I went to medbay. About not being able to feel the leg? They said it's psychosomatic. There's nothing wrong with it. I'm the faulty part. And I should've figured that out on my own, 'cause it only happens when I'm - when I feel like I'm -
[On the other end of the line he folds an arm across his stomach and sighs - blinks and realizes he's smoking in her room and starts making his way to his own as she speaks, scowling all the while.]
Nothing's going to fix it! Part of me is missing. It's gone, and I'd rather not have to figure out how to deal with that dragging what's left around in front of a bunch of strangers, trying to figure out if they pity me or if they're just glad it wasn't them! I can barely handle that when it's just you!
[It's quiet for a very long time, the only noise his breathing and the scrape of the chair as he sits at the desk. Another snick of the lighter as he chain-smokes his way through his thoughts.
Nothing's going to fix it - not what he meant, but clarifying is on the bottom of the list of priorities given the rest. There's the hint that the move might not be permanent, and it's tempting to dwell on that, poke it until he can get a promise from her if not a set date. But it's also enough to pull him back into a more rational mindset, and so he has the presence of mind to decide that that can wait, too.
[It follows a silence not nearly as long as his - during which she curled herself into a ball on her new bed and chewed at her lip until the taste of blood stopped her - but (miracle of miracles) it's not actually bitchy. Quiet, vulnerable and a little hesitant, but not cruel.]
Maybe you should. I know you're trying, but - it's so different. And I get why, I do, but I miss the way we were. I miss how I was.
[Frown, frown frown. And then - that familiar little thread of panic skating up his spine, so when he speaks it's a little rushed, a little breathless.]
[She can hear the panic, and it hurts. She could say no. Go back. Try to make nice with whoever ends up on their floor, try to talk to him about everything she's worried about.
But right now, she's just not strong enough. Her answer's strained, croaky.]
I just need some time. A - a reset, maybe. I want to be better, but I can't get there while I'm worrying about what people think of me.
I - [what he wants to do is just shut it down, no, no he can't and that's that - and he shakes his head - but she deserves an attempt at it. So he heaves out a breath and tries to Words.]
[She might not understand, but she thinks she does. Thinks that he can't leave for the same reason she felt trapped, even before the threat of other people in their space. There's so much established there, ghosts of better times - Russia's room, Takeshi's room. The bathroom of the bubble beards. Their rooms, where they'd been able to tangle up in each other and forget where they were, if just for a little while. He needs to keep things - his possessions, his people, his places. She can't help feeling like she needs to be away from them if she's going to feel anything that isn't regret, mourning.]
[She's close, she has the crux of it. A place, to him, to his kind, is much more than a place. It's life, it's them - all of those thoughts are right. 002 means bubble beards and breakdowns in bathrooms and hundreds of silent breakfasts that carve themselves into his soul like a groove into a brain. Fuck, maybe they do carve themselves in that way.
But he doesn't see it from her point of view - that she needs the distance.]
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Need it.
[Skeptical.]
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wrong.
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You're not wrong. [Huff.] That won't work.
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It's gonna work a lot better than staying on our floor and having it crap out on me every time I think someone's looking at me funny.
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That won't fix it!
[Tone edging closer to crazytown again.]
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[just exasperated noises and a huff, he knows what he wants to say but has no idea how to make it into Words.]
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Nothing's going to fix it - not what he meant, but clarifying is on the bottom of the list of priorities given the rest. There's the hint that the move might not be permanent, and it's tempting to dwell on that, poke it until he can get a promise from her if not a set date. But it's also enough to pull him back into a more rational mindset, and so he has the presence of mind to decide that that can wait, too.
Which means:]
I don't. Think that, I mean.
[Surely she doesn't think he does, right.]
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[It follows a silence not nearly as long as his - during which she curled herself into a ball on her new bed and chewed at her lip until the taste of blood stopped her - but (miracle of miracles) it's not actually bitchy. Quiet, vulnerable and a little hesitant, but not cruel.]
Maybe you should. I know you're trying, but - it's so different. And I get why, I do, but I miss the way we were. I miss how I was.
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I don't - so you're. Staying, there.
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But right now, she's just not strong enough. Her answer's strained, croaky.]
I just need some time. A - a reset, maybe. I want to be better, but I can't get there while I'm worrying about what people think of me.
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[and they need to have A Talk, but it's not one she looks forward to.]
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before suddenly: speech.]
I can't go up there.
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is unexpected. Although it might be for the best.]
What? Why?
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It's not here.
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[She might not understand, but she thinks she does. Thinks that he can't leave for the same reason she felt trapped, even before the threat of other people in their space. There's so much established there, ghosts of better times - Russia's room, Takeshi's room. The bathroom of the bubble beards. Their rooms, where they'd been able to tangle up in each other and forget where they were, if just for a little while. He needs to keep things - his possessions, his people, his places. She can't help feeling like she needs to be away from them if she's going to feel anything that isn't regret, mourning.]
That's... okay. That's fine.
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But he doesn't see it from her point of view - that she needs the distance.]
Right.
[Dully. Resigned.]
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[Hate me, is what she's thinking, because in a way that leaden acceptance is worse than when he was yelling.]
I love you. I still love you. You know that, right?
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No.
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