bigapplesauce | It's been the worst day since yesterday [closed]

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It's been the worst day since yesterday [closed]

The knotted mass of guilt in Daniel's chest hasn't gone away by the time he's on his way to Seth's apartment building, again, hands clenching and unclenching and wandering and ducking into his pockets and back out again a minute later.

Daniel feels like an idiot.

He feels like an idiot, because what good could an ordinary library in Manhattan possibly be for this kind of thing? Yesterday had passed in sporadic bursts of anxiety, horror over what the hell might be happening, creeping dread that this might not be reversible and then finally today Daniel's traitorous phone had buzzed to deliver several texts in rapid succession. Texts he should have received a full day ago. Short bursts of words and questions that should read as neutral and impersonal like any other text but don't because Seth had clearly, clearly not been in a good place by the time he'd faded from Daniel's range of vision and he must not have heard or processed any of the prior warnings because the texts all make it bleakly obvious he'd had no idea what was happening. Seth must have assumed the worse.

That would not be atypical for Seth to have assumed the worse.

The idea that Daniel had most assuredly been the cause of that makes him faintly, mildly nauseous.

He has to halt outside the building for a tight minute, his lungs a paradoxical mess of relief and jittering apprehension and no small amount of the always-persistent guilt until at last he makes an unerring line for the figure in front. The visible figure. Daniel's eyes don't slide right past and he doesn't need to constantly refocus and the gradually mounting panic tentatively starts to give way.

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"In a dream," Daniel says, pulling the words out, stretching their consonants, closing the sentence with a grinding, darkened emphasis. "I didn't think the circumstantial elements were -"

The rationality dies before its conclusion.

Daniel wishes he were someone who could shrug things away. He wishes he were someone who had the ability to wait for the issue to emerge naturally instead of confronting it, brazen and exposed, dragging it out and addressing with a directness he knows people find unsettling.

But he is so obviously not that sort of person, not the way he stands now with his shoulders a controlled rigidity and his jaw an aching, tightened rivet.

"Seth," he says, hating that he's already starting to know the answer, hating that he has to ask, "how much of that dream was real?"

God, he didn't know?

Seth thought that when Daniel had gotten upset about the things in the clipboard, he had been upset about.. everything that had happened. Finding out all those things had been real, that Seth really had been locked up for so long, he'd thought that was the issue at hand. Not just.. some tidbits about his childhood, or about his mental state or something. Granted, his deeply messed up mental state...

He desperately doesn't want to be having this conversation right now, but he feels like he owes Daniel an answer, especially since at this point he's likely to reach the same conclusions even without Seth, unless Seth very specifically denies it was real. And the only reason he can see for doing that is to spare Daniel the worry, but he does deserve to know, doesn't he? It's not like Seth's really been keeping it a big secret anyway. He just... is not inclined to talk about it.

For several moments he just stands still, not doing or something anything. Just gripping very tightly onto the shirt in his hand.

"All of it," he answers finally, his voice tight, and then he quickly pulls off his wet shirt, back still towards Daniel, clearly revealing the tattoo for the moment, before he pulls on the dry shirt, not caring that it will no longer be completely dry after he puts it on. Good enough.

"'cept for the bits with you in them," he adds, though he probably doesn't need to. "Broke out almost five months ago. On me own." Except for Gabe's help, but that had not so much been the breaking out as it had been the place to flee to, a place to hide, to make the rebels lose their trail.

He doesn't want to turn around and see how Daniel's taking this.

All of it.

Daniel can see a design. It's stitching itself together from all the parts of Seth he's been granted understanding of, and they're all curled into one place to form a construct he doesn't want to look at.

Seth isn't fond of touch. Of course he isn't, of course he wouldn't be after all that. Of course he isn't.

Seth mentioned not being on the best of terms with the rebels. That had been the profound understatement of the year.

