He gives him a Look. "Is that the strategy I've used with you before?" he challenges, setting down the oars and searching out the cups so he can hand them to Hanna.
"It was a joke," He grumbles, at least having the decency to look a little guilty about it, grabbing two himself despite a very unsettled feeling rising in Hanna's stomach.
He isn't so sure he's ready to spin that roulette wheel, but here he is, not like he can bail now.
Hanna isn't entirely sure that he believes him given what he knows he could see. There are a few things he'd been decent about keeping to himself. The only two people that even know what his body looks like were his choice to give up, once to save Vincent from having to kill him in some messy way, the other when he helped Taylor with her inability to control her powers. He still wonders about that, the way she'd felt what it was like to be him. It doesn't tell her how he got that way, but it was far more information than anyone had ever had.
"I'm fine." He lies, kicking his feet back and forth just for something to do, looking behind him towards the east, waiting for the light himself, "You...You can ask, just can't promise I'll want to answer," He manages when he isn't looking at Sheehan. Because sometimes truth is easier to handle when you can fill in the why's and how's yourself rather than leaving someone else's mind to wander.
He doesn't like these mind games that the Admiral plays with them. Yes, you can help fix the ship, but only if you're forced to reveal something about yourself that you might not want to. He's not sure he wants to intrude on anyone in that way.
Still, he's here and Hanna has enough trust in him for that, so he doesn't force it.
"If you say so," he says because the light is starting to form under the water and Sheehan can't help but turn to look.
As the light starts to hit, it seems to create a sort of projection behind Hanna. It flickers as if playing an old reel of film, but the image starts to come in more clearly.
Hanna doesn't look much different than he does now sitting before Sheehan, he's still small, though perhaps more solid, younger in the face, his hair cut shorter with tighter curls. That isnt really what would catch anyones eye though, as a blue light emits from his eyes and mouth, pouring out of him as if his head was a lampshade.
If you look closer, tilt your head a little you can see more of him, his own hand clutching the handle of an 8" chef knife, buried into the skin just below his collar bone. Without much hesitation as the wound starts to bleed, he pulls the knife further down in a sharp line, carving himself open in what seems to be a small kitchen, a bit dated with its 70s cabinetry but warm and homey to contrast the small teen on his knees in the middle of it, more blood than just his own soaking into his jeans.
Hanna, the one actually sitting in front of Sheehan, turns his head to try and see what the light might be revealing, but he sees nothing, glancing back at the other man with a raised, cautious eyebrow as if to say 'well? What's the damage?'.
Hanna is spared any truly revealing parts of Sheehan. Superimposed on him is simply his uniform from the War. It isn't anything new, nothing that Sheehan wouldn't tell him.
But what Sheehan sees is - difficult to watch. Still, he does, and he can see what the boy is doing, but he doesn't know why.
For a moment, he's frozen, then he's clearing his throat and looking away from him and gestures for Hanna to collect the water in the cups. "Something I'm sure you don't want me to know."
The look on his face gives it away before he can, that sinking feeling returning as he very carefully watches for emotion on the other man's face.
"You looked good in that uniform, by the way," he manages out, dipping his two cups in the water, focusing on holding them now they they're full in the way that the strange magic pulls at you to drop them.
"I'm not offering up any guesses of what it was, so you're gonna have to tell me." As much as he doesn't want to hear it, he still wants to know. There is a mental file in his head, noting who knew what, how much, why and how. He wants to update Sheehans as much as he doesn't want to.
He looks down at himself, brushing his hands across his shirt. When Hanna gets the cups, though, he takes the oars to start to steer them back. "Everyone looks good in the uniform when they're twenty two," he says fondly, looking over his shoulder a moment.
"I saw - " He hesitates for a few heartbeats. "I saw you taking a knife to yourself in the middle of a kitchen."
Hanna probably would have been rejected from the draft if he'd grown up in a time it had been active, not thinking he'd look that great in one even if it was tailored to fit, but that's just him. He steadies the cups on his knees when Sheehan starts rowing them back, but when he talks again, that wasn't the answer he wanted.
"Don't tell Taylor." Is out of his mouth immediately, not quite panic, but quick, short. And then, "and I wasn't doing it." Which might seem contradictory to what Sheehan saw, but he's tone is firm.
"I won't tell Taylor," he promises with a firm nod. "Do you - want to set the record straight with me? I believe you, Hanna. Don't get me wrong. But if you want to explain, we have a bit of a trek back, so I'll listen."
"I know about it, yes," he says with a hesitant smile. He's close with Arthur and John, after all. He's well aware of possession and all the other forms it might take.
It's a dumb question seeing as he is rather aware of John and Arthur, but he thinks it's at least a little different.
"Well, where I come from, ghosts can't manipulate physical shit the way a person can. Sure, you can have the usual banging doors, flickering lights, but to actually harm someone effectively? They have to possess you." He knows how young he looked there, that he'd almost shrunk in on himself after, the way that his body adjusted to the magic, to life support. It made him feel like his shoulders were too big for his body, disproportionate when he looked in the mirror.
