Eliot Waugh (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
eliotwaugh) wrote2020-01-17 06:00 pm
eliotwaugh) wrote2020-01-17 06:00 pm
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To Pass The Time Between The Wars (for Martin)
There's been altogether too much serious shit going on in Eliot's social circle; it's the latest in the series of surprises Darrow has presented, and he's tired of reacting to each subsequent piece of news with bafflement and blithe acceptance in the absence of any other alternatives. It's annoying, is what it is: a perpetual low-level irritation that he works with two of the most infuriatingly English people he's ever met. People who are oathbound to cosmic horrors, who get into terrible danger from sources supernatural and mundane, who apparently manage to scrape through by the skin of their teeth, if at all, and through it all refuse to ask for real assistance or keep their friends properly informed, even.
Two deaths now, in Eliot's periphery, and even if one of them didn't exactly stick, he's goddamn sick of pretending like everyone can just keep calm and carry on through it.
He doesn't say this, of course. What good would it do? It's far easier and more effective to offer what help he can, and throw himself into that to stave off the fear of what might have happened if things had been different.
So he walks Martin home from work, and spends the week filling the distance with anecdotes to keep him from getting too anxious from the ambient noise. It's nice, certainly, even moreso when he can nudge Martin out his thoughts to tell stories of his own. And maybe it would be enough, to know that he's helped someone a little who's going through some trauma, to grow closer as friends as a result. But Eliot still feels itchy with energy, and it's not as if this is a quest but in the core of his being he knows that it's not enough, not when he could do more.
Friday evening, the simmering frustration of inaction wins out over patience and propriety, and Eliot holds the door for Martin and prepares to make a mistake. He looks at Martin, whose ears and cheeks are red from the cold, who laughs when his glasses fog up immediately upon entering the building, who is sweet and kind and deserves so much better than what the world has dealt him.
Eliot clears his throat. "So," he says, as they head to the elevator, "I don't want to presume, but I have some experience with...coping, and I know that after something really horrible happens it can be hard to stop being reminded of it, and it's good to have...more positive input." He can't quite look Martin in the eyes, not because he's embarrassed but it's still crossing a kind of a line. He smiles, earnest. "You deserve to feel good, Martin, after everything that's been going on. And if you're amenable, I wonder if you'd like to come up to my place."
Two deaths now, in Eliot's periphery, and even if one of them didn't exactly stick, he's goddamn sick of pretending like everyone can just keep calm and carry on through it.
He doesn't say this, of course. What good would it do? It's far easier and more effective to offer what help he can, and throw himself into that to stave off the fear of what might have happened if things had been different.
So he walks Martin home from work, and spends the week filling the distance with anecdotes to keep him from getting too anxious from the ambient noise. It's nice, certainly, even moreso when he can nudge Martin out his thoughts to tell stories of his own. And maybe it would be enough, to know that he's helped someone a little who's going through some trauma, to grow closer as friends as a result. But Eliot still feels itchy with energy, and it's not as if this is a quest but in the core of his being he knows that it's not enough, not when he could do more.
Friday evening, the simmering frustration of inaction wins out over patience and propriety, and Eliot holds the door for Martin and prepares to make a mistake. He looks at Martin, whose ears and cheeks are red from the cold, who laughs when his glasses fog up immediately upon entering the building, who is sweet and kind and deserves so much better than what the world has dealt him.
Eliot clears his throat. "So," he says, as they head to the elevator, "I don't want to presume, but I have some experience with...coping, and I know that after something really horrible happens it can be hard to stop being reminded of it, and it's good to have...more positive input." He can't quite look Martin in the eyes, not because he's embarrassed but it's still crossing a kind of a line. He smiles, earnest. "You deserve to feel good, Martin, after everything that's been going on. And if you're amenable, I wonder if you'd like to come up to my place."