[He can't say for sure that she won't say something 'wrong', but it's unlikely, and he takes a slow deep breath to try to center himself a bit. Where is he going to start? What's he going to say?
When people ask him that in a counseling session, he tells them to start with whatever stands out or is bothering them the most. So he takes a moment, gaze fixed off to the side, as he tries to keep his will to talk while figuring out what to say.]
Dr. Brennan said that I died of internal blood loss, but she just confirmed what I already knew, because I...
[It's difficult to explain, not just because of the topic but because he's not sure how to put the sense he'd had into words. But that's not as important, since the rest of what he has to say will get the point across well enough.]
He stomped on my chest, and I felt them all break inward.
[He makes an awkward gesture toward his ribs on the left side, from high up on his chest most of the way down, for a total of eight ribs. Not coincidentally, that span is about the length of a grown man's shoe. And although Lance doesn't specify who 'he' is, it's probably easy enough to guess that he means the person who killed him.]
I've been hurt before, sometimes really seriously, but never like... That. It was painful, but I didn't really start to feel it too much until after I got here; it was more that it was like... It was like drowning, suddenly, except it was blood instead of water.
[And that's the thing that's stuck with him the most, more than the fight itself, and more than the fact that it wasn't necessary to kill him at all. That particular feeling, and the sense of wrongness and cold shock of fear, are what has been truly following him over the past several months.]
[That's... more than she knows how to process gracefully, and her heart twists in her chest. Her fingers are still tangled in the chain of her necklace, and she tightens her grip reflexively. She's almost died more than a few times, but Harlan and Tucker were always there to save her. She can't imagine experiencing any of that alone, or having to process it like he is now. Just like she predicted, she has no idea what to say, and for a second all she can do is swallow.]
[In much more detail than he wants to. Time slows down for a lot of people when in a life or death situation, and he's no exception; he remembers every moment of the fight, from the start of it through what he's describing, to when he found himself waking up suddenly in the arena.]
And it's just... Stuck in my head, which is not entirely unusual, and I should've started dealing with things earlier, but I...
[He just offers a small shrug, a little surprised at himself for his voice being as steady as it still is, but maybe it's because he's focusing so hard on what he's saying that he isn't thinking about the content as much.]
[He nods a little at that, encouraged to continue, but he's not entirely sure how to do so. So he just starts at the beginning, this time, even if it might not seem like it immediately.]
Are um... Are parking garages really creepy in your world? Because they are in mine, and you kind of want to just look over your shoulder the entire time you're in one, so I thought I was being paranoid and that I was imagining things.
[Part of her is desperate to make a stupid joke at that comment, because she's all wound up and trying not to look as tense as she feels, but she knows how absolutely horrible that would be of her. She shoves the impulse aside.]
[Lance is similarly tense, and similarly trying not to look it, but it's probably pretty obvious since he's pretty much completely stiff and has curled his fingers into the fabric of his jeans.]
I still don't... I still don't why he didn't bring a weapon; I'm an FBI agent, and he would've known that, so all I can guess is that he didn't think he'd need one. He wasn't wrong.
[And that's something else distressing; the whole thing was violent and horrible and pointless enough, without the added insult of being considered such an easy target that his attacker didn't believe--and was correct in thinking--that a weapon wasn't necessary.]
I realized he was there just in time to turn around and not be totally surprised, but he hit really hard.
[Though for better or worse, Lance is used to getting hit in the face, enough so that it hadn't stunned him too badly. But he chews on his lower lip for a moment before continuing, gaze shifting off to the side again.]
I fought back, and actually broke my hand on his head, but... Um, if anyone ever grabs you by the throat--or anywhere else, actually--bending their fingers back is really effective, no matter how strong they are. So he let go, but I think that's what made him so angry.
[He wonders if maybe, if he hadn't done that and had chosen a different way of getting free, if his attacker might've not cause so much damage in the way he had. But not fighting back hadn't been an option, and it's only in hindsight he's considered this.]
[Her voice is hushed, and reflexively, she reaches for his hand. It's her default language, and the only thing she can think to do. Her throat and chest are tight with an emotion she can't immediately pinpoint, and she swallows again, harder this time, waiting for him to continue.]