Seth was suicidal at the darkest points of his life because he'd been trapped and subdued and sealed in a tiny room where he'd had no agency, forced to carry out an agenda he didn't agree with and it must have felt like the only way out.

Seth learned how to use the powers he held. Not out of casual experimentation, not from curiosity, but because he was desperate. He needed a way out.

None of it is something Daniel wants to imagine Seth actually undergoing here, in the real world. Seeing it in a dreamscape had been bad enough but he'd assumed the setting had been some representation of Seth's subconscious at the time, something damaged and torn and scared and angry and obstinate.

Seeing the tattoo is worse. Seeing it makes it real. It's real. All of it.

Daniel pulls off his glasses, rubs at his eyes, his hands tremoring because he is afraid, he is stricken, he is furious, he is lost, and he doesn't know how to fix this. He - fuck, he never knows how to fix anything, just eases the gaps between suffering and conscious thought with whatever words he can give.

Look at how good at fixing everyone's problems Daniel is. Witness the scintillating interpersonal aptitude. He couldn't even make Seth visible again, he couldn't even make him understand what was happening before he faded. And now Daniel's here, in a place he's clearly not wanted or needed, making things worse. Daniel Jackson, who's razed civilizations and destroyed planets but is always forgiven too easily because he always had the best intentions in mind, doing the one thing he's good at - unburying the traumas best left buried and digging his invasive questions into the raw psychological nerves to see if they still bleed.

His head is light, his lungs are dyspneic, his hands are still shaking, his legs are shaking, there's something faintly vertiginous about the way he's standing, he's paresthesiac, he has not slept in something like twenty-four hours, so Daniel navigates his way to the couch and sits, breathing, trying to breathe, trying to think of something adequate to say in response to that. At this point I'm sorry just seems laughable.

"I'm sorry," he says anyway, because what else is there?

Edited 2014-11-21 04:30 (UTC)

Daniel doesn't say anything for quite a while, so Seth eventually has to turn around and see how he's taking it.

Not great, it looks like.

He's very obviously distressed by this news, very clearly physically shaken. Seth wants to walk over and give him another hug, reassure him that it's okay, Seth's fine now. That version of him in the dream may have been him once, but he's not like that anymore.

Except that's a lie, isn't it?

Seth is functioning, he is coping, he is managing, but he is not entirely sure he's recovering. A week hasn't gone by without a nightmare that didn't hold at least some of the elements of his stay there, or some other past traumatic experience. And sure, it's been five months, and he's a lot more stable and secure than he was when he broke out, but that's not really saying much. There's no denying that he hasn't been profoundly changed by his imprisonment, if not that much in personality or values, then certainly in how he deals with things, how he can't deal with some things anymore because it brings it all back.

One of the things he can't deal with, at least just now, is going over there and comforting Daniel, listening to Daniel talk about how horrible it all must have been, while Seth tries to downplay his experiences. Neither does he want to pity parade. He just wants things to be better. And he does realise that to achieve that any time soon, he's probably going to have to actually work through it more than he has so far, but he's not sure how much he can take of Daniel's initial reaction.

So he just nods curtly at Daniel's apology, at his sympathy.

"I'm getting changed," he says, grabbing the jeans and underwear he's pulled out, and heads to the bathroom to do so. He doesn't close the door, not entirely, because he's not really trying to shut Daniel out and he doesn't want him to think so. He just needs a little space, and Daniel needs a little time.

When the room is empty, Daniel exhales and puts his face in his hands. He breathes the scents of paper and coffee still lingering there, two of the most reassuring smells in the world, several worlds, and waits for his heart to slow. Daniel is not always rational but he tries to make things connect in ways that make sense, bridging out his own wild intuitive leaps until he can parse out a line of reason and relay it, give it the essence of rationality and illusion of being an argument well-constructed.