"I had a run in with one once that didnt end well, and since ghosts are just...pure energy and emotion, the feelings they have that tie them to the world, they're pretty strong. But they can get twisted." He's calculated in the way he adds truth to little lies, easily to follow, nothing out of place, repeatable.
Sheehan nods once, taking it in, thinking through what Hanna's told him before and what he's hearing now. He said he wouldn't ask questions, so he doesn't.
"I'm sorry that happened to you, Hanna. It seems like it caused a lot of hurt to you."
Hurt in more ways than physical, considering the way he's acting about it now.
He's trying very hard to shove the uncomfortable feelings down, the parent trap he'd met down in the underworld he hadn't mentioned to anyone bubbling under the surface once again. Terminator hadn't asked, and thankfully he was one of the only people who had seen it aside from Lucy. Thankfully, judging by what Sheehan had said, that was all he'd seen, nothing else.
The shrug paired with his little smile is familiar, "it's part of the gig, you know? Rookie mistake. It's not quite sorted, but I'll get to it. Eventually." Just one of those things that slip your mind.
"You can ask, by the way. I feel like you've earned at least one question. But like I said, I reserve the right to veto."
Sheehan nods but doesn't ask for a moment, thinking of how he wants to say it. He doesn't believe all of it - considering Hanna's proclivity to do almost anything to avoid being uncomfortable.
"You don't have to use humor to diffuse the moment," he tells him. "Why did the ghost want to kill you?"
"It's practically a reflex, sorry. Can't exactly stop. That and bummers aren't my favorite." He doesn't seem that bothered by him pointing it out, but his knee stops bouncing at the question.
There's a moment where the gears turning in his brain seem to screech to a halt before he sucks in a breath. "She...she didn't want to leave without me." He says slowly and carefully.
He takes in every small movement, or lack of, and runs it through his own filter of what he knows about Hanna. Of what each of those little quirks mean.
He doesn't answer him or ask another question. He simply watches him, waiting for him to add more information if he wants, or to change the subject.
The longer the silence stretches, the more Hanna feels the need to fidget, that knee bouncing again. He swallows down the sick feeling rising up in his throat as he looks back at the beauty of the rising sun, the golden dawn light.
It's easier to talk when he knows Sheehan can't look him in the eye. People like that, he feels like the more he says, the more they can work through it with less context, but there is a soft mantra repeating in the back of his mind. He isn't a puzzle, and Sheehan isn't just going to leave when he's done slotting the pieces into place.
"I never blamed her for what happened. I barely felt it, you know? I mean, I did when I managed to get her out, but...not while it was happening." He let's the cup in his hand rest on the bench seat next to him.
"Her name was Dolores, but...heh. People just called her Dolly. Cute, right?"
He barely flinches, but there's a hitch to his throat as he speaks. Dolores - a name he heard over and over and over for years. The name of a dead woman.
He stares right back at him and then glances over the water. "The wife of one of my patients," he says. "Her name was Dolores. He killed her. It just - it was a strange coincidence, that's all."
I murdered my wife, Dolores, in the spring of 'fifty-two... Sheehan hears in his head, clear as a goddamn bell. Like Andrew was speaking right into his ear.
He gives Hanna a soft smile. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your story."
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.
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timeasmymeasure
Re: Island port
Date: 2024-11-18 01:12 am (UTC)Re: Island port
Date: 2024-11-18 01:22 am (UTC)He isn't so sure he's ready to spin that roulette wheel, but here he is, not like he can bail now.
Re: Island port
Date: 2024-11-18 01:51 am (UTC)He leans down and trails his fingers in the water, waiting for the light.
Re: Island port
Date: 2024-11-18 01:58 am (UTC)"I'm fine." He lies, kicking his feet back and forth just for something to do, looking behind him towards the east, waiting for the light himself, "You...You can ask, just can't promise I'll want to answer," He manages when he isn't looking at Sheehan. Because sometimes truth is easier to handle when you can fill in the why's and how's yourself rather than leaving someone else's mind to wander.
Re: Island port
Date: 2024-11-18 03:58 pm (UTC)Still, he's here and Hanna has enough trust in him for that, so he doesn't force it.
"If you say so," he says because the light is starting to form under the water and Sheehan can't help but turn to look.
Cw: self harm/body horror
Date: 2024-11-18 04:15 pm (UTC)Hanna doesn't look much different than he does now sitting before Sheehan, he's still small, though perhaps more solid, younger in the face, his hair cut shorter with tighter curls. That isnt really what would catch anyones eye though, as a blue light emits from his eyes and mouth, pouring out of him as if his head was a lampshade.
If you look closer, tilt your head a little you can see more of him, his own hand clutching the handle of an 8" chef knife, buried into the skin just below his collar bone. Without much hesitation as the wound starts to bleed, he pulls the knife further down in a sharp line, carving himself open in what seems to be a small kitchen, a bit dated with its 70s cabinetry but warm and homey to contrast the small teen on his knees in the middle of it, more blood than just his own soaking into his jeans.
