as_damaged | ☎ voicemail [v 2.0]

[Her shoulders tighten when he stands and follows, but she doesn't pause until halfway down the hallway to the bath, to turn and look back at him.]

Someone else's business.

[Truth be told she hadn't even read it, so she'd been totally unprepared for the vision that had followed. If she weren't already tense she would be now, thinking back on it; but that's hardly a conversation for here and now, since it isn't his business any more than hers.

A few more steps, and she flicks on the bathroom light and opens the medicine cabinet, searching and prepping with practiced motions. Might as well take care of it here, where the light's better.]

[The answer confuses him into a frown, although it seems like she's misunderstood what he was asking.]

I know that.

[The sink makes a convenient prop as he watches her, still shaking his head. The hand on her shoulder starts out as a way to turn her toward him, but digresses into his fingers catching in her hair.]

They weren't all so bad. Were they? Some of them were... understandable.

[She's turning anyway, though not to meet his eyes or make the conversation easy; cotton ball in hand, she is all business.]

I only had the one. This is going to sting,

[she says, not because he doesn't know of course but so he doesn't jerk away when she presses the antiseptic to the cut, her other hand moving to cup his jaw. It isn't that she hasn't noticed his hand, she's just chosen not to comment on it. Without the first aid supplies it could be a very different picture.]

I rather doubt the memory's rightful owner would want me sharing details.

Ah-

[He jerks anyway, reflexes too hard to control with his focus on standing up, and on curling that soft hair around his fingertips. Jerks, but not too hard, jutting his chin up against her hand while his jaw locks tight.

It might be enough of an answer, if she weren't so prone to talking in code (or he so prone to assuming that of her). But it seems so impossible, now, that the curse shouldn't have laid him bare. Like her.]

But it's not fair. You do the right thing - [He parts his lips under her ministrations and the rest of the words sound half formed-] shouldn't be so hard to live with.

[She stops and looks at him, meeting his eyes in a way she's been trying to avoid whenever she sees him, not quite frowning but most of the way there. It doesn't last long, her stillness; a slight flick of her eyes, down at the sink for lack of a better target, and then she's wiping an errant drip from the corner of his lip with her thumb.]

I have no idea what you're talking about,

[she says coolly-- firmly, because she doesn't want an explanation-- and turns her attention to unwrapping the strip. Too much to hope it's drunken rambling, but she doesn't want to engage him in this state either way.]

[He looks back at her, unfocused but determined in the way that people can get in this unwise, unguarded state. He stays still long enough for her to tape his lip together before his other hand comes to rest on her other shoulder. One of them is supporting the other, but maybe not the way he intends.]

You spared him... two days? One? Of constant pain? That's not immoral, Al-Allison. You can't always do no harm, but you can do the least. Whatever harms the least.

[It startles her, and her hands drop away from him. Put that way there's no questioning what he's talking about; and it shouldn't come as a surprise that this sort of thing would come out in a curse. Maybe it's for the best, that he be the one to find it.]

I know it wasn't wrong. [Quiet. She looks up again to meet his eyes, as if to prove her conviction.] But that doesn't make it easy. It shouldn't be easy, to make that choice.

It wasn't. [For her, of course he just means for her. Gradually the hands on her shoulders slip until he's resting his forearms there and leaning in. He could almost rest his head against hers and his voice softens to acknowledge the proximity.]

But you had to do what was right. You know that?

[The proximity doesn't bother her, but there's something frightening in his insistence. He's arguing a point she won't challenge, justifying something she's more or less at peace with. More or less, because it isn't easy, even years down the road. But it was right.]

Come on.

[Lightly, a brush of her hand on his side, not shoving but guiding, suggesting. Back to the living room, the couch, back to a safe distance; and away from this topic, most importantly. She's already had the last word she needed on it, which is perhaps a dearer secret than what she did.]

You know.

[It's important. He'll let himself be lead, but he has to check that one more time just in case she'll say yes and he can pretend the subject was different.

He'll let himself be lead but won't quite let go of her.]

Hope there'll be someone to make that choice, for me.

Edited 2012-02-15 21:10 (UTC)

[That scares her, and it stops her again, breath tight in her chest. Does that mean-- is there some immediacy? A veiled request? Or just melancholy and too little control over his mouth?]

If it hadn't been the right thing, I wouldn't have done it.

[It only skirts the edges of being an answer, just enough (she hopes) to get him off the scent. Why he's so desperately insistent... why, right now...

With an uneven breath, it's back towards the other room.]

[That, at least, seems to be enough to quiet him for now. Teeth dragging over the strange fuzziness of the strip papered across his lip (he'll have the thig worried loose by morning, but by then the cut will have begun to reknit).]

Ok.

[It's like a mantra, lately.]

[If there's any comfort in it-- perhaps not-- she's walking far nearer than she really needs to, ostensibly to steady him but the truth is she's missed that nearness for a long time. Perhaps it's taking advantage of the situation.]

