[ota] join jack and the boys; be in a band

[diemwnt]

The world gets small. That's the worst part.

The period of probation is good, really. Being away from work, sitting in the solitude of house arrest, makes the loss of interest in the rest of the world less damaging. Lets him work his way around to a normal sleep schedule again; get through the sharper periods of nightmares and into the dull sort of sleep he lives with generally. Gives him time to work on the shakiness in his hands and the way he jumps at tiny noises, to refocus on what's immediately before him rather than letting his mind skitter everywhere.

But the world gets small. The world stays small even when, with a firm slap on the wrist, he's let back into his office. The future sits on the end of his desk, barely extending to the end of the week.

He barely notices he's gone out to the gardens. Barely realizes he's bummed an actual cigarette off one of the kitchen Threes and settled in for a proper smoke.

Fifteen months was a good run. And the world is so small. And yes, the smoke entering his lungs spikes the pain of each breath at first, but the nicotine hit--real, proper, after all these months--is more than worth it, in a world that surely isn't going to last more than through the rounding of the next few days.

He'll drop the cigarette if approached, of course. He'll even pretend it was on purpose, and not the shock of tension at the sudden sound of another human being.

Comments

[gardenplots]

"Tell her what, love? The one she knows. The other she'll discover just as soon as you join us for dinner tonight." Poor man. "It'll be on your clothes and hands and hair. A nonsmoker can always tell."

She smiles. "But I won't say anything if that's what you mean."

[diemwnt]

He'd forgotten about that. It felt so much better to be smelling of smoke again, to have the taste in his mouth and the haze in the air. He'd forgotten that he would barely be in his mother's door before she would press her lips together into a fine, disappointed line.

That's not the only reason he's shaking his head. Not the only reason his fingers are flying over the phone.

I can't tonight.

[gardenplots]

"Now, Pet. You can accept the invitation or risk your mum marching up here to tug you back by the ear. Can't say I fancy telling her I failed either. Do you have plans then?"

Tell her. She's all ears.

[diemwnt]

Tell her I'm resting. Or working.

Something. Anything. He just can't look his mother in the eye today.

Is, apparently, struggling to look Maggie in the eye either.

[gardenplots]

"How old are you again, young man? Tell her yourself. Go on. Send her a text. Let her know you're among the living at least." She won't do his dirty work for him. He's past the age of majority. It will do him good to take back some control over his life, even if it's to tell his dear old mum he'd be breaking her heart again.

She's fairly certain Roisin would prefer to know her boy was back on form (or at least the appearance that he was).

[diemwnt]

But then she'll text him back. Then she'll come find him. Then she'll make him tell her what's wrong and hold his wrist in that quietly worried way she has since he was twelve and coming home with blood on his face.

Please?

[gardenplots]

Maggie takes pity. "She's already worried, Dear. No helping it. She knew you'd take this hard." She presses her palms to the small of her back and stretches. "They never understand what they ask of us, our Suits. You did what you had to do. That it bothers you tells me you're a good man."

She shrugs. "I imagine it won't hurt to put a visit off by a few days. But do send her a message or she really will march over here to see what's wrong with her boy."

[diemwnt]

He could send a message. He could take a deep, painful breath and send it off. Nodding is a small action as he coughs painfully for a second.

He means to type his appreciation. He means to type that he's glad she's looking after his mother.

But.

It's not the same as with a gun.

[gardenplots]

"No, Pet. Guns are impersonal. It's easier when you don't look them in the eye. Knives get you close. But hands," she stares at her own, "you never forget the feel."

[diemwnt]

No one ever knows. Not really. Not deeply. No one ever knows what it's like for anyone else to take another human life.

But some people understood. Maggie understood, if the slight flex of her fingers was any indication.

I thought it would be easier this time.

[gardenplots]

"Would you truly want that? You're not that sort of man or I'm very much mistaken." She could be. He could revel in his power to play God. He could, but she rather doubts that's the case.

[diemwnt]

Of course it isn't. What he wants is not to be in this situation ever again.

But she knows that.

She knows that, and she knows that it's why he's silent over his cigarette now.

[gardenplots]

"Cherish your regrets. They keep you human. But never let them control you." You wound up dead if you do. She allows the silence to creep about them. Idly, she wishes she still smoked. Some situations called for it. After a long while, she shifted.

"So, what day shall I tell Roisin?"

[diemwnt]

It's something to meditate on while he breathes, slowly, carefully. It's a piece of himself to examine quietly.

There's a pause before he shifts the phone for her to see again.

Monday. I can do Monday.

[gardenplots]

"Monday then. We'll set in extra place if you want to bring along a friend. Adrien, perhaps." Or maybe this girl his mother's sure he's seeing. "Do take care, Dear." Some ills even brownies can't fix. There aren't any easy answers; she's uncertain that answers of any sort exist. But she does know this is something he needs to work through himself.

She makes her goodbyes then turns back. "You're welcome to the range, of course. You can't see it from the house."

[diemwnt]

That gets him sitting a little straighter. That gets his head actually lifting in her direction.

Would that help?

To hold a gun in his hand again? To put the hurt of having taken another man's life into the old context he used to know?

[gardenplots]

"Only you know the answer to that." He's been there before. He'll know what he needs. "I find the repetition soothing myself, but that's me."

[diemwnt]

It would, at the very least, be a safe time to strip his standard issue and put it back together. It would help to be somewhere no one would walk in on him.

Would you be there?

It would help not to be alone.

[gardenplots]

"If that's what you want. Text me and I'll meet you out there. Or we can go now if nothing's keeping you."

[diemwnt]

The shake in his hands might keep him. But if it was between bumming another cigarette and following Maggie to see which could get the shaking to stop?

He stands almost without hesitation. Drops the cigarette properly to follow her.