[There's something about the way she says it that makes it sound like she's trying to talk him off the proverbial ledge, and he just frowns at the water as he listens to her. Her hand meets the sleeve of his jumpsuit, warmed by the sun.]
It all kind of sprung up because I couldn't just...keep it to myself. I know that Crichton having something going on isn't my fault, and Gil going to confront him wasn't, but it comes back to the whole problem that if I had just kept it all to myself to figure out alone, then maybe they wouldn't have got in the fight that killed them. Harvey would have had no reason to be hostile to him. I wouldn't have had to explain anything to Gil. He wouldn't have hurt Crichton. Maybe they would have run into each other one way or another but that's not what happened.
[He's tired, that much is clear by the way he keeps himself quiet amid the gentle ambient sloshing of the water. He doesn't have the emotional breaking or raspiness that might come from someone verging on tears, but that's just a function of his physiology. It doesn't change that he's clearly not doing well.]
[her touch is gentle, but she pauses then, breathing deep.]
...I'm going to tell you something that I myself am in the process of learning, so believe me when I say I understand, in a deeper way than most. I know exactly what it feels like. If you keep it to yourself, you're not burdening other people. You aren't giving them too much to handle, and things don't get messy, and instead you can help them with whatever problems and sorrows they're trying to deal with. They don't get hurt because of something you said or did.
[she knows. she knows how to bundle her problems and make them smaller and smaller, until they fit in a drawer she can shut and pretend isn't there, only to unwind them at the end of the night, when her nightmares sink teeth and claw into her mind. she knows how it feels to stifle your own voice.]
But that's...that's not how it works. It isn't, and actually...people are hurt more by keeping it in. It's not fair, if they want to be there for you in return and you aren't allowing it. It just...it's not always safer to be alone.
[His posture grows worse as he listens, the water moving as he pulls a leg up to lean forward against, his heel planted against the edge of the pool.]
I've never felt this unsure. [The admission is quiet, almost distracted-sounding.] Before this, I didn't need to think about how I felt about anything. I could just get away with not saying anything, and nobody really questioned it. Now, it feels like...like if I can't answer a question about like, how I'm doing or why I am this way, I'm failing. It follows me into every attempt at interaction. Even if it's not really true, it feels like I'm not making anyone's time here any easier and that's...that's all I want. I'm totally failing to do that, though, so I figured maybe, if I just stay out here for a while, things could resolve, and I could at least pretend that it's okay. Nobody else gets hurt on my behalf. They can talk it out on their own terms. If they want me, I'll be here.
[It's avoidance and self-isolation, fear of failure that he buries under layers and layers of nonchalance and cultural differences. He can't help that his attempt to be mindful ended up being interpreted as a cry for help]
I'm sorry for dragging you out here. You've got more to worry about than my mess-ups. Not that I'm not grateful for your company. I like when we get to talk, and I care about you a lot. I wouldn't have said anything if that weren't the case.
[it's like hearing her own words given back. someone else trying to make themselves smaller so that they don't cause those ripples. and this more than anything else makes her realize what people have been saying to her, how it feels to hear an apology when all she wants to do is be there.]
I can worry about you and plenty of other things at the same time. I want to worry about you.
[it almost sounds petulant, but it's clumsy in how forceful it comes out, and in that, it's honest. breathe, reset.]
You don't have to always know how you're doing or what you're feeling or why you are the way you are. None of us can do that - organic, constructed, or anything else. There's no hidden metric you're being held to, no failures being tallied. Everyone here is just sort of handling it as we go.
[a breath, and she gives his arm a tiny squeeze.]
If you're unsure, you don't have to have an answer. You don't. You can just let yourself...process. You don't have to say anything before you're ready to, about anything at all. And if someone wants to make that their problem, then that is theirs. I'll have it out with them myself if they want to make that yours.
[He's caught between wanting to apologize yet again, and thank her for being there. He's sure there's nothing he can really do to make up for the trouble he's caused in the pursuit of making things make sense, but that doesn't mean he's going to give up entirely. There are still people that care and promises that he has to keep, after all.
