TFLN carryover

[ataraxeia]

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Jon

[ataraxeia]

((continued from here:))

[Deep breaths, Tim. Deep breaths, measured response--no, fuck it.]

Oh, you're one to bloody talk about not being there, aren't you???

After we found out about the thing that used to be Sasha, when we NEEDED you, where were you? What did you do? You cut all of us out, like we hadn't lost her too, like I hadn't

And then you just come strolling back in like we're supposed to just forget you fucking left us in the lurch to go play detective, while we had to deal with Elias and take turns reading those fucking statements, turning into god knows what for the sake of your precious Archives

Fuck right off with that

And it still counts as three counts of kidnapping, you sanctimonious ass

[epistemological]

I believe you're referring to the period where I was HIDING from the MURDER CHARGES. When ALL of you thought I was so UNHINGED that I had clearly killed someone. When you were ALL firmly convinced that ELIAS should have booted me RIGHT OUT THE DOOR.

But BEFORE THAT, I was supposed to offer comfort, I was supposed to offer LEADERSHIP when you could hardly be in a ROOM with me over my attempts to figure out WHAT WAS GOING ON. Because clearly, THAT was a fruitless pursuit.

CLEARLY every one in our organization was entirely reliable, no one to worry about. CLEARLY my own boss didn't MURDER my predecessor or anything.

[ataraxeia]

No, actually, I mean before that, even

Even when you were still there physically, you weren't really there for any of us, you didn't trust any of us

Bloody Martin practically worshipped the ground you wanked on and you didn't even notice

Walked on

Whatever

You still left the rest of us on our own with no word, no help, nothing. With that same boss who murdered your predecessor. Which, you know, excellent job telling us anything at all

The point is, you're the one who cut everyone out. I just got over it first.

[epistemological]

I was actually ADDRESSING that.

I didn't TRUST any of you because I knew something was WRONG but I couldn't figure out with WHO. A suspicion that had you running INTERVENTIONS on me while that THING ran around with Sasha's FACE on and ELIAS was clubbing old men over the head with a PIPE.

Just because I wasn't doing what YOU wanted didn't mean I wasn't trying to HELP. And I couldn't TELL you because I didn't know which one of you would try to MURDER us.

PLEASE tell me how I was supposed to know which one of you to trust when NO ONE knew about Sasha. When you were all telling me I was INSANE.

EXCEPT for that bit where 'SASHA' wasn't SASHA, of course.

[ataraxeia]

Because you KNEW me, Jon

You're the one who got me this damn job in the first place

You knew me longer than any of the others, and you knew what Sasha and I were, and then she was dead and none of us knew and then the thing wearing her was dead and we were nearly dead and you left us like that

But you're right. How could you ever, ever, EVER POSSIBLY be wrong???

[epistemological]

I KNEW SASHA TOO!

I KNEW SASHA and that THING had me fooled the same as anyone. For goodness sake, Tim, I was suspecting MARTIN for a time. I didn't

I COULDN'T trust ANYONE. The ONLY one I could trust was MYSELF and TRUST me, I doubted THAT more than once, far too many times in fact, because if I trusted the WRONG one I could get all of the rest of you KILLED.

I CAN'T AFFORD to be wrong, Tim.

[ There's a short pause.]

I couldn't afford to be wrong.

And then I was.

The only reason I'm alive, you're alive, ANY of us are alive, is because of Jurgen bloody Leitner.

Believe me at LEAST that there is nothing I find more galling than that.

[ataraxeia]

[There is a box fort here.

Possibly you are invited.]

[epistemological]

[ It's not work hours, so he has to use his keys to get in, but that's not exactly uncommon. He has a bag under his arm, and the perpetual set under his eyes, and he peers around until he sees the box fort in what used to be his office.]

Permission to... enter?

[ Wince. ]

I'm not sure of the lingo for, er, forts.

[ataraxeia]

[Are those Tim's legs sticking out from under the desk? Probably. At least he appears to still be living, judging by the gesture makes with one hand, bottle of cheap whiskey still held firm.]

