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I...I don't want to. [he looks instantly mortified upon saying it, but he can do nothing to stop it!] Because I know it will make you unhappy. My home...Darkov life...Alex...all of it. Even the good things -- the, the things I didn't mind. You say they're all bad...and I don't want everything there to be bad. It'll mean that...everything that's made me is bad. That I'm really...not going to get any better after all.

[he grips the edge of the table, clawing at it with his fingernails, as though the scraping will stop him, but it doesn't. it's torture.]

And I hate that. And I...I hate...saying these things...because I just...make things worse.

...Oh.

[ There's so much of that Cassandra would never have thought of; the idea that Martin would still see good in all of that, the idea that if there's nothing good he's nothing good. She wants to correct him. And yet, she's started to understand exactly why he'd think that way.

She has to think for a moment- but her mouth won't really let her, of course. ]

You sound like Rex. He feels the same way as you. And- I mean- you're not wrong? It's...look, I can't comprehend what your life was like. I just know you shouldn't have been treated the way you were, because I can tell you were treated a certain way, and I know I fucking hate it. But I didn't mean- I didn't mean there was nothing good. Or that you weren't good. Because you already are, Martin, seriously. You always were.

[ She doesn't want him to think his increasing comfort means there was something inherently wrong with him before. His improvement is obvious, but he was never not a good kid. ]

How about this. None of what you say is going to make it worse. Maybe it'll make you feel better. [ Well- ] Maybe not at first, but- maybe.

[Martin's head droops, and one of his hands drags off the table and into his hair, curling into a fistful of bangs as she presses on.]

You can't tell because...you aren't from there...and I don't...want! To talk about it-! Please? I don't even want to be what I am, but it's...I can't change it, even if I pretend to. I don't want to talk about it, please.

I- okay. Okay.

[ There’s something called going too far, and she’s dangerously close to doing it right now. Martin doesn’t just seem upset, he seems visibly distressed. Like this is painful for him. And despite Rex’s reservations about therapy, she’s not going to be the subsitute therapist if this is how Martin reacts.

He doesn’t want to be this. She wants to press, but she finds a way to hold her tongue for a second, although it makes her frusturated. Instead, after a moment of hesitation, she approaches and awkwardly places a hand on his shoulder. ]

We don’t have to. As long as we can keep what we’re thinking to ourselves, but we don’t have to. I’m not mad. If you think that- I’m really not. I don’t like it when you think that.

[ After a second, she hesitantly begins to nudge him closer to her. This is when a hug happens, right? She wants to hug him. ]

[a good deal of tension ebbs off in an exhale the moment she says they're not going to talk about it anymore. having said anything at all still has his stomach and mind all stirred up, but if the pressure of having to make an account for his entire life is gone, he can at least breathe a little.

being that close to sputtering all his most grave failures and fears is scary. she can say it's fine all day and night if she wants, but it'd never not be scary. he wouldn't be just simple-minded and uncultured -- he'd also be a tremendous liability and failure. he hasn't messed up that badly here, not yet, and he doesn't want to; opening his mouth and sharing it might just make it happen somehow.

it takes a bit more coaxing for him to tilt against her, and even then, his elbows never leave the table, nor does his head lift back up. unfolding out of crumpled-up distress is a process, because moving too quickly will just disorient and ignite new unease. like how none of this should've really happened, or how stupid he looks the way he is.

it's better staying smaller, without looking. the weight of Cass' arm helps.]

[ Cassandra holds him there for a moment, feeling both tender and awkward. She thinks she may be doing this wrong, considering the lack of change in his posture, but it’s...not nothing. Of course, her mouth is still betraying her today, and she starts talking as she holds him. ]

I really mean all of that, you know. Seeing you learn new things, or tell me what you like and don’t, it’s- really nice? I didn’t think it could be that nice. I think everyone’s that way about you. Like, Christ, do you know how crazy Rex and Andy are for you? Not just them. You practically have a third of this city wrapped around your finger. And you deserve it, too.

[ To some extent, the thought makes her feel better. Martin has acquired a small army of protectors here, and there’s a sense of security knowing someone she cares about so much will be protected by so many people.

Anyway, the pot boils over. ]

Ah- ah, shit!

[well, that's one way to end a moment. Martin's jostled a bit as she rushes over to deal with the stove. still a bit dazed from the weight of the moment, he untangles his fingers from his hair and looks to where she's fussing, slow to understand the problem.

after a moment to understand, he slides out of the chair and goes to grab the roll of paper towels on the counter nearest him, pulling a handful out before setting the roll in Cassandra's reach. from there he crouches, wiping up what dribbled on the floor by her feet, still quiet, making a point to bite on the inside of his cheek to keep quiet. better that way -- he's got a lot to think about. all those things she said...]

Edited 2019-02-10 04:35 (UTC)

[ After a couple frantic minutes filled with cursing, everything...seems to be cleaned up. She's clearly somewhat embarrassed, but this entire day is just embarrassing her. ]

Okay, so- nothing but some broth got out. We're good. You like potatoes, right? The potatoes are fine.

[ ...She puts her face in one hand. ]

God, I sound like a fool. You okay? I...didn't mean to make you think you had to stop talking or anything. You don't have to if you don't want to.

Potatoes are fine.

[he crumples up the paper towels and drops them in the trash, wiping his hands clean on his slacks a few times. it helps quell the anxious shake that was trying to overtake before he took to helping clean up, all this unwanted talk fraying at his nerves.

she can say it's fine to talk about things until the words have no meaning and still he'd not feel safe, certain she'll just get upset even more. and isn't she unhappy enough? isn't it enough to be unhappy with what she knows, when she knows that she's going to die soon? why add? what benefit is there? it changes nothing.]

I can wait upstairs. I don't...want to talk about this anymore. I don't like talking about these things. Sorry.

[ Cassandra's expression shifts. She's a bit hurt- it wouldn't take whatever's going on right now to change that. But, of course, she says something she shouldn't. ]

I don't want you to. Fuck. [ What an awful thing to admit. ] What I mean is, I wish you were more comfortable, but- I can't change it, can I.

[ She looks away, obviously guilty. ]

You can go, yeah. I don't want to make you feel worse, either. I'm sorry, Martin, this is bullshit.

It's not your fault.

[even if he wants very much to escape this moment as fast as possible, he still doesn't take apologies directed at him very comfortably. especially when he's not been plainly wronged. whatever this is...is...weird, well over his head, and not something he can imagine anyone doing on purpose.

his hand turns palm out in the start of a gesture that has no real direction, and so the hand just falls back at his side with his exhaled breath.]

I'm not. Unhappy because of you. I'm just...me. That's all.

Sorry. I'll wait.

[he ducks his head, turning and heading for the stairs.]

...You know, I don't start disliking you when you're upset or anything like that. I just don't want to see you feel that way. I hope you get that.

[ Martin seems to blame himself so much it's hard to tell, sometimes. But she doesn't stop him, if he continues walking up the stairs, going back to staring at the stew.

It really needed that broth. It's...not going to be as good. But she doesn't want to admit that yet. ]

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