nysalogs | it's beginning to look at lot like,

[ continued from here ]

[ that was bad, you're a bad man, etc. a.k.a nice pun, well done byerly. the Doctor does similarly, giving his wrists a quick twist before hunkering down for pre-flight prep. ]

Mm, me too. Mine can be a right nag. Well, I'm ready to be serene and lovely whenever you are.

[ and the slight pull of the beginning of the connection agrees that he's logged in and ready to go ]

[ continued from here ]

That's it. 'Course we can.

[ and with that settled, the Doctor buckles his mind in more fully, and kicks the ship into action. with a rumble, the machine gears into life, and the calm shared between them helps to keep it even as they rise up from the floor of the hangar ]

[It's... working? They're lifting off the ground. Venom continues breathing, letting the calm wash over him so he and his companion can work on steering this thing.]

You know, I don't think I ever learned your name, sir.

[He's going to attempt a little conversation in order to keep things going smoothly.]

(continued from here)

Don't worry.

[ Glastonbury is the gateway drug to all sorts of conversations that don't need to happen right now. such as what Glastonbury is, Glastonbury's cultural relevance, Glastonbury's relative irrelevance in the grand scheme of things and Glastonbury's total irrelevance given that his planet was consumed by a giant space storm. he can leave those things for another day.

or never.

which is not to say that everything she's saying doesn't sound very Glastonbury. when she's done, John manages a slow nod. ]

Okay. And darker magic's considered - bad? Dark magic seems to have certain connotations where I come from. Fictionally and historically speaking.

[ trying to talk about this in a grounded fashion is a trip, but also not quite as difficult as he'd imagine it should be ]

Edited 2017-12-16 01:12 (UTC)

[ Worry? That earns a glance back over her shoulder, brows pulling together a moment, before said shoulder shrugs. If you say so, then. ]

That depends on one's perspective. The elements that are considered 'black' tend to pull from the aether around the caster, rather than from the source within them. Those in possession of great power can be as punishing to the world around them as to any enemy they face.

There are tales, of course, from centuries past, where wars between different mage cities that brought about the end of an astral era and caused a great cataclysm. But such powers are well beyond me.

[ Her abilities had lain elsewhere...With potential for such destruction, to be sure. ]

The aether of this world is something I am slowly adapting to. My preferred element is ice over fire.

[ the nod John gives in answer is slow and persistent, like one of those dashboard dog ornaments set off and never stopped. it's beyond him, all this. the theory of it is fine, and he's grateful that she's giving him the time of day with it, but it's so far outside of anything he's had to understand before.

it just doesn't sound real. and without yet having fully adapted to it, he struggles to view it as more than a concept: seeing it as something real, even when she used it to release the clutches of the tree, proves elusive. ]

Right. [ right. ] Right.

[ right. ]

... Well, looks like you're adapting alright, the number you did on the tree. Thanks.

[ The nodding and tone earn a sidelong glance, then a chuckle. ]

You really don't have anything like it on your world. I take it then you cannot sense the energy around us? [she tips her head thoughtfully] I wonder if your people simply lost the ability to use it at some point, if you at least have myths regarding its existence.

It is a slow process, but yes. I think there were likely other factors in play after awakening, but, for now, this is adequate.

[Dirk Gently is far from unfamiliar with the high strangeness of time. He really is, and yet there's something patently absurd about picking up and going home like nothing has happened, like he's just spent three days sleeping peacefully and not having months of fresh, raw time stuffed into his brain. Full time, living time, a current he could drown under.

Acknowledge and engage the bizarre and preposterous set of events befalling you or be swept under them and drown. He sucks in a shuddering breath and realises he's been stood here with his hand on the door for some time. Right. Right, this is life now, and the dissonance can only fade. He clears his throat and nods to nobody in particular before he pushes his way quietly in, hesitant, craning his neck about to see if he's alone. He's not sure what he'd prefer. The past few weeks he's been so riotously and uproariously not alone that it would almost be a boon. More time. Space to think.

On the other hand, the idea of thinking terrifies him. Just because he's removed from it now doesn't mean his knees won't give out. The pulses of memory that wash over him make him feel trapped and ill.]

