[ He's sounding like a dick, in his own little trance of recent, uninterrupted misery. But regardless of his reason for it, it's not helping anything. ]
[ Mohinder thinks of things that had always baffled him about his father, things that would set the man off for seemingly inexplicable reasons; he remembers unconsciously internalizing the fact that February was simply a time to stay out of Chandra's way, and always would be.
He remembers thinking of his mother as a more superstitious woman than she really was, because her strange overprotectiveness about innocuous things seemed to make sense in no other context. And he knows, now, how powerful memories can be, when he'd never understood it before. ]
Will you be all right on your own?
I don't think I can afford to leave, but I don't want you by yourself.
( that gets sent first and then there's more ... that appears before, in a surprising turn of events, she video calls him.
he'll see that she's lying in her bed, hair tucked behind her ears, a neutral expression to her though when she sees his face he does earn a tiny smile )
Hi.
( her hand tucks under her pillow, adrienne having shoved a book behind the device to prop it up )
[ That is a surprising turn of events, enough so that he wouldn't even expect it to be her calling at all if he couldn't see her name on the screen.
He'd be tempted, given a choice, to keep things to text, because it's much harder for his impulsive and irritable mouth to run away with him when he's typing, and these past couple weeks have built up just enough bitterness and hurt along with his worry that he has reason not to trust himself. But he's hardly going to hang up on her when she calls him. ]
Hi.
[ He's at his kitchen table, and he stays there for now, resting his elbows on it to keep the phone level. He doesn't quite manage a smile in return, but he almost gets there. ]
[ He can't pretend it hadn't stung a little, being told to leave by someone to whom that "anyone" didn't seem to apply, but he'd still mostly understood. And he'd meant it when he'd said he was just glad she had someone to make sure she was safe.
He melts anyway, to know that she's missed him. He's taken aback, even, by how touched it makes him feel. ]
I'm sorry. I... ( she pauses, wanting to explain it in the best possible way. it's him, she trusts him and he's one of the people that she wants to talk to )
[ He never is difficult to persuade, and especially not now. ]
I'll be right up.
[ It's only a minute before he's at her door, in the tank top and sweats he's usually wearing at this hour of the evening, empty-handed but still eager--if nervous, somehow--to see her. ]
( she's in her pyjamas, the little shorts and vest top that he'll recognise, though he'll note more about her: she seems smaller, her dimmer energy and how she'd withdrawn into herself shrinking her even if physically she's stood tall.
her hand reaches for him once he's stepped in, slipping it into his as she pushes the door closed before stepping into him. it's another moment before she leans into him, not quite a hug but craving the security that his presence gives, her head against his chest and slowly her arms do loosely settle around his waist )
[ He notices all these things and more, heart aching a little on her behalf. His hand closes around hers without hesitation or even thought, thumb stroking her knuckles soothingly on autopilot--it's the one gesture he associates with comfort more than anything, the one thing he'll always do on instinct, like his mother always did for him.
Even before she leans into him, he's moved a little closer, willing to pull her into his arms if she doesn't come to him. He's always been better with touch than with words, where affection is concerned. Her head on his chest is at just the right height for him to rest his chin on, to press his lips against the top of it, as he folds his arms around her and tempers his strength so that he can squeeze gently. ]
( she lets that moment stay, the sentiment, absorbing the comfort from him and it helps, the similar feeling to when odessa had barged in before she'd text daryl, when she'd been drunk and had been comforted.
but asking for it is harder, remembering that it helps is harder, her mind not thinking rationally when she's fallen. and it only makes her feel broken for not being able to do any of this until it's too late.
there's a small sigh before she slowly extracts from him, still keeping a hand on him to stay in contact )
Come back to bed with me. ( she realises a second too late what it implies and follows up with-- ) It'll be more comfortable. And I can-- I want to talk to you. About what happened.
[ Before she corrects herself, he's opened his mouth to protest--or maybe not to protest, exactly, but to question whether she's really sure. He doesn't think he would say no if she told him it would help, but when she clarifies, it all makes more sense. At least for tonight. ]
I'd like that.
[ Because he does want to know, to hear it from her, even when he's put together enough of the pieces for a general outline. He slips his arm around her waist again, but it's gentle and companionable, not the way he'd be touching her if she wanted him in bed for any other reason. ]
( though her bed had been a comfy nest for the past few days it looks a lot better currently, only one glass of water on the table, the covers drawn back as she'd laid talking to him but not under them, her device still propped up by the book that she'd left there after the call had ended.
they get moved onto the table to be out of the way, adrienne sitting on the bed and waiting for him to settle down before she curls into him, head by his shoulder for the moment )
I'm not good at asking for help, I'm better at pushing people away.
