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

[ 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,

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