John?

[Dirk comes to a halt at the threshold.

Why are you here? What have you got to do with any of this?]

Are you in?

[He could use... tea. Tea would be good. Dirk follows the impulse to the kitchen with hurried footsteps. It's a louder, clunkier process than usual from the outset, rushed, shaky. There's something he needs to check. Something he will check, something that'd confirm it all to be true, not just a fever dream, though he knows the low, deep ache in his leg says enough.

It's almost a mercy when he hears the sound of the door opening again and wheels about, kettle on the stove behind him starting to quietly tap and click. The only sound. Dirk's breath is caught in his throat; he doesn't know what to say. The idea of trying to put it all to words in the first place is overwhelming, leaving him standing rigid, eyes wide, a rabbit in the headlights.]

[ John's a few steps into the place, bag about to be tossed wearily aside when he freezes where he's stood, arm outstretched and the body of his satchel sagging under the weight of its contents, unreleased.

John stares at Dirk Gently where he's stood in the kitchen, kettle slowly heating behind him. for a while, they're both as silent as each other. a moment or two for the shock of his being here to fade just enough affords John the sense to get a good look at him, check him for hurt and for change. there is change.

this is another of the three day vanishings. Claire's gave her twenty years. first glance doesn't suggest this is the same, but neither would first glance at Claire.

it's with the telltale signs of concern (concerned for Dirk, concerned for himself) pinching at his eyes and his mouth that he says, not moving from his spot rooted between their lounge and the kitchen, ]

... Welcome back. [ —catches up with himself, with the whiplash of it, and blurs forward. bag dropped onto the nearest seat, steps moved. his brow furrows in earnest, the urge to throw a fist making no sense here wrapped up as it is in the bright pangs of relief, and maybe that's why it's clenched so tightly. he stops short again, like feet and kitchen floor are magnetised and he can go no further.

there are unknown elements crammed into the space between them. unknown to John. time, he doesn't know how long. it's impossible to know what to say. ] —Hi.

Edited (maybe one day I'll READ before I hit send... probably not tho) 2017-12-28 15:56 (UTC)

John.

[It comes out with a rush of the breath Dirk had been holding, flavoured with relief. Relief that it's John and not someone else, not someone specifically else, no ghost from his past come to call.

Osmund Priest is asleep. Dirk had checked. It's one of the first things he had checked upon reawakening.

May he stay that way. Dirk swallows thickly and nods, more to himself than anything.]

Hello. Hi. I'm... it's all right, I'm...

[He takes another slow breath, as though unsure how to approach the question of what he is.]

Here, and everything is absolutely replete with fineness. So.

[So.]

Are you all right? You look...

[Strange. But everything here looks strange, with all this extra space filling out those three days -- three months -- of absence. He can't really tell. Maybe he's just misremembering.]

[ all right doesn't seem to touch it. if anything, John's learned to tell the difference between Dirk when he's neutral and Dirk when he's not, and this isn't how alright goes. he's here, yes, and the absence of a lie is quickly followed by how fine everything is, which is as may be right now in this moment but doesn't actually say a lot about anything else.

Dirk's relief is palpable, but he doesn't have the same reason for it as John does. which means it's born of something else. so John shakes his head against turning the focus back to himself. three days haven't done much: more stubble than he usually lets slide, the skin under his eyes pronounced with just a little extra darkness. it's nothing they need to talk about right now. ]

Fine. [ fine enough. better for this. unimportant. John lets go of the fist his hand's bunched up into and crosses the room - doesn't quite invade Dirk's space, but does afford him some proximity. ] Budge over, I'll do tea.

[ and a little bit of time, if he needs it. to talk, or to not. this isn't something John can go without asking about forever, but he can go without asking about it for now. give him five minutes to just be back. ]

Edited (WHY AM I LIKE THIS) 2017-12-28 16:35 (UTC)

Okay. Sure.

[The brightness in Dirk's voice is uncharacteristic in its tentativeness, in the ring of falsehood it carries. Dirk is not a good liar. He never has been.

