Li will survive.
It's not a thought that necessarily comforts her, but she can't let herself begrudge it...
For all the horror and shame she feels, others risked their life. They cannot be faulted for that-- and to not fight, to not aid her own recovery, would be tantamount to betrayal. She's never been one to live her life for others alone - she knows it's not healthy to do so - but even at her most rational now, she cannot do so solely for herself. She's committed too much atrocity, already betrayed who she was. As well as many others.
But when she hears that voice, she doesn't cower nor flinch. She looks across, quickly searching her soul...
Was she wearing a smile when last they matched gazes? Yes... she remembers even as she echoes it, lips tugging upward at the edges as though on strings. Even so mechanically, it brings life and colour to a face thus deprived; in spite of everything, it even reaches her hazel eyes. They're unrimmed by the kohl she often wears, untouched like her face and just as weary from her long tribulations. Slowly she bows her head, eyes lidding as she humbly displays greeting and gratitude both. He may remember her saving him, yet he's not the one who should be feeling he owes a thing. No matter the conflict of emotion, she owes everything.
"Mr. Rust," she responds as she straightens following their long silence, meeting his eyes again. There's deep-lodged pain in hers, a psychological distance not entirely mitigated by the brave face she attempts. They're the eyes of someone who's suffered, now, red-rimmed with tears she has surely already cried. Tears would be better than the hollow, dull ache surrounding her pupils. "You... don't need to be excused. I'm sorry I--"
She falters, and is forced to take a breath, lungs shivering at the intake of air.
"I'm sorry I put you through this. The world needs men like you; the last thing it needs is to lose them because others cannot contain their passions. I was rash, and stupid. People paid for my mistakes. I... I think they still are," there's no strength in her voice now, her lip trembling as she's forced to look away, biting down upon it as she turns to the window, "Do you know what happened to him? To... Vega?" That name rings with a disdain that can't be hidden, but it's the disdain not of an enraged equal, not an avenger, but a common woman who knows she's helpless. A child, lost and scared. "They won't tell me."
Though Chun-Li finds some warmth, something that may be close to a small touch of happiness at this sight, Howard's face is as stone - which is, admittedly, roughly par for the course for him. He's always had that sort of tired look about him, the look of a man who should call it a day after a long hard day's work. It is perhaps none so solidly punctuated as it is now. Is he displeased to see what's going on before him?
He rubs the side of his face - either massaging an ache or maybe wiping a tear, but the gesture is nonetheless ambiguous as he inhales through his nose at about the same time her words falter. He opens his mouth once to say something, moving his free hand away from his face as if to raise it upwards and say something that might be reassuring, before he is interrupted by her apology. Her reassurance... her worries. He decides to go silent to let her speak, politely - also because it's hurting for him to breathe in too deeply. He used to think that his six story fall from way back when was the worst fall he's ever taken, but the injuries he sustained from that final exchange between himself and Vice alone... has given him a new perspective in the world of hard, dangerous falls that might give Zangief's Screw Piledriver in King of Fighters 2011 a serious run for its money.
"Vega," he mumbles the name out as she looks to him for an answer, for confirmation, for something of reassurance. His pause may say a lot more than what comes out his mouth next as he bows his head slightly, letting his free hand go limp as he flexes the elbow of the one leaning up against the wall. His elbow approves, in so much it remains silent.
"I... I don't know for sure," he says, "last I, uh... I heard," he looks towards the window to the landscape that everyone has been fighting to save from hostile occupying forces - it's almost hard for him to believe what he says next, "he... he's lost all his, ah, all his territories. I mean, from... from all I've, just... overheard."
Is the world truly free of him? He shakes his head once without any real context to it, or perhaps maybe he was answering this internal question for himself by his own body language. "There... I heard that, that... that there was a nuke in China. It... it went off where they, they supposedly... saw him." He doesn't quite have the clear picture - almost everything he's heard is from soldiers passing by where he was resting. Most of them have more or less left him alone to rest - he actually has yet to meet with one of the NATO unit leaders to really get a full debriefing of the big picture.