[He's a little slow to react, so much of his focus on trying to get words out without thinking too much about them, but the gesture of comfort is welcome once he realizes it.]
I didn't find out until after a few months of being here that the next blow broke my leg; I just thought it was hard enough to knock me down. But that's how he had the opportunity to kick me in the chest, and then...
[Then cause the fatal injuries, while he was on the ground. It had all been so incredibly fast, even if it felt like an eternity at the time and when he thinks about it.
He offers a small shrug again, still feeling oddly calm about everything.]
I think it all happened in less than a minute. After he broke my ribs, he started collecting the documents--the evidence about the conspiracy--that he'd wanted, and I was trying to draw my gun, but then I was here.
[There's the barest tremor to her voice from fury or sadness, or maybe both. Her mind supplies the idea that he probably drowned on his own blood, and she recoils from the thought, shuddering.]
[He doesn't know exactly what happened in the time he didn't experience, having not asked Brennan for too many details, but it can be assumed so by what she told him.]
But... Dr. Brennan said that Aubrey had followed me after all, and he called for help, but there just wasn't any time. Dr. Brennan and her husband--my friend Booth--were able to get there, though, and so the three of them were with me.
[Which knowing gives him some sense of peace. He's been so afraid that he'd died alone in a parking garage, in the same way Kyna is thinking, and so knowing that at least Brennan, Booth, and Aubrey were there makes things... Manageable, in a way. He still doesn't know exactly how he did die, other than that it was blood loss, but that's less important than that he wasn't alone.]
[That's... something, at least, that his friends were there. Not much, though, and she realizes suddenly that the reason her throat is aching is from grief, which is a surreal thought. She's grieving for someone who's right next to her, talking to her, but all she can think is that Lance didn't deserve it. No one would, really, but especially not Lance, who runs himself ragged trying to make sure everyone else is alright. Her vision blurs, and she blinks hard, praying he won't notice the tears as she untangles her hand from his and leans forward to hug him tightly.]
[Despite feeling oddly distant emotionally, he does notice the tears in her eyes and it's like that flips a switch; hugging her in return gives him the opportunity to hide his own face, and the fact that his own vision has gone hazy. It's still too much to really process mentally just yet, but at least he's feeling something.]
It's okay.
[He says the words without really thinking about them, and although they aren't true they aren't totally hollow either.]
It wasn't fair, but it's never fair. I've worked the cases of so many people who didn't get even a fraction of the time and experiences I had; sometimes it just...
[But he can't finish, because even though he means what he's saying, it doesn't stop that it hurts. It doesn't stop that it feels unfair, and that it didn't have to happen, and that one different step and he might have lived to see his son be born. But that's how life is, and he knows that better than many.]
[She certainly isn't wrong; he's been upset for weeks, or months really, for more issue than just this one although this one has remained a constant throughout. But it's one he doesn't know how to handle, not really, other than that it's a grieving process.
So he's quiet several seconds before continuing, and his voice is more unsteady when he does so.]
It doesn't... It doesn't do me or anyone else any good to linger on how wrong it was that this happened. None of... None of the other things that have happened in my life were right either, and I got past them, so I should... I should...
[He should be able to get past this one too, even if right now that feels utterly impossible. It's also surely obvious by the trembling that's started up that he's no longer successfully holding back his emotions as he had been.]
[Oh, God. She's trying so hard to keep it together, because she doesn't make this worse on him by crying, but it's so much harder when he starts to get emotional.]
Should just what? Get over it?
[She shakes her head, the movement awkward against his shoulder.]
Why are you trying to make everyone think you're fine when you're not?
[It isn't so much that he thinks he should get over it, at least not immediately, but that he's upset with himself for letting this be such a problem. Logically, he knows that's ridiculous and he would never expect someone else to just deal with things and move on, especially without help, but that doesn't change the inherent feeling--despite know it's also ridiculous--that he should hold himself to a different standard. He's a psychologist, and this is not the first time he's been through a traumatic event, and he should be doing better.
That double standard is also part of the answer to her last question, although the entire answer is a complex mix of everything from thought-out reasons to purely emotional causes. He isn't sure he could totally explain even if he wanted to, and there are parts he knows for certain that he doesn't want to get into just yet. So he gives himself time to think about it before answering, using that time to also regain some calm; the hug is helping with that, providing a calming effect.]