The mental visuals are unnervingly stark - the hard shadows scored under Seth's eyes and the subtle darkened spots of bruising had stood out so sharply beneath the irradiating glare of fluorescent lights. It's far, far too easy to recall how tired Seth had been, tired of what he'd been made to do, tired of scraping out the hollow defiance to glare at his captors, tired of existing between sharp corners and gray walls and mirrors from which his jailers stared, unseen.

For months.

With altogether too much effort, he drags his hands away from his face to stare at the door through which Seth vanished without seeing it.

He's intruding.

He's resurrecting memories Seth doesn't need. In a matter of a few words he managed to breach a deeply personal space so he could lay bare all of the skeletons in Seth's proverbial closet, seize them and spread them out so he could inspect them all at once with no regard for who they belonged to. Because he's Daniel and he always knows what's best, doesn't he, he's the pinnacle of moral fucking autocracy, righteously self-righteous and bristling with that surefooted arrogance that borders on hubristic.

In a snap of precise economical motion Daniel rises and makes for the door out and gets one hand on the knob before he catches himself in his own indecision. His forehead drops against the door, both hands wrap around the knob because they need something to cling to, clearly.

He's intruding. He's making a mess. A completely unnecessary mess.

Edited 2014-11-21 06:49 (UTC)

Seth peels off his wet jeans and the rest with something resembling grim determination, then grabs a towel and actually dries himself off a little bit before putting on the dry clothes. He quickly dries his hair a little too, drops the towel over the edge of the bathtub then leans on the sink, head hanging.

Just breathes for a second. Gathering as much calm as he can.

Then he straightens and steels himself for going back in there, giving Daniel his coffee and then probably dealing with his thoughtful questions and intense sympathy. He wants Daniel to know all this shit about him, he wants Daniel to understand him, it just takes a lot of effort to get through it.

He pulls the bathroom door open again, and sees Daniel standing there with his hand on the door handle.

There is a very intense surge of emotion going through him at that sight. The fear that Daniel would simply have had enough, that it's too much for him to try to cope with, that he considers Seth far more trouble than he's worth, just now seeing how fucked up he is... It becomes instantly, painfully real for him.

He swallows thickly.

It makes sense, of course, and he'd been expecting it, but somehow that doesn't mean it doesn't still come as a surprise. A painful, gut-wrenching, sickening, chest-clenching disappointment, betrayal even. He's having to try really hard not to overreact, to not assume the worst, and assuming the worst is something he is oh so good at by now.

"Thought you weren't just going to leave," he says, breaking at the last syllable as he recalls the last time they discussed this. It's impossible to keep the accusation out of his voice.

For an instant he's furtively grateful when Seth says something because it makes up his mind for him and means the window to simply leave has closed. But the fractured indictment that cracks out of the last word immediately causes the ruptured guilt to intensify exponentially, and Daniel clenches his hands around the doorknob hard enough for his knuckles to hurt.

"That's not -" Daniel pulls his forehead away from the door, gathers himself, releases the thing, turns around, faces Seth directly. He knows this is how Seth operates, how if left to make his own conclusions the man will slide into his tendency for self-blame, assume he is the root of the problem and fold ever deeper into himself.

Daniel shakes his head, expression locked.

"No, I'm making it worse." The words are muttered, almost an undertone. He needs to make it clear to Seth that this is a resolution Daniel reached independently, that the potential decision to leave for the time being was entirely (selfishly) oriented around how he could help - and in light of the day's earlier misunderstanding, this had been such a poor choice in reasoning. The justifications boil out in turbid, disordered bursts of rapid self-judgment. "I'm - these are things that, that should be your choice to discuss, not mine, not - and not out of some, some single-minded selfish altruism to fix things that aren't fixable, not by their nature and not by my choice because that - isn't my choice and I shouldn't have assumed it was."

He stops to breathe because - because breathing is important, and Daniel seems to have forgotten that in the midst of his scalding, frustrated self-assessment. One hand creeps back to the door, but only for support's sake. The effort of explicating that diatribe has compounded itself with the weight of prolonged wakefulness, and the faint lightness in his head has returned.