He clears his throat again as something gets caught in it, following by a wheezing cough. "'scuse me, throat's just... raw." He raises his head a bit to try and make eye contact with Chun-Li again, should she look this way - he's not sure if this news would be a relief, or utterly terrifying - he's certainly not convinced of whether it's good or bad news. "Hadn't, hadn't heard from... from anyone else. Sagat... Quon... Munin... none of 'em... one way or... the other."
They might have been caught in that nuclear explosion, something he's afraid to think about - something that drips from his words.
By the time that her attention is in question, Chun-Li's certainly looking; much sooner, in fact, the deeply-rooted falter in Rust's voice attracting unselfish cares in spite of her self-centred questioning. The chewing upon her lip ceases slowly, giving way to a sympathetic pursing as she watches him talk. She's never considered once that she's been focused on her own suffering - but it occurs to her now, in truth she has, languishing in her own dimension of pain away from the world at large while others have fought.
That Vega is on the retreat, it's small comfort, if not what she intended. It means others will be spared.
Her mind enters the same place that Rust's does, however. Yet with greater knowledge, and experience.
"No weapon we've ever made could stop him," she comments quietly at the news of the nuclear strike, frowning more deeply at news that such has occurred; not because of Vega, but for those who must have suffered. Because of him, and by extension because of her. How many times has she failed to stop him? Come within a whisker only to see him escape, to knock her down and retreat as though she were nothing. As though they all were nothing. 'We', she said, as though he wasn't human-- because at this point, she doesn't believe he really is.
News that the young girl is alive settles her heart somewhat. At least her actions against her countrymen were not vain; the two she made that sacrifice for are still here. They're both good people, she and Rust, and with their disparate generations they are the present and the future. One of the others she doesn't know beyond a distant recognition, but the first name, it causes an intake of breath as the truth dawns. She's heard, but--
"Sagat woke up," she says, to herself more than Rust, looking down at the rumpled bedsheet pulled against her ruined abdomen, "After all this time... perhaps he can do what I couldn't." There are few men who have bested her so many times as he; him... Ryu... another she dares not ask about, though she's already asked too much. Swallowing a sudden lump, she looks to the balding man across the room, taking in his posture and his own injuries; relating them quickly with an analytical eye. And then she seems as though she desires to stand, suddenly jerking away from the metal frame of the bed before suddenly settling. She's frustrated, sat here, wanting to help more than just Rust - to atone for her sins, as if she ever could.
She settles for gesturing to a chair near the bed, some haste in the motion. "Please," she murmurs.
Like her, perhaps he has his stubborn warrior's pride, but she can see he needs rest.
"Now how about you, Mr. Rust," she rejoins once he's sat, wrapping her arms about herself and trying to reaffirm that earlier smile. Through it all she is a warm, kind person, in her heart of hearts; it's convincing if jarring against her misery. She'll not allow that to beat her. She'll not let him down. "You... need more than you'll ever ask for, and I'm sure you do now. I don't have much, but-- I owe you my life. If all I can offer is care and counsel, let me at least give that. You can't be strong for all of them, not alone."
She's not even sure what she's offering, not really; the drugs and her agonies conspiring against the machinations of her mind, but this man deserves something. Needs something. Whether it's the residue of Vega's corruption, some of Rose's old training coming to the fore, or just plain intuition, she knows he's been giving too much... it's written all over him. Even if he hadn't given her everything here in Myanmar.
"At least," she adds suddenly, a note of desperation, "Be honest. Tell me... are you okay?"
Chun-Li's decisive commentary about Vega in regards to the current pinnacle of humanity's ingenuity in finding ways to kill one another almost makes Howard's spirit sink. For a man who has survived all but the very heaviest ordinance a human army can bring to bear, the thought that Vega alone might have been the only survivor of that nuclear explosion - that such a thing would never, ever be able to take him down - brings another new layer of seriousness to the equation.