I don't suppose you have any interest in eating?

I don't have a lot of interest in puking on your couch?

[Which would be a no. He stops before he gets there, though, suddenly self-conscious.]

I should go. I only came-

[For what?]

To make sure you were ok.

I'm okay.

[Maybe the hand on his arm is meant to be reassuring; maybe it's to stop him from moving away.]

You barely made it here, I'd rather you stay. It isn't any trouble.

[Again, that look paired with a tone that says she's not accepting any arguments he might make to the contrary.]

[Stay doesn't automatically come with the night attached. Why should it now, when it hadn't for the longer half of their relationship. Suddenly he feels all too aware of his crumpled, sweaty clothes, the alcohol seeping through his skin. He's not her charge to deal with, it's not fair.

Though she's right, it took long enough to find this door. Making it home won't be easy.]

Just long enough to clear my head.

[How long that's going to be is a vast underestimation.]

[The faint nod might imply assent, but there's a reason she doesn't say anything. Staying the night to sleep off a drunk is a far different prospect from staying on a personal invitation-- one she's not likely to give when he shows up reeling and reeking-- but it is still significant. Another unclear and subtle signal on her part.

Or maybe it's just plain selfishness; the apartment will be quieter longer if he stays.]

[Most of the time Chase has learned to be grateful for the ticking. It's intrusive percussion can be more welcome than his own repetitive thoughts. Now her company keeps it from being too quiet.

He takes up the old position on the couch, an upright sprawl, leaving room for her by some old, optimistic habit.]

Just... ten minutes.

[For a long moment she stays standing, debating. On principle she's inclined to take the chair, of course; but this isn't strictly a social call, and she's always been a little nearer with her patients.

The cat solves the problem, jumping onto the middle of the sofa with a demanding rumble, leaving Cameron to slip into the other corner without having to obviously avoid sitting too close.]

The water should help.

[The water gets a dubious look. He knows alcohol, knows he's gone through too much to easily dilute, especially taking the kind of small sips that won't unsettle his stomach too much, or wash off the clingy patch she's applied to his lip. He makes a face after a small mouthful, looking for somewhere to put the glass down that doesn't require any kind of leaning movement.]

Tastes like chemicals.

[Or maybe that's just his cut mouth.

Eventually he attempts to push the glass between the couch cushions, scooping the cat up one handed to attempt this, slowly sinking more until his elbows are all that keeps his head above the seat.]

I mean... thank you.

[The position is too much to look at, and really all she can think is he's lucky that the cat still likes him enough to be disturbed from her chosen spot. Cameron doesn't laugh, but the smile does pull at the corners of her mouth, just a slight, wide curve. With him, not at him. Really.]

That should wash out.

[Antiseptics are rarely tasty, after all. She decides, for once, to be merciful, and takes the glass so it doesn't spill, setting it back on the table.]

[The cat deigns to stalk back and forth in front of Chase's face, his eyeline now somewhere level with Cameron's lap, but blocked by a small patrol of purring grey fur which nudges it's face against his nose on every pass until he finally relents to stroking it.]

You should meet my... my new-old cat.

[It's not completely clear whether he's talking to Grey or Cameron, but no matter. A few moments later his elbows have skidded forward enough that it's a small drop to rest his head and curl in, blond hair mussed against her leg.]

I'm just

[Struggling to keep conscious. Quietly losing the fight.]

Just. Trying to be better.

[He's trying to feel better. It's the more possible (still unreachable) choice.]

[She doesn't realize she's holding a breath until she lets it out, slow and quiet and wavering a little. Now there's no second-guessing her decision to ask him to stay.

She puts a hand out for the cat to sniff, not far from Chase's cheek but not quite in danger of brushing against him. It's a gesture of indecision. Whatever this is about... really about, whatever it is that pushes him to this... She can't bring herself to want to know.]

Better,

[She just echoes quietly, a little numbly, half hoping he won't say anything more.]

[If he closes his eyes he can listen to her words, and her breath, the faint perfume that still lingers at the end of the day. He can take this small offering of human contact and grasp it like a life raft.]

Shouldn't be so hard.

[Hard to live with. Doing the right thing.

If he could just stay awake. If he wasn't drunk. If he could keep this memory.

If he wasn't already gone, breathing turning laboured and deep as a blank, empty sleep pulls him down.]

[Aside from the fact that she doesn't have any answers-- she never has, not really, but these days it's more strained than ever, the inconstancy, the uncanny way he is and isn't who she remembers him to be-- it's obvious that he's not waiting on one. Absentmindedly she scratches the cat's chin, unwilling to move too soon in case it wakes him up. She'd rather not have to argue him into staying.

But soon enough his breathing's evened out enough, and she deems it safe to stand-- slowly, cautiously, slipping a cushion onto the end of the sofa in case he stretches out a bit, into the space now unoccupied.

And maybe, just for a moment, her hand lingers on his shoulder after tossing a throw over him. Who's to say?]

☎ voicemail [v 2.0]

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