[She gets him two, along with three small brushes of slightly different sizes, and as many paints as she can negotiate away from whoever is on duty in the art gazebo that day. About fifteen minutes later, she knocks.]
[He supposes he could tell her to just leave them by the door. But he knows Shaw isn't going to press any excruciating heart-to-hearts on him before he's ready.
The door opens. Jedao is on the couch, wrapped in a pile of blankets. He looks a bit haggard, weary and crumpled-up, but the throat wound is gone. There's weird - not music, playing, but something like meditation sounds, with waves and cat purrs and low chimes in it.]
[Shaw looks physically tired and emotionally flat, but in a way that seems pretty close to her baseline level of emotional flatness. The exhaustion reaches her eyes, but beyond that, there are no signs of distress.]
Hey.
[She holds the mugs by their handles, which she's careful not to let tip too far sideways because the brushes are sticking out of one of them. The paint sets are tucked under her arm.]
[The mugs go first, which makes the paints start to slip out from where they've been wedged into her armpit; she catches them deftly, setting them down before answering.]
Oil and water. I like him, I respect him, I want to help him. Every time we talk I hurt him or he hurts me or both. We never understand each other. He asked me to be a part of the mediation thing and I was so surprised you could've caught airshrimp in my mouth.
I'm surprised he's not angry with me for being on your side about cutting that thing out of Eiffel. Maybe the penny still hasn't dropped; I dunno. But I'll try.
[She goes very still when his shoulder touches hers, though it's born of surprise, not discomfort. There are a few people she's come to expect casual touches from (Root, Eiffel, Neal) - but whenever someone who isn't on that short list makes affectionate or comfort-seeking physical contact, she can't help but wonder if they've forgotten who they're with, and if they're going to recoil when they remember.
If he hasn't forgotten, and if he doesn't recoil, she'll give his arm a pat.]
Don't be stupid. I agree with what you did. I was trying to help you-- I would have stopped Neal from coming in, if I'd gotten there in time. I'm not gonna throw you under the bus so that I can try to rewrite history.
[He knows who she is. He finds her very reassuringly solid.]
I know you would have. But...it's not like he and I have a great relationship to salvage. You don't have to rewrite history, I'm just saying...it's okay to let me be the one he's mad at. If it comes to that.
"I'm still getting used to that," she grumbles - because honestly, as much as she adores Neal, she'd been so sure that if (when?) (if?) he decides that he's finally done with her, she'd understand and accept it and walk it off easily. It had been something of a mindfuck to find out how wrong she was in that assumption.
"But, you know - the fact that he's so important to me means that I don't want to matter to him under false pretenses. Even if I was tempted to pawn off the blame - which I'm not - if he's angry with me because I helped you, pretending I didn't agree with you isn't a real solution for me. Agreeing to never talk about it is one thing; so is, I don't know, disagreeing and giving each other crap about it but not letting it change what we mean to each other. Pretending to be someone that I'm not to trick him into liking me when he wouldn't otherwise, though? That'd really suck."
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i'm up and moving again, do you want me to bring anything
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could you bring me a plain white coffee mug and some ceramic paints from the art room and a little brush
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[She gets him two, along with three small brushes of slightly different sizes, and as many paints as she can negotiate away from whoever is on duty in the art gazebo that day. About fifteen minutes later, she knocks.]
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The door opens. Jedao is on the couch, wrapped in a pile of blankets. He looks a bit haggard, weary and crumpled-up, but the throat wound is gone. There's weird - not music, playing, but something like meditation sounds, with waves and cat purrs and low chimes in it.]
Hey.
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Hey.
[She holds the mugs by their handles, which she's careful not to let tip too far sideways because the brushes are sticking out of one of them. The paint sets are tucked under her arm.]
Where do you want me to put these?
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[He gestures to the low table in front of him, that other people would call a coffee table.]
Thank you for helping with Neal. Is he - doing any better?
[Jedao looks away. All the guilt and revulsion and self-loathing and frustration he didn't feel then, he feels now.]
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A little. It's gonna take some time, though.
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If...there's a time when it would help him to hear my apology. I'm willing to make it.
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Bad? I don't know. We're -
[Shuos and Andan.]
Oil and water. I like him, I respect him, I want to help him. Every time we talk I hurt him or he hurts me or both. We never understand each other. He asked me to be a part of the mediation thing and I was so surprised you could've caught airshrimp in my mouth.
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I mean, use your judgement about whether, or when he wants to hear anything from me at all, but I'm fine with you telling him.
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I'm surprised he's not angry with me for being on your side about cutting that thing out of Eiffel. Maybe the penny still hasn't dropped; I dunno. But I'll try.
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[He lets his shoulder slump against hers.]
Don't feel like you have to defend me if it does drop later.
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If he hasn't forgotten, and if he doesn't recoil, she'll give his arm a pat.]
Don't be stupid. I agree with what you did. I was trying to help you-- I would have stopped Neal from coming in, if I'd gotten there in time. I'm not gonna throw you under the bus so that I can try to rewrite history.
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I know you would have. But...it's not like he and I have a great relationship to salvage. You don't have to rewrite history, I'm just saying...it's okay to let me be the one he's mad at. If it comes to that.
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[She knows that, now, after the Malcolm incident.]
But not enough of one to use someone else as my shield.
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[Dry, crackly-voiced teasing. He doesn't have the humor to sustain it but he pushes the words out anyway.]
...anyway. I've been a gun all my life. Being a shield might be nice.
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[She closes her eyes for a moment.]
Runs the risk of making the people you're shielding feel like crap when you take those bullets for them, though.
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We can do solidarity if it's Eiffel that's mad.
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[But her lips quirk up into the faintest of smiles.]
If it's Eiffel that's mad, I'll let him yell, and then I'll pin him down and noogie him into submission.
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Anyway...I hope he's not mad at you at all. I'm just saying...you care a lot more about how Neal feels about you than I do, alright?
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"But, you know - the fact that he's so important to me means that I don't want to matter to him under false pretenses. Even if I was tempted to pawn off the blame - which I'm not - if he's angry with me because I helped you, pretending I didn't agree with you isn't a real solution for me. Agreeing to never talk about it is one thing; so is, I don't know, disagreeing and giving each other crap about it but not letting it change what we mean to each other. Pretending to be someone that I'm not to trick him into liking me when he wouldn't otherwise, though? That'd really suck."
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She doesn't need to be stubborn for his sake, if agreeing to disagree is on the table.
"I should stop borrowing trouble. You're kind of comforting to have around, is all." So he's nitpicking to keep the conversation going.
me fucking with the formatting, siiiiiigh
Gotta say, I don't hear that one much. Why?
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