To overcome the vast armies Vega had at his disposal is one thing. To overcome Vega himself... he still remembers, to this day, the fear in the eyes of those last standing invaders of Nepal back when all this began. That maybe, just maybe, they were not simply scared of him - that they were scared of a man, a monster they would believe to be untouchable, to be unstoppable. That they would have no choice but to follow the whims of such a creature, lest they - and everyone they ever knew and loved - would die.
The talk about Sagat is met with a short nod. He... would not have imagined that the FREAKING SAGAT he encountered and might have had to somehow stand against, were it not for Raizo Imawano of Justice High himself, would have chosen to turn his back to the evils he let himself be a part of to... come and see him through his hardest times. Not to mention Quon - someone both of them have a mutual interest in seeing to be able to reach their dreams.
The dreams of a young woman before him are laid bare as she speaks of 'all this time,' to do what she couldn't. Words that speak droves about what has driven the one called the World's Strongest Woman - a title exceedingly few could personally dispute. Though, there is something he can dispute as she suddenly jerks.
"Wh-whoa," he holds out his free hand as he stumbles a step closer, even if he's really barely in the shape to reach out and be of much help even if she were looking to stand. He is very heavily relying on that wall for support. He expresses some confusion as she gestures to a chair, shaking his head once as if assuming for some reason she wants to be moved to the chair again, but after her murmured plea, it somehow gets through his thick, toupee-soiled scalp that she wants him to move to that chair instead.
He works his way to that chair with noted caution. He was not exactly a quick mover even when he was in health and asked to accompany Chun-Li to India to repel an invasion there. It is something of a major leap of faith for him to even bring his hand away from the wall, a quick stumble before he finally rests a hand atop the chair she gestures to. He takes in a deep breath as he carefully maneuvers himself to sit in it.
The chair is not really built for a man of his particular build, stout and strong - it's almost like, to him, it was meant for Chun-Li herself... or maybe the comparatively scrawny Zach. He shifts about somewhat uncomfortably in his seat before finding some sort of happy medium in partially leaning off of the side of it.
As she talks about her owing her life to him, a part of him thinks to start about what brought him to wanting to split from Quon after Russia - something he was hesitant to do - to journey for Myanmar to save her. He exhales, as though a word were thinking of coming out of his mouth but instead decided to hang dangerously on the ledge before crawling back in.
"'m sore," he says, discounting the fact that he almost always operates on some minimal level of 'sore' throughout. He has not treated his body very well from his young adult years, and he pays for it now with joints that frequently conspire to lock up on him and surge in pain occasionally. Yet, despite the simplicity of this answer, even the low volume of his words as he looks the smiling Chun-Li in her eyes, his tone as as honest as it can really get. He's broken, he's bloodied, he's bruised. That is very much 'sore.' "Sorest I've... uh... ever been in... a long time."
He takes in another deep breath. "But... moment that, that I get my strength back," he says, "I... I'm goin' to China." Far as he knows, everyone he's fought alongside is there - are they still alive? Did they die in that nuclear explosion? He lets those words hang there. There's no smug smile on the man's face - it's just the truth. The moment he's strong again, he's going off to China. Sure, Zach's already run off, but he knows for a fact Zach's probably getting medical treatment while en route.
"E-Even so," he continues, "Vega... if, if I could help it, I wouldn't want to... run into him, but. I know." He growls it out, not out of aggression, but of a dry throat. "Won't... won't have a choice. I... when he, he hit me, that... that feeling." A feeling he has trouble describing even now, but has had plenty of time to figure out how to, as he gestures uselessly with his right hand. "That... that hatred, it... it just, presses on you, like... like somehow, you... you want to, ah, you want to... y'know, give in. Let him... think as he wants, do as he... wants, everything. That it just, uh, overwhelms e-... everything."