Wayne's arm presses against Helena's, his hand coming to rest lightly over the top of the one on his arm.]
Wanting to worry about someone feels a little counterintuitive.
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no subject
It all kind of sprung up because I couldn't just...keep it to myself. I know that Crichton having something going on isn't my fault, and Gil going to confront him wasn't, but it comes back to the whole problem that if I had just kept it all to myself to figure out alone, then maybe they wouldn't have got in the fight that killed them. Harvey would have had no reason to be hostile to him. I wouldn't have had to explain anything to Gil. He wouldn't have hurt Crichton. Maybe they would have run into each other one way or another but that's not what happened.
[He's tired, that much is clear by the way he keeps himself quiet amid the gentle ambient sloshing of the water. He doesn't have the emotional breaking or raspiness that might come from someone verging on tears, but that's just a function of his physiology. It doesn't change that he's clearly not doing well.]
no subject
...I'm going to tell you something that I myself am in the process of learning, so believe me when I say I understand, in a deeper way than most. I know exactly what it feels like. If you keep it to yourself, you're not burdening other people. You aren't giving them too much to handle, and things don't get messy, and instead you can help them with whatever problems and sorrows they're trying to deal with. They don't get hurt because of something you said or did.
[she knows. she knows how to bundle her problems and make them smaller and smaller, until they fit in a drawer she can shut and pretend isn't there, only to unwind them at the end of the night, when her nightmares sink teeth and claw into her mind. she knows how it feels to stifle your own voice.]
But that's...that's not how it works. It isn't, and actually...people are hurt more by keeping it in. It's not fair, if they want to be there for you in return and you aren't allowing it. It just...it's not always safer to be alone.
no subject
I've never felt this unsure. [The admission is quiet, almost distracted-sounding.] Before this, I didn't need to think about how I felt about anything. I could just get away with not saying anything, and nobody really questioned it. Now, it feels like...like if I can't answer a question about like, how I'm doing or why I am this way, I'm failing. It follows me into every attempt at interaction. Even if it's not really true, it feels like I'm not making anyone's time here any easier and that's...that's all I want. I'm totally failing to do that, though, so I figured maybe, if I just stay out here for a while, things could resolve, and I could at least pretend that it's okay. Nobody else gets hurt on my behalf. They can talk it out on their own terms. If they want me, I'll be here.
[It's avoidance and self-isolation, fear of failure that he buries under layers and layers of nonchalance and cultural differences. He can't help that his attempt to be mindful ended up being interpreted as a cry for help]
I'm sorry for dragging you out here. You've got more to worry about than my mess-ups. Not that I'm not grateful for your company. I like when we get to talk, and I care about you a lot. I wouldn't have said anything if that weren't the case.
no subject
I can worry about you and plenty of other things at the same time. I want to worry about you.
[it almost sounds petulant, but it's clumsy in how forceful it comes out, and in that, it's honest. breathe, reset.]
You don't have to always know how you're doing or what you're feeling or why you are the way you are. None of us can do that - organic, constructed, or anything else. There's no hidden metric you're being held to, no failures being tallied. Everyone here is just sort of handling it as we go.
[a breath, and she gives his arm a tiny squeeze.]
If you're unsure, you don't have to have an answer. You don't. You can just let yourself...process. You don't have to say anything before you're ready to, about anything at all. And if someone wants to make that their problem, then that is theirs. I'll have it out with them myself if they want to make that yours.
no subject
Wayne's arm presses against Helena's, his hand coming to rest lightly over the top of the one on his arm.]
Wanting to worry about someone feels a little counterintuitive.
no subject
[he can't make her not care about him.]
...I won't stop you, if you want to go. All I really ask is that you think about what I've said. Both the advice, and the admissions.
no subject
I'm probably still going to hang out down there for a while. Just...maybe not a whole week. The quiet'll probably do me some good.
no subject
[she's only one message away.]
no subject
That goes for you too, if you ever need me I'll be there.