[He steps back, glad that Arthur can't tell the state that he's in. Fresh from a shower, t-shirt, sweatpants. Not exactly fit for company.]
Couch about ten steps ahead. [He moves back into his office/cabin. His bedroom is in a door off to the side, but his office is wall to wall books, a small kitchen, the aforementioned couch, and a table. Sparse.]
[Sheehan is already one drink in, so he takes another glass from the cabinet and sets it on the table in front of Arthur. He fills it halfway with brandy and then sits across from him.
[He gives a soft smile, finding the glass and checking the weight before he lifts it in a slight cheers before he takes a tentative sip.]
We're coming on three weeks' worth at this point, so probably quite a few.
[Look he still doesn't necessarily want to bring up their last conversation, but since it's literally why he's here--]
But if there's something you're trying to avoid saying to me, doctor, telling me to fuck off about it is a damn sight more mature than completely avoiding me.
[He doesn't say anything for a moment, choosing to sip his drink for a moment instead.
He can't deny it, so he doesn't. So, for the first time in their entire time knowing each other, he is honest of his own free will.]
You made it clear that we aren't friends, Arthur. And you told me something very - very personal to you. I thought it better to let you make the first move. So. Here we are.
[He knows he asked for candour, but the way he so plainly says it still makes something curdle in his stomach, sour and nauseous, and before he's thinking about it he knocks back the rest of his drink in one hit.
He keeps the glass in his hand, though, rolling it against his thigh as he tries to find the right words. Almost to his own surprise, it's honesty that comes out as well.]
...I don't have many people in my life, doctor - at this point it really is just John. I don't go out of my way to cultivate friends, and the fact that I have any - not just here, but ever - is testament more to people's stubbornness than my own willing.
It's as much my fault as yours. I came in to this deliberately not wanting to make friends. I made a concentrated effort to keep everyone back. Using my truth like a scalpel, as you so elegantly put it.
[He takes a drink.]
Then I realized I got exactly what I wanted and - well, it didn't feel good.
I know you've been alone. And I know - I know what you said about John. How he hurt you when you opened up to him.
I don't want to hurt you, detective. If keeping me at a distance helps you, then I can respect that.
[Well now he's mad he finished his own drink, and it fans the spark of irritation that Sheehan's words set off, and he puts his glass down a little too firmly.]
I don't want you gone, doctor, I just don't want you dead. It's a rather unfortunate trend for people I end up caring about.
You being a dick about your own safety isn't the same thing.
[He doesn't want to continue the topic. He can't risk it turning back towards her. But a part of him wants to protest and rail against the fact that Sheehan thinks he's safe liking Arthur.]
Parker died because of me. He trusted me and I- I failed that. Completely.
[Arthur owes him this one. This much. And he knows it, and he can't hate it. But his voice is low - resentful, but at himself, not Sheehan.]
Because I opened John's fucking book. Because he used me to- [he picks up the drink, just holding it for a moment.] -to get rid of Parker. The last thing my only friend saw, w-was me-- killing him.
[He lifts his drink, visibly hesitates for a moment, but knocks the entire thing back again.]
It's not about you, doctor. [His tone slows, emphatic and even.] I can't lose anyone again.
[Sheehan lets out a sigh. That's - a lot more than what he was expecting. Even from them.
He still vividly remembers Parker's face. He remembers that carefree smirk. The easy way they were together.
It makes his chest ache to think of what might have been running through his head as he was killed.]
I'm sorry that happened to you. I'm sorry that happened to him. [Only sincerity.]
It is about me, detective. Fearing loss is one thing. That's - after what you went through, that's to be expected. The guilt you carry about it only compounds that. It - I don't begrudge you that. And I'm not a child. I'm not going to insist that you be my friend.
[He's too raw for the comment about a child - even indirect, completely unrelated and Sheehan couldn't possibly know - not to make him react, just a little. His grip shifts on the glass, white-knuckled, and he forces himself to put it down gently so he doesn't try and shatter it.]
Well. [It's not light, but it's dry, an empty humour he clearly isn't feeling.] I sort of assumed any goodwill I might have had with you got very resoundingly shot down after our last discussion. You keeping your distance didn't exactly prove otherwise.
[He tilts his head as he watches. There's small signs - Arthur's clearly having a reaction, but Sheehan doesn't know to what. He cant put the pieces together, and that's frustrating.]
Because of what you told me about the woman?
No, detective. That - that was something unfortunate that happened, but you made the best choice you could have in the moment. I don't blame you for it and I certainly don't think any differently of you.
