that apple in hand isn't exactly being snatched, but there's an air of impatience about him, and now eggsy's just gesturing with the apple in hand.
again: )
You cut yourself, you — ( the pull of the shirt to button it must press the fabric to one of the more fresh, open wounds, because eggsy swears he sees the faint discolor of lymph and watery blood plasma, if not outright blood spotting against his shirt. ) You're bleeding. ( is this concern? an accusation? why not both! )
[Harry can feel it too, the sting of cotton brushing against raw
flesh, and he hates how welcome the pain has become. It's something
real, something he can control.]
Pleased to hear that your watchfulness training wasn't entirely lost on you
- yes, I'm bleeding. I hope it hasn't spoiled your appetite.
[He slides the top button into place and feels marginally
better.]
Nah, I'm still working on consuming muscle mass, I'm fine.
( fine and skeptical; standing but not entirely invading harry's personal space yet — he has to pause and blink back the sudden light headedness before investigating further. )
You seen the doctor yet, is that — ( because that's bleeding a little too low on his person to be from the likes of a straight razor malfunction during shaving. once upon a time he wouldn't even have suspected a shaving incident at all, but harry's not the most stable hands anymore. ) ... new?
( excuse you harry, your clothes have how high a thread count and you expect him to believe that crap about aggravating. )
But the ones on your face look fine.
( the impromptu tablecloth bandages he'd delivered must have been much rougher than the freshly bloodied button down. and eggsy has to fight the urge to reach out and poke at his wounds to make a point; that's impolite. )
( he's too tired to summon the energy it would require to swallow that load of crap. too tired to keep standing. he'd really like to go back to sitting on the bed. but.
try fucking talking to me.
i appreciate your concern but there's nothing worth talking about.
this conversation echoes something awfully familiar, and eggsy officially feels like they're tiptoeing around conflict. which you can't deal with while perched on a bed eating an apple. )
Still. And I don't know how to help you, but you don't even let me try.
Some things can't be helped, Eggsy. I know you understand that.
[He'd be genuinely surprised to be reminded that they've as as good as had this conversation once before. Almost two months ago - two months beleaguered by fitful sleep shot through with nightmares, by a worrying inability to tell the real from the imagined, by starting at shadows and unable to relax even behind the locked (and, sometimes, barricaded) door of his own room.]
( where as eggsy remembers it viscerally, and is exponentially more frustrated by getting no further this time around. wherever he'd been going with that sentence ends in an abrupt and unhappy huff, and eggsy scrubs a hand over his face, pressing his palm to his mouth before he says something he might regret. you're full of so much shit comes to mind. )
You mean to tell me there's nothing, not a thing, I can do for you?
[He feels so fucking weak. He's Galahad, for fuck's sake -
Galahad who breaks trafficking rings, foils assassination attempts, defuses
bombs planted in major metropolitan centres and neither seeks nor wants.
Galahad who wiped the floor with a shitty little urban gang of thugs to
blow off steam, Galahad who feels a hum of satisfaction when he watches a
mark drink a poisoned whiskey and places their life in his hands.
Galahad who shamed himself, who lost control, who died with the
adrenaline of pure indiscriminate bloodlust still roaring in his
veins.]
Eggsy, the one small ray of light shining into this whole fucking mess is
that you cannot understand what I am going through.
( that's not a ray of light so far as eggsy's concerned, that's just keeping him further in the dark and it's not fair. another small bit of unfairness on top of being stuck here and being starved. all he really wanted to do was talk with harry — maybe, though he doesn't allow himself to dwell on the thought much, make up for what could and would be lose if they were to ever return to their respective places and times back home — but there was a mile high wall of post truamatic stress between them. and while eggsy was undoubtedly closer than others, he still felt rather at arms length when they talked in circles like this.
and he's too untrained to be doling out psychotherapy babble. )
That's now how this is supposed to work, you're supposed to talk about it. Do you — do you talk to Merlin? ( who is his neighbor and who he'll deal with later if this becomes spymom and spydad talking over his head, the jerks. ) Did you talk to your Captain? ( who has since vanished but still gets an honorary mention. )
[Harry frowns at the mention of Jack. He's relieved for the man's
own sake that he's gone - home, he hopes - but he misses him regardless.