Once out of John's way, he settles against the countertop, twining his fingers together.

It would be foolish to pretend that nothing has changed. Dirk knows he looks different -- subtly different but different nonetheless. He's put on weight, mostly muscle. More than three days' worth, certainly. How that can be he still isn't sure. There isn't much to do with one's pent-up energy in a Black Wing cell between testing but throw one's weight futilely around. The fact that he wasn't at Black Wing, he was in one of those pods up on the station, is difficult to reconcile.

He also knows all efforts to appear normal are apt to fail. Todd knew. He knew almost immediately, and -- strange though it is to think -- Dirk has ultimately spent less time in Todd's presence than in John's.

For a time he just watches, considering, shoulders hunched with guilt.]

I went back. Not... not back, obviously, I was...

[He makes a vague gesture at the ceiling. Up there.]

Black Wing. That's what it was called. Where I was when I was a child.

[Which is, he realises, something he hasn't explained in detail. There's a good reason for that. Even talking about it now makes him uncomfortable. It's much easier when he can be flippant -- a military prison for psychics -- but it's still the easiest explanation he can offer.]

I thought... I thought they could never take me again, that I'd never have to go back. Being here, you know. Which I suppose I didn't, to be fair, I just... remembered it. More of it. I think. It's all a bit confused.

[He clears his throat and ducks his head, hand coming up to rub at his forehead.]

[ John's attention stays resolutely on the task at hand for a while, but there's only so long you can watch a slowly boiling kettle through a hesitant outpouring of information that speaks vulnerable volumes before it's obvious, and bordering on cruel. so his attention moves back to Dirk, despite his discomfort, despite his awkward lack of any clue what to say. he listens.

and it sounds bad. the words struggle through false starts and the frills of chat, make up sentences that would come together to mean not a lot in any other context. but John has context - enough context to know that this isn't good news. he's got three days of an empty house, a flatmate reappeared looking both stronger and more ready to collapse and the scattering of stories that make up what he knows about Dirk's life.

it's enough.

he can't tell him it's done now. can't promise it won't happen again, can't offer an explanation for how to reconcile physical change and lost time, gained time, time. so many of the idle platitudes that come to mind might have made it out of his mouth if Dirk were someone else. he isn't. ]

Sounds like a shit dream. [ he manages, finally. it's an entirely humourless shot at humour: an accusation against the offending forces that might've been trying to double as a joke except John's expression is somewhere close to a grimace. this isn't helpful. he's a man who knows how to comfort strangers and sick people, and he's close to useless when it comes to friends, outside of a hospital ward, when something actually matters.

he does, at least, refuse to break away. if he can do nothing else, he can be here. ]

[Dirk laughs, brief and bright and tinged ever so faintly with hysteria. Maybe it wasn't actually meant to be a joke, but it's still a good one. Snap into it.]

Awful.

[The joke? John, for making it? The remembering? All of it, really.]

I was... okay. I mean, I am okay. That... ended, things were good, and now I'm fine. I'm fine and great, but I was there and now I'm here -- and that's not bad!

[It really isn't, and Dirk moves abruptly to John's side to emphasize that point, touching him lightly and fleetingly on the arm. Which of them he's really reassuring isn't entirely clear -- perhaps only the long-ago child in him who was so terrified of being a disappointment, dredged up by that old familiar chorus, the bored inhuman voice:
WRONG. The alarming, disorienting sizzle of the electrical shocks.

Once when I was small they locked me in the dark because I couldn't tell them what they wanted to hear. When you're bigger there are more frightening things they can do to you, and to other people.

He doesn't say that.]

I'm glad I'm here but it means I have to think about it and that sort of makes me feel like someone's sitting on my chest and--

[He pauses to take in a deep breath and lets out a small noise of frustration.]

--and I don't know why I'm telling you all this, I really don't.

It's alright.