[He lifts his hand to rub his face. His mood makes the heavy weight of his useless left hand frustrating today, and he tries to let it out in a long, heavy sigh.
Let's just rally. He can do that much. Sit up straight and put his poker face back on.]
Well, doctor. Despite my own self interests, I do find you a scintillating conversation and more than pleasant company - and that's not even mentioning the fact I've already put life and limb on the line for you, quite readily.
[It's a subtle reaction again, but there's no missing it when there's nothing else to look at. A tightness around his eyes as he glares at the bottle with unseeing eyes, a tight press of his mouth as his nostrils flare with his quiet, bracing inhale that does nothing to steady his trembling hand, so he folds his arms instead, tightly knotted as he rests his elbows on his knees.]
You remind me of him.
[It's a reluctant admission, heavy with the weight that brings, sharp with the threat that pushing won't yield.]
The way he.-- the way he used to present himself, to others. To make himself... palatable. Unobtrusive, harmless. All... all smoke. No fire.
[He sets his glass down again. Light on the table, but with purpose.]
You make it sound like a bad thing.
[Offered with no judgment or offense. Nothing but concern and space to continue if he wants. Sheehan's still hurt, now very confused, but direct questions, he knows, will only cause Arthur to shut down.]
I am most myself with you, detective. More than I am with almost anyone. [His quiet times with Crozier feel most authentic, but they rarely talk. It's not the same.]
[Arthur is silent and still for a few seconds. Mental scales always weighing up what it's worth admitting, and what he owes.
Until finally he lets a slow breath out, and sits slowly up again.]
And I am honest with you, doctor. But there is... [His face tilts slightly, looking away if he'd had the sight for it.] There are parts to me that I will not share. Not then with Parker, not even now with John.
[Things that he did share, and got used against him. Things he's ashamed of, still hurts for, things he should and does regret and things he refuses to.]
That you can't tell me and you think I want to know?
I want to know you, detective. Plainly. And I'm pretty damn sure I have a good picture of that, despite how tightly you hold back.
[He refills glasses, takes a drink.]
You're abrasive. Cutting. You use anger as a first line of defense, but that's only because you're hurt. I knew that before you told me.
But you're fiercely loyal. Caring. Stubborn as a fucking mule.
I don't need to know your traumas to know you, Arthur Lester. In fact, I'd rather you tell me only what you're comfortable with. I'm not your damn doctor, but I'd really like to be your friend.
[That gets a quiet chuckle - he can hardly protest the accuracy of all of it - but it's the first sound in a while that hasn't come out tinted with bitterness.
Because it does finally feel like tension he hadn't noticed building has leeches from his shoulders a bit, and he leans to pick up his drink again.]
You can't half tell I'm used to people pushing for it all, can you.
[But it's only dry, not cynical, and this time he only takes a sip rather than finish the drink.]
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[With the obvious energy about him that if he doesn't say yes in the next two seconds, Arthur's gonna fucking let himself in anyway.]
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[He steps back, glad that Arthur can't tell the state that he's in. Fresh from a shower, t-shirt, sweatpants. Not exactly fit for company.]
Couch about ten steps ahead. [He moves back into his office/cabin. His bedroom is in a door off to the side, but his office is wall to wall books, a small kitchen, the aforementioned couch, and a table. Sparse.]
Can I get you a drink?
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[He finds the couch easily enough, and manages to gently wing the table with his cane rather than his shin on his way to sitting carefully down.]
I'm sorry to come bother you at such an hour, but I feared you'd find a way to dodge the conversation if I didn't pin you down.
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He is not surprised.]
And what conversation would I be dodging?
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We're coming on three weeks' worth at this point, so probably quite a few.
[Look he still doesn't necessarily want to bring up their last conversation, but since it's literally why he's here--]
But if there's something you're trying to avoid saying to me, doctor, telling me to fuck off about it is a damn sight more mature than completely avoiding me.
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He can't deny it, so he doesn't. So, for the first time in their entire time knowing each other, he is honest of his own free will.]
You made it clear that we aren't friends, Arthur. And you told me something very - very personal to you. I thought it better to let you make the first move. So. Here we are.
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He keeps the glass in his hand, though, rolling it against his thigh as he tries to find the right words. Almost to his own surprise, it's honesty that comes out as well.]
...I don't have many people in my life, doctor - at this point it really is just John. I don't go out of my way to cultivate friends, and the fact that I have any - not just here, but ever - is testament more to people's stubbornness than my own willing.
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[He takes a drink.]
Then I realized I got exactly what I wanted and - well, it didn't feel good.
I know you've been alone. And I know - I know what you said about John. How he hurt you when you opened up to him.