Misses the quiet company when he can't (won't) sleep. Fucking sentimental
nonsense, he knows.]
Eggsy, there is no 'how it's supposed to work'. There is no
universally effective coping strategy. And turning my problems into yours
is hardly going to resolve them.
We're all stuck here together, yeah? Everyone's problems are kindof everyone's problems.
( and there's some bullshit about how he's equally invested in all the other hotel patrons; about how they're in close quarters, it's science or something — the evolution of a community under duress. but there's weak excuses and then the reality that he's little better than his mother at handling loss; that he's clingy, and a little desperate for what was prematurely taken from him by richmond valentine's sim cards and handgun.
and maybe a little scared. not very, just slightly. the way people get when they're faced with something devastating they want nothing more than to fix and yet can't. )
[He doesn't dignify that with a direct response because he knows perfectly well that that's not relevant to the matter at hand. Not really.]
Then what would you have me do, Eggsy? You know what happened. There's likely nothing I can add to the facts of the matter that would shed any further light on my state of mind, even if it was any of your business.
[Which he knows is unkind, but he says it anyway.]
( that stings — just enough to get his shoulders dropping and to have eggsy admitting (temporary) defeat. )
Can you just, ( he tries again, gesturing loosely with the apple. ) Please, please tell me if 'n when something's not right with you? If you need a, a doctor, or a cottonball, or a stupid fucking knock knock joke. Please, and I'll be here.
[Harry considers him for a moment. Christ, he's not making this easy. He cares deeply about Eggsy, cares beyond his being the subject of a debt that must be repaid to his father, but hand in hand with that is the fact that he can't stand the idea of the boy wasting time and emotional fuel on him.]
If I need anything, Eggsy, I'll tell you. You have my word. But I think we both know what isn't right.
[Harry Hart is dead. The world they will someday return to has no future for him beyond a marble marker and a dispassionate inch-long obituary, referring to his career in Savile Row and the fact that he is survived by neither wife nor children. That Eggsy is so worried for his welfare is -- touching, truly, but it smacks of tragic redundancy.]
( well, suck it up, harry, because eggsy's got emotional fuel to spare and a deepseeded respect for personal boundaries and militant professionalism with superior officers that was a little cracked the first time harry hugged him.
he raises his chin, keeps a strong line of composure around the mouth, but there's something deeply pained around his eyes and he's already in harry's personal space, more or less. it's no big exertion to reach out an arm and carefully avoid any visible splotches of blood when wrapping harry into a quick, tight squeeze.
it's something of a selfish gesture. no, this isn't right. on top of everything else — the explosives, the kidnapping, and the containment — the only one that would matter in the long run, if and when they got out, was that harry hart was dead in the real world. it'd been disconcerting to see two "ghosts" of the same man, at the same time. it was upsetting to think he'd see neither if they did get out, and eggsy really wants to get out.
so for now he takes the time to reassure himself that at least one of the ghosts is solid. )
[Harry stays deathly still. When he hugged Eggsy on that first day
at the hotel it was out of relief, out of gratitude and pure fucking
joy for the second chance he'd been granted - the chance to see to
it that the last conversation they ever had wouldn't be filled with
disappointment and bitter recrimination.
Right now is characterised by the fact that the wounds he'd
been nursing at the time haven't healed; they've just sunk under his skin
and started to fester.
Eventually, and not without regret, he puts a hand to Eggsy's
shoulder. He doesn't push him away but it's definitely a gesture that says
that's enough of that.]