There are a lot of reasons.
[He finally says that much, voice quieter but less shaky than before.]
I don't want to cause people to worry when they already have enough to be concerned about. No one trusts a psychologist that they consider as unstable--or more so--than themselves, and aside from that it's also unethical to concern a patient with my problems. I need as much credibility as possible in this place, both so that people will listen to me about serious issues when necessary and so that I'm not an easy target.
[It's so hard to trust that someone won't immediately use everything against him. No one is going to believe or care that something's wrong, and the more he shows there is the less likely he is to be taken seriously. Being unable to hide things will have consequences. Every time he thinks it's been long enough to pull himself out of that way of thinking and take a chance, he's proven wrong.
So it had to reach a point where the potential risk couldn't be worse than the situation already is, and so he's managed to gather enough will and courage to override those fears to have this conversation. And although everything--logic, emotion, his intuition--tell him he can trust Kyna, that doesn't totally eliminate the quiet underlying voice that keeps telling him he's still making a terrible mistake.]
[Kyna lets out a frustrated sigh, clearly unhappy with the answer, though she can't really argue against it. She knows exactly how Wash feels about psychologists, and even trying to picture Tucker honestly sitting down to talk with one about how he's feeling is impossible. Hadriel isn't exactly full of trusting people, but it still annoys her.]
I'm not your patient, I'm your friend. I'm not going to tell anyone. You have to let someone help you. It's not like people are going to think you're fine if you avoid everyone.
[He senses the frustration in her sigh, but doesn't take it personally; in contrast, it's almost humorous, if just because he's done the same thing so many times here whether at friends or people he's annoyed with. Sometimes it's the only response.
He hugs her a little tighter in response to the first parts of what she said, because he knows, and he's trusting her in that, and the gesture says that as clearly as any words could. But as for the last part--]
Very few people have noticed.
[And most of those who have only did so because he isn't around the Clinic anymore. He doesn't really blame them--he's pretty good at not drawing attention--but it certainly isn't an encouragement that people care or are even going to think twice about his behavior.]
[Talking is definitely helping; it's exhausting and he feels drained, but the other side of that is that he isn't as tense or hyperfocused, at least for the moment. It's definitely an improvement.
It's enough of one that he actually offers a weak attempt at a laugh at her first comment, and a tired but still quietly sassy remark.]
What? People here are assholes?
[That's crazytalk. But he's silent another few seconds at the rest of what she said, finally pulling back to face her and giving a small nod.]
Yeah. I'll... I'll work on it, and you have permission to call me out if I'm not, although I don't think you really needed permission in the first place.
[It's as much of a promise as he can really make, but he means it.]
[Kyna smiles back, a little hesitantly, then reaches out to snag one of the bags from the side table. She opens the bag and hands it to him--the barbecue ones, which is clearly a gesture of great affection.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Yeah, I know. I want to be here. Just... don't get mad if I say something stupid? Or if something comes out wrong.
cw discussion of violence for probably awhile
[He can't say for sure that she won't say something 'wrong', but it's unlikely, and he takes a slow deep breath to try to center himself a bit. Where is he going to start? What's he going to say?
When people ask him that in a counseling session, he tells them to start with whatever stands out or is bothering them the most. So he takes a moment, gaze fixed off to the side, as he tries to keep his will to talk while figuring out what to say.]
Dr. Brennan said that I died of internal blood loss, but she just confirmed what I already knew, because I...
[It's difficult to explain, not just because of the topic but because he's not sure how to put the sense he'd had into words. But that's not as important, since the rest of what he has to say will get the point across well enough.]
He stomped on my chest, and I felt them all break inward.
[He makes an awkward gesture toward his ribs on the left side, from high up on his chest most of the way down, for a total of eight ribs. Not coincidentally, that span is about the length of a grown man's shoe. And although Lance doesn't specify who 'he' is, it's probably easy enough to guess that he means the person who killed him.]
I've been hurt before, sometimes really seriously, but never like... That. It was painful, but I didn't really start to feel it too much until after I got here; it was more that it was like... It was like drowning, suddenly, except it was blood instead of water.