[ that much John can say with certainty, quick as you like. it's fine. tell away. but he's worried, he really is - a little more with each moment that passes. there's not a lot he can do without asking questions, and John's not sure what either one of them are going to do with the answers.

it doesn't matter. Dirk's on the edge of something, no telling how near or far that edge is, but it pushes John into motion. he lifts a hand to touch, solid and firm, to Dirk's upper arm. a pressure intended to ground and reassure. ]

Come on. Come and sit down.

[Dirk goes pliant -- he's used to being marched around, though he certainly bridles a lot less now than he would under the hands of the guards at Black Wing. He nods, eyes downcast as he allows himself to be guided along, even as he sinks heavily into a seat.]

I really don't know what the matter is, it was weeks ago. Or... whatever.

[He makes a vague shooing motion, as though to usher the contradiction inherent in that statement away.]

I solved the case. I did what I was meant to do, nearly everyone survived, and it was going to be better.

[Except that it's not better. He'd only just begun to get to better, and coming back here was just another shock, and it's pulled him right back under again. Dirk closes his eyes and takes another deep breath, letting it out in a weighty sigh.]

[ once he's got Dirk seated, John fumbles half-blind for the block they use as a coffee table, drags it around so he doesn't have to break touch. once it's there, still listening, John lets go of the touch on Dirk's arm just to sit down in front of him, as close to on a level as he can get with the furniture at hand.

Black Wing. it was weeks ago. I solved the case. Nearly everyone survived.

John lets him breathe. his words, when they come, are softly spoken but straightforward. ]

I left Afghanistan well over a year ago. I still dream about it. These things [ John's hands lift briefly to perform a miniature jazzhands, indicating the offending bodyparts. when they settle, one comes to rest if it's allowed on Dirk's knee ] still shake sometimes, on bad days.

[ John's smile is as sorry as he is, but it's as steady too. ]

Afraid to say it might take a bit longer than a few weeks.

Edited (when! will I read! before I hit send!) 2017-12-29 11:37 (UTC)

[Dirk doesn't interrupt. There's not much to interrupt, but all the same he sits silent and intent. He feels small. He looks small, slumped and curled ever so faintly in on himself -- but he accepts it, the words and the touch, and he nods.]

Sixteen years.

[Matter-of-fact. He nods again.]

The first time I got out, sixteen years ago. I never stopped dreaming about it.

[Of course, he'd never had enough stillness, never been left alone for long enough to figure it all out, to really process. It was only recently that he even began to understand why any of it had happened in the first place, why him. None of that has helped him place any of it in a larger context, or made it fair.

Dirk looks down at the hand on his knee and covers it briefly with his own, giving it a gentle squeeze before his own hand falls away again.]

I'll live. I just thought it was over.

[ a downturn of the mouth - it's not as though John hasn't known that trauma sits as an article amongst the many layers of things that make up Dirk Gently, but they've never talked about it in such straightforward terms.

it isn't fair. it never is. and there's nothing, ultimately, to be done about it.

Dirk squeezes his hand. John purses his lips, sucks in a sharp breath through his nose, and answers - ]

Yeah. Well. Now you get space gods and this shithole. It's a good job sanity's overrated. [ in the kitchen, the kettle wails. it's as good an excuse as any to take the sudden rise of his anger somewhere else to swallow down. ] Sit tight, back in a tic.

[ a quick pat of Dirk's knee and John's up and off, heading to the kitchen to finish the tea. he will, inevitably, be back soon. ]

It's not a shithole!

[There's a cajoling, wheedling quality to the rejoinder, which Dirk shoots over the arm of the chair -- aw, don't say that! -- which would have more force and impact were it not for the undercurrent of amusement.]

Actually, as weird parallel dimensions go, it's really rather nice. Not a single person has come after me with a gigantic pair of scissors, which is more than I can say of other places.

[He picks idly at the arm of his seat, smiling faintly down at nothing in particular.]

Unless you meant this place this place, which is also not terrible. You're here, there are ducks...

[Which is, yeah, about the best he can say about it, beyond the fact that it's got walls and a roof that doesn't leak. Still better than some of the places he's lived.]

