hadriel_logs | Don't know what to say, don't know what I said

Entry tags:

Don't know what to say, don't know what I said

Who: Dr. Rosen and Dr. Sweets [Closed]
What: Serious talk must be had
Where: Rosen's apartment
When: 29th, morning after Rosen's drunken misdial to the network
Warnings: None. Will change if needed

It is the persistent and angry burning in his throat that finally stirs Rosen in the late morning and it begins a slow, aching process of waking up, the older man unfolding in the same stiff and sluggish manner as a wrinkled ball of paper easing its way open after being tossed into a waste bin. And that is precisely how he feels: crumpled. Discarded. Before he even dares to open his eyes, Lee is aware of a wrongness to all of this. To the way his head is thudding dully, the manner in which the blanket has become caught up between his legs, and the labored feeling to every drag of breath.

Yes. there is something distinctly wrong to the start of this day.

Finally he dares to crack open his eyes and it is every bit as unpleasant as he had expected. But the band-aid had to be ripped off and utilizing that same resolve he drags his torso upwards, fighting the vertigo and the sharp pain in his side as he sits himself upright. And there he sits for a long moment, head in hands, fingers rubbing roughly at his hairline, the skin damp with a light sweat and hairs catching between his knuckles. When at last he feels with it enough to face it, he shifts, places his feet flat on the floor, and pushes himself up to a standing position. Almost instantly he feels his knees buckle and he stumbles forward, managing to catch himself with both hands splayed against the wall.

"God dammit," he hisses under his breath, leaning forward and pressing his burning forehead against the cool of the wall.

What is going on? What-- There are blurs of it. As if the previous night had been a watercolor painting that someone deliberate spilled a glass of water over so that the colors ran together in a dizzying and garish mess.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

That is a question Rosen is not entirely sure what to do with for a moment. In all honesty, Lance's reaction had been the best that Rosen could have realistically hoped for. It was measured and even-keeled. And he can't honestly expect to receive a positive reaction to that species of revelation. What he had done was, after all, deplorable. Even he knows that. So Lance's reaction was valid, and logically Rosen knows that.

But perhaps it was the way it had all played out. Rosen had not really prepared himself to be so open and vulnerable. He had asked Lance a favor, Lance had been concerned and came to his apartment of his own volition, and then somehow things had ended with Rosen feeling like, well, like a frog splayed and dissected in a high school science lab. However he knows that wasn't Lance's doing. At no point had Lance forced his hand. But Lee feels perhaps he made a miscalculation in confiding these things in him, not because Lance wasn't trustworthy, but because Rosen had underestimated how deeply he had buried them inside himself and therefore how gutted it would leave him having laid that all out. Particularly when laying it all out without the time to brace himself for the consequences. For Lance's silent confirmation that yes, that was awful.

And then being left with that. That hard fall. And the feeling like he couldn't stitch himself back up again. He couldn't get the pieces to fit back inside the way they were supposed to.

"All of it," He murmurs, but quickly realizes that is unhelpful. "Replaying everything in my mind. All of it. Every moment again and again. And being reminded of what I was capable of. What I've done. And I, um, I felt afraid. Afraid that everything I had done since then it didn't matter, because that stuff happened. Its inside me. And everything is going to slip away because of it. I am the sum of my parts. And I hate it."

Edited 2017-05-28 22:32 (UTC)

Lance, honestly, hasn't known what to do with the information when he first heard it, and even after having several days to think about it he's still conflicted in a few respects. There are a lot of factors that go into how and why he felt the way he did, and it had--through no fault of Rosen's, who didn't know--come at a time when Lance was already dealing with several other major problems.

But now that he's had a little time, despite his emotions still being mixed he is more than empathetic enough to feel for Rosen as he answers. It all makes sense, although there are a few things Lance immediately feels the need to address; at least his question did serve the purpose of giving him an idea of where to start.

