Hanna shrugs, "Well, It was a pretty popular name for a while there. A bit old fashioned now." But he isn't sure he wants to say more about it.
"I was- well. I was basically done." Though there is something there, this idea that he might actually understand when he tells him how he can't even blame her for it at all.
"You can save that question for next time." Next time being whenever he's sorted through it, all those feelings revolving around the mess, the want to just leave it behind because it couldn't be fixed so why bother touching it at all.
"Don't really feel anything special," He'd been feeling kind of uncomfortable since he'd gotten onto the boat.
"I guess just weird, mostly. I knew what happened, cause I did it to myself but it wasn't like I could see it happening. I was stuck in my own head. Wasnt like there were any other witnesses." Well, aside from the other ghost in the room, but he's not offering that up.
"What about now?" he wonders. "Knowing that I know?"
He's not trying to push or prod Hanna into telling him something he's not comfortable with, but he does want to get a sense of his mood at the moment. It's important.
He does pull up the oars, though, needing to give his arms a break.
Pulling his lower lip between his teeth he thinks a moment, quiet as he attempts to figure out what the feeling that seems to linger is.
It takes him a minute, but he can put his finger on it. It's fear, mixed with anxiety, the idea that anything that happens now is driven by pity, or the idea that he's fragile. He wants to believe it's irrational, that Sheehan wouldn't treat him that way, but it's hard to push down.
"Kinda want to forget about it, honestly. So I don't worry about it, I guess." Is what he settles on instead.
"Why do you want to forget?" he murmurs. "That's the coping skill you seem to use most often. Turning away, forgetting, letting yourself believe it doesn't matter. Tell me how you feel right now. Physically," he says, leaning forward.
"I told you, I don't like bummers." Which is an easy enough answer to continue avoiding admitting that he cares what Sheehan thinks of him but the less he knows the more likely he is to stick around. It's always worked that way, and he sees no reason for it to change now. The forward approach is a good one though, much like John's shot straight to the heart in the aftermath of the underworld that broke him down enough to cry about it. His armor is only so thick and usually no one bothered to prod and poke at it long enough to get through it.
"I feel like moving. But I can't really when I'm holding onto magic water, stuck in a boat." Moving, diverting some of that anxious energy to a bouncing knee or even to gesture with his hands but he can't do either right now. He can explain the cold and the sweating away with just living, but the anxiety that has settled in his stomach is starting to make it ache. It'll go away soon enough if he can just ignore it.
"I know you don't. No one likes bummers," he assures him. "But listen to me, Hanna. You are not going to get hurt from this feeling. These feelings are uncomfortable, but they aren't going to do you any physical harm. So if you sit with them, they will fade and you won't die."
"Whats the difference, sitting with it and being uncomfortable for a while and just...letting it go until it becomes a problem again?" He doesn't think there is one, because he doubts it will ever be something that doesn't make him want to get up and run a mile.
"It's just there. Can't change it. But if I ignore it ever happened unless I literally can't? Then it's better that way. This is different than fucking up. It's a fucked up thing that happened. I spent enough time wallowing in it..." or rather, frantically telling people his ghost parents tried to kill him. All that did was make people think he was crazy and put distance and a barbed wire fence between him and their support and friendship.
"It's not a good look, and Im not about to repeat that mistake again."
"It isn't about fixing the problem, Hanna. It's about coping with your feelings so that you can make better decisions when the time comes to fix it," he explains. "If you're in this heightened sense of anxiety, then you aren't going to be thinking straight. You're going to be impulsive."
"I'm not anxious." He says trying not to fidget anxiously.
And he doesn't think there is anything wrong with being impulsive. It's saved his life so many times, though perhaps that's just luck, but he isn't counting on it. He'd never been good with odds.
Hanna sighs, glancing off to the side of the boat so he doesn't have to look at Sheehan and his stupid, accurate accusations.
"I just- I know what happens when I'm honest about shit, and I'd rather not. The only person who needs to know how I'm feeling is me, and I'll deal with it." Poorly, while pretending it isn't happening and he's fine, but still. He'll deal with it any no one else has to.
