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[credere]

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[poetontheinside]

He opens it-- and almost immediately stumbles over some debris, almost going down flat on his face.

"Christ on a crutch, did a bomb go off in here or something? What the fuck?"

He's not angry, just incredibly baffled.

[credere]

Credence glances up from where he's sitting on the floor, then returns his attention to his cats, who are very aware of when they've lost his attention.

"It's fine," he says. "What did you come here to talk about?"

[poetontheinside]

"Do I hafta ask the Admiral for some new stuff?"

This is a super big mess, Credence. He steps over the rubble, trying not to get splinters on himself.

"Jedao told me he mighta pissed you off." Okay, he didn't say it exactly like that, but he's not Jedao. "So I thought I'd check in. Looks like he was right."

[credere]

"He didn't." Although he's slightly annoyed that he made the decision to tell his warden, or anyone, for that matter. "You don't need to do anything. I'm fine."

Spoken like someone who might have encountered the word in a dictionary, once.

[poetontheinside]

"Alright-- crap," he says, as he trips and has to catch himself on the wall. He keeps cursing softly as he goes along, until he's a few feet from Credence. There's a relatively clean spot, and he settles on the ground.

"Good thing I got a bony ass," he comments, before gesturing at the cats. "Hey, tigers."

[credere]

Goldstein mrrowrs and goes to bully him for affection. Credence crosses his legs and Coldwater curls up in his lap.

"Did he tell you what happened?"

[poetontheinside]

He shakes his head as Goldstein comes closer. He looks at he cat as he answers, fingers sinking deep into its fur.

"Nah, not really. Just that he mighta pissed you off and he felt bad. Said you could come punch him in the face, though. You wanna?"

[credere]

"What? No. I'm not angry with him."

He looks down at his cat.

"Quentin and I shared a dream last night. We were...together."

[poetontheinside]

"Oh," he says, then blinks. Oh.

"Were you, uh, ever-- before? I mean, not that you'd remember, I know, just--"

[credere]

"No," he says. "No, we weren't. But in the dream, we were, and....it was good. I liked it."

Criminally understated. He swallows dryly.

"Then I woke up and went to him, because I...I did remember. Most everything, I think."

[poetontheinside]

He pulls Goldstein up into his lap, and is rewarded for his efforts by some seriously intense kneading-- nails included, but he can forgive that.

He almost misses that last part, but when it clicks his eyebrows shoot up and he looks over at Credence. "You mean-- the whole Barge? You remember?"

[credere]

"I can't know for sure. But - I think so."

Anyway:

"...I fell asleep at his place. In the morning, Jedao came in and told Quentin he'd got married. And then Quentin told me to leave."

'Disorienting' is one word.

[poetontheinside]

If Credence has ever heard a record scratch, he would see just that on Ray's expression. That's just-- a lot, in one sentence.

"He got married? Without telling the other guy he's, y'know?"

[credere]

"I guess so. He wasn't very detailed about it."

And Credence was busy with the emotional weight of gaining his memories, losing Quentin, realising he'd never had him, that nobody has ever loved him the way that dream-Quentin did, that maybe nobody ever will.

[poetontheinside]

Right. Back on track. Credence doesn't care about that part of the story, and Ray shouldn't either, not now.

"He just kick you out like that?"

[credere]

"Yes. I'm not angry at him. Either of them."

He's not sure what he's feeling, but he evidently feels enough of it to have trashed his room.

[poetontheinside]

"So this is just, what, you were sick of the decor?"

Pull the other one, pal.

[credere]

"I guess so," he says, woodenly. He's not in a mood that responds well to sarcasm.

[poetontheinside]

"Well, I hope you like it this way, 'cause it's gonna take a while to clean up," he comments. Sarcasm is what he has, sorry.

"Okay. So you ain't angry, but you dreamed about being with Quentin and then you got your memories back. Just a lot to handle?"

He gets that. Not specifically, literally, but he gets feeling overwhelmed enough to just want to break stuff.

[credere]

Credence nods, slowly.

"Yes. It was...it was a lot."

Too much. He shuts his eyes.

[poetontheinside]

"Yeah," he agrees, as the cat settles down to purr in his lap-- as long as Ray keeps providing scratches.

"You didn't get time to think about any of it, neither?"

[credere]

"No. Jedao apologised, but it wasn't - it didn't have anything to do with him."

Being summarily dismissed was what hurt most. The rest was...barely relevant.

[poetontheinside]

Okay. So this doesn't have anything to do with reason, so it's not going to be solved with reasoning. It's a feelings thing. A lot of feelings thing.

"You pissed at Quentin?" His voice has a very clear note of I would definitely get that.

[credere]

"I don't know. Maybe a little."

What he's feeling, but can't identify, is grief. He's mourning everything he had, real or not, that he now remembers losing. He's hating himself for being stupid enough to get invested in friendships that turned out to be ephemeral. That's why he waited to be alone to lash out. He's the only one he wanted to hurt.

"But it's not like the dream was his fault. Or what Jedao did. He made him leave too."

[poetontheinside]

"Yeah. But it still sucked," he says, and now definitely understands. He looks at Credence's face, his eyes, the way he's holding on to Coldwater. Ray kicks at a brass fixture lying on the ground, the sound loud in the room.

"I used to get so fucking angry when I was younger. I'd lose it, completely lose it for what felt like no reason. And when I calmed back down I'd punched the wall until my hand was bleeding or kicked the dresser hard enough I busted my ankle. Still happens, sometimes. It feels like there's somethin' inside me that's gonna swallow me up, and I just need to hit something."

It's only now that he realizes how literal this is for Credence. Being swallowed up by something dark and angry, hurting things, hurting people. Like Ray's own failings, but bigger and badder.

"My dad used to throw me outta the house and tell me to get a grip. So I took up boxing. But then, uh, Stella, my--" You know. "She didn't like it when I did. Uncivilized. So I didn't have a way to get that stuff out again."

He isn't sure where he's going with this.