Edited 2014-11-21 08:25 (UTC)

Seth's frown deepens, but now it's out of confusion.

It doesn't sound like he's leaving because he can't be bothered to deal with it all, but because he really believes leaving is the best thing for both of them.

He can't blame Daniel for wanting to fix things. Because despite what he might think of himself, every time something heavy like this has come up, Daniel may have asked some intrusive questions, but then he has rectified himself, he's asserted that it is Seth's choice whether or not to talk about it, and... Seth somehow knows, or at least he believes, that whatever he might ask, especially if he's insistent enough, Daniel would do it.

The intense self-criticism definitely feels familiar to Seth, except it's ridiculous, because Daniel's got a fuck lot less to criticise himself for than Seth does.

"You're not making it worse, you twat," he says, stepping into the kitchen. He really needs to call Daniel names right now, because he is acting like a moron. Even if it's self-directed twattiness. And he probably is scared to deal with all of Seth's mess, because who wouldn't be, but if Daniel wants to leave, then he's damn well going to do it for the right and honest reasons, not because he fools himself into thinking it's the right thing to do.

"It's always been this bad. And if I don't want to talk about it, then I don't talk about it," he continues, pulling out two mugs and setting them on the kitchen top, pouring coffee into both of them. It's not fresh, it's the pot he made earlier this morning, but it's strong and it's hot, which is the important part. Then he carries them both over to the living room table, and sets Daniel's cup pointedly down on it.

Seth's response to that agonizing uncertainty is blunt and straightforward and cuts effortlessly through the interior sludge of misunderstanding and it is exactly what Daniel needs right now. It's clear, etched, reassuringly merciless in the sharp click of mugs, the audible snap of two planes aligned, as brusque and to the point as the man himself. Whereas Daniel - follows in a prolonged slide of fingers from the steadiness of the door, moving forward in cautious intervals until he's sitting at the table and able to sip at the coffee, his very own shot of clarity.

"I'm sorry," he sighs again, reigning himself back from another automatic backwards skid into overthinking the issue. "It's a pattern. You know. I poke things that shouldn't be touched, they break, and you'd think I'd've learned by now but - planets, civilizations, one after another, and good intentions don't mean anything if I can't fix what I've ruined." Because he was curious. Because he was fascinated. Because he wanted to help.

The coffee is a godsend. The fatigued, hazy patina over his mind cracks with each grateful sip, the headache from too many hours awake gradually easing out for the time being.

Daniel shoots Seth an ironic attempt at a smile, a bitter tightening of the corners of his mouth.

"Statistically, I'm due to screw something or someone else up again very soon, so. Careful."

He quickly returns to his coffee because he can't tell if he meant that as a joke.

Seth doesn't sit down until he's sure Daniel is going to, sinking heavily into the couch, warming his hands on the mug. He's still a little chilled from being wet so long, but changing clothes did the trick. He hasn't bothered with socks yet.

"If they broke that easily, they probably would've done regardless of whether you were there," he points heavily. But he can't imagine that kind of responsibility is easy to carry. It's exactly why Seth stopped dealing powers. He doesn't want that kind of responsibility, because so much could change, and following the money definitely wasn't the way to find the right hands for a power. And then he had done it again when he came here, and look what that led to.

"And if it helps, there's not much left of me not screwed up already," he adds. Because apparently stating painful truths as jokes is something they're doing now.

"Don't say that." The caffeine having sharpened his response time significantly, Daniel levels a look at Seth that gets caught somewhere between puzzled and offended, with an admixture of profound unhappiness. The words are still quiet but they possess their own weight and magnitude and sincerity. "What is sentient isn't fixable in how we'd define the word but don't think that there isn't strength in what you've done, recovering yourself and finding an equilibrium. That's not easy. There's bravery in that."