"Is that a bad strategy? I don't think so. Works pretty fucking great if you ask me."
Hanna doesn't have to think about it that hard. He'd been by himself for a very long time, no one really stuck around aside from Lamont and Worth, and both were there because of their working relationship. Not really the kind of people you spilled your heart out to as much as he liked them.
"I think so? What else am I going to do?" Between home and the Barge his life was quite different, but even if he had people to talk to about shit that made him uncomfortable and feeling a little too vulnerable he didn't see much value in it. Sure Sheehan had helped him figure out some way forward with Conrad, and he'd tried to apply that, but that was special, specific.
"I get we're all supposed to be figuring shit out, but I don't need to drag someone down with me or risk a connection just because I feel like shit sometimes."
This isn't the first time someone has used this defense on him and he shakes his head with an indulgent smile. "Alright," he tells him. "So, by that logic, do you think that you're dragging me down? Or that you haven't formed a connection?"
Sheehan has a hunch that this is going to a place of fear, but he continues pressing now, as Hanna hasn't shown him that he's had enough just yet. Sheehan isn't going to push him too far, but he doesn't want to let this sit.
"Stop what?" he wonders, aloud, wanting them to go over it again. If they could go over it every day so he could reassure him of the facts, then he will.
The flat look that Sheehan receives in return to his question is so very done. It's like he had this way of irritating him enough that he feels like he has to answer, so that he can convince himself he's not going insane.
"Look...we both know what this is, why do I have to say it out loud? Or do you get some weird, satisfaction when I admit shit I'd rather forget exists at all?" If he doesn't say it, he can file this conversation away and not think about it ever again. Well. Maybe not. Sheehan knows more. Again. And he's not going to forget that.
But he most certainly won't forget it if he says, "being afraid doesn't help anything, so if I just ignore it, it doesn't exist. Why can't you just let me do that? Why does it even matter?"
"You're angry," he remarks lightly. "You know I don't like making you angry or upsetting you, Hanna." Sheehan has taken worse hits, but it does still sting. He likes Hanna, appreciates him, and things said in anger still have effects.
"Yeah, well you're pretty good at wiggling your stupid fingers right under the skin." He says quietly, staring at the bottom of the boat.
Again, he doesn't really like this feeling, sitting in it, being uncomfortable, riled up with a cage around his frustration. Some of it manages to ooze out of the holes in the chain links, but at the very least it hasn't broken out in a good long while.
"I'd say it was a talent, but you went to school for it and got that fancy degree so it was earned."
Hanna glances up, raising an eyebrow at the other man. He doesn't want to, isn't sure what good it would do, but... if it got him rowing again, if he would let it go, maybe he could. Though really, he knows if it ever comes up again they'll just be having the same conversation.
Teaching Hanna anything usually comes in at least threes, and the deep seated habits and beliefs he's settled into over the years would be much harder to pry loose, but perhaps it's because of that, that he gives in. Or it's because in the dawn light, Dr. Lester Sheehan's hair was a little lighter, making the slight resemblance Hanna had clocked even closer to what he remembered of Grant Cross before he'd died.
"I'm...afraid." He starts quietly, unable to shift much. It almost looks like Hanna might be making eye contact, but he's only half managed, gaze settled somewhere around his shoulder instead. "You're going to learn more, decide it's too much, or I'm crazy, or something, and then you'll just be gone. That's how it goes."
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"I was- well. I was basically done." Though there is something there, this idea that he might actually understand when he tells him how he can't even blame her for it at all.
"You can save that question for next time." Next time being whenever he's sorted through it, all those feelings revolving around the mess, the want to just leave it behind because it couldn't be fixed so why bother touching it at all.
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He's not just asking as a psychiatrist who recognizes that someone has had to relive some trauma. He's asking because he cares about his friend.
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"I guess just weird, mostly. I knew what happened, cause I did it to myself but it wasn't like I could see it happening. I was stuck in my own head. Wasnt like there were any other witnesses." Well, aside from the other ghost in the room, but he's not offering that up.