[ John does, as promised, come veering back in with the tea just brief span of time later: you don't live as many years upon this earth as he has as an Englishman and not develop a decent tea-making technique to be sped up or slowed down as the demand dictates. it's not too long after Dirk finishes speaking. not too long enough that he follows up as though there was no pause between this and that at all as he uses the coffee table block as a coffee table instead of a stool, sets Dirk's tea down. ]

I was talking about this place this place, yeah. But now you mention it, there are ducks.

[ he's smiling again, the brief storm passed. sitting down in the next chair, yanking it gracelessly close enough to still reach over for his tea of that same block, John adds. ]

It was a shithole yesterday. Maybe it's just a hole today. [ which is to say, and he might as well just say it, ] We missed you.

[ him, some others. the ducks. though three days of absence didn't give anyone else quite the same opportunity to miss him as John got. ]

What, really?

[Dirk isn't disbelieving or mistrustful, and he doesn't look or sound either --
he's mostly just surprised. Certainly not unpleasantly.]

Well, I'd have missed you too had I been in a position to do so.

[It's the thought that counts, surely. Dirk smiles again, less tremulously. There's still an edge of exhaustion to him, and in the quiet moments he's apt to drift again, but he's always bounced back quickly, for better or worse. He's always had to.

There's also a great deal to be said, though, for the balm of company -- and the tea doesn't hurt either. Dirk takes his cup up in both hands, content simply to allow it to radiate its warmth for a little while. He's had... hasn't had, actually, but now remembers having had the opportunity to rediscover how to take his time with things, out of a necessary idleness. Small pleasures don't have to be flash in the pan. Sometimes they aren't taken immediately away again.]

And I'll try not to be... kidnapped again. Or whatever. Though, fair warning, that does happen a lot.

[He pauses, still wearing that little smile, forefinger tapping thoughtfully against the side of his mug.]

Thank you.

[For the tea, for everything.]

[ a shake of his head to accompany his smile. it's fine. barely worth the gratitude.

and, in an effort to move things along, after a brief moment of allowing something quiet to sit John grabs onto the coattails of the previous sentiment and runs with it. ]

Don't worry. You're not the only one. [ ... hm. ] Not that I've never been kidnapped by a secret government organisation. Touch wood.

[ Mycroft barely counts. but John does touch wood. reaches forward to tap on the little block they're using for a table. ]

[One corner of Dirk's mouth quirks upwards in a wry little smile.]

Well, I wouldn't recommend it. The food is terrible. Can't say much for most of the company either.

[A shadow flits across his face, the only outward sign of the memories unfurling within him.]

Unless you like being electrocuted. Some do, apparently. I can't judge.

[And joking about this isn't really working. Dirk sighs and takes a slow sip of his tea, closing his eyes. No, it needs saying, doesn't it? He means forward in his seat, expression serious,
Deadly earnest.]

If he wakes up... there's a man. Priest. If he wakes up and he comes for me you've got to let him have me. He might. I embarrassed him. More than once. He won't like that.

[ John's still processing the shock of the jolt from electrocuted when Dirk's demeanour does its shift into something entirely serious, as though the previous hadn't been serious at all, as though John's somehow going to answer with corresponding obedience. he isn't. the two threads go tied together and John blurts out, ]

—Jesus, Dirk. [ it's red hot with disbelief, touched with hungover disgust.

no. no, Jesus. what the hell did they do to him? more to the point, who the fuck's going to see a man in the state Dirk's arrived back in and hand him over to someone who's clearly dangerous enough to warrant whatever act of self sacrifice Dirk's trying to perform here?

but the strength of his own reaction startles him, out of place as it sounds against the strange lightness of the conversation before. his jaw grits, clamps down on his words. there's only a brief pause to reconfigure, but the follow-up is slightly less violent in its delivery. ] No. Christ.

[Dirk is, in spite of himself, taken aback. It's not that this isn't an understandable reaction -- it's certainly more or less the one he'd have, in John's place. It isn't that he doesn't think himself worthy of it, either, exactly. It's just... well, he hadn't hoped for an argument.]

Osmund Priest kills people. I'm reasonably sure he enjoys it. Any time any of us got out, he's the one they'd send to get us back, and I don't--

[He closes his eyes and holds one hand up, palm outwards. All right. Fine. Back a step.]

