He draws in another slow breath, and strokes his uninjured hand through Quentin's hair. He gets a bit of blood on it, utterly vivid against the white after hiding on his black gloves.
It's not the telling, he means to say, it's the hearing. They way they'd look at him, the way it would sound like asking things of them that Jedao doesn't want to ask. The way the only productive response would be for Jedao to stop being so fucking crazy, because asking Lark to stop is the whole problem, and telling him to stop would be worse. He feels so small even trying to think through it, too helpless to breathe, and he tries to hold onto anger, tries to hate his way out of the grip of fear, but he keeps stumbling over the uselessness of it. Even finding the words -
"I feel very helpless right now," he says softly, focusing on the red smudges. What would he want a patient to say to him? It's a single steady handhold, the goal of processing this away into something useful. "And neither of you can change why. I don't want to make you feel helpless too. And I don't want you to - to show me the linear connections trying to comfort me. Feeling crazy for caring so much about it is another thing I feel helpless about." Divide the enemy. Divide the burden. The feeling isn't a single overwhelming mass; it's overwhelming, but there is space for a wedge.
"I didn't do this because I hate myself," he adds, and this is him trying to be comforting for them, and maybe a little bit looking for validation. This was not the most unhealthy thing he's done. "I mean, my poor relationship with myself is probably part of why I find pain - simple, comprehensible. But I wanted something to fill me up and push the helplessness out, and I wanted to control something. I don't know what else I need. But it's working, some."
Neither of them are actually looking at him, Quentin focused on Jedao and Jedao without a good angle in this position even if he wanted to, and Fives lets himself have a moment. Jaw clenched and eyes dark with frustration on Jedao's behalf. Because he's almost certain he knows why Jedao feels this way, and he's right, there's nothing he can do about it. Not without betraying Jedao's trust and probably making him feel even more helpless... or jeopardizing his own position.
He doesn't move or speak otherwise until Jedao's finished, but then he slides his hand up a little into his hair and tugs, gentle and steady. "I understand," he allows quietly. Understands needing the control, understands the focus and comfort that can come from pain.
"Have you thought that... maybe it's not crazy that you care so much or feel helpless?" Because he doesn't blame him for it, not at all.
"Looking for control over yourself is very normal."
Says Quentin, who has smoked cigarettes and run his body into the ground looking for it. For now, though, he thinks deliberately of better things, tilting his head lightly into the touch, letting his eyes slip shut, giving up a tiny bit of his hawkish regard and letting Jedao escape scrutiny, letting Jedao succeed in comforting him. His arm hitches a little higher, draping over Jedao's lap, breath leaving his body long and slow.
"I'm sorry it's so shitty right now. We're here for you, we're so glad you called. It's just the three of us tonight. Five, if the cat and the hedgehog decide to come peek in and see what we're up to."
And again, he doesn't quite ask Jedao what he wants from their home for comfort, but the implication hangs a little more openly. Dinner, board games, quiet holding on- he names it, it's a heartbeat away.
"I know," he says softly. "I won't say the research gave me the idea, but it did...clarify certain possibilities. I'm setting myself deescalation goals." Nobody died.
He turns his head a little to look at Fives, feeling something sore and sour, like a mouth ulcer.
"If it's not crazy then it's just weak. Being this vulnerable to someone who doesn't care doing this to me is untenable. If it's because I'm crazy, then at least I'm doing it to myself. So I'm trying to focus on that perspective."
Fives lets out a slow breath and dips his chin in acknowledgment. He can understand that too, even if he's not sure it actually makes sense.
"Is there any way we can help you control it, then?" Not get over it, he doesn't know if there's getting over it. Not make him feel safer, because he's not sure that's possible and also looking at it that way would possibly just make Jedao feel weaker. "Anything other than this?" Being here for him after he's already done what he felt he needed to do for now....
Says Quentin, because if there's anything, of course he's there too. He bends down, and kisses one of Jedao's knees, then the other, still trying hard not to fret, letting off a little of the energy before he curls back closer, finally remembers to sip his tea.
"Short or long term, too. And feel free to ask later if it comes to you in a bit."
It's tempting to ask to lie down and dissociate for a while, but if he hides from this it'll still be paralyzing when the pain simmers down.
"Could you take my gloves off and hold my hands," he asks, even though it doesn't sound like a question. It sounds like a march; he's not going to drift, he's going to hold on. He's going to go through.
Fives immediately threads his fingers through Jedao's one last time, then reaches for his near hand, carefully peeling his glove off and enfolding it in his own, leaving the other for Quentin. "Always, ner'riduur. Always."
