the sound is not asleep [closed]

[lovethyneighb_or]

Who: Father Mulcahy (lovethyneighb_or), Felix Gaeta (not_a_traitor), Zivia Birnbaum (tehilim127_1), and maybe another
What: Mulcahy has a hard time with the aftershocks of Number 2's visit
When: 4 days after the party; September 25th
Where: His house, Downtown Hollow
Warning(s): Paranoia, ptsd, destruction, eating disorder, others in headers


It all starts simply enough. Mulcahy retreats to his house and entertains no visitors. I need some time, Mulcahy says, and who could blame him? After a night like that, it'd be difficult to deny him some peace and quiet. He's been something of a recluse for more than a year now. (Though perhaps a little worrying is that even Gaeta is denied his company, and he's taken a brief leave off of work. Even in his most reclusive days, he never did that; too committed to the work.)

After a day or two of this, though, his sending stone goes mostly radio silent. For those who do manage to get a call out to him, the conversations are short and strained.

Then, one more day of total silence; and then, one day, Zivia and Gaeta both find themselves tracked down by one of his two companions: Peter, jangling frantically at Gaeta, and Connor, stamping and huffing insistently at Zivia, both demanding they follow them back to the Father's home. When they arrive, the door is locked and the curtains are all drawn--but there are sounds coming from inside. Wooden, mostly--of wood being struck, wood creaking, wood splitting, but none of that seems particularly good. Concussive impacts thud out from the upper floor. Once in a while, there's a grunt and labored breathing.

Comments

[tehilim127_1]

Her eyes widen in dismay at his first words, but she stays silent except for an indrawn breath, and lets him finish talking.

"Hell," she says quietly, in full evident sincerity. "Felix, how awful. I'm so sorry."

And there's probably more to be said, but that's got to stand by itself first: just acknowledging what he's told her, and that it was awful.

[not_a_traitor]

Gaeta shuts his eyes, trying to wrest himself back under control. I shouldn't have said anything, he almost tells her, because how is it fair, either, dropping that on Zivia when she's already helping to carry Mulcahy's burdens? But maybe it makes sense now why he kept trying to approach Francis. The desperation when he said, We can't just leave him here.

(All he wants is for people to understand him.)

He stays silent.

[tehilim127_1]

She takes a long breath. "I don't think it's likely to happen in this case. For a couple of reasons. But I'd hate like hell to assume that and be wrong, and even if I could be sure I was right, that wouldn't necessarily do anything for your peace of mind. The trouble is, though ... watching him constantly could be really bad for his, and I don't know how to square that circle."

With a grimace, she unfolds from her cross-legged position on the floor and gets to her feet (in a movement much smoother than one might expect from her age and shape), and comes closer to Gaeta so she can lower her voice and still be heard.

"So I've talked with him a little, about the Village. I don't know how much you know, it might be more than me."

[not_a_traitor]

"I know enough," he says, similarly low. He drags a hand down his face. "And I don't know how to square it, either. You're right, I know I should've backed off, but -- " A helpless gesture around the room with the same hand. "Back off too far and this happens."

[tehilim127_1]

"Honestly," she says, "under the circumstances, I think we balanced it about as well as anybody could have. You did back off when he needed you to. And, listen -- I get it. I get why it was that much harder for you to do it."

[not_a_traitor]

"Do you?"

It's an honest question. They're friends by association; she's been an open, gently frank presence in his life, moreso since he and Francis grew close. But Gaeta doesn't know a lot about her history -- mostly because he doesn't want to be seen as prying, when he tends to be so closed off himself.

[tehilim127_1]

"Yeah." Soberly. "I've had ... I can't say the same experience. But that same feeling of, if I hadn't taken my eye off the situation, if I'd been there when it counted, they'd still be alive."

A long beat. "It wasn't a suicide, though. It was a car accident. Like four blocks from our house."

[not_a_traitor]

Gaeta exhales. "Shit. I'm sorry."

He moves to rest both hands atop his cane; readjusts against the wall, absently, to get more comfortable.

"It's... not a feeling I'd wish on anybody."

[tehilim127_1]

"Same, honestly. But having had it ..."

She draws a deep breath. "I can tell you that most of the time it's a lie. I mean it's a real feeling, and it makes sense in context, but it's telling you that you screwed up by looking away. By not being there. And that part's a lie."

[not_a_traitor]

Ah. Well. Put it like that.

"Wouldn't be the first time I believed a lie, I guess," he mutters tiredly. He can't look away from Mulcahy, as if Zivia giving voice to the idea only made his hypervigilance kick up a notch.

[tehilim127_1]

"Hey." Just a little emphasis, hoping to make him look at her. "Felix. I didn't tell you that so you could beat yourself up with it."

[not_a_traitor]

He presses his lips together, chagrined. Doesn't answer.

But does, after a few seconds, pry his attention from Mulcahy to meet her eyes again.

[tehilim127_1]

She meets his gaze steadily. "I think you're gonna do okay. And I'm here to help, either one of you."

[lovethyneighb_or]

It's then that Peter comes floating back in from Mulcahy's bedroom, jingling for his attention with his prize clasped in his small, wiry hands: a cross-stitched patch of the symbol of the Fleet, according to Mulcahy's memory.

Peter's got scraps of thread and fabric tangled all about his keys. He's been digging for a while, it seems, and probably this wasn't Francis' first attempt at it, either. Gaeta's never known him to stitch after all. Nor would the last few days have helped, especially with the arthritis in his hands.

[not_a_traitor]

What -- ?

"Oh," whispers Gaeta, an involuntary sound like someone just squeezed his chest. And here he thought he might actually pull it together in the next few minutes. Visibly overwhelmed by the tenderness behind such a gift, he covers his mouth, then reaches to take the patch from Peter like it's the last scrap of tapestry in the whole universe. "He -- ?"

All this for him. How long has Francis worked on it? He presses it to his chest, struggling not to break down all over again, and looks back to Mulcahy.

[tehilim127_1]

Zivia can't suppress a tiny, almost soundless oh herself.

It would feel like an interruption to say anything else, in this moment. So it's only in her head that she says Yeah. You're gonna be okay.