"I won't pretend that I can understand some of what you did." He says that first, evenly, carefully controlling his voice by separating what he's saying from what he's feeling; although much of what Rosen told him is not great but not unreasonable--such as having poor priorities when it comes to family--the part about using Danielle against his wife is something that makes Lance feel some combination of nausea and cold anger. He can't, and won't, pretend it was anything other than wrong in a way that he can't accept.

Still, that leads into the rest of what he wants to address. "But people make mistakes, and how they deal with those mistakes moving forward can be just as important as what they actually did."

And so that Rosen feels the kind of remorse he obviously does is incredibly meaningful here, and so Rosen shouldn't write himself off entirely for having done things he regrets doing. And, honestly, it's not up to Lance to decide if Rosen's actions were unforgivable; it's up to Danielle, and in another way to Rosen himself.

Rosen isn't sure what he had been expecting Lance to say, but clearly he had been expecting something harsher because his eyes noticeably widen in a quiet surprise. He's spent the past several days alone with his own internal voice slicing jagged paths across his heart and mind in whatever way would cut the deepest, and now Lance is seemingly cracking a door open ajar. Letting some light and air in to combat the dust and cobwebs. He breathes in sharply, face unable to conceal the fact that he now feels a swell of emotions.

And among them a very faint ,but still distinct, flicker of hope.

"Lance, I've never told anyone else about...about what I told you. No one. Not here. Not back at home." Lee's gaze now shifts from the spot it had picked on the wall to Dr. Sweets himself, unsure if Lance will pick up what he's trying, and struggling, to convey.

He trusts him. And that alone is frightening because it means that Lance is important.

Lance watches his reaction quietly, looking for a sense that Rosen understands the point he's trying to make, and in that surprise and mix of emotions he thinks he might.

Good, that's a start.

When Rosen speaks again, it isn't what Lance is expecting to hear him say; it's not unexpected in a bad way or anything, just a confusing one. It isn't as though he hasn't heard similar words before from patients, over time, but this is a completely different situation and the very first thing that runs through his head is 'why?'

But, after that, it all clicks together, and Lance crosses his arms a little more tightly against his chest. He's used to this sort of trust being put in him back home, from both patients and friends, but things are so much more complicated here and in this situation and he isn't entirely sure how to handle it. Still, for now he just nods, breaking eye contact to glance off to the side.

"I won't tell anyone." He says, even though he knows that isn't really the issue here, but he's once again very unsure of how to proceed.

There's just an awkward bobbing of Lee's head in response. Its intended as a nod, but he's finding that moving his head too much causes the pounding at his temples to reach fever pitch, and to make the room hurl forwards only to rush rapidly back at him.

He manages another sip of water.

"Why did you stay the night?"

Its a whisper of a question and he keeps his eyes decidedly on his feet, tracing the veins and the thin hints of bone. He's not sure if he regrets asking or not.

Yeah, nodding with a hangover is not that fun.

Lance looks at him for a moment at the question, because there are a lot answers he could give that are varying degrees of obvious. Surely Rosen can guess most, if not all, of them, so the question is surely more about what answer he gives than what the reason actually is.

So Lance considers, for a few seconds, exactly which response he wants to give.

"You've done a lot for me that you didn't have to. Making sure you don't die of alcohol poisoning in return is a pretty minor way to repay you." Not that it's about repaying or a debt, exactly, and that's probably pretty clear; he would've, after all, done the same thing for anyone. But he greatly appreciates the help Rosen has given him since arriving, and that's the real underlying meaning.

Lance would be right. Rosen had a guess at Lance's reasoning and motivations, but what a person offers as their own explanation for their actions, particularly in regards to others, is telling. Perhaps even moreso than some of the actions.

"Thank you."

Undoubtedly he's grateful, however he is uncertain where all of this leaves them and that uncertainty is exacerbated by the fact that Lee is entirely unused to others taking care of him. Or caring to make sure he's there after the night is over. After the divorce its himself in a house much too big for one person, with odd reminders that its just himself. Several empty bedrooms and grill in the backyard he's never touched or had occasion to, for example.

