postictal | ic inbox; entranceway

[He can't take this. He can't take her treating him like some dumb kid, like he didn't consider this, like he didn't live with it every day up until now before it all crashed down onto him all over again. He'd nursed one tiny, infinitesimal hope - and that was apparently enough to take the ground out from under his feet.]

I know.

[His fingers curl into his hair, tightly, about ready to rip it out from his scalp, just so he won't have to listen to any of this.]

I needed it to be over. It was over.

[This is the point where a nicer person would assure Tim it's all going to be okay. He's distraught enough. Can anything be gained by drumming in the point? But Georgia isn't nice, though she likes to think she can be kind, and with her, all you'll ever get is the truth. Nothing but.

So help her God.

Everyone always accuses her of seeing things in black and white and ignoring shades of grey. They're not entirely wrong, but they're not fully right either. She knows the world is complicated. She knows that this situation, for instance, sucks. Tim isn't a bad person. Even George can see that this is a time when perhaps the rules should be bent, that he needs someone to pat his shoulder and be comforting. But that person will never be George. Complicated or not, she can only treat this situation the way she treats everything. Slice through the tangled emotional mess of opinions and thoughts. Stick to the facts. Keep it black and white and manageable. She can't let his emotional state change what she needs to do.

But it's never as easy as she wants it to be.]

You know I won't lie to you, Tim. I can't tell you it's over when it's obviously not.

[She lets out a soft breath before continuing. The truth and a lie can both hurt you, but only the truth will take the time to heal you. And while she won't offer a comforting falsehood, maybe her hard reality can help anyway.]

What I can tell you is that you aren't nearly as tough to deal with as a pack of fresh zombies, and if it does happen again, Shaun and I won't let you hurt anyone. Including yourself, if we can help it.

[At least he can trust that much, right? He can trust that she's telling the truth, because she can and she will, without fail. That's more than he ever could have expected from Jay.

Or himself.

He needs to claw himself together. Back into something resembling someone who can pass as human.]

Yeah. Guess that's for the best.

[He's just one guy. One guy who might as well -

If someone has to know...

Might as well help them make sure he doesn't hurt anyone else. Might as well make sure it's someone who's willing to put him in the ground if they have to.]

That freak - that thing. It limps. Has a bad leg. It moves slow.

Your alter-ego has a weakness you don't have. [Her tone is dry, skeptical. She knows the rules here are a lot weirder than she's used to but still, that one's hard for her to swallow.]

Someone broke my leg while it was...doing its thing. Seems to think it's still broken.

[Don't ask him to explain it to you, George, please - he barely understands it himself, and even should he try to conceptualize it, it's not like he can confirm anything except for what he can glean from the leaf mulch and blood that always ends up caked in his hair the next morning.]

[That doesn't make any sense. Georgia's mouth thins, but she doesn't press him on why. He already said he didn't remember anything.]

That's... convenient. And you'll let me know if you think it might happen again? If you lose your medication again?

Couldn't tell you why.

[He could tell her some of it, conceivably. But then he'd end up kicking himself when she inevitably starts seeing shadows in the corners of her vision. So he doesn't. It's...safer that way.]

I - yeah. I don't want it...

[Don't want it hurting anyone else.

Tim lurches off the feed entirely as he leans forward on his desk with his face in his hands. His voice is small, cracking with the lump of anxiety that's wedged itself down his throat, when he says, nearly inaudibly:]

Please don't publish this.

I won't.

[She says it as brusquely and matter-of-fact as everything else she's said. It's a fact now. It's not going to change.]

You're only a danger without your medication, and you're only at risk of losing those during events. This isn't a story the world needs to hear. This is sensationalist bullshit.

[If he had it in him to smile at that point, he might have. It's not much. It's not much at all. He's grateful he's not on-camera at the second. That's definitely the heel of his palm digging into an eyesocket, definitely a tremble in his tone he needs to fight back.

He always cried easily. So, so easily.]

Shouldn't thank you, I know, but, uh - the last guy who found out kinda - published my medical records online.

[Which, in retrospect, might explain a lot of his interactions with George. He's had no call to trust people who want to shine a light in his life before.]

What the fuck.

[It's sharp and more anger than she entirely intends to let show. She knew he'd dealt with fuck ups before, but that's a whole new level of uncool. Publishing medical records? There aren't many situations where that's acceptable. Since to her knowledge, Tim isn't a politician, he doesn't qualify for any of them.]

You don't need to thank me for having basic human decency. Save it for when I do something actually impressive.

[That cracks her exterior all right, and he'd flinch, except the anger is pretty clearly not directed at him. Still, he can only hope, for Jay's sake, that he never shows up here - even if Tim might selfishly hold that hope close to himself.

Let Jay be. Let everyone...be.]

Guess I'm not used to that.

[The...decency thing. Not used to much of anything in that general avenue, no.]

You did say you'd been dealing with fuck-ups before. [Or George had said that, but it's not like Tim disagreed. She just hadn't realized how deep the fucking up went.] Though I guess basic human decency isn't actually a requirement of my profession. It should be.

[It should be a requirement for a lot of things.]

Won't argue with you there. Guess..."amateur" would be the best word for it.

[Amateur sleuth, amateur filmmaker, amateur investigator - yeah, Jay's entire everything was hung together with student loans and a determination to find answers. Not exactly a pinnacle of stability or pure intent.]

I know it's - I know I'm wrong. [Not just in the liar sense, either.] Know you wish I'd told you before. Guess some part of me was hoping I wouldn't have to.

Believe it or not, I do get it. [Her lip twists a little.] I do wish you'd told me, or someone anyway, especially when you didn't have your meds, but... you don't want people to look at you differently.

[Just because George chooses to armor herself in her weaknesses and tell all her truths on her own terms before they can be yanked from her doesn't mean she can't understand the urge to do otherwise. Not everyone is her.]

[The delivery of ruthless, knee-jerk judgments he excels at is what's kept him from making this kind of shitty mistake, but it turns out that's easier when you've got somewhere to go to get away from the people you're trying to avoid. He'd never have wanted George learning a thing about him if he'd held to his initial impression. If he'd never been more or less forced to re-evalute his perspective.

Goddamnit, why do people have to go and be complicated? It just goes and ruins every chance he has to be an unfeeling, paranoid, self-isolating bastard.]

I guess, uh...if it had to be somebody, it's good that it's someone who knows how deal with it.

That's what I do. Deal with things.

[Her voice is flat, almost emotionless. She's good at knowing how to deal with things, or at least good at pretending, and when it comes down to it, there's not really a difference. Things get dealt with. That's what matters.]

This is your secret. Shaun knows everything I know, but past that, it's up to you what you do with it.

Yeah. Okay.

[That's the hope; that he never has to spill that one to anybody else. He dulls his tone accordingly. Quiet acceptance. Just know you can't ever have a line of control into your own life, Tim. This is not for you.]

I can - I'll let you know. If it - looks like it'll happen again.

Good. [That much, at least, she absolutely means. Better to have warning. Better for it not to happen at all, but if it's going to happen, better to know.] Don't worry. I won't let you hurt anyone.

[He shouldn't thank her for that either. That's pretty basic stuff. And also pretty fucked up - like, thanks for agreeing to kill and/or maim me if I go off on anybody.]

Best I could hope for, I guess.

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