He straightens up. "Chun-Li, you're... you're one of the few people who... who fought him, time and time again. It... it doesn't matter he's still around, you... you're strong. Stronger 'n... 'n me. Than... than a lot of people. You, you still found it in you to, to... keep fighting. That, even with... with all that power, you... you didn't let it stop you. Even..."
He stops that train of thought there - did she really 'win' against his will after what happened? He isn't sure how to apologize for insinuating that she actually managed to fully overcome him the last time when everyone knows what happened by now.
"I, I don't have any illusions, that... that I'm some kinda, y'know, chosen one to... to bring him down." Even hailed as a hero now, he knows what he was standing against was something almost beyond even his comprehension. He's not sure how Munin was able to speak so confidently about how they could take Vega down before they separated. "But... but if I run into him, Chun-Li, I know, he... he won't let me run. So... if, if you can tell me," he leans forward to put a hand on the bed - he can't quite reach far enough to touch one of her hands as some form of reassurance.
"If you can tell me... what's made you this... strong. Strong enough to... keep fightin' him, even with that... psychic stuff. Anything you can tell me. Anything."
'Sore', he says, and a soft snort of barely-audible laughter from Chun-Li replies suitably enough. Her gaze flickers downward, a gentle shake of her head punctuating what doesn't need to be said - 'I bet you are'. His body tells the story even when he doesn't move, to someone whose stock-in-trade has been the tandem ways of the physical and spiritual. And it's both of those things that weigh him down; as with she, sympathy breeding understanding because she /knows/... what it means to feel that way, what it means to be defeated but know you need to keep fighting, what it means to be broken yet need to remain strong. It's her life.
That's why she looks up only to nod, eyes closing momentarily as she takes a breath and resists sighing, her mouth closing to instead exhale again gently through the nose. To China. Back into conflict. They're not alone in that; once she can move without risking death, once she can fight without keeling over, she'll be there too. When the topic turns to Vega, her softened gaze hardens, finding Rust's as he talks.
"It's unlike anything else," she confirms once she can, careful not to cut the man off, patient with his stammering uncertainties. Wisdom is worth waiting for - though even with the unwise, she'd wait. Those who need to learn do best when allowed the space to cultivate their ideas. "I've spent a lifetime forging the will to combat it, and even I--... I can't, not completely. Partly because I'm drawn to it, partly because..." I want to cry? I want to give in and mourn, like a normal person? Sob, rage, relent, then move on? Vega's power thrives on temptation and desire as well as fear and sadness. "Partly because it speaks to us all."
Psycho Power. Rose explained it to her once, that it was a natural thing. A human thing.
"That's how it works. That's how he wins."
Her gaze flickers to Rust's hand, upon the bed, and she reaches out herself. Not hesitantly, but not fast either; a gentle, quiet gesture as she lays her digits upon the back of his. Her touch is cool - and in spite of the frailty of her body after the past weeks, holds a promise of strength still.
It's a long moment before she looks up, meeting the former teacher's gaze with great solemnity.
"Just remember that he's no greater than you or I. Power isn't control, it isn't victory until you allow it to be - power's just a tool to be wielded like any weapon. Like a gun or a knife, it can be seized; so long as you don't fear it. Vega's ability to win, it... thrives on /you/. A frail heart, a frightened mind, even a shaking body can be enough. Overcome your limits by realizing who you are, and what you're capable of, Mr. Rust. Because there's one weapon that can never be taken away, one thing we can never, ever lose. A man like Vega can take everything-- your home, your family and friends, but he can't--..."
Suddenly she stops talking, and laughs, looking askance to the window. To the devastation beyond.
When she speaks again, her voice is quiet, touched with a deep introspection that's almost religious.
"He can't take away /you/. Nothing can ever do that."