I cannot allow anyone else to be hurt because of me. I can't. There has been too much death.

[Dirk speaks with the vehemence and certainty of fear. It isn't the wild, barely-contained panic of before -- this isn't the bone-deep terror that Priest himself inspires in him. It is instead the more heightened, evolved terror that comes of what Priest can do. What he does. Has done, God knows how many times. Somewhere within Dirk the child he once was is still blindly, breathtakingly afraid of the man. A lot has happened since, though, and now he has more to grapple with: the simmering rage, the crushing guilt. All of it is naked on his face, tempered with something pleading.]

Todd said I have to make bigger choices and I'm making this one. No one else. Especially not like that.

[ it's difficult to hear that desperation, the firm plea with which Dirk explains himself. he hides behind nothing. the anguish of his situation is plain on his face - but it's also a fucking ridiculous request, and John's answer leaves him before he's got time to get a grasp on the returning swell of anger at all kinds of things that tips it out of his mouth without chance for thought. ]

Right. So if he wakes up, you want me to— what. Head off to work? Read the newspaper while a sadist murders you.

[ speaking of tea, it looks like John's forgotten something in the kitchen. biscuits, maybe. he's up, mug in hand, weaving around his seat to get somewhere he doesn't have to look Dirk in the face.

it's not his fault. you live through certain things and they hurt you, and some of those things you can't bear to have happen again. lives lost leave their stains regardless of the circumstances, and by the sounds of things Dirk's covered in them. so it's not his fault, and he doesn't deserve to bear the brunt of the wave building up in John now. but he can't have this, either. and John can't look him in the eye while he denies him it. instead, he's poised on the kitchen threshold, facing away. ]

Not happening, sorry. Let's just cross our fingers the prick'll sleep.

I don't think he's ever killed a subject.

[Flat. Tired. There's still an edge of anger underneath it all. Of course there is. He never actually got to talk about any of this. There hadn't really been any time, not until they'd all pulled far enough away from it all that bringing it up seemed... inopportune. The only reason it's welled up from where Dirk had buried it now is because he's back here, because the shock of that transition has brought it all back into plain view.]

Though without Blackwing to rein him in I don't know what he'd do.

[Dirk looks down into his mug in lieu of looking at John, swilling the liquid around, shoulders set in silent apology. He hadn't meant to send it off-kilter again. Or he hadn't wanted to, but the question had been gnawing at him ever since he'd woken up. What would happen if Priest came to?

It's not even the ugliest question he's been asking himself today. It's not the largest in scope or the most awful. There's another, a deeper, heavier dread he doesn't even want to address. This is... easier. Something to sink his teeth into, better than that yawning, unanswerable doubt.]

You know, I'm supposed to fix things? That's what I was made for. Only all I ever seem to do is put everyone at risk. I can't go three months without somebody trying to kill me and somebody else getting in the way. There was a thing. Blackwing, they did a... stupid mythological codenames thing. I was Project Icarus, only they got it backwards. It's everyone around me that's in danger, and all I've ever tried to do is stay out of the way.

[ it strikes John as he listens that it's a shame, really, that he's the one Dirk's chosen to talk to about this. it's the sort of stuff nobody should have to hold onto and on the one hand he's glad to be considered a safe recipient for it— on the other, he's still hovering on between the kitchen and the front room, clasping his tea, no reason to be there other than he couldn't look Dirk in the face anymore. doesn't make the best case for how well suited he is for the position of good listener.

he does, at least, manage to turn around. standing facing in instead of away. not much progress, but something. ]

You can't help what other people do.

[ to see him today, it wouldn't be out of reach to think Dirk's plummeted down after flying too close to the sun. though maybe the problem's the opposite. maybe in trying to steer clear he's given other people, with fewer fears of the damage they might do and what it might cost, the opportunity to fill his space. they fall, he takes another kick to the conscience, loses altitude in hopes of steering clear of a repeat of the same, leaves more room to be filled. it might be more of a sink than a plummet, but he'll hit the ground all the same sooner or later, and the sun will still have done it.

thoughts of the universe, of Dirk Gently's place in it all, of the unshakeable inevitability of things, sit as a nebulous sidenote to a conversation he already doesn't know how to navigate. ]

If they're getting in the way while you're staying out of it— [ not. what he meant, actually. though not not what he was thinking. quickly, to fill the accidental bluntness in his phrasing: ] Bigger choices, that what Todd said?