Following that much more coherent discourse, Daniel draws the mug closer to himself and wraps both hands around it in a wordless protective movement, one thumb worrying at its rim absentmindedly.

"Considering everything you've been through - allowing yourself to simply continue is one of the most difficult choices someone can make." This smile does succeed even if it gets lost in the pressure of the next few words, under the nudging reminders of what, exactly, it is that Seth has been through. "The fact that you're still here and, and chose to work past that regardless is incredibly admirable."

Seth looks up at the first words, but as Daniel continues he finds it much easier to just intently study his coffee. He's definitely not fucking around with the moral support here. Complimenting his bravery, and strength, saying how his choices are admirable...

Seth doesn't feel it. Perhaps Daniel believes it, he certainly sounds like he does, but Seth has trouble seeing anything particularly admirable in it. He did it because he had no other option. How could it have been a difficult choice to make if it was the only one he could make?

Still, he doesn't argue against it. Even if it doesn't ring true, it's touching to hear that Daniel thinks so much of him, that he sees worth where Seth doesn't.

"I thought you knew," he replies instead, rather than even try to address what Daniel said. "I thought, a week ago, when we talked about it..." He trails off, not sure exactly how to finish.

"In my experience, dreams tend to bury reality in illusion," Daniel replies, now tracing the circumference of the mug's rim with a fingertip. "Even once I knew the details weren't manufactured, I had no idea the context wasn't either."

Dreams here aren't typical, however, and Daniel really should have picked up on that. And it makes the role he'd had to play in that one all the more disconcerting. Had that been Seth's subconscious, casting him in a role he felt fit best? The thought leaves an immediate chill. He figured Seth had picked up on his distaste for the part he'd been given to play, how he'd hated every second of it.

"I wish I'd gotten you out sooner - in there," he mutters, completely pointlessly. "Even if it was a dream, you - shouldn't have had to relive as much as you did."

Seth smiles a little, but it's mostly bitter. "I have those dreams all the time, don't think it would've made much difference if it was just a bit shorter. At least that one had a happy ending. More than I can say for most of them," he says, and finally takes a drink of the coffee instead of just warming his hands on them.

He gets that Daniel wants to help, but sometimes you just can't. At least not directly. Just having Daniel as a friend has already made Seth's life a lot better. That simply has to be enough.

That's hardly comforting. Daniel isn't a stranger to nightmares, and the recurring variety have always been his least favorite.

"You know, um." The frown flickers as he contemplates his coffee. "Dreams and, and memories are something I have some, uh, experience in navigating. After Ascending it was just something I - had to get better at. So if you, you know."

It's a belated offer, and it's regarding an extremely inexact science that Daniel has so little of a grasp over. The dreams here are nothing like any of the subconscious memories of his Ascension, and he has no idea if any amount of meditation would have an effect on control of the dream environment.

"I don't know how much it'd help. Or if it'd help at all, really." A vague disclaimer for an equally vague offer, punctuated by a tiny shrug.

Seth looks over with a small, confused frown. "Not sure exactly what you're offering," he answers honestly. And it kind of sounds like Daniel isn't entirely sure either. How to pull off lucid dreaming, perhaps? Or how to compartmentalise the memories and dreams. Or something else entirely.

"But I do appreciate your help," he adds after a moment, because it bears saying. He hopes it's implied, that he values their friendship, and how Daniel tries looking out for him. But seeing as Daniel just thought the best idea would be to simply stop sticking his nose in, it's probably worth letting him know.

"Meditation, mostly." He looks up at that one, finally, and takes a fractional sip of his coffee before redirecting his gaze to a distant point of wall on the opposite end of the room. "That's how I've dealt with some of the - less pleasant memories. Not sure how well it'd work here seeing as I lack resources. But that's not important."

He realigns himself, eyes training on Seth with their fervently sympathetic, blazingly curious look.