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He's not trying to push or prod Hanna into telling him something he's not comfortable with, but he does want to get a sense of his mood at the moment. It's important.
He does pull up the oars, though, needing to give his arms a break.
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It takes him a minute, but he can put his finger on it. It's fear, mixed with anxiety, the idea that anything that happens now is driven by pity, or the idea that he's fragile. He wants to believe it's irrational, that Sheehan wouldn't treat him that way, but it's hard to push down.
"Kinda want to forget about it, honestly. So I don't worry about it, I guess." Is what he settles on instead.
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"I feel like moving. But I can't really when I'm holding onto magic water, stuck in a boat." Moving, diverting some of that anxious energy to a bouncing knee or even to gesture with his hands but he can't do either right now. He can explain the cold and the sweating away with just living, but the anxiety that has settled in his stomach is starting to make it ache. It'll go away soon enough if he can just ignore it.
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He says it earnestly, though. Not a hint of jest.
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"It's just there. Can't change it. But if I ignore it ever happened unless I literally can't? Then it's better that way. This is different than fucking up. It's a fucked up thing that happened. I spent enough time wallowing in it..." or rather, frantically telling people his ghost parents tried to kill him. All that did was make people think he was crazy and put distance and a barbed wire fence between him and their support and friendship.
"It's not a good look, and Im not about to repeat that mistake again."
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And he doesn't think there is anything wrong with being impulsive. It's saved his life so many times, though perhaps that's just luck, but he isn't counting on it. He'd never been good with odds.
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"I just- I know what happens when I'm honest about shit, and I'd rather not. The only person who needs to know how I'm feeling is me, and I'll deal with it." Poorly, while pretending it isn't happening and he's fine, but still. He'll deal with it any no one else has to.
"Is that a bad strategy? I don't think so. Works pretty fucking great if you ask me."
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He isn't going to outright accuse him of lying to himself, but he does need to point out those truths to him.
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"I think so? What else am I going to do?" Between home and the Barge his life was quite different, but even if he had people to talk to about shit that made him uncomfortable and feeling a little too vulnerable he didn't see much value in it. Sure Sheehan had helped him figure out some way forward with Conrad, and he'd tried to apply that, but that was special, specific.
"I get we're all supposed to be figuring shit out, but I don't need to drag someone down with me or risk a connection just because I feel like shit sometimes."
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He sucks in a breath and looks across at Sheehan, pressing his lips together before continuing.
"I have, that's the problem." And he doesn't want to risk losing it.
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"What's the problem?"
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But saying it aloud again feels stupid, more irrational.
"It's stupid and doesn't really matter. We could just stop right here and that'd be just fine with me."
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"Look...we both know what this is, why do I have to say it out loud? Or do you get some weird, satisfaction when I admit shit I'd rather forget exists at all?" If he doesn't say it, he can file this conversation away and not think about it ever again. Well. Maybe not. Sheehan knows more. Again. And he's not going to forget that.
But he most certainly won't forget it if he says, "being afraid doesn't help anything, so if I just ignore it, it doesn't exist. Why can't you just let me do that? Why does it even matter?"
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Again, he doesn't really like this feeling, sitting in it, being uncomfortable, riled up with a cage around his frustration. Some of it manages to ooze out of the holes in the chain links, but at the very least it hasn't broken out in a good long while.
"I'd say it was a talent, but you went to school for it and got that fancy degree so it was earned."
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"So - would you say it? Aloud? I want you to be able to hear it. I think it will help you."
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Teaching Hanna anything usually comes in at least threes, and the deep seated habits and beliefs he's settled into over the years would be much harder to pry loose, but perhaps it's because of that, that he gives in. Or it's because in the dawn light, Dr. Lester Sheehan's hair was a little lighter, making the slight resemblance Hanna had clocked even closer to what he remembered of Grant Cross before he'd died.
"I'm...afraid." He starts quietly, unable to shift much. It almost looks like Hanna might be making eye contact, but he's only half managed, gaze settled somewhere around his shoulder instead. "You're going to learn more, decide it's too much, or I'm crazy, or something, and then you'll just be gone. That's how it goes."
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