Quentin takes his cue, and cooperates with moving the teacups to safety before taking the other hand, ungloving it carefully and then winding it to hold between both of his own- like it's a cold night and Jedao has just come in with frozen fingertips.
"What's the etymology of ner'riduur? I have a good sense of the translation, obviously, but- the pieces are a bit of a mystery."
Jedao smiles crookedly; something unutterably tender breaks through the distance and the morass. He grips Quentin's hand tight for a moment, although he has to relax his hand immediately afterward, eyes seeing white from the pain. He's going to have to be careful - move like he's fencing all the time, telegraph nothing with his shoulders and collarbone that he's doing with his hand.
"Neither of us are Mando'a etymologists, love," Jedao says gently after a few seconds to catch his breath back. "And they're both very basal concepts. I could tell you a few phrases built on riduur, but not the other way around. Unless I'm missing something?" he asks Fives hazily.
"I... don't actually know what etymology means," he admits, wrinkling his nose. "But I'm guessing from context it has something to do with where the word came from? Maybe?" It's really not the kind of word he's ever had reason to know, after all.
And if so, then-" He shrugs, though he's careful not to move his hands or jostle Jedao- "I don't have any idea, and I'm not sure if anyone's ever written down things like that about the language."
He says to Fives, and bends forward, touching Jedao's fingertips to his lips, carefully too, so he doesn't have to shift his shoulder.
"Okay- but what's the difference between ner'riduur and riduur? I hear you use both. Is it just a shortened nickname, like sweetheart to sweetie, or does each piece of the word have a different meaning?"
"Riduur is husband. 'Ner' is mine." There's an impulse to touch Quentin more, to stroke a thumb along the line of his neck, but of course Jedao's hands are already caught. "Ner'karta, my heart." Jedao still fancifully uses Ner'karta for Fives occasionally, despite their marital status; Fives put his heart back in his hollow chest in Fantasia, and Fives gave him his heart back long before that.
"Ner'vod, my brother... or sibling, really, since there is no gender in Mando'a," Fives adds. "And ori'vod is big brother." Something Tup sometimes calls him, and that he's very rarely called Jedao. "Vod'ika is little brother. Cyare is beloved, cyar'ika is... sweetheart, basically."
Possessives, diminutives. He uses them all the time and should have explained them better rather than left them to context. He loosens one hand from Jedao's and reaches down to ruffle Quentin's spun silk hair before curling it back around Jedao's again.
"Almost anything ending in e is plural. Vod'e, brothers, verd'e, soldiers, ad'ike, children. Adate, people. 'Ika and 'ike aways mean little, but sometimes the implications are specific. Ik'aad is the same roots as adiik, but adiik is child and Ik'aad is more like a baby. Under three, really little. And 'ni' is the first person pronoun, so N'ika is a pun."
His nickname for Nico, in the gently paternal spirit of junior, literally translates to little me.
He likes this too. Likes listening to Jedao explain the things he's taught him, and that he's taught himself on his own, and he smiles softly at Jedao's explanation of his nickname for Nico.
"You know, I didn't fully grasp that brother was a gender-specific term until after I'd been here for... a while, really." And he still tends to think of Shiro as a brother. Hope and Alec too, after a fashion.
"The most common greeting is just olarom, welcome. Var'tuur jatne would literally mean 'the morning is good' but I'm kind of hearing it in my brother's voice very brightly at four AM and he's sending me out to feed the chickens."
He's hurting enough that it's easy to go a little hazy, to disappear in warrens of word and association.
"Morutar is to welcome, so maybe...moru'tuur, the welcome day. The day welcomes? It sounds casual, anyway. Sweetheart...Ibi'tuur moruti bah gar'cyare. The day welcomes you, beloved." Jedao looks to Fives carefully, dreamily, not jostling himself, as if to see how he did on a test.
Fives smiles warmly at him, and doesn't even feel too badly about having to admit that, even now, even after teaching him so much, he's not completely fluent himself. He was taught piecemeal and informally, after all, and sometimes he's just stringing things together in ways that make sense, like Jedao's doing now.
"That sounds like it should be right. Mostly we greeted each other with su cuy'gar," he admits. Which amounts to, basically, you're still alive. Or still alive you in the Mando'a construction.
Says Quentin, to Fives at first, and then to himself, nailing down the slightl tricky construction. He looks up at su cuy'gar, with an arch of his eyebrows. He can't translate that quite yet.
"What's the word fro strength- but emotional strength, internal fortitude."
