vdistinctive (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
vdistinctive) wrote2016-12-15 04:17 pm
vdistinctive) wrote2016-12-15 04:17 pm
The attic of 75 Godiva Street, Thursday afternoon
Eliot was very good at putting on a good face, but he wasn't handling the events of last week very well. He hadn't been sleeping well, even for him, and it wasn't just about nightmares. He was on edge, not so much about his environment -- he'd always been on edge about that, at least since he turned 18 and joined the army -- but about himself. His own reaction to it.
Fighting evil robots in the shop had actually helped that, a little. He'd handled that just as well as he'd ever have done. Had even enjoyed it a little. But he couldn't shake the fact that he had failed last Saturday. Failed his double and failed his partners. Because of an issue he'd thought he had a handle on for years.
Finding time alone hadn't been easy. Parker and Hardison were understandably clingy, right now, and clever enough to notice, despite Eliot's good face, that he really wasn't handling things that well. That he wasn't sleeping. But he couldn't talk to them about this, couldn't look them in the eye and tell them that he wasn't a good enough hitter to keep them safe. And he couldn't think of anyone else he could talk to, either, anyone he could trust, who knew him, who wouldn't change how they treated him once they knew.
So he found his way up to his attic during a quiet moment. Locked the door just to make sure Hardison and Parker knew better than to walk in unannounced.
And made a phone call.
[ooc: for one, and likely slowplay. Mmmm, aftermath.]
Fighting evil robots in the shop had actually helped that, a little. He'd handled that just as well as he'd ever have done. Had even enjoyed it a little. But he couldn't shake the fact that he had failed last Saturday. Failed his double and failed his partners. Because of an issue he'd thought he had a handle on for years.
Finding time alone hadn't been easy. Parker and Hardison were understandably clingy, right now, and clever enough to notice, despite Eliot's good face, that he really wasn't handling things that well. That he wasn't sleeping. But he couldn't talk to them about this, couldn't look them in the eye and tell them that he wasn't a good enough hitter to keep them safe. And he couldn't think of anyone else he could talk to, either, anyone he could trust, who knew him, who wouldn't change how they treated him once they knew.
So he found his way up to his attic during a quiet moment. Locked the door just to make sure Hardison and Parker knew better than to walk in unannounced.
And made a phone call.
[ooc: for one, and likely slowplay. Mmmm, aftermath.]
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She let her voice become matter-of-fact. "Acute stress reaction is when you experience an ugly, terrifying surprise on such a level that it shakes you to your foundations. Your fight-or-flight response kicks in as the adrenaline takes over. Most people run or freeze then, or react with whatever automatic training they have. You're so well-trained, experienced, and used to split-second decisions, that I would imagine it's been years since you've had to fall back on intuition in a fight due to that kind of shock." So many bloody fights, so many battles, and this, this was not something anyone could prepare for.
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"It would not be all on you. First: you all came out alive. And you can not, should not, condemn yourself for what no one else could handle any better." More gently, Sophie said, "What have you learned from this? If there were to be a next time: what would you do first?"
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Except he was pretty sure he still wouldn't be able to do that. Not without losing it completely.
"Not freeze," he said instead, which still wasn't a real answer to her question. "God, Sophie. I didn't even try --"
She wasn't asking for your regrets, Eliot.
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That was getting into tactics, and long-term strategy, so: back to Eliot. "What do you do when a plane is crashing, and the oxygen mask comes down?"
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This is what happens when the people you love most are the threat.
He hadn't thought of it that way. Even while watching it happen, it just didn't compute. Parker and Hardison weren't threats. The only time he'd ever thought that way was under Gaunt's thrall, which had been so strong that the love, repressed and unexamined as it had been then, couldn't show through.
This is what happens when the people you love most are the threat.
"Put the mask on," he said finally. He wanted to say 'get to the cockpit and help land the plane' but 99 times out of 100, that wouldn't be feasible. There wouldn't be time, and he wouldn't have the expertise. Or Hardison on the line to hack the plane. "Brace for impact."
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God, he was tired.
"Thanks, Sophie."
He wasn't better. This wasn't a phone call about fixing anything. But he'd been stuck in the worst part of his own head, and Sophie was the woman who could convince anyone of anything.
"So. What've you and Nate been up to? Still pretendin' you two went legit?"
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You couldn't 'fix' pain, or trauma, like you could a broken vase. Bruised hearts needed time and softness to heal. But you could bandage up the wounds a bit, put on antiseptic so feelings didn't go toxic, and recommend a course of treatment. Hopefully Eliot would listen to what she prescribed.
"Keeping busy keeps him out of trouble."
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Parker's Christmas lasted well past the Epiphany, so that gave them all plenty of time.
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Hell, he might even get one for her himself.
"Was thinkin' of a wakizashi, but I already asked Parker for that one. Also been thinkin' about settin' one of these rooms here up as a dojo or somethin', though. How 'bout somethin' peaceful to decorate with?"
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He'd promise to call next time with something happy, but, well. They'd both know better.