Her lips curl gently into the saddest, but most genuine smile, and she turns back to Rust. Her hand slips from his to roll underneath, slender fingers entangling with his, squeezing tight. A long time ago, Rose told her she was the only one who could defeat him-- that she had a destiny. She believed it because she needed to. But suddenly all those words make sense; to be so fated does not mean fighting the battle by herself. She doesn't even need to be there, to pass on the strength and the knowledge, to bring an end to that evil.
"Always remember that he's human, and so are you. You can never be less than equal."
Her chin rises; with pride, if not a pride in herself.
"Just be the better man, because you are. That's how you beat him."
Zach had told Howard what it /is/ he holds, what that power is like - but now, it is Chun-Li who is one of those truly uniquely qualified to be able to say what it all means, to speak as a fellow fighter who does not draw from the same sort of power that some do - to speak as someone who has made themselves so strong of body, mind, and soul to be able to stand and fight against Vega's power and will time and time again.
It is, to this end, that Chun-Li may yet give the larger, older man the most of any support he could ever ask for when staring down a dangerous possibility, an almost certain inevitability - not just for China, but maybe even beyond. Howard will never escape the attention of villainous cartels, or their dangerous wills that stand in support of them.
This insight is taken not with a nod, not with words, but a sort of silent acknowledgement as she rests her hand atop his. There's a brief spasm with a kink in one of his elbows in being held so sharply straight that elicits a brief wince before he calms himself and a particularly aggravated elbow under Chun-Li's gaze.
The way she breaks down Vega so thoroughly, to such terms that might seem simple, but yet seem so incredibly profound. A cliche, but a truth - the truth. A truth punctuated by a sudden laugh, incredibly disarming that sees the man's mouth hang slightly open. His other hand subconsciously reaches up to run his fingers through his... uh, hair, almost coincidentally timed to what it is Chun-Li speaks.
He can't take away /him/. Nothing can ever do that.
As her hand goes to squeeze his, it may seem strange that his - however larger, stronger it may appear - does not seem to have much strength in squeezing back. It's his right hand, the hand that took a serious injury back in the Southtown invasion by Igniz's strength and, to an extent, Howard's own impetuousness when he chose to stand and fight as Rolento suggested retreating from the school he once worked at.
His face remains even - almost focused - resolute, perhaps, even with the exceedingly tired look on his face as the accumulation of mental and spiritual duress atop the excruciating physical injury Vice had inflicted upon him in an unrelenting cascade of uninhibited violence.
With all that Chun-Li has said in sharing what the young woman has learned in her time, in what she's refined... he cannot hope to be an equal to her in truly understanding and overcoming such power in the span of a week. Her battle to harden herself and overcome this was a battle spanning many of her years.
To be able to be able to take in this, he only has two words.
"Thank you," he says in a mumble - there's a smile there. Maybe he needs to exercise those facial muscles a little more. He lets those words linger between them. What else could he possibly say to her, at this point?
There is but one thing.
"Y-you're hurting my hand," he he says moments later.
A body's flaws mean nothing when buoyed by conviction and courage; Chun-Li knows that, and it's why she can look so proudly and confidently at the man before her. That he overcomes the physical flaws of his ailing form speak volumes of him, that he can fight so well in spite of them... well, there are few who keep going in the face of such. Her master is one of them. Among the greatest she can seen in battle even as he slowly dies, it's testament not to the power of a human shell but to the warrior within. As with Rust. Her words aren't difficult to comprehend, not at their base-- but the most simple truths can be the hardest to truly hear.
He absorbs it all; she can see it on his face. It gives her hope.
Perhaps this is what Rose always intended for her to do. To pass that torch, to share the blazing burden.
"You don't need to thank me," she starts to murmur in response to his utterance, laughter in her eyes but not yet vocalized when he suddenly adds something that brings it pouring forth. But first she gives a shocked and concerned, "Oh!" Her eyes wide, she pulls her hand from his and settles both atop it with gentle care. Her gaze asks if he's okay, as though he were a child in need of mothering; and that's when she laughs. It's a surprisingly bright and almost happy sound from one so deeply hurt and lost. It catches her off-guard.