"I figured su cuy'gar was mostly, like, hello," Jedao muses, without thinking to explain the literal meaning when presented with another question.
"Mmm. Ramikadyc? Which literally means 'commando-like'," he adds, and laughs for a second before going pale at the pain of jostling the injury, so he stops.
Fives smiles at Quentin, at his earnestness and love.
"Yeah, that's the closest I know," he agrees with Jedao, then braces him gently when he pales. "I think dral is really just physical strength, but ramikadyc is what they tried to train into us; the idea that you can do anything, endure anything, in pursuit of a goal." That goal, of course, being to die gloriously in service of the Republic.
"What about in a slightly more naturalistic sense?"
Proposes Quentin, who doesn't know if that captures what he's looking for. He laces his hand with Jedao's, freeing up one to reach down and touch his leg, running a soothing hand up and down his thigh absently as he contemplates the meaning of words, and while Jedao's pain passes.
"Like a mountain. An growing oak. The smooth river stone. Either an adjective describing them or a noun for one of those things."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2020-04-15 07:24 pm (UTC)"We're here for you either way. A listening ear and strong shoulder or a gentle distraction and soft place to land. Anything, anything you like."
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Date: 2020-04-16 12:33 am (UTC)It's not the telling, he means to say, it's the hearing. They way they'd look at him, the way it would sound like asking things of them that Jedao doesn't want to ask. The way the only productive response would be for Jedao to stop being so fucking crazy, because asking Lark to stop is the whole problem, and telling him to stop would be worse. He feels so small even trying to think through it, too helpless to breathe, and he tries to hold onto anger, tries to hate his way out of the grip of fear, but he keeps stumbling over the uselessness of it. Even finding the words -
"I feel very helpless right now," he says softly, focusing on the red smudges. What would he want a patient to say to him? It's a single steady handhold, the goal of processing this away into something useful. "And neither of you can change why. I don't want to make you feel helpless too. And I don't want you to - to show me the linear connections trying to comfort me. Feeling crazy for caring so much about it is another thing I feel helpless about." Divide the enemy. Divide the burden. The feeling isn't a single overwhelming mass; it's overwhelming, but there is space for a wedge.
"I didn't do this because I hate myself," he adds, and this is him trying to be comforting for them, and maybe a little bit looking for validation. This was not the most unhealthy thing he's done. "I mean, my poor relationship with myself is probably part of why I find pain - simple, comprehensible. But I wanted something to fill me up and push the helplessness out, and I wanted to control something. I don't know what else I need. But it's working, some."
no subject
Date: 2020-04-16 02:57 am (UTC)He doesn't move or speak otherwise until Jedao's finished, but then he slides his hand up a little into his hair and tugs, gentle and steady. "I understand," he allows quietly. Understands needing the control, understands the focus and comfort that can come from pain.
"Have you thought that... maybe it's not crazy that you care so much or feel helpless?" Because he doesn't blame him for it, not at all.
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Date: 2020-04-16 10:44 am (UTC)Says Quentin, who has smoked cigarettes and run his body into the ground looking for it. For now, though, he thinks deliberately of better things, tilting his head lightly into the touch, letting his eyes slip shut, giving up a tiny bit of his hawkish regard and letting Jedao escape scrutiny, letting Jedao succeed in comforting him. His arm hitches a little higher, draping over Jedao's lap, breath leaving his body long and slow.
"I'm sorry it's so shitty right now. We're here for you, we're so glad you called. It's just the three of us tonight. Five, if the cat and the hedgehog decide to come peek in and see what we're up to."
And again, he doesn't quite ask Jedao what he wants from their home for comfort, but the implication hangs a little more openly. Dinner, board games, quiet holding on- he names it, it's a heartbeat away.
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Date: 2020-04-16 05:00 pm (UTC)He turns his head a little to look at Fives, feeling something sore and sour, like a mouth ulcer.
"If it's not crazy then it's just weak. Being this vulnerable to someone who doesn't care doing this to me is untenable. If it's because I'm crazy, then at least I'm doing it to myself. So I'm trying to focus on that perspective."
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Date: 2020-04-16 09:47 pm (UTC)"Is there any way we can help you control it, then?" Not get over it, he doesn't know if there's getting over it. Not make him feel safer, because he's not sure that's possible and also looking at it that way would possibly just make Jedao feel weaker. "Anything other than this?" Being here for him after he's already done what he felt he needed to do for now....
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Date: 2020-04-16 09:52 pm (UTC)Says Quentin, because if there's anything, of course he's there too. He bends down, and kisses one of Jedao's knees, then the other, still trying hard not to fret, letting off a little of the energy before he curls back closer, finally remembers to sip his tea.