( her words are close enough to a whisper but he's the only one tnst needs to hear them )
Daryl's my dominant, when I text him I don't know if I expected him to stay but... I needed food as much as someone. But I still avoided him.
( he'd been here, a presence of safety making sure she ate and had water but she kept him as far as she still could )
I... it feels better having someone here but I don't know how to ask for that.
[ He eases onto the bed beside her when she clears the things away, stretching out on his back to let his chest be a pillow if she wants it to be. But this is enough, nestled close enough to hear her quiet words and let her keep her voice low.
It all sounds painfully familiar, certainly. He's no paragon to be giving advice on how to ask for help. He's not sure he knows anyone who is any good at it. ]
You did ask, though. Maybe not to the extent that would have been ideal, but you did. It's something.
I did. ( there's a soft little sigh ) I don't like people seeing me like that but... as people keep reminding me that's when I most need someone.
( for support, so they can help pull her up or keep her steadier. she moves a hand to his chest, one finger lightly stroking, taking a moment for a pause )
I was given mandated therapy after it happened, not immediately but when my chief realised how badly I was coping. But I'd shut down. I didn't talk. I never have. This time... it was something at work that started it, a detail in a patient's file that triggered it. On its own it might not have been as bad.
( but then there was timing and she'd sunk lower )
[ It's so easy to think of progress as linear, even when it rarely is. It hasn't occurred to him that her efforts in braving the lab could be undone with a spiral like this, set off by something small and unpredictable, even when he knows she has good days and bad days already.
But in light of all that, and hearing that she hadn't made the intended use of that mandatory therapy, it makes sense now. ]
Do you think it's likely to happen again?
[ He covers her hand on his chest gently with his own. ]
PTSD is... ( fucked is her instinctive word but she leaves the sentence unfinished, especially when she knows she isn't managing as well as she likes to pretend she is. as she makes other people thing )
I havent had a spiral that bad in a while. It isn't always like that, little triggers are easier but... this built. I don't want it to keep building.
( this had been a terrifying reminder of the past, especially when things had felt better or more managed )
[ Whether or not it's what she's asking for, his mind is shifting into problem-solving mode, scientific and logical. If she knows what caused it to build, then maybe they can avoid it next time--maybe he can help, somehow, before it gets that far. ]
( adrienne doesn't respond at first, a long silence where the question presses, where her instincts are to retreat again and shut it all down. she shifts to curl more into him, resting her head on his chest, tucked closer. he's safe, he's there, and that's what she's clinging to, reassuring herself that she's okay, that she can trust him )
Her birthday.
( it's so quiet a whisper, an admission that will end up surprising her when she realises that she's told him at all. the pause was long enough that he'd likely even have started thinking that she wasn't going to, that it was it. this was the first time that she's mentioned something herself about her daughter, a real detail, not just to him but in years. and likely the only one.
but it was her birthday. that was the part that adrienne had struggled with, that hit her hardest because what should be her happiest time, celebrating her daughter and her life, seeing her grow-- she couldn't and those happy times crushed her )
The patient file detail wasn't even connected, it wasn't... but it brought something up.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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work is not a good idea
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[ He can assume she wasn't exactly partying, but the question remains. ]
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a lot
i didn't really sleep
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[ He's sounding like a dick, in his own little trance of recent, uninterrupted misery. But regardless of his reason for it, it's not helping anything. ]
Did something happen?
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specifically
i'm not handling my head
memories
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He remembers thinking of his mother as a more superstitious woman than she really was, because her strange overprotectiveness about innocuous things seemed to make sense in no other context. And he knows, now, how powerful memories can be, when he'd never understood it before. ]
Will you be all right on your own?
I don't think I can afford to leave, but I don't want you by yourself.
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you won't see me in the hospital
i'm not that kind of broken
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I didn't say you were.
I'm glad someone's there. Let me know if there's anything I can do.
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thank you
( that gets sent first and then there's more ... that appears before, in a surprising turn of events, she video calls him.
he'll see that she's lying in her bed, hair tucked behind her ears, a neutral expression to her though when she sees his face he does earn a tiny smile )
Hi.
( her hand tucks under her pillow, adrienne having shoved a book behind the device to prop it up )
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He'd be tempted, given a choice, to keep things to text, because it's much harder for his impulsive and irritable mouth to run away with him when he's typing, and these past couple weeks have built up just enough bitterness and hurt along with his worry that he has reason not to trust himself. But he's hardly going to hang up on her when she calls him. ]
Hi.
[ He's at his kitchen table, and he stays there for now, resting his elbows on it to keep the phone level. He doesn't quite manage a smile in return, but he almost gets there. ]
I did stop by, yeah.
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( and she'd really not been in a state for it, she'd hidden away even from daryl )
But I thought I'd show you that I'm okay. ( a little pause ) And I missed you.