Her cheeks flush as she stops it with a clearing of her throat, and some of that distance in her eyes is suddenly gone. She's the silly little girl she never got to be, all flustered at her own foolishness. Something she's never had time for - to just be a person, to make mistakes and giggle about them. To be embarassed. It's all so serious, her life, taxing and dramatic. Suddenly, again, she's the one who needs to say thank you.
"I suppose," she rejoins after a moment, shaking her head and pulling her hands from Rust's, settling them in her lap, "That must mean I've regained some strength, too. The problem with being human is everything... takes time; to build, to recover, to learn how, and learn why... and then something comes along that demands our attention. We leave so much behind." Her gaze drops again, scanning across his hands and hers, then back up that lined face. "But you didn't abandon me, and there are others, aren't there? You should go..."
It's not said with sadness, but a gentle urging. It's not that she believes she doesn't deserve the company, or simply doesn't want it. But there are things Rust has to do, wants to do. Needs to do. His story isn't over, though the smile she adds on, sleepily, a moment or two after she trails off assures him that she's realized the same. There's hope in the expression that wasn't there when first he walked into the room.
It's the best she can hope for, that anyone one. To lose, and find once more. Everything comes in waves.
"Perhaps next time, I'll be the one to find you."
A numbness possesses the American man's right hand. It's hard for him to squeeze it too tightly himself. The ability to still hold Ol' Rusty and wield it with considerable striking strength is commendable, but that weaker grip remains one of those physical maladies that he continues to mitigate - if not outright overcome - through sheer grit.
It says plenty for Chun-Li's own recovering strength if she's able to squeeze hard enough that he not only feels it in full, but that it's enough for him - one who waded through bullets and bombs and blades and battering rams - to say 'ouch.' He'll probably be rubbing it on the way back to where he was set down to rest, of all the injuries for him to linger on! After recently being treated as a wrecking ball for an old mansion, where he's dealing with fractures and bruises and other such nasty things that should be higher on the list of aches and pains than 'Chun-Li suqeezing hand too hard!'
His shoulders slack at the laughter, a low grunt in the sincerity of this statement, but not utterly devoid of the humor of the situation. He pulls his hand back when she finally puts hers back on her lap so that he can bring his right elbow atop a knee and just sit leaning forward. He's too physically tired to really sit up all the way straight, and he's not sure he trusts the back of the chair he's sitting on to hold together. This hospital had it pretty hard, after all - if he leans back too hard it might break.
"No... no, I didn't," he says. He couldn't do everything for everyone. He couldn't save the lives of all the Nepal response forces that all but gave theirs in order to give him the strength to fight off three military units at once. He couldn't stop anywhere to really put the areas of his expertise to use beyond being a mighty pair of hands (and a rusted length of pipe) in which to try and fight off hordes of ruthless, yet utterly frightened invaders. But... he helped make a difference. Not just for Chun-Li, but possibly the entire world as a whole.
All this just from blundering into a nation that was to be invaded, mistaken in the belief he'd be able to help think up a plan with Quon after his arranged fight with May Lee, when he ultimately was motivated by the mundane woes that defined his life. Aside from Sagat's generous monetary help, his new change of career has left him dirt poor and almost desperate despite being able to, at long last, chase his lifelong dream of fighting stardom.
Even if he makes it home, he still has to deal with matters of so many everyday things. Things like Takuma vouching that he is still working in the education field (if that man can just stop pissing around in Costco's meat and dairy section /for one freakin' minute/), making parents understand that the Kyokugen Dojo is not a daycare and that they are signing up their children for one of the most physically grueling martial arts schools in the world, getting Robert to return those tapes he was lent, to his elderly father expressing displeasure over the phone that he's lost his (compared to most in the field) lucrative teaching job, and that highly publicized lawsuit filed against him by Nickelback. It's a lot to return to. Not all of it is pleasant.
