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anomaly 009 . excuses, excuses
[ private to Bucky, thursday morning ]
[ He lies blithely and calmly. His truths are generally understatements, so the worst tell he could possibly give is putting too much emotion and too many words out there. ]
Sorry, can't make it in today. Wrenched my knee a bit on the stairs yesterday, and it'll need a couple of days before I'm sure it's fine. Won't be any good to anyone if it gets worse.
[ spam : CW for injuries, blood, vampire things, very very unhealthy post-death mental thought processes. ]
[ He stays in.
The adrenaline crashes fast and hard, and he takes a short and fitful nap, waking up with his heart pounding and anxiety receding into his subconscious. The restlessness doesn't stop. He paces, he rearranges books and drinks enough water to restore blood volume.
He doesn't understand what's happening to him. He feels insane, and then he feels saner than he's ever been. He remembers the rush of darting so close to death and not being the one to decide if he comes back or not, and thinks, What's wrong with me? and I want to do it again. It's the first time he's felt really alive since - since dying.
Stephen has jumped off cliffs and out of planes before. He's dived down sharp slopes with the wind blistering cold on his skin. Half the fun of the anomalies was surviving, just his wits and his weapons. This felt a little bit like that. Only, more. It taps into a darkness that's been shifting and surging for weeks now.
Speaking as a mammal, I'm all in favor of cheating. So he's run into a predator that he can't beat, or didn't beat, one who all but promised he would come back.
One thing is sure: he can't tell them. They wouldn't understand.
Helen, he thinks. Only Helen would understand how this feels. ]
[ He lies blithely and calmly. His truths are generally understatements, so the worst tell he could possibly give is putting too much emotion and too many words out there. ]
Sorry, can't make it in today. Wrenched my knee a bit on the stairs yesterday, and it'll need a couple of days before I'm sure it's fine. Won't be any good to anyone if it gets worse.
[ spam : CW for injuries, blood, vampire things, very very unhealthy post-death mental thought processes. ]
[ He stays in.
The adrenaline crashes fast and hard, and he takes a short and fitful nap, waking up with his heart pounding and anxiety receding into his subconscious. The restlessness doesn't stop. He paces, he rearranges books and drinks enough water to restore blood volume.
He doesn't understand what's happening to him. He feels insane, and then he feels saner than he's ever been. He remembers the rush of darting so close to death and not being the one to decide if he comes back or not, and thinks, What's wrong with me? and I want to do it again. It's the first time he's felt really alive since - since dying.
Stephen has jumped off cliffs and out of planes before. He's dived down sharp slopes with the wind blistering cold on his skin. Half the fun of the anomalies was surviving, just his wits and his weapons. This felt a little bit like that. Only, more. It taps into a darkness that's been shifting and surging for weeks now.
Speaking as a mammal, I'm all in favor of cheating. So he's run into a predator that he can't beat, or didn't beat, one who all but promised he would come back.
One thing is sure: he can't tell them. They wouldn't understand.
Helen, he thinks. Only Helen would understand how this feels. ]
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[ It really isn't. ]
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[He knows, really, that they're just talking past each other, but he doesn't really know what to do about it except just... keep pushing. It's not often that he wants to help someone, but now, for once, he knows he would if he could. If he can. If he can just get, like, a grip on what the fuck is actually happening here.]
Come on, Hart.
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[ He's starting to get angry. He doesn't like this - doesn't like being the one pushed. ]
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They all just don't have time for this. The only one who'll put up with Stephen being dramatic is Nick, and that's because Nick thinks he deserves it.
So there's a moment of silence, here, and then, quietly, Stephen shuts down. ]
Fine.
[ It's quiet, and resigned. He doesn't know why he expected more than this. ]
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[He's not perceptive enough to pick up on the change. He hasn't grown up enough for that kind of subtlety or sensitivity. And Stephen's right, in a way: he doesn't have time for this, because to him it's just a way of wallowing, and if he started that, he thinks he'd never stop. He's already been too, too close, dangerously close last year. If he goes now, he might as well just turn into Ian, mute and miserable under the covers.
Stephen's dead and there's nothing anyone can do about it right now. He doesn't know how to offer anything to that but ignoring it.
And maybe there's a part of him that's aware it's not really enough, because he blows out a frustrated breath, pacing a few more steps, running a hand through his hair. But he doesn't argue anymore, and after a minute, he rubs his eyes and sinks down into a chair.]
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He'd thought that was going to be that. He'd thought Mickey was going to leave.
His arms are crossed. ]
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Unfortunately, the precious few seconds spent cooling off turn out to have done him no good, because as soon as he catches Stephen's folded arms and the look on his face, the dial turns right back up to 11. For once, he doesn't even try to hide the bitterness in his voice.]
Oh, right. Fine. Thanks. Good talk.