Hanna, the one actually sitting in front of Sheehan, turns his head to try and see what the light might be revealing, but he sees nothing, glancing back at the other man with a raised, cautious eyebrow as if to say 'well? What's the damage?'.
no subject
Date: 2024-11-18 06:40 pm (UTC)But what Sheehan sees is - difficult to watch. Still, he does, and he can see what the boy is doing, but he doesn't know why.
For a moment, he's frozen, then he's clearing his throat and looking away from him and gestures for Hanna to collect the water in the cups. "Something I'm sure you don't want me to know."
no subject
Date: 2024-11-18 06:48 pm (UTC)"You looked good in that uniform, by the way," he manages out, dipping his two cups in the water, focusing on holding them now they they're full in the way that the strange magic pulls at you to drop them.
"I'm not offering up any guesses of what it was, so you're gonna have to tell me." As much as he doesn't want to hear it, he still wants to know. There is a mental file in his head, noting who knew what, how much, why and how. He wants to update Sheehans as much as he doesn't want to.
no subject
Date: 2024-11-18 06:51 pm (UTC)"I saw - " He hesitates for a few heartbeats. "I saw you taking a knife to yourself in the middle of a kitchen."
Might as well be blunt.
no subject
Date: 2024-11-18 06:59 pm (UTC)"Don't tell Taylor." Is out of his mouth immediately, not quite panic, but quick, short. And then, "and I wasn't doing it." Which might seem contradictory to what Sheehan saw, but he's tone is firm.
no subject
Date: 2024-11-18 07:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-11-18 07:08 pm (UTC)He looks stuck for a moment, weighing his options. Explaining meant sharing more if he wanted to make it clear, and...he didn't really.
His fingers tap against the cups when he can't just let go and do something else with them.
"Maybe, just a little." He finally decides, lifting a cup so he can bounce his knee. "Do you know anything about posession?"
no subject
Date: 2024-11-19 01:45 am (UTC)"But you may need to give me details."
no subject
Date: 2024-11-19 01:58 am (UTC)"Well, where I come from, ghosts can't manipulate physical shit the way a person can. Sure, you can have the usual banging doors, flickering lights, but to actually harm someone effectively? They have to possess you." He knows how young he looked there, that he'd almost shrunk in on himself after, the way that his body adjusted to the magic, to life support. It made him feel like his shoulders were too big for his body, disproportionate when he looked in the mirror.
"I had a run in with one once that didnt end well, and since ghosts are just...pure energy and emotion, the feelings they have that tie them to the world, they're pretty strong. But they can get twisted." He's calculated in the way he adds truth to little lies, easily to follow, nothing out of place, repeatable.
"This one just really wanted me to die."
no subject
Date: 2024-11-19 02:11 am (UTC)"I'm sorry that happened to you, Hanna. It seems like it caused a lot of hurt to you."
Hurt in more ways than physical, considering the way he's acting about it now.
no subject
Date: 2024-11-19 02:29 am (UTC)The shrug paired with his little smile is familiar, "it's part of the gig, you know? Rookie mistake. It's not quite sorted, but I'll get to it. Eventually." Just one of those things that slip your mind.
"You can ask, by the way. I feel like you've earned at least one question. But like I said, I reserve the right to veto."
no subject
Date: 2024-11-19 02:41 am (UTC)"You don't have to use humor to diffuse the moment," he tells him. "Why did the ghost want to kill you?"
no subject
Date: 2024-11-19 02:50 am (UTC)There's a moment where the gears turning in his brain seem to screech to a halt before he sucks in a breath. "She...she didn't want to leave without me." He says slowly and carefully.
no subject
Date: 2024-11-19 03:25 am (UTC)He doesn't answer him or ask another question. He simply watches him, waiting for him to add more information if he wants, or to change the subject.
no subject
Date: 2024-11-19 03:36 am (UTC)It's easier to talk when he knows Sheehan can't look him in the eye. People like that, he feels like the more he says, the more they can work through it with less context, but there is a soft mantra repeating in the back of his mind. He isn't a puzzle, and Sheehan isn't just going to leave when he's done slotting the pieces into place.
"I never blamed her for what happened. I barely felt it, you know? I mean, I did when I managed to get her out, but...not while it was happening." He let's the cup in his hand rest on the bench seat next to him.
"Her name was Dolores, but...heh. People just called her Dolly. Cute, right?"
no subject
Date: 2024-11-19 04:05 am (UTC)"Yeah. Real cute," he manages to say.
"Why you?"
no subject
Date: 2024-11-19 04:13 am (UTC)"Who was she to you?" It's the question he won't answer turned right back.
no subject
Date: 2024-11-20 01:58 am (UTC)I murdered my wife, Dolores, in the spring of 'fifty-two... Sheehan hears in his head, clear as a goddamn bell. Like Andrew was speaking right into his ear.
He gives Hanna a soft smile. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your story."
no subject
Date: 2024-11-20 02:31 am (UTC)"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.
no subject
Date: 2024-11-20 02:38 am (UTC)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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