The idea of having friends, or maybe 'friend' is assuming too much, but the idea of having someone care enough to even simply make sure he doesn't die of his own stupidity is a novelty. And one that puts a harsh perspective on where he's come to in his life, 'hermit'-ing himself away, monk-like in his office and his home as if he were in conclave.

"Have you eaten?"

Lance offers a smile in return for the thanks, but doesn't acknowledge it further; sure, everything's still a bit awkward and uncertain, but for him at least it's rapidly settling once more into something he at least has some idea of how to navigate.

That's why the question earns a shrug and an innocent expression, even though he aims his gaze off to a far corner of the ceiling as he responds. "On occasion."

Which means, obviously, not recently. Unless you count alcohol, anyway.

"I was going to go look for something to cook, provided you think you'll be able to." Because Lance obviously can't, although he's more than willing to do his part by going on the grocery scavenging run.

The offhanded remark catches Rosen off guard and after blinking dumbly for a moment, he starts to laugh, but to his misfortune laughing hurts almost as much as nodding, leading to him flopping backwards onto the bed with a half-pained grunt half-laugh.

In the upheaval of everything that had come in the past few weeks, he had forgotten that Lance could be just as much of a brat as any one of his patients.

He drags in a ragged breath through his nose, a hand clasped over his forehead as he steadies himself. Then, face still mostly covered by his fingers, he nods. "You are absolutely not doing the cooking."

He can't help but laugh as well at that reaction, some of it because Rosen is, some because the whole situation is humorously, and partially because he's really glad at least some of the tension seems to have faded away for now.

When Rosen agrees, Lance raises his eyebrows at him with a bit of a grin. "I thought you'd agree. I'll be back, then; I put the rest of the water I brought in the fridge, so make sure to drink a few more."

And with that, satisfied that Rosen is fine other than a hangover, he heads back out of the room to grab the spare clothes he'd brought, changes quickly in the bathroom, and then heads out on an adventure. Is the party still going? Ugh, it is.

A little less than an hour later he returns, somewhat more subdued than when he left but at least triumphant with a mix of edible-looking items he'd gathered. Sure, they're not all breakfast appropriate, but hopefully Rosen can work some sort of magic.

"Hey, I'm back." He announces quietly as he steps into the apartment, not wanting to surprise Rosen.

In the time that Lance has been gone, Rosen's managed to change into a navy blue zip-up sweatshirt and light gray sweatpants, looking possibly the most casual he's ever let anyone see him. He's even tied some of the longest strands of his ridiculous flyaway hair back with a rubber band so it is the smallest tuft of a ponytail at the back of his head. Yes, he is aware he looks ridiculous, but his face will give away the fact that right now he could honestly not care less about how he looks.

And in all this rumpled glory he sits at the kitchen table, still nursing the same bottle of water that Lance left him with as he waits.

"Were you successful?"

Okay, that's definitely the same bottle of water, but Lance will forgive that for the moment because--

"You look like you raided my dad's closet." It's said with warmth--Lance's adoptive father was a lovely person--but old people, man. Old people and their lack of fashion.

Says Lance, of course, who is wearing jeans, a teeshirt, and a long-sleeved flannel shirt over that, but hey.

He shuts the door behind him, already feeling a bit better than he had been, and wanders into the house to see the items he's collected on the counter. "That would depend that you consider being successful."

Edited 2017-05-31 01:07 (UTC)

Rosen chuckles into the bottle, being certain to focus on swallowing successfully before he answers. "I choose to take that to mean your dad is a man of style and poise."

He starts to get up out of the chair, shuffling over to survey what Lance has brought back. "I'm hoping its not all foods I would find in the cupboard of a college freshman," he teases, hands in the pockets of his jacket.

"I'll consider it a success if you managed to get to and from the stores without any trouble." That is setting the bar pretty low, yes? Surely Lance managed to achieve that.

"He liked to think so." Lance responds, enjoying easily falling back into the teasing banter. "And he could be, but I think he enjoyed embarrassing me."

Not that it wasn't good for him, considering he'd been a bit high-strung as a teenager, and it was hard to stay that way when your dad is being a huge dweeb on purpose.

"I'm making no promises." He says, in response to the part about what kind of food it is, but then goes slightly more serious at the last comment. He considers, for a moment, pretending that's exactly what happened, but he's been keeping everything to himself for what feels like forever now and a part of him really wants at least get Rosen's opinion on some things. A lot has happened, after all, and this is just the most recent thing.

His hesitation is surely enough to indicate what his answer would be, and so when he actually responds it's not really an attempt to hide anything. "I think I may have only earned a participation award, then."

"A man after my own heart," Rosen nods in approval before gathering up a few things and carrying them over to the sink for rinsing. "How about this, because you did me the great favor of keeping me alive and also got the groceries, you get to pick what we have for breakfast, hm?" He peeks over his shoulder briefly with a smile. "Obviously, it would ideally be something I can make with these ingredients."

He then busies himself at the sink for another few moments until Lance's answer about his trip causes him to pause, half turning to look at him directly.

"What happened?"

"That's a fair trade." Lance responds, glancing over the items he'd brought and then checking the cabinets and fridge for anything else that could be combined together. Oh, and while he's there, he passes Rosen another water.

He avoids looking over at Rosen when he turns toward him, at least at first, but then meets his gaze. "I ran into someone who thinks pretending to shoot people is a great way to say hello. This was the second time, though, so it kind of lost some of the effect." And so it's totally fine. Totally. Fine.

He actually is, honestly, mostly over that particular issue, but not the more general one of the sorts of things Hux says and the fact that he and Maketh are from the same world. That combined with how things went down with Maketh makes the entire situation feel very volatile, and like it's only a matter of time before it explodes, which is what's truly making him more nervous.

Rosen's hands settle on the sink-edge as his frown becomes firmly set, and now for a reason entirely separate from the fact that his head aches every time he moves or even just breathes. However he fights against that, thoughts fully focused on what Lance is saying.

"What? Who?" His voice is hoarse but insistent. "This does not have to do with Maketh Tua does it?"

Their last in-depth conversation before the one that had been the catalyst for their awkwardness had been about Lance deciding to try and see Maketh as a patient, and they had been tentatively optimistic that perhaps it could come to some good. However they had also had their concerns about her volatility and aggression.

"No, Maketh threw a knife at me. Totally different issue." Now that he's started talking it's difficult to stop, some of the repressed frustration and general stress of all that's been going on coming out in his tone. He has to very purposefully not slam the cabinet doors, also.

"It is someone from Maketh's world, however." Their world apparently has a theme so far.

"Maketh threw a knife at you?" Rosen's brows hike up so high in shock and disbelief that they practically disappear beneath his bangs. He then raises his hands, still wet from rinsing vegetables, and rubs over his face roughly. He is not ok with this new piece of information whatsoever.

"Then who was it who threatened to shoot you? Or pretended to shoot you or whatever it is they thought they were doing?" Because really Rosen couldn't care if they 'were only pretending' because that is not something you 'pretend' in good faith.

"And are you alright?" He turns fully now to face him, his tired and still bloodshot eyes clearly giving him the once over, "the knife missed?"

He probably should've expected that reaction and not spoken impulsively, but he can't take it back now even though he feels immediately a bit guilty for worrying Rosen. For that reason, he answers the last question first.

"I'm fine. I think she missed on purpose." His tone is factual, not excusing; he's not at all impressed with how the entire meeting had gone, even if looking back he feels he made his own share of mistakes that had made things worse.

"The other person is someone named Hux. He seems set on being willfully malicious, at least from what I know of him so far." But Lance keeps cutting their conversations as short as possible, due to being seriously creeped out whenever they talk.