Granted, I suppose. Close enough, anyway.

Didn't take you long to get here. Out there lurking about?

[Despite the words, he almost, almost sounds friendly. Almost.]

[epistemological]

On the way here anyway.

[ The bait is there, the comments he could make about being accused of 'lurking'. It's an effort, but he just manages it.

One of the bags is pulled open to reveal a rather fancy looking box which is held out and down: Glenmorangie, 18 year rare.]

As we... skipped birthdays.

[ataraxeia]

[The laugh is sudden, startling and rich, almost too loud in the very early morning quiet, and while there is a touch of mockery about it, it's also less malicious than it could be.]

That's a polite way of putting it. But then, you work hard at being polite these days, don't you?

[Maybe he's just tired. Tired of being so very angry. Maybe he's just sobering up. Either way, there's a long pause before he finally sets the other bottle down, taking the offered box in one hand and sitting up. He's taken off his shirt, using it as a pillow, and his undershirt is wrinkled. Clearly he's been here most, if not all, of the night.

It's easier to look at the box than it is Jon.]

I binned yours, you know. Ages ago.

[Well. Half true.]

[epistemological]

[ He's surprised he'd bought anything, given how long things had been going south. And he's tempted to say that, but instead, he pulls out the other box, a cheaper variety of the same.]

Bought my own.

[ He considers getting his chair before changing his mind and sitting on the ground not far from where the legs are sticking out. He can't quite resist that one, though.]

I'm just... trying.

[ataraxeia]

And I'm not making it easy, am I?

[It doesn't sound like the kind of question that's meant to be answered, which is good, because no answer would be quite right. After another long moment, Tim shifts to the side. Enough that there might be room for a second body, if he's so inclined.]

I'd say I'm sorry, but I don't think I am. Not really. Not for that.

[Maybe for other things. Or about other things.]

[epistemological]

[ He's tempted to answer it, but he can feel the tenuousness of the whole thing and chooses to take the opportunity to carefully shift into the opening in the fort with his own bottle at his side.]

I don't think you have-

[ No, that's not how he wants to go about this.]

Thank you.

[ That's the important thing. ]

[ataraxeia]

[For what, he wants to ask, but even Tim can feel the tenuousness of the moment. And he's so tired. For the first time in months, he doesn't want to fight.

He misses this. Being able to sit with Jon and not...

Shaking his head, Tim turns the box in his hands, then removes the bottle holding it out towards Jon in a faintly ironic gesture for toasting.]

Happy birthday to us, is it? Months late, but here we are, I suppose.

[epistemological]

[ He's not the only one. It's been... very tiring. But he removes his bottle from the box and lets it ting lightly on Tim's.]

We're just about at unbirthday at this rate.

[ He looks at the bottle and there's a slight frown; he prefers a proper whisky glass.]

Barbarian.

[ But it's said fondly, only the most gentle sort of bite there.]

[ataraxeia]

You know me.

[The words hurt a little, as lightly as they're delivered. After all, Jon does know him. Did. They knew each other. Past tense. And now...now.

He doesn't know.

It's easier to open the bottle, to take a drink and let the scotch warm the cold, empty feeling inside.]

Don't know why I decided to come here. Just, it was half one and I didn't want to go home, so I figured, box fort. And the archives have bloody millions of them, so. Here we are.

How sad is that? Could've gone home with half a dozen attractive strangers tonight, and instead, I came to the place I hate the most. [He shakes his head, whether in frustration or dismissal is hard to tell.]

[epistemological]

[ He listens to Tim as he undoes the plastic on the top of his own bottle, opening the top and taking a mouthful for himself. It burns nicely as it goes down.]

I actually went home tonight. Or I started to. [ A quick intake of breath.] Then I realized there was hardly a point to it.

[ He looks over at Tim. ]

At least you can be secure in the knowledge that no matter how inebriated we find ourselves, nothing will come of it.

[ Bonus feature?]

[ataraxeia]

[Jon's words pull Tim out of his mildly depressive daze, and the look he gives his boss--former boss? whatever--is one of mixed horror and hysteria as he begins to laugh, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. He even has to set the bottle down so he can properly wrap his arms around his ribs.]

