exsiliumlogs | [open] when I came down, the dawn poured into me

Entry tags:

[open] when I came down, the dawn poured into me

Date & Time: May 28, morning/afternoