"Just as long as you don't tip over to my side of things, and actually go nuts in the process."
Is she joking? Her smile doesn't say. But she has wine, and an endless supply of nigh painless barbs to slide under her own skin.
"I'll tell you a secret. Some parts of this place are deeply confusing and strange to me, too. Things that other people seem to be taking in so much stride, as given." Things that are stranger to her than a cursed ship full of bugs, or monsters. "I keep reminding myself we're here because things need to be fixed. Of course some parts are going to be absolutely bizarre."
"I tipped over some time during my first session of meatball surgery. My buddy Sidney- the psychiatrist I've mentioned- would cover his ears sometimes when I talked so he didn't have to hospitalize me."
Can't be required to mandatorily report if you just don't hear it.
"The part where even if you decided to quit your job tomorrow no one will take the food from your plate is definitely making the list. Getting flooded out by bugs - that's not something that should be happening even if your world has magic in it. That I get to sit here with you, passing time as I like, and not be feeling like I'm waiting for the next disaster to hit, or for something to find me in my sleep."
Her mug's empty at this point, so it's a good excuse to look away, focus on the bottle and neatly pouring another serving while she speaks again. Her expression doesn't waver, tone still light.
"That Mortanne decided I deserved to be dredged up from the Beyond in the first place."
Settling back in her prior position, turned towards him, she's comfortable again.
Ah, they've already reached this point in the evening, where they both make lighthearted jokes about things that are absolutely not suitable for joking about.
"No bombs, no surprise wake-up calls at all hours" he agrees, "weird number of kids who still willingly sign up to fight though, seems like that's inescapable."
A small huff so he doesn't say something regrettable about her last joke. Opting instead to meet it in kind with-
"Tell me about it. She'll need to bring me back a second time if my dad's heard I've kicked the bucket. I keep imagining him paddling to Korea in a canoe to shake me back to life by the collar."
And as they are bound by the sacred oath of Sharing Jokes, she can't follow up on that. He offers his mug out for her to refill along with hers.
The refill is given, the joke met with that smile that they both know isn't a smile at all. Just because she can't respond doesn't mean she can't see the shape of it and know, but if he's offering her a veil of plausible deniability, she'll extend the same.
"Don't get me wrong. Just because I called it bizarre that it comes with no looming dread, that doesn't mean I don't like getting to spend time with you. In fact, I'm rather fond of doing so."
It's not late enough to fully dive into that particular lake, to make jokes about her insomnia or how people seem so ready to care, hands extended outwards. Meant to be helpful. It's not like she can quip about how her job has a much lower kill count than before. Not this early, with this little alcohol in her veins. And even then, maybe not.
"I might have gotten tossed about by many things I had no say in, but so far, here I am, right? I got a fairer hand than I expected, getting to meet you."
Others as well. But they're not the one she's currently looking at.
He's not expecting her to circle back around to the moment of sentimentality. Mostly because that's just the way these talks go. Trapper would lie there next to him and tell him he was important to him, and then they'd go back to talking about the bad food or patients in post-op. No denying it, but no lingering on it either.
"You're not so bad yourself," he offers back, before another mouthful of wine. He's still getting shit-faced, sentiments or not.
"You're smart, and you're funny, and you're strong where it counts. If all the people I hit on in hot springs turn out to be as great as you, I'm going to end up a happy man."
Oh, naturally. There was no way this was all ending without them both at least half drunk, if not more, to soothe the pains of extreme awkwardness around a man you like. The sweet words - even if she can't wholeheartedly bask in their warmth, she takes them, folds them up with the rest. A chest in her soul, filled with things people say, affection that doesn't fit right on her but nevertheless she longs to keep.
"You're on course for that. Trust me. Phil's better."
In many, many ways. But this isn't a conversation about what lurks under the glow of talking about someone she cares for.
"I've got to run away from work one day and go back there - we've been so busy, putting the town back together." Could she go on her day off, yes, but what is that in comparison to the delights of getting away with something you shouldn't. "Can I claim you told me to?"
"Promise? I'll never forgive you if you get my hopes up and dash them."
Of course, if someone's critically in need that day, that's different. They'll need his care. But sending stones exist, so a quick message would be all that's needed.
"My cooking is merely passable, but you can't really mess up a sandwich."
"If there are, I don't know them. And even if I knew them, I might not have the knack. Best I can do is water. What I'm good for is fighting. Destruction, not creation."
She shrugs, sipping more of the wine. "Magic can't do everything. Even if magic can do this or that, you need someone who can cast, and can pull off that particular spell. And then they have to want to help you in the first place, and have the energy for it."
She gestures a little with the cup, settling a bit closer to him.
"So, better to just make the food yourself. Build your house with your own hands. Sew up and bandage wounds so they can heal."
"That, I think we're agreed on," he says less lightly, "I just- I hate the idea of it taking shortcuts. I mean, I know the quality of whatever I do with my own hands, I've practiced those sutures. Some guy back on the bug boat did some healing magic to me-" he swipes a finger over a cut in the shirt that he's visibly mended with some sutures, "and the whole rest of the battle I was worried about it. What if I'd had an allergic reaction? Or it just fixed the skin and I was bleeding underneath?"
Shakes his head.
"You're good at things aside from fighting though, don't forget that, hey? There's more to life than it."
His sincerity is a gold tipped needle, delicately sliding between her ribs. Words she folds up, tucks away in the trunk along with other things like you deserve to feel safe and any other compliments that go past the surface. They don't fit - silk too fine for her, catching on every rough spot of her hands, the bitter sting of the words that want to come out - oh yes, true, I'm also excellent at murder, torture, and anything else atrocious to the condition of living - but she hides that. One day, moments like this will be lost. Best to savor them while they are here.
"I'll believe it when everyone who knew me before now quits acting so surprised when they learn I'm working in administration. As if they expected me to join the enforcers or something like it."
There's definitely some scorn in her voice for the profession. She understands why they're needed, but she wants them far away from her. Instead of dwelling on it, she shakes her head.
"One last remark, and then I'll lay the question of magic aside. They should have asked you first. There was an understanding, in my travels - what we could bear and tend to ourselves, we did, reserving spells for what was needed. A lot can be borne, if you're of the right mindset for it." But if you need to keep pushing onwards, if the enemy is bearing down and you need your arm functional and unbroken, if you need to not be in pain enough to focus and fight? Then it's a necessity. "I'll always be biased, though, same as you will be. Our respective skillsets demand no less. Besides, I've been a firsthand recipient of your work, so there's not a question when it comes to quality."
"That's their problem, not yours. Personally I'm glad you're not working anywhere that I have to worry about you."
He's with her about the enforcers though.
"Yeah, he should've. I know injuries like some people know the names of their own children, and all I had was a scratch. I tell him to lay off and then all of a sudden he gets on my case about being a martyr. You on the other hand- I like talking to you about it because you don't treat me like I'm an idiot. If I met someone from a world without medicine I'd never teach it the way some people here talk about magic."
Takes a long swig of wine.
"And thanks for noticing, but I'm good at surgery too."
It might help that she takes his free hand with hers, drops a kiss on the back of it before deciding to keep it nearby, close to him as she is.
"May I not be in need of your skilled hands that often, but when I am, I'll let you know. At least when I need them in that particular capacity."
It's enough to cover up that strange sentiment she gets for him saying he'd worry about her. There's no need. She's whole and hale, and so is he, and they have each other's company. Nothing to worry about at all - though she knows she can never promise to not be reckless when the need for her combat skills arises.
Hawkeye takes her hand in turn, kissing in the same spot. Doesn't release the hand, just kind of holds it. Nobody knows how good it feels to have something like this and not worry about rings or engagements. It's like a weight he's been used to carrying is just not there anymore.
"They're here for anything else you want them for too. Balloon tying, tire changing, shadow puppets. I'm very versatile."
"Is there anything your hands can't do, before I ask one day and put you in the awkward position of having to say no to me?"
Still there, that feeling in the pit of her stomach. Maybe the wine will seep into her body, dissipate it until it no longer feels present. Strange. But not a feeling she needs to make excuses to run away from, not yet. Just a twist and an ache in her head, a little wince even as she's used to it.
"Thanks for trusting me enough to unburden yourself in my presence. I'm nearly always available to listen, drown sorrows, offer halfway decent to very questionable advice, and so on and so forth."
Whatever else she is, she hasn't lost her touch in that.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Now where has he heard this tune before. He blows a breath out through his lips, looking up at the ceiling.
"So... just the same as back home, then. Go nuts so you don't go nuts. Do what has to be done. Good to know I'm not handling it wrong."
no subject
Is she joking? Her smile doesn't say. But she has wine, and an endless supply of nigh painless barbs to slide under her own skin.
"I'll tell you a secret. Some parts of this place are deeply confusing and strange to me, too. Things that other people seem to be taking in so much stride, as given." Things that are stranger to her than a cursed ship full of bugs, or monsters. "I keep reminding myself we're here because things need to be fixed. Of course some parts are going to be absolutely bizarre."
cw reference to psychiatric hospitalization
Can't be required to mandatorily report if you just don't hear it.
Another quiet huff.
"Oh yeah? Like what?"
no subject
Her mug's empty at this point, so it's a good excuse to look away, focus on the bottle and neatly pouring another serving while she speaks again. Her expression doesn't waver, tone still light.
"That Mortanne decided I deserved to be dredged up from the Beyond in the first place."
Settling back in her prior position, turned towards him, she's comfortable again.
"To name a few things."
no subject
"No bombs, no surprise wake-up calls at all hours" he agrees, "weird number of kids who still willingly sign up to fight though, seems like that's inescapable."
A small huff so he doesn't say something regrettable about her last joke. Opting instead to meet it in kind with-
"Tell me about it. She'll need to bring me back a second time if my dad's heard I've kicked the bucket. I keep imagining him paddling to Korea in a canoe to shake me back to life by the collar."
And as they are bound by the sacred oath of Sharing Jokes, she can't follow up on that. He offers his mug out for her to refill along with hers.
no subject
"Don't get me wrong. Just because I called it bizarre that it comes with no looming dread, that doesn't mean I don't like getting to spend time with you. In fact, I'm rather fond of doing so."
It's not late enough to fully dive into that particular lake, to make jokes about her insomnia or how people seem so ready to care, hands extended outwards. Meant to be helpful. It's not like she can quip about how her job has a much lower kill count than before. Not this early, with this little alcohol in her veins. And even then, maybe not.
"I might have gotten tossed about by many things I had no say in, but so far, here I am, right? I got a fairer hand than I expected, getting to meet you."
Others as well. But they're not the one she's currently looking at.
no subject
"You're not so bad yourself," he offers back, before another mouthful of wine. He's still getting shit-faced, sentiments or not.
"You're smart, and you're funny, and you're strong where it counts. If all the people I hit on in hot springs turn out to be as great as you, I'm going to end up a happy man."
no subject
"You're on course for that. Trust me. Phil's better."
In many, many ways. But this isn't a conversation about what lurks under the glow of talking about someone she cares for.
"I've got to run away from work one day and go back there - we've been so busy, putting the town back together." Could she go on her day off, yes, but what is that in comparison to the delights of getting away with something you shouldn't. "Can I claim you told me to?"
no subject
"Town hall won't collapse if you sneak away?" he asks with a grin like he doesn't mind if it does.
"We can make a day of it. Drag out a picnic. If you're playing hookey you may as well do it properly."
no subject
Of course, if someone's critically in need that day, that's different. They'll need his care. But sending stones exist, so a quick message would be all that's needed.
"My cooking is merely passable, but you can't really mess up a sandwich."
no subject
Buddum tish.
"There's no magic spells that can summon food?"
no subject
She shrugs, sipping more of the wine. "Magic can't do everything. Even if magic can do this or that, you need someone who can cast, and can pull off that particular spell. And then they have to want to help you in the first place, and have the energy for it."
She gestures a little with the cup, settling a bit closer to him.
"So, better to just make the food yourself. Build your house with your own hands. Sew up and bandage wounds so they can heal."
no subject
Shakes his head.
"You're good at things aside from fighting though, don't forget that, hey? There's more to life than it."
no subject
"I'll believe it when everyone who knew me before now quits acting so surprised when they learn I'm working in administration. As if they expected me to join the enforcers or something like it."
There's definitely some scorn in her voice for the profession. She understands why they're needed, but she wants them far away from her. Instead of dwelling on it, she shakes her head.
"One last remark, and then I'll lay the question of magic aside. They should have asked you first. There was an understanding, in my travels - what we could bear and tend to ourselves, we did, reserving spells for what was needed. A lot can be borne, if you're of the right mindset for it." But if you need to keep pushing onwards, if the enemy is bearing down and you need your arm functional and unbroken, if you need to not be in pain enough to focus and fight? Then it's a necessity. "I'll always be biased, though, same as you will be. Our respective skillsets demand no less. Besides, I've been a firsthand recipient of your work, so there's not a question when it comes to quality."
no subject
He's with her about the enforcers though.
"Yeah, he should've. I know injuries like some people know the names of their own children, and all I had was a scratch. I tell him to lay off and then all of a sudden he gets on my case about being a martyr. You on the other hand- I like talking to you about it because you don't treat me like I'm an idiot. If I met someone from a world without medicine I'd never teach it the way some people here talk about magic."
Takes a long swig of wine.
"And thanks for noticing, but I'm good at surgery too."
no subject
"May I not be in need of your skilled hands that often, but when I am, I'll let you know. At least when I need them in that particular capacity."
It's enough to cover up that strange sentiment she gets for him saying he'd worry about her. There's no need. She's whole and hale, and so is he, and they have each other's company. Nothing to worry about at all - though she knows she can never promise to not be reckless when the need for her combat skills arises.
no subject
"They're here for anything else you want them for too. Balloon tying, tire changing, shadow puppets. I'm very versatile."
no subject
Still there, that feeling in the pit of her stomach. Maybe the wine will seep into her body, dissipate it until it no longer feels present. Strange. But not a feeling she needs to make excuses to run away from, not yet. Just a twist and an ache in her head, a little wince even as she's used to it.
no subject
He rubs the back of her hand with a thumb.
"Thanks for coming over. It's good to know I can count on you."
no subject
Whatever else she is, she hasn't lost her touch in that.
"Whatever's needed, really."
wrap here?
"Even if I want you to take my mind off it?"
wrap.
She'll draw it out, make him ask and say please. All in the name of being a good friend.