[And that's the thing that's stuck with him the most, more than the fight itself, and more than the fact that it wasn't necessary to kill him at all. That particular feeling, and the sense of wrongness and cold shock of fear, are what has been truly following him over the past several months.]
i can't believe you're doing this to me
You remember all of it?
[She was hoping he'd been unconscious.]
I'd apologize but I'm only partially sorry :c
[In much more detail than he wants to. Time slows down for a lot of people when in a life or death situation, and he's no exception; he remembers every moment of the fight, from the start of it through what he's describing, to when he found himself waking up suddenly in the arena.]
And it's just... Stuck in my head, which is not entirely unusual, and I should've started dealing with things earlier, but I...
[He just offers a small shrug, a little surprised at himself for his voice being as steady as it still is, but maybe it's because he's focusing so hard on what he's saying that he isn't thinking about the content as much.]
smh!!
You can tell me all of it. I mean, if it would help.
no subject
Are um... Are parking garages really creepy in your world? Because they are in mine, and you kind of want to just look over your shoulder the entire time you're in one, so I thought I was being paranoid and that I was imagining things.
no subject
Yeah, I know what you mean.
no subject
I still don't... I still don't why he didn't bring a weapon; I'm an FBI agent, and he would've known that, so all I can guess is that he didn't think he'd need one. He wasn't wrong.
[And that's something else distressing; the whole thing was violent and horrible and pointless enough, without the added insult of being considered such an easy target that his attacker didn't believe--and was correct in thinking--that a weapon wasn't necessary.]
I realized he was there just in time to turn around and not be totally surprised, but he hit really hard.
[Though for better or worse, Lance is used to getting hit in the face, enough so that it hadn't stunned him too badly. But he chews on his lower lip for a moment before continuing, gaze shifting off to the side again.]
I fought back, and actually broke my hand on his head, but... Um, if anyone ever grabs you by the throat--or anywhere else, actually--bending their fingers back is really effective, no matter how strong they are. So he let go, but I think that's what made him so angry.
[He wonders if maybe, if he hadn't done that and had chosen a different way of getting free, if his attacker might've not cause so much damage in the way he had. But not fighting back hadn't been an option, and it's only in hindsight he's considered this.]
no subject
[Her voice is hushed, and reflexively, she reaches for his hand. It's her default language, and the only thing she can think to do. Her throat and chest are tight with an emotion she can't immediately pinpoint, and she swallows again, harder this time, waiting for him to continue.]
no subject
I didn't find out until after a few months of being here that the next blow broke my leg; I just thought it was hard enough to knock me down. But that's how he had the opportunity to kick me in the chest, and then...
[Then cause the fatal injuries, while he was on the ground. It had all been so incredibly fast, even if it felt like an eternity at the time and when he thinks about it.
He offers a small shrug again, still feeling oddly calm about everything.]
I think it all happened in less than a minute. After he broke my ribs, he started collecting the documents--the evidence about the conspiracy--that he'd wanted, and I was trying to draw my gun, but then I was here.
no subject
[There's the barest tremor to her voice from fury or sadness, or maybe both. Her mind supplies the idea that he probably drowned on his own blood, and she recoils from the thought, shuddering.]
no subject
[He doesn't know exactly what happened in the time he didn't experience, having not asked Brennan for too many details, but it can be assumed so by what she told him.]
But... Dr. Brennan said that Aubrey had followed me after all, and he called for help, but there just wasn't any time. Dr. Brennan and her husband--my friend Booth--were able to get there, though, and so the three of them were with me.
[Which knowing gives him some sense of peace. He's been so afraid that he'd died alone in a parking garage, in the same way Kyna is thinking, and so knowing that at least Brennan, Booth, and Aubrey were there makes things... Manageable, in a way. He still doesn't know exactly how he did die, other than that it was blood loss, but that's less important than that he wasn't alone.]
no subject
[That's... something, at least, that his friends were there. Not much, though, and she realizes suddenly that the reason her throat is aching is from grief, which is a surreal thought. She's grieving for someone who's right next to her, talking to her, but all she can think is that Lance didn't deserve it. No one would, really, but especially not Lance, who runs himself ragged trying to make sure everyone else is alright. Her vision blurs, and she blinks hard, praying he won't notice the tears as she untangles her hand from his and leans forward to hug him tightly.]
no subject
It's okay.
