"I am going to feed Hux his own severed fingers if he says one more wormfucking thing to Fives," he mutters, not because Hux is relevant to anything at all, the useless blowhard, but because that's as good an illustration as any of how on edge Jedao is right now. His grip gets tighter, but his shoulders slump against Quentin a little more.
"I need you to be okay right now. I just. Need it."
He breathes. Reaches down with his other hand, carefully entwines his fingers with Quentin's.
"He goes in and out," Jedao says honestly. "You sit."
He steers Quentin into the one chair, then folds cross-legged onto the pillow himself, and leans against Quentin's knee, all without ever relinquishing that one hand.
He snags a half-full teacup with his other hand, and takes a slow sip.
"You could read," he allows, and somehow the minor relief of the tea seems to have made his rasp worse.
He reaches down instead, cards a hand through his hair, and gives it a ruffle.
"I'll read to you in a minute. For now, let's focus on settling you down. You're buzzing like a cheap TV. Is there anything that helps you feel better when you feel this way?"
"I'm sure the barge will contrive," he counters. Better fatalism than living in terror of it, or denial and then shock. "And I dream about it all the time."
None of which is the point, and he knows that.
"Not now. I'm. I'm still on duty. This is better." Now that Quentin is here.
In other circumstances, it would be stupid; as it is, it's selfish. But Jedao sinks his teeth into the terse dismissals. Anywhere else, he'd want to know so that he could stop him, but here, the only form prevention is allowed to take is healing. The whole damn rest of the ship will probably be keen to volunteer. Even Fives is groping for preemptive sympathy, wrecked though he is.
Jedao doesn't care if Flood has a literal screw loose, if he was programmed to it, if he had no choice at all. He doesn't have to care. Nico is his son.
He's let himself drift away from Scott, and he knows it; their temporary pairing left Jedao feeling bruised and confused. But his murder now feels like turning over a rock in field during the dead field after first frost, and finding a dozen different creatures thriving and crawling there. Affection, protectiveness, yearning curiosity, nervous shyness, the deep possessive tenderness that shouldn't be the result of the time Jedao killed Scott, but is.
Tris gave him beauty, and peace, and a place to settle his hands long before he knew how to ask for them. And Iris, his bright brilliant Iris, who killed Mikodez for owning him in another life, when he never could have done it himself.
He makes a soft, low keening sound, turning to press his face harder against the steady plate of Quentin's kneecap.
Whispers Quentin, back to him, still carding his hair, now bending over him in a protective furl.
"Oh honey, oh lovely, you're safe, they're all safe, they're healing now, and every one of them is so strong. You've got to know Scott has just shrugged. Iris has her feet up and is drinking gin. Fives is just worried for you and Nico is more than anyone gives him credit for."
"Fives and Nico," he breathes, turns a little more so the bone grinds into his eyesocket, makes stars jump behind his eyelid.
"They're both skewered on echo damage, the toll means pain with no source and their brains account for it by drowning them in the worst of their pasts. When they remember what did happen they blame themselves. They're being tortured and I can't do anything but wait. Of course they're strong enough to keep going, they're fucking used to torture, that makes it worse."
He shouldn't tell, shouldn't share either of their secrets. But he can't bear it, holding in the rage and the helplessness alone, knowing no one else will even notice, because neither of them think their pain matters, because both of them want to hide it. The toll is just an inconvenience. No will know and no one will care that he hurt people, brutally, who won't be just fine after a week, for no skullfucking reason at all.
He breathes, quietly, because there's just not anything that can fix that. Alec's PTSD group doesn't always cut it.
"Oh God. You'd cut yourself apart to save the rest of us. This will be hard, but you've got to keep breathing. That's the only thing you have to do right now."
"I wish I could," he croaks, and means the first thing.
He breathes, though, shakily but deliberately.
"I wouldn't be so fucking weak for it," he adds after a minute, jaw tight in embarrassment. "But Horseriver just - he was in my head, did I tell you?" Normally Jedao would remember everywhere he'd put pieces of information like that, but he is not at his best. "Since November. He was good for me."
Quentin seems as likely as anyone to believe it. Jedao thinks maybe he needs that too, needs to bear witness to someone who won't scoff or doubt.
There's a subtle rush of relief to him, at even this little fellow-feeling, but then he gropes, less deftly than usual, catches on of Quentin's wrists.
"No - he needs to hear voices, even mostly-asleep, it helps him know he's here -" And not somewhere else. Which is why Jedao's voice is worn out as it is.
He starts the Secret History- children telling awful lies, buying themselves trouble, learning to only just see beyond the bridges of their own noses. It's not a very comforting book at all but he reads it tenderly and with such empathy and affection that it becomes a window into what he was like at that age.
He's too wrung out to really follow Quentin from one paragraph to another, but the tenderness in his voice is a balm, and Jedao has just enough presence of mind to make sure he reads it for himself with more attention later.
He doesn't quite sleep - he has to be ready, if Nico stirs, to remind and reassure him. But the drowsing does him some good.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2018-07-28 08:43 am (UTC)"I need you to be okay right now. I just. Need it."
He breathes. Reaches down with his other hand, carefully entwines his fingers with Quentin's.
no subject
Date: 2018-07-28 09:00 am (UTC)And, nosing against the top of his head.