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[ He can't pretend it hadn't stung a little, being told to leave by someone to whom that "anyone" didn't seem to apply, but he'd still mostly understood. And he'd meant it when he'd said he was just glad she had someone to make sure she was safe.
He melts anyway, to know that she's missed him. He's taken aback, even, by how touched it makes him feel. ]
I've been worried. And I missed you, too.
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I'm sorry. I... ( she pauses, wanting to explain it in the best possible way. it's him, she trusts him and he's one of the people that she wants to talk to )
Can you come over?
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I'll be right up.
[ It's only a minute before he's at her door, in the tank top and sweats he's usually wearing at this hour of the evening, empty-handed but still eager--if nervous, somehow--to see her. ]
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her hand reaches for him once he's stepped in, slipping it into his as she pushes the door closed before stepping into him. it's another moment before she leans into him, not quite a hug but craving the security that his presence gives, her head against his chest and slowly her arms do loosely settle around his waist )
I did miss you.
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Even before she leans into him, he's moved a little closer, willing to pull her into his arms if she doesn't come to him. He's always been better with touch than with words, where affection is concerned. Her head on his chest is at just the right height for him to rest his chin on, to press his lips against the top of it, as he folds his arms around her and tempers his strength so that he can squeeze gently. ]
Well, I'm here now.
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but asking for it is harder, remembering that it helps is harder, her mind not thinking rationally when she's fallen. and it only makes her feel broken for not being able to do any of this until it's too late.
there's a small sigh before she slowly extracts from him, still keeping a hand on him to stay in contact )
Come back to bed with me. ( she realises a second too late what it implies and follows up with-- ) It'll be more comfortable. And I can-- I want to talk to you. About what happened.
( at least this week )
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I'd like that.
[ Because he does want to know, to hear it from her, even when he's put together enough of the pieces for a general outline. He slips his arm around her waist again, but it's gentle and companionable, not the way he'd be touching her if she wanted him in bed for any other reason. ]
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they get moved onto the table to be out of the way, adrienne sitting on the bed and waiting for him to settle down before she curls into him, head by his shoulder for the moment )
I'm not good at asking for help, I'm better at pushing people away.
( her words are close enough to a whisper but he's the only one tnst needs to hear them )
Daryl's my dominant, when I text him I don't know if I expected him to stay but... I needed food as much as someone. But I still avoided him.
( he'd been here, a presence of safety making sure she ate and had water but she kept him as far as she still could )
I... it feels better having someone here but I don't know how to ask for that.
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It all sounds painfully familiar, certainly. He's no paragon to be giving advice on how to ask for help. He's not sure he knows anyone who is any good at it. ]
You did ask, though. Maybe not to the extent that would have been ideal, but you did. It's something.
And you called me just now, after all.
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( for support, so they can help pull her up or keep her steadier. she moves a hand to his chest, one finger lightly stroking, taking a moment for a pause )
I was given mandated therapy after it happened, not immediately but when my chief realised how badly I was coping. But I'd shut down. I didn't talk. I never have. This time... it was something at work that started it, a detail in a patient's file that triggered it. On its own it might not have been as bad.
( but then there was timing and she'd sunk lower )
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[ It's so easy to think of progress as linear, even when it rarely is. It hasn't occurred to him that her efforts in braving the lab could be undone with a spiral like this, set off by something small and unpredictable, even when he knows she has good days and bad days already.
But in light of all that, and hearing that she hadn't made the intended use of that mandatory therapy, it makes sense now. ]
Do you think it's likely to happen again?
[ He covers her hand on his chest gently with his own. ]
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PTSD is... ( fucked is her instinctive word but she leaves the sentence unfinished, especially when she knows she isn't managing as well as she likes to pretend she is. as she makes other people thing )
I havent had a spiral that bad in a while. It isn't always like that, little triggers are easier but... this built. I don't want it to keep building.
( this had been a terrifying reminder of the past, especially when things had felt better or more managed )
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[ Whether or not it's what she's asking for, his mind is shifting into problem-solving mode, scientific and logical. If she knows what caused it to build, then maybe they can avoid it next time--maybe he can help, somehow, before it gets that far. ]
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Her birthday.
( it's so quiet a whisper, an admission that will end up surprising her when she realises that she's told him at all. the pause was long enough that he'd likely even have started thinking that she wasn't going to, that it was it. this was the first time that she's mentioned something herself about her daughter, a real detail, not just to him but in years. and likely the only one.
but it was her birthday. that was the part that adrienne had struggled with, that hit her hardest because what should be her happiest time, celebrating her daughter and her life, seeing her grow-- she couldn't and those happy times crushed her )
The patient file detail wasn't even connected, it wasn't... but it brought something up.
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