( it's not the nicest hug. it's stiff on harry's end, and eggsy can feel that in his shoulders, but that just makes him want to cling all the harder — until the other man gets it, and until the contact does something to alleviate the gnawing unhappiness in his chest. he considers ignoring the tap out.
but (that's a dick move and) eggsy draws back. puts a comfortable foot between them, and raises his chin like he's ready to endure reprimand or dismissal — yes, i did that and it didn't work. he keeps his jaw tight, and thanks some higher power that his face is dry and his breathing is steady. )
( he's not going to eat the apple. he's going to give it to raven reyes in a misguided attempt to make a point about suffering together. but no reason to make that apparent when harry could still make him sit and outright watch him eat. )
and like that he's dismissed. eggsy still loiters for a moment, shifting his weight from foot to foot, but the escape to the hallway is some sort of blessed relief. now he can go yell at merlin but, like, while lying down. exerting less of his meger energy reserves. )
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action
that apple in hand isn't exactly being snatched, but there's an air of impatience about him, and now eggsy's just gesturing with the apple in hand.
again: )
You cut yourself, you — ( the pull of the shirt to button it must press the fabric to one of the more fresh, open wounds, because eggsy swears he sees the faint discolor of lymph and watery blood plasma, if not outright blood spotting against his shirt. ) You're bleeding. ( is this concern? an accusation? why not both! )
action
[Harry can feel it too, the sting of cotton brushing against raw flesh, and he hates how welcome the pain has become. It's something real, something he can control.]
Pleased to hear that your watchfulness training wasn't entirely lost on you - yes, I'm bleeding. I hope it hasn't spoiled your appetite.
[He slides the top button into place and feels marginally better.]
action
( fine and skeptical; standing but not entirely invading harry's personal space yet — he has to pause and blink back the sudden light headedness before investigating further. )
You seen the doctor yet, is that — ( because that's bleeding a little too low on his person to be from the likes of a straight razor malfunction during shaving. once upon a time he wouldn't even have suspected a shaving incident at all, but harry's not the most stable hands anymore. ) ... new?
action
No.
[Someone with Harry's training knows better than to take a step back, to cede any ground; it betrays intimidation.]
The shrapnel. Some of the wounds have been aggravated by my clothes and they're not healing as well as I'd like.
action
But the ones on your face look fine.
( the impromptu tablecloth bandages he'd delivered must have been much rougher than the freshly bloodied button down. and eggsy has to fight the urge to reach out and poke at his wounds to make a point; that's impolite. )
You been touching them? They'll scar.
action
Strangely, Eggsy, I do have some experience with how these things develop over time.
[He sighs softly.]
Your concern is touching, Eggsy, but there's nothing for you to be concerned about.
action
( he's too tired to summon the energy it would require to swallow that load of crap. too tired to keep standing. he'd really like to go back to sitting on the bed. but.
try fucking talking to me.
i appreciate your concern but there's nothing worth talking about.
this conversation echoes something awfully familiar, and eggsy officially feels like they're tiptoeing around conflict. which you can't deal with while perched on a bed eating an apple. )
Still. And I don't know how to help you, but you don't even let me try.
action
[He'd be genuinely surprised to be reminded that they've as as good as had this conversation once before. Almost two months ago - two months beleaguered by fitful sleep shot through with nightmares, by a worrying inability to tell the real from the imagined, by starting at shadows and unable to relax even behind the locked (and, sometimes, barricaded) door of his own room.]
action
( where as eggsy remembers it viscerally, and is exponentially more frustrated by getting no further this time around. wherever he'd been going with that sentence ends in an abrupt and unhappy huff, and eggsy scrubs a hand over his face, pressing his palm to his mouth before he says something he might regret. you're full of so much shit comes to mind. )
You mean to tell me there's nothing, not a thing, I can do for you?
action
Eggsy--
[He feels so fucking weak. He's Galahad, for fuck's sake - Galahad who breaks trafficking rings, foils assassination attempts, defuses bombs planted in major metropolitan centres and neither seeks nor wants. Galahad who wiped the floor with a shitty little urban gang of thugs to blow off steam, Galahad who feels a hum of satisfaction when he watches a mark drink a poisoned whiskey and places their life in his hands.
Galahad who shamed himself, who lost control, who died with the adrenaline of pure indiscriminate bloodlust still roaring in his veins.]