"You're not obligated to talk about anything," Daniel says evenly, the caffeine having smoothed away his nervous energy. "It's not a question of owing explanations. But if discussing it would help you process it, well - you probably know the option is always, yeah."

Meditation. Okay, well, Seth knows fuck all about that, so he's got a lot to learn, that's for sure.

"I know," he answers with a smile, small but genuine this time. And if there's anyone he thinks he could actually talk about it at length with, it's definitely Daniel. Gabe has always been there for him, and him and Johnny are definitely supportive, but they're generally not the kind of people Seth feels comfortable laying his heart open to. Not that Seth ever feels too comfortable doing that. But Daniel's intense understanding and sympathy helps.

"I'm just...," he starts, frowning a little at his coffee, mostly thoughtful. "Not sure what to say, you know? I don't, generally, talk about myself that much." He takes another sip, considering. His reticence usually serves him decently, but not when he actually wants Daniel to know stuff about him. "How about this. Ask me a question. Not just about my time there, but anything. If I don't want to talk about it, I'll let you know."

Edited 2014-11-21 20:25 (UTC)

"Didn't you know?" Daniel smiles back in earnest, but the motion is ridged with bitterness. "Giving me inquisitive free reign like that is rhetorical suicide."

He takes a prolonged drink of his coffee as he considers the offer, debates the intricacies, bats around a possible conclusion.

"All right," he says, rubbing at his chin with the back of one hand, "I say we spring for equal exchange here. I think if you're going to allow me interrogative freedom it's only fair that I give you the same." Daniel knows he's dodged too many questions as of late, choosing instead to define himself by his proclivity for consolation and the reach toward others. "The questions can go both ways. Sound fair?"

"Sounds fair," Seth agrees with a nod. There are a few questions he's been meaning to ask, after all, if only he can figure out how to pose them. And he does just want to know more about Daniel in general. "As long as we're not keeping score," he adds with a smile, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. It's still a little damp, and hanging down in front of his forehead instead of swept back.

"No scores." Daniel shakes his head. "Just - interpersonal bonding between friends."

He scratches at the back of his neck pensively, considering the best initiating angle. The weight of the prior subject matter is still a little too dense, a little too easily accessed, something that needs to be built toward with gradual intent. Better to start small and simple and easy.

"So, um, early life?" A safely neutral, potentially personal beginning point. "Family, childhood, etcetera?" Daniel grimaces fractionally and again resorts to coffee's stabilizing influence. "Er, too broad?"

Seth shrugs, considering the question. Daniel can narrow down his question after Seth gives an overview, he supposes.

"Manchester, born in '84. No siblings. Dad kind of left when I was a boy, and me mam worked two jobs, so mostly it was just me in our tiny council flat," he summarises, fiddling with his coffee mug. Daniel knows some of this, but maybe Seth would just like him to actually hear it from him, rather than written on a piece of paper, even if that piece of paper was created by his mind.

"At least she had a job. Many people didn't back then. Got better as I got older though. Great music scene," he continues, gesturing at his growing collection. "Was never much for academia, dropped out when I was seventeen. Moved down to London when I was twenty-two. 's about it, really."

Seth would be right in assuming it's better to hear it from him outright, knowledge consented to and freely given instead of inadvertently torn from his subconscious mind. He notes Seth's interest in music with a half-formed grin and packs that detail on file for future reference.

"And did you - no, sorry, it's your turn." Daniel ducks his head slightly in muted, mortified acknowledgement of his error.

Seth smiles in amusement at Daniel correcting himself. "I don't think 'interpersonal bonding between friends' has turns. That's kind of what I meant by not keeping score, you know," he says, taking another sip of coffee and leaning back in the couch. "What were you gonna ask?"

"My casual hypocrisy knows no shame, it would seem," he replies ruefully. "No, I was gonna ask if that was a primary interest of yours, music. Cause, well." He inclines his head at the indicated collection.

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