Lee sighs heavily, a mixture of relief that at least Maketh had the wherewithal to miss on purpose as well as the usual hyperactive concern over Lance making himself vulnerable in situations with highly dangerous individuals. He needs a moment to digest it all and with a tired, messy gesture he indicates the cupboard, urging Lance to go ahead and pick what it is he wants to eat.

"Hux," He murmurs eventually, turned back to the sink once more. "I've heard the name but i've never met the man." His gut instinct is to tell Lance to cut and run but he knows logically that will not be taken well. It will be disrespectful to Lance's own capabilities and personal agency, and will push him back into his 'i don't need a babysitter' corner. So Lee holds his tongue, opting instead to look forward.

"So, what actions are you taking?"

Right, that's what he's supposed to be doing. Just give him another few seconds to figure out what can even be made; these look like potatoes, which are good for breakfast and the carbohydrates should also help with Rosen's hangover, and what are these? Canned peaches? Sure, edible enough; add them to the pile.

There's absolutely nothing of real substance yet, but breakfast is a difficult meal when you're not going to a diner, and he keeps looking through the options as he responds.

"Maketh and I are no longer meeting. However, I'm planning to speak with Henry about some other potential options, because I don't want to completely leave her to her own devices once again, considering those devices where what prompted our..." What word is appropriate here? "...Confrontation, to begin with."

As far as Hux goes, "I'm not entirely sure what to do about Hux just yet, so for now I'm trying to get a better sense of him."

"How exactly do you plan to get a better sense of him?"

Rosen's voice is characteristically stern, but the question is said with genuine intent and is not intended as condescension. He wants to know exactly how Lance plans to achieve this goal and is seriously hoping it does not involve putting himself in more immediate danger.

"And how is it you and this man began this ritual of him pretending to shoot you?"

He now turns his attention to the ingredients Lance is putting on the counter, eyeing the canned peaches. "I have some flour in that far drawer there," he has stashed it away for emergencies. "Do you like peach tarts?" He is of the belief that he has enough to pull together a custard-less peach pastry.

Lance can read the intended tone underneath the sternness and so isn't bothered by it, although he doesn't answer either of the first questions immediately. Instead he looks for the flour, finding it and placing it on the counter, definitely interested in the suggested idea. "I'm not sure I've ever had them, but I can't imagine I wouldn't like them." It's impossible to go wrong with a combination of fruit and pastry.

But okay, back on the serious topic, and Lance takes one of the water bottles from the fridge for himself to delay a bit further in answering. Give him a few seconds to lean back against the counter and take a few sips of water, then he finally bothers to respond.

"Being from Maketh's world, he's become tangentially involved in some of the issues that have been going on in the same way I have been, and so our paths have been crossing. I get more of an idea of what someone is like each time we speak--like most people--only I'm testing a few particular ideas each time." Although he has a general idea of personality types from most first meetings, it does take additional testing and questioning to narrow down details.

As for the whole greeting ritual-- "We first ran into each other during the event where things were jumping out at us, and ended up in a standoff. I thought he was just surprised, and would put down his gun as soon as I lowered mine and proved I wouldn't shoot him, but he seemed more interested in making a point." And Lance is leaving out a lot of details, of course, but not any that he thinks makes the story inaccurate or unfairly depicted.

With a nod of acknowledgment, Rosen tugs the flour closer to himself and sets about getting it open. "Can you open that can of peaches please?"

Now back to the subject at hand. "It sounds like what you are finding is that Maketh's world is one fraught with violence and militaristic attitudes and forgive me, but I'm not sure thats a realm which you should be 'testing' anything with." He begins measuring out what he is going to need, hands already a bit white and dusty from flour which he accidentally spreads to his face as he reaches up to rub at the bridge of his nose. The dull thudding of his headache has briefly decided to complain more loudly due to his insistence on moving and talking.

But he's determined to not let it stop him.

"Again, I don't disagree with your assessment that something clearly needs to be addressed here, that there is certainly enough proof of mental health concerns, but being right doesn't matter too much if you have been blasted with some strange space-gun, no?"

Don't know what to say, don't know what I said

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