[Dirk's head snaps up, his expression startled, lips parted with hurt. He looks -- feels -- cornered.]

I mean that I don't go looking for trouble. There's nothing I did to... to put myself at the centre of a prophecy in another bloody dimension. I did nothing to make Suzie Boreton kill all those security guards and chase me through a hospital with a magic wand. I'd never even met her before! I watched her pull a bullet out of her skull.

[He spreads his hands helplessly with a soft, high-pitched little laugh. What would you do with that? ]

I didn't... give Arnold Cardenas a heart attack but it never would've happened if he hadn't met me. I mean, I know I'm the common denominator. I know, and I don't just let people get hurt. It just happens, frequently where I can't see it until it has.

[Dirk doesn't like being angry. He hates it, hates how it makes him feel like they've won. Guilt is, therefore, the primary expression on his face when he lets what remains of his breath out in a rush and takes another slow sip of tea.]

I mean I could, I suppose, have let Suzie kill me. Maybe that's an answer. Hundreds of other people would've died if I had, though.

[A beat, in which Dirk deflates further.]

Sorry. Sorry, I just... I did do what I had to and I did it alone and if it becomes necessary I want to do this alone too. I don't want to let anyone else get in the way. That's the point.

[ no that’s— he feels bad immediately, but there’s no time to interject before the tide of Dirk’s life once again sweeps him away and leaves him reeling. God, the amount he has to hold onto. John doesn’t speak again until it’s all out, until Dirk’s talk has carried him through deaths and potential deaths and the ever present insanity of the entirely impossible to the end, the point.

even then, he doesn’t speak immediately. did an awful lot of damage with just a couple of sentences - saying anything else needs consideration. in the quiet, John crosses space to resume his seat. ]

I didn’t mean that. Sorry.

[ he’s not quite looking at Dirk when he says it, busy setting his cup down on the block and then - not doing that. hovering at the edge of his seat, poised. what he didn’t mean he doesn’t specify, it’s less in the words and more just that they were the wrong ones. he didn’t mean to hurt.

a careful, centering breath and he’s ready to look Dirk in the eye again. ]

And I am sorry, Dirk, but I’m not going to stick my hands up and get out of the way if a madman comes for you. I won’t be stupid, but you can’t ask me to do that.

Edited (dialogue is hard on mobile. everything is hard on mobile but dialogue is worse) 2018-01-18 17:47 (UTC)

No. No, it's fine, I just-- I have been shot three times in as many months. I don't just jump out of the way and let other people--

[He waves a dismissive hand. It's definitely not worth arguing about. None of this is worth arguing about. None of it matters. It's just a way to get his aggression out, and he feels increasingly awful about that the longer it goes on. He shakes his head.]

It's fine. I know that sounded... not good.

[He knows also that he is, in a number of less than flattering ways, a coward. For all that Dirk knows, and would adamantly profess, that courage is not the absence of fear but rather the decision that there are things more important than fear is, he knows he hasn't always succeeded at stepping up when he ought to. He knows that he has sometimes opted to run and to hide because it's the easier option rather than the right one.]

And I am sorry. It's been... trying, but that's not--

[The corners of Dirk's mouth turn down unhappily and he runs his fingertips over the arm of his chair as though he might find the words he wants hidden somewhere in the warp and weft of the fabric.]

It's easy to get angry, but it's all just an excuse, isn't it? I should be... better than what's happened to me. So.

[He nods with finality and buries his face in his mug. So.]