But all of it is worth fighting for, despite everything, agreeing with Chun-Li's suggestion to go beyond these words with something of a nod as he puts a hand on the edge of Chun-Li's bed for support to pull himself up. His body assumed it was time to go take a nap, and it shows - or rather, it blares. His knees creak painfully and loudly, a grunt as he rolls one of his shoulders and flexes out a kink in one of his elbows. The way he has to turn his neck side to side... he's still pretty sore there after Vega stepped on him there.
"Yeah," an enthusiastic word filtered through a dry, overtaxed throat is uttered as he stumbles towards a wall for support. The staggering is almost painful to look at, but he makes due even if it's more like the wall catches him from falling face flat.
"Maybe... maybe at the, the Kyokugen Dojo," he offers helpfully enough. "But... but y'know, not... not until after... after your people don't need to be afraid."
He is slowly coming to accept that yes, he really is this strong, that the awe he might receive for his fighting prowess may indeed just be terror - but he's still a human being. We all are, he thinks - that's something he can't forget. That he is so grounded in all the mundane things might be just what gives him his strength of character.
As he navigates the wall, he turns his head over his shoulder to raise his free hand up in a brief wave. She's... she's got a lot on her shoulders, he recognizes - but even for all the things that happened, she's still a human being too. She's not Vice's toy, she's not Vega's little weapon. He can only imagine how much it will weigh on her for the rest of her days, but those smiles and laughs she offered in his little impromptu visit...
She's saved. That is what matters - but his part is not over, no matter how much his body wants to quit and just be laid up in a bed. He's giving it the better part of a day to make its case, as he walks out the door after very carefully walking along the perimeter of the room.
Wait for me, he thinks as he disappears out the door. Sagat. Quon. Munin... Zach, and May Lee, too. Whomever else is fighting the good fight in China. You guys aren't going to be alone. This, he resolves.
Shut up, knee, you're coming too.
Eventually.
Mundane things sometimes to cease to matter - and what a person perceives as mundane is a definition too easily stretched to include all that's truly important. If there's a message that Chun-Li would want Howard Rust to take away from this meeting, and from their whole entanglement during this terrible war, it's that. Keep believing in who you are; BE who you are. There's a common saying about not sweating the small stuff, but her advice would be entirely the opposite. The tiny things are what matter most. You can't really be strong until you realize that, until you embrace what made you capable of attaining that strength...
That's precisely why he has it. It's why she lost it, and now has to fight to regain it.
She may be called the Strongest Woman in the World, but titles mean nothing. Fame means nothing.
Only who you are.
"We won't dwell on maybes," she replies softly, bobbing her chin at his suggestion, deciding in that moment that this is what matters now - a promise, toward a future. One step at a time. "I'll see you there, when it's over. When he's--..." Her lips purse and a frown threatens, until she dispels it with a shake of her head, reaching up to brush the bangs from her eyelids; her hair overgrown on the side not brutally trimmed by Vice. "When the fight's over, when my people are safe." When you're safe. She tries not to linger on the thoughts of China, her countrymen betrayed by themselves and by her; that way leads back to pain. One step at a time, but one step forward. Always forward; never back. "I'll come looking for you, Mr. Rust. I promise."
She's failed to keep a lot of promises, she's failed a lot of people. But none like she's failed herself.
So she makes this one for him-- unselfish, undemanding. Repentant, a step in atoning for her sins.
As he bids his friends to wait, tells them they're not alone, she prays for them all.
Her prayer: be not afraid. Fear is the weapon. Without it, they'll triumph. And who can be afraid who has a future?
Log created on 18:01:52 03/12/2012 by Rust, and last modified on 23:22:39 03/12/2012.