"Want to sit and read?"
no subject
Date: 2018-07-28 09:11 am (UTC)He steers Quentin into the one chair, then folds cross-legged onto the pillow himself, and leans against Quentin's knee, all without ever relinquishing that one hand.
He snags a half-full teacup with his other hand, and takes a slow sip.
"You could read," he allows, and somehow the minor relief of the tea seems to have made his rasp worse.
no subject
Date: 2018-07-28 09:25 am (UTC)"I'll read to you in a minute. For now, let's focus on settling you down. You're buzzing like a cheap TV. Is there anything that helps you feel better when you feel this way?"
no subject
Date: 2018-07-28 09:44 am (UTC)But he's been letting himself - forcing himself to - feel things here that he could never have done anything but crush and hide in the Hexarchate.
no subject
Date: 2018-07-28 09:49 am (UTC)Reminding him, gripping his hair again, firm and comfortingly controlling.
"You're going to need an active strategy for what you do instead."
no subject
Date: 2018-07-28 09:58 am (UTC)None of which is the point, and he knows that.
"Not now. I'm. I'm still on duty. This is better." Now that Quentin is here.
no subject
Date: 2018-07-28 10:07 am (UTC)He agrees, scratching a peaceful rhythm.
"As long as you come find me when it is time. I can wait, as long as this part of the aftermath takes."
Now, then;
"What the fuck was Teddy's damage?"
no subject
Date: 2018-07-28 10:21 am (UTC)In other circumstances, it would be stupid; as it is, it's selfish. But Jedao sinks his teeth into the terse dismissals. Anywhere else, he'd want to know so that he could stop him, but here, the only form prevention is allowed to take is healing. The whole damn rest of the ship will probably be keen to volunteer. Even Fives is groping for preemptive sympathy, wrecked though he is.
Jedao doesn't care if Flood has a literal screw loose, if he was programmed to it, if he had no choice at all. He doesn't have to care. Nico is his son.
no subject
Date: 2018-07-28 10:31 am (UTC)Agrees Quentin, loyally, almost serenely.
"Whatever." Reaching down, squeezing the nape of his neck. "Fives, Nico-"
Not immediately able to place the rest of his list.
no subject
Date: 2018-07-28 08:38 pm (UTC)He's let himself drift away from Scott, and he knows it; their temporary pairing left Jedao feeling bruised and confused. But his murder now feels like turning over a rock in field during the dead field after first frost, and finding a dozen different creatures thriving and crawling there. Affection, protectiveness, yearning curiosity, nervous shyness, the deep possessive tenderness that shouldn't be the result of the time Jedao killed Scott, but is.
Tris gave him beauty, and peace, and a place to settle his hands long before he knew how to ask for them. And Iris, his bright brilliant Iris, who killed Mikodez for owning him in another life, when he never could have done it himself.
He makes a soft, low keening sound, turning to press his face harder against the steady plate of Quentin's kneecap.
no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 01:10 am (UTC)Whispers Quentin, back to him, still carding his hair, now bending over him in a protective furl.
"Oh honey, oh lovely, you're safe, they're all safe, they're healing now, and every one of them is so strong. You've got to know Scott has just shrugged. Iris has her feet up and is drinking gin. Fives is just worried for you and Nico is more than anyone gives him credit for."
no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 01:35 am (UTC)"They're both skewered on echo damage, the toll means pain with no source and their brains account for it by drowning them in the worst of their pasts. When they remember what did happen they blame themselves. They're being tortured and I can't do anything but wait. Of course they're strong enough to keep going, they're fucking used to torture, that makes it worse."
He shouldn't tell, shouldn't share either of their secrets. But he can't bear it, holding in the rage and the helplessness alone, knowing no one else will even notice, because neither of them think their pain matters, because both of them want to hide it. The toll is just an inconvenience. No will know and no one will care that he hurt people, brutally, who won't be just fine after a week, for no skullfucking reason at all.
no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 01:52 am (UTC)He breathes, quietly, because there's just not anything that can fix that. Alec's PTSD group doesn't always cut it.
"Oh God. You'd cut yourself apart to save the rest of us. This will be hard, but you've got to keep breathing. That's the only thing you have to do right now."
no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 02:03 am (UTC)He breathes, though, shakily but deliberately.
"I wouldn't be so fucking weak for it," he adds after a minute, jaw tight in embarrassment. "But Horseriver just - he was in my head, did I tell you?" Normally Jedao would remember everywhere he'd put pieces of information like that, but he is not at his best. "Since November. He was good for me."
Quentin seems as likely as anyone to believe it. Jedao thinks maybe he needs that too, needs to bear witness to someone who won't scoff or doubt.
no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 02:17 am (UTC)He sighs, and twists his hands in the air, casting so that;
"Hospital bed charm. He won't hear us, and a sound will chime when he wakes."
He can talk properly, can stroke his jaw and promise, I'll go check on Fives.
no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 02:24 am (UTC)"No - he needs to hear voices, even mostly-asleep, it helps him know he's here -" And not somewhere else. Which is why Jedao's voice is worn out as it is.
no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 03:32 am (UTC)"Then I should get reading. Don't you think?"
Jedao should rest.
no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 07:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 07:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 07:54 am (UTC)He doesn't quite sleep - he has to be ready, if Nico stirs, to remind and reassure him. But the drowsing does him some good.