[ another heavy drag of breath in. this is. Christ. in fact, he goes far enough as to drag his hand over his eyes, rub the sockets with thumb and forefinger.

one thing at a time. he's no good at the talk, clearly. so focus in on the rest.

the breath goes released, involuntary catch of a near-sounded sigh on the exhalation, and after reaching for a slow slurp of tea to calm the nerves he asks, simple as he can without saying anything that might prompt too much of a conversation: ]

Shot. Where?

Twice in the right shoulder, though those were crossbow bolts, so...

[A shrug. So by some metrics that might not count.]

Once in the right leg. Definitely a bullet that time.

[And extraordinarily memorable. This, though, Dirk is capable of being entirely conversational about. Personal injury he can take. It would be a lie to say he doesn't still dream about both events, that he doesn't still wake up sometimes in a cold sweat. But what really scares him isn't the possibility that he might be hurt. Terrifying, yes, but he's lived it, survived it. It is, comparatively speaking, fine.

It's loss that really terrifies him. Especially loss for which he is in some way responsible.]

It's fine. It's healing well, I think. Was healing well? I don't actually know how this works relative to the...

[A wide, sweeping gesture at the ceiling. Space science coma... thing.]

[ this time it's a sigh, but there's a laugh wrapped up in it somewhere. relief, some of it, to be back on steady ground - the rest a plain response to Dirk's blase attitude toward getting shot in the shoulder with crossbow bolts and the way healing functions amidst space insanity. Dirk Gently, an adventure from start to finish. ]

Right. Well, lucky for you, you live with the last surviving pillar of the NHS. So I'll be keeping an eye on those, free of charge.

[ brooks no argument, not that he imagines Dirk'll put up much of a protest against keeping his healing bullet wound from taking a turn for the worse. but you never no. ]

[Dirk doesn't balk, exactly, but his expression does arrange itself into a sort of dubious squint.]

What, really?

[He huffs a darkly amused little laugh.]

So should I come see you at work or would you rather I just disrobe in our main room?

[He gives a slow sweep of the hand to indicate himself and the chair and all of it, the absurdity of him and this context and him within this context. It's largely in jest, though, and he falls out of the attempt at being arch quite quickly.]

I suppose I probably should make sure they haven't put any bits back on wrong though. And last surviving pillar of the NHS, there's something to be proud of.

[ bloody hell. and there's a smile in earnest, understated toothless thing as John's smiles always are but helplessly present all the same. shut up, you great idiot. but also feel free not to, this is better.

still, John holds his tongue throughout, and it's not until one colour has entered and faded and been replaced with a point of pride that he chimes in, ]

Yeah, right. I wonder if they do knighthoods here?

[ the joke fades off into silence, and John watching Dirk. just watching. brows raised and waiting. ]

Well? Come on, then. Quick sharp, down to your skivvies.

[ it's held with impressive fortitude - John, looking on with no small amount of disapproval at having his esteemed pillar of a self forced to wait so long for someone else to go about his business. the only giveaway is the threat of a hitch at the corner of his mouth, and he's keeping it under as a strict a control as possible for as long as he can manage.

Dirk's hardly been back any time at all, from what wasn't the best time by all accounts, and his homecoming hasn't exactly been pleasant either. so it can't hurt to play a bit. ]

[Dirk heaves a heavy sigh and reaches for his tie, working the knot loose and then free with an exaggerated, theatrical sullenness before balling it up and throwing it at John. The tie unfurls, the worst of its impact a harmless little plap before it slithers to the floor, where Dirk smiles down at it beatifically.]

You know, I expect they do, or something like. I'll see if I can't find a way to put your name forward.

[He reaches up again to pop open the top button of his collar, but leaves it at that, settling into his seat.]

Though I have to say I've had just about enough of knights recently.

[He stews on that a few seconds, then looks up again, fingers drumming on the arm of his chair.]

No, seriously, shall I pop over sometime or can I expect you to ambush me the next time I try to bathe?

it's beginning to look at lot like,

THE DOCTOR

THREAD CONTINUATIONS

byerly @ the intro log

venom @ the intro log

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JOHN

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ysayle @ the intro log

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iiiit's haaaaappeniiiiiing

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me all of yesterday: sure is a shame I can't tag V. your tag: right here. the whole time. wow

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