[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.]
[For multiple reasons; as terrible as this place is at lot of the time, there are good points to it, and more than that... He's alive here, and that means he can have hope.]
And... Thank you, for being here yourself, and for listening.
[It's hard to say how much he appreciates not only that she was willing to do so, but that she made it possible to trust her enough to talk in the first place.]
[It's difficult to say yes, since he feels like he hasn't really done a lot for her, but he knows he may not be the best judge of that at the moment. So instead he gives a small nod and another weak smile.]
Yeah, and if you ever need to talk in the future...
[He wants to help, especially after this. He's pretty much disqualified himself from giving any sort of professional advice at this point, but he can still help as a friend.
And that said, he actually takes a bite of one of the chips, and wow. Not just food, but food with flavor; how he missed you.]
[He means it, but he definitely wouldn't want her not to talk to him if it weren't the case just because he's dealing with things. That's the same reason--one of them, anyway--he's been avoiding talking to anyone himself, after all.]
Have things settled a little more with Washington?
[He won't press further than that both out of respect and because he's too drained to do so, but he still wants to make it clear that if she wants to talk she should go ahead.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[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.]
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[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.]
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[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.]
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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.]
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[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.]
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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.]
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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?
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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.]
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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.
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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.]
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[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?
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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.]
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[Realistically, she would have called him out anyway. Kyna nudges her knee against his.]
Are you feeling a little better?
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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.]
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Here.
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Thank you, but I'll leave most of these to you.
[He's good with the cheese ones.]
Do you want something to drink? I mean, between the aforementioned water and tea options.
[Though a drink drink sounds really good right now.]
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[More barbecue for her, but she doesn't dig in just yet.]
Hey, Lance? I'm glad you're here.
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I'm glad I'm here too.
[For multiple reasons; as terrible as this place is at lot of the time, there are good points to it, and more than that... He's alive here, and that means he can have hope.]
And... Thank you, for being here yourself, and for listening.
[It's hard to say how much he appreciates not only that she was willing to do so, but that she made it possible to trust her enough to talk in the first place.]
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You always listen to me when I need you, right?
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Yeah, and if you ever need to talk in the future...
[He wants to help, especially after this. He's pretty much disqualified himself from giving any sort of professional advice at this point, but he can still help as a friend.
And that said, he actually takes a bite of one of the chips, and wow. Not just food, but food with flavor; how he missed you.]
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[For now, anyway, and she doesn't want him to start worrying about her when he's got enough crap on his plate.]
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[He means it, but he definitely wouldn't want her not to talk to him if it weren't the case just because he's dealing with things. That's the same reason--one of them, anyway--he's been avoiding talking to anyone himself, after all.]
Have things settled a little more with Washington?
[As far as the whole year apart thing goes.]
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[She thinks? It feels complicated, somehow.]
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[He won't press further than that both out of respect and because he's too drained to do so, but he still wants to make it clear that if she wants to talk she should go ahead.]
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It's not like there's anything wrong, it's just... you know. If we ever go home... When we go home.
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