I don't want to hurt you, detective. If keeping me at a distance helps you, then I can respect that.
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I don't want you gone, doctor, I just don't want you dead. It's a rather unfortunate trend for people I end up caring about.
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I've already died once, detective. And it was no one's fault but my own.
So.
If that's the price of being your friend, then I think I've already paid it.
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[He doesn't want to continue the topic. He can't risk it turning back towards her. But a part of him wants to protest and rail against the fact that Sheehan thinks he's safe liking Arthur.]
Parker died because of me. He trusted me and I- I failed that. Completely.
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[He stares into his glass, not looking up. Not expecting an answer.
This fucking dance just goes on and on. It was fun at first. It was predictable in the way that it stalled. Now, though?
Now Sheehan is tired]
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Because I opened John's fucking book. Because he used me to- [he picks up the drink, just holding it for a moment.] -to get rid of Parker. The last thing my only friend saw, w-was me-- killing him.
[He lifts his drink, visibly hesitates for a moment, but knocks the entire thing back again.]
It's not about you, doctor. [His tone slows, emphatic and even.] I can't lose anyone again.
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He still vividly remembers Parker's face. He remembers that carefree smirk. The easy way they were together.
It makes his chest ache to think of what might have been running through his head as he was killed.]
I'm sorry that happened to you. I'm sorry that happened to him. [Only sincerity.]
It is about me, detective. Fearing loss is one thing. That's - after what you went through, that's to be expected. The guilt you carry about it only compounds that. It - I don't begrudge you that. And I'm not a child. I'm not going to insist that you be my friend.
But. You're not giving me a choice in the matter.
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Well. [It's not light, but it's dry, an empty humour he clearly isn't feeling.] I sort of assumed any goodwill I might have had with you got very resoundingly shot down after our last discussion. You keeping your distance didn't exactly prove otherwise.
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Because of what you told me about the woman?
No, detective. That - that was something unfortunate that happened, but you made the best choice you could have in the moment. I don't blame you for it and I certainly don't think any differently of you.
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Arthur just snorts.]
Right. Sure.
[He lifts his hand to rub his face. His mood makes the heavy weight of his useless left hand frustrating today, and he tries to let it out in a long, heavy sigh.
Let's just rally. He can do that much. Sit up straight and put his poker face back on.]
Well, doctor. Despite my own self interests, I do find you a scintillating conversation and more than pleasant company - and that's not even mentioning the fact I've already put life and limb on the line for you, quite readily.
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[He stares at the table, pouring another glass for himself. He leaves the bottle between them.]
Then tell me what you want. What you're comfortable with.
Tell me an actual, goddamn truth, detective.
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You remind me of him.
[It's a reluctant admission, heavy with the weight that brings, sharp with the threat that pushing won't yield.]
The way he.-- the way he used to present himself, to others. To make himself... palatable. Unobtrusive, harmless. All... all smoke. No fire.
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You make it sound like a bad thing.
[Offered with no judgment or offense. Nothing but concern and space to continue if he wants. Sheehan's still hurt, now very confused, but direct questions, he knows, will only cause Arthur to shut down.]
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I suppose that depends. Is there a fire I should be watching for from you, or are you just blowing smoke up my arse?
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I am most myself with you, detective. More than I am with almost anyone. [His quiet times with Crozier feel most authentic, but they rarely talk. It's not the same.]
That's the full truth.
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Until finally he lets a slow breath out, and sits slowly up again.]
And I am honest with you, doctor. But there is... [His face tilts slightly, looking away if he'd had the sight for it.] There are parts to me that I will not share. Not then with Parker, not even now with John.
[Things that he did share, and got used against him. Things he's ashamed of, still hurts for, things he should and does regret and things he refuses to.]
I'm sorry.
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That you can't tell me and you think I want to know?
I want to know you, detective. Plainly. And I'm pretty damn sure I have a good picture of that, despite how tightly you hold back.
[He refills glasses, takes a drink.]
You're abrasive. Cutting. You use anger as a first line of defense, but that's only because you're hurt. I knew that before you told me.
But you're fiercely loyal. Caring. Stubborn as a fucking mule.
I don't need to know your traumas to know you, Arthur Lester. In fact, I'd rather you tell me only what you're comfortable with. I'm not your damn doctor, but I'd really like to be your friend.
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Because it does finally feel like tension he hadn't noticed building has leeches from his shoulders a bit, and he leans to pick up his drink again.]
You can't half tell I'm used to people pushing for it all, can you.
[But it's only dry, not cynical, and this time he only takes a sip rather than finish the drink.]
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