Eggsy, the one small ray of light shining into this whole fucking mess is that you cannot understand what I am going through.
action
and he's too untrained to be doling out psychotherapy babble. )
That's now how this is supposed to work, you're supposed to talk about it. Do you — do you talk to Merlin? ( who is his neighbor and who he'll deal with later if this becomes spymom and spydad talking over his head, the jerks. ) Did you talk to your Captain? ( who has since vanished but still gets an honorary mention. )
action
[Harry frowns at the mention of Jack. He's relieved for the man's own sake that he's gone - home, he hopes - but he misses him regardless. Misses the quiet company when he can't (won't) sleep. Fucking sentimental nonsense, he knows.]
Eggsy, there is no 'how it's supposed to work'. There is no universally effective coping strategy. And turning my problems into yours is hardly going to resolve them.
action
( and there's some bullshit about how he's equally invested in all the other hotel patrons; about how they're in close quarters, it's science or something — the evolution of a community under duress. but there's weak excuses and then the reality that he's little better than his mother at handling loss; that he's clingy, and a little desperate for what was prematurely taken from him by richmond valentine's sim cards and handgun.
and maybe a little scared. not very, just slightly. the way people get when they're faced with something devastating they want nothing more than to fix and yet can't. )
Re: action
Then what would you have me do, Eggsy? You know what happened. There's likely nothing I can add to the facts of the matter that would shed any further light on my state of mind, even if it was any of your business.
[Which he knows is unkind, but he says it anyway.]
action
Can you just, ( he tries again, gesturing loosely with the apple. ) Please, please tell me if 'n when something's not right with you? If you need a, a doctor, or a cottonball, or a stupid fucking knock knock joke. Please, and I'll be here.
action
If I need anything, Eggsy, I'll tell you. You have my word. But I think we both know what isn't right.
[Harry Hart is dead. The world they will someday return to has no future for him beyond a marble marker and a dispassionate inch-long obituary, referring to his career in Savile Row and the fact that he is survived by neither wife nor children. That Eggsy is so worried for his welfare is -- touching, truly, but it smacks of tragic redundancy.]
action
he raises his chin, keeps a strong line of composure around the mouth, but there's something deeply pained around his eyes and he's already in harry's personal space, more or less. it's no big exertion to reach out an arm and carefully avoid any visible splotches of blood when wrapping harry into a quick, tight squeeze.
it's something of a selfish gesture. no, this isn't right. on top of everything else — the explosives, the kidnapping, and the containment — the only one that would matter in the long run, if and when they got out, was that harry hart was dead in the real world. it'd been disconcerting to see two "ghosts" of the same man, at the same time. it was upsetting to think he'd see neither if they did get out, and eggsy really wants to get out.
so for now he takes the time to reassure himself that at least one of the ghosts is solid. )
action
[Harry stays deathly still. When he hugged Eggsy on that first day at the hotel it was out of relief, out of gratitude and pure fucking joy for the second chance he'd been granted - the chance to see to it that the last conversation they ever had wouldn't be filled with disappointment and bitter recrimination.
Right now is characterised by the fact that the wounds he'd been nursing at the time haven't healed; they've just sunk under his skin and started to fester.
Eventually, and not without regret, he puts a hand to Eggsy's shoulder. He doesn't push him away but it's definitely a gesture that says that's enough of that.]
action
but (that's a dick move and) eggsy draws back. puts a comfortable foot between them, and raises his chin like he's ready to endure reprimand or dismissal — yes, i did that and it didn't work. he keeps his jaw tight, and thanks some higher power that his face is dry and his breathing is steady. )
action
The touch to his shoulder becomes a gentle squeeze. It's about as much affection as he can manage, right now.]
Please, Eggsy, eat. And - do torment a few more people with your terrible knock-knock jokes, won't you?
action
They're genius, thanks.
action
[That earns a small, tight smile.]
Quite. I'll...
[He touches a hand to his collar. His standards haven't dropped so low that he's comfortable wandering the hotel in bloodspotted clothes.]
I ought to clean up a little better. I'll see you later, Eggsy.
action
mutinouslyand like that he's dismissed. eggsy still loiters for a moment, shifting his weight from foot to foot, but the escape to the hallway is some sort of blessed relief. now he can go yell at merlin but, like, while lying down. exerting less of his meger energy reserves. )