"Short or long term, too. And feel free to ask later if it comes to you in a bit."
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Date: 2020-04-16 11:04 pm (UTC)"Could you take my gloves off and hold my hands," he asks, even though it doesn't sound like a question. It sounds like a march; he's not going to drift, he's going to hold on. He's going to go through.
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Date: 2020-04-16 11:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-04-17 12:14 am (UTC)"What's the etymology of ner'riduur? I have a good sense of the translation, obviously, but- the pieces are a bit of a mystery."
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Date: 2020-04-17 12:24 am (UTC)"Neither of us are Mando'a etymologists, love," Jedao says gently after a few seconds to catch his breath back. "And they're both very basal concepts. I could tell you a few phrases built on riduur, but not the other way around. Unless I'm missing something?" he asks Fives hazily.
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Date: 2020-04-17 01:25 am (UTC)And if so, then-" He shrugs, though he's careful not to move his hands or jostle Jedao- "I don't have any idea, and I'm not sure if anyone's ever written down things like that about the language."
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Date: 2020-04-17 11:29 am (UTC)He says to Fives, and bends forward, touching Jedao's fingertips to his lips, carefully too, so he doesn't have to shift his shoulder.
"Okay- but what's the difference between ner'riduur and riduur? I hear you use both. Is it just a shortened nickname, like sweetheart to sweetie, or does each piece of the word have a different meaning?"
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Date: 2020-04-17 12:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-04-17 10:27 pm (UTC)Possessives, diminutives. He uses them all the time and should have explained them better rather than left them to context. He loosens one hand from Jedao's and reaches down to ruffle Quentin's spun silk hair before curling it back around Jedao's again.
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Date: 2020-04-17 10:41 pm (UTC)"What about the difference between ika and ike? Is ike always plural?"
He has a pretty clear sense that it is- but exploring Mando'a is a nice, safe, warm space to be in together.
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Date: 2020-04-18 01:23 am (UTC)His nickname for Nico, in the gently paternal spirit of junior, literally translates to little me.
no subject
Date: 2020-04-18 01:35 am (UTC)"You know, I didn't fully grasp that brother was a gender-specific term until after I'd been here for... a while, really." And he still tends to think of Shiro as a brother. Hope and Alec too, after a fashion.
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Date: 2020-04-18 01:47 am (UTC)"How do you say 'good morning, sweetheart?' do greetings differentiate morning, afternoon, evening? Or by level of affection?"
Tips of his fingertips touching to Jedao's, idly, as they settle.
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Date: 2020-04-18 03:26 am (UTC)He's hurting enough that it's easy to go a little hazy, to disappear in warrens of word and association.
"Morutar is to welcome, so maybe...moru'tuur, the welcome day. The day welcomes? It sounds casual, anyway. Sweetheart...Ibi'tuur moruti bah gar'cyare. The day welcomes you, beloved." Jedao looks to Fives carefully, dreamily, not jostling himself, as if to see how he did on a test.
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Date: 2020-04-18 04:13 am (UTC)"That sounds like it should be right. Mostly we greeted each other with su cuy'gar," he admits. Which amounts to, basically, you're still alive. Or still alive you in the Mando'a construction.
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Date: 2020-04-18 10:53 am (UTC)Says Quentin, to Fives at first, and then to himself, nailing down the slightl tricky construction. He looks up at su cuy'gar, with an arch of his eyebrows. He can't translate that quite yet.
"What's the word fro strength- but emotional strength, internal fortitude."
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Date: 2020-04-18 10:52 pm (UTC)"Mmm. Ramikadyc? Which literally means 'commando-like'," he adds, and laughs for a second before going pale at the pain of jostling the injury, so he stops.
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Date: 2020-04-18 11:17 pm (UTC)"Yeah, that's the closest I know," he agrees with Jedao, then braces him gently when he pales. "I think dral is really just physical strength, but ramikadyc is what they tried to train into us; the idea that you can do anything, endure anything, in pursuit of a goal." That goal, of course, being to die gloriously in service of the Republic.
no subject
Date: 2020-04-18 11:26 pm (UTC)Proposes Quentin, who doesn't know if that captures what he's looking for. He laces his hand with Jedao's, freeing up one to reach down and touch his leg, running a soothing hand up and down his thigh absently as he contemplates the meaning of words, and while Jedao's pain passes.
"Like a mountain. An growing oak. The smooth river stone. Either an adjective describing them or a noun for one of those things."
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