[He says the words without really thinking about them, and although they aren't true they aren't totally hollow either.]
It wasn't fair, but it's never fair. I've worked the cases of so many people who didn't get even a fraction of the time and experiences I had; sometimes it just...
[But he can't finish, because even though he means what he's saying, it doesn't stop that it hurts. It doesn't stop that it feels unfair, and that it didn't have to happen, and that one different step and he might have lived to see his son be born. But that's how life is, and he knows that better than many.]
no subject
[She doesn't understand how he can talk so calmly about it being unfair when that's the exact thing that grates at her.]
I know you're upset. You've been upset for weeks.
[And maybe it's not fair to push him, but she can't imagine what he's doing now is any better.]
no subject
So he's quiet several seconds before continuing, and his voice is more unsteady when he does so.]
It doesn't... It doesn't do me or anyone else any good to linger on how wrong it was that this happened. None of... None of the other things that have happened in my life were right either, and I got past them, so I should... I should...
[He should be able to get past this one too, even if right now that feels utterly impossible. It's also surely obvious by the trembling that's started up that he's no longer successfully holding back his emotions as he had been.]
no subject
Should just what? Get over it?
[She shakes her head, the movement awkward against his shoulder.]
Why are you trying to make everyone think you're fine when you're not?
no subject
That double standard is also part of the answer to her last question, although the entire answer is a complex mix of everything from thought-out reasons to purely emotional causes. He isn't sure he could totally explain even if he wanted to, and there are parts he knows for certain that he doesn't want to get into just yet. So he gives himself time to think about it before answering, using that time to also regain some calm; the hug is helping with that, providing a calming effect.]
There are a lot of reasons.
[He finally says that much, voice quieter but less shaky than before.]
I don't want to cause people to worry when they already have enough to be concerned about. No one trusts a psychologist that they consider as unstable--or more so--than themselves, and aside from that it's also unethical to concern a patient with my problems. I need as much credibility as possible in this place, both so that people will listen to me about serious issues when necessary and so that I'm not an easy target.
[It's so hard to trust that someone won't immediately use everything against him. No one is going to believe or care that something's wrong, and the more he shows there is the less likely he is to be taken seriously. Being unable to hide things will have consequences. Every time he thinks it's been long enough to pull himself out of that way of thinking and take a chance, he's proven wrong.
So it had to reach a point where the potential risk couldn't be worse than the situation already is, and so he's managed to gather enough will and courage to override those fears to have this conversation. And although everything--logic, emotion, his intuition--tell him he can trust Kyna, that doesn't totally eliminate the quiet underlying voice that keeps telling him he's still making a terrible mistake.]
no subject
I'm not your patient, I'm your friend. I'm not going to tell anyone. You have to let someone help you. It's not like people are going to think you're fine if you avoid everyone.
no subject
He hugs her a little tighter in response to the first parts of what she said, because he knows, and he's trusting her in that, and the gesture says that as clearly as any words could. But as for the last part--]
Very few people have noticed.
[And most of those who have only did so because he isn't around the Clinic anymore. He doesn't really blame them--he's pretty good at not drawing attention--but it certainly isn't an encouragement that people care or are even going to think twice about his behavior.]
no subject
[She's getting a little heated now, but the squeeze he gives her is reassuring. Maybe talking really is helping.]
Just think about yourself more. Please?
no subject
It's enough of one that he actually offers a weak attempt at a laugh at her first comment, and a tired but still quietly sassy remark.]
What? People here are assholes?
[That's crazytalk. But he's silent another few seconds at the rest of what she said, finally pulling back to face her and giving a small nod.]
Yeah. I'll... I'll work on it, and you have permission to call me out if I'm not, although I don't think you really needed permission in the first place.
[It's as much of a promise as he can really make, but he means it.]
no subject
[Realistically, she would have called him out anyway. Kyna nudges her knee against his.]
Are you feeling a little better?
no subject
A little, yeah. Enough that I think I want to eat these chips.
[Which is kind of a miracle in itself since his appetite's been so back and forth, but he's not going to question it. Besides, chips are awesome.]
no subject
Here.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)