What, are you saying I'm not--not pretty enough for--

[No, he can't even get the words out. Give him a moment. Phew. Okay. Okay, there we go.]

You are...so far..from my type...we're not only in different...post codes, we're in...different countries. Possibly different planets. Christ. Fucking...I think I might have pulled something. Whew.

[epistemological]

[ Jon actually stares at him, squinting a little, before he snorts a couple times, actually, and stares at him even a little harder.]

Did I never-

[ He's blinking a little and it has nothing to do with how much scotch he's had, because he hasn't had much. Definitely less than Tim by a lot.]

I don't. With anyone.

[ He undoes the top again and takes another pull, this time a little longer. Once he's done, he rubs his mouth with his hand before closing it up again.]

Thought I'd said.

[ Beat.]

You know you're pretty, for goodness sake...

[ataraxeia]

I do know I'm pretty, thank you for noticing.

[The laughter slowly fades, along with the smile, but there's still that bemusement in Tim's eyes that morphs into curiosity, and then into thoughtfulness as he looks at Jon, and then...keeps looking. This is probably the longest they've actually been in the same room together in months, and definitely the longest they've gone without Tim yelling or deliberately provoking another fight.

But that's because...well, lots of reasons. Anyway, he's thinking now, remembering dozens upon dozens of other conversations, other times they'd sat like this, just...talking over drinks. Talking, or arguing, or debating, or even joking.]

You don't, do you?

[Tim doesn't drink again, though he does pull the bottle back into his lap, hands loosely wrapped around the neck.]

Never?

[He's not judging, he's just...maybe trying to understand, a little. It's very different from the way he lives his own life. Obviously.]

[epistemological]

[ That comes with a quick snort and a tilt of his head as he starts unscrewing the bottle again; he has some catching up to do, after all.]

I did. In university. Figured it was the thing to do.

[ Once it's open, he takes a swig, sucking in a breath afterward before screwing it on again. The on and off, he'd found, kept him from going too fast and getting sick. He was an obsessive personality, and it was helpful to give himself a hurdle or two.

He could have done with a few more on his actual addiction, perhaps, but he'd never known until this place that it could have such results.]

Tried boys. Tried girls. Tried a few in between those categories. Tried being with someone I was desperately in love with and mucked it up properly because I hated the- the physical- [ there's a sort of whirlwind move with his hand that conveys 'sex', at least to his mind] Ended up in a shouting match where I think the most polite thing I said involved sticking my privates in a wood chipper.

[ Unscrew, gulp, rescrew.]

For some reason, she still talks to me. Think it's the only blessed luck I've got.

[ataraxeia]

[Huh. Well. Okay, then. Tim's silent for a moment as he processes, thinking.]

The physical's always been the easy part, for me. I mean, in case you hadn't figured that out yet.

[It's the rest that's difficult. The sharing. The connecting. Every time he says he's not going to, and then he does, and then...something awful happens. Something awful happens every time he cares, whether it's someone he's sleeping with or just a friend.]

But it's not the only part of a relationship, you know. There's plenty of people out there who manage without, I suppose. Might even be the least important part. The feelings are what's important to most people.

[And that's the point where he'll start drinking again. Because what is this talk, anyway? Clearly he is not drunk enough.]

Gerry--

[ataraxeia]

((from here:))

I may or may not have had a very, very brief goth phase during first year

Wherein I may have told this very attractive boy that I was a vampire and related to Bram himself et cetera

In my defense, you would have too

[BESIDE THE POINT THOUGH MOVING ON.]

And yes, Gerry. You wouldn't be the first guy in history to have had a shitty mother and a shitty childhood and still managed to make it work for you

[kithe]

Oh Tim. Oh you sweet boy. I can't say that I haven't done much the same in my day.

Then I became creepy-creepy and it worked with a certain type of people and that was good enough.

Until a very certain and prominent point? It worked well enough for me. Worked better for others in the things I was willing to do that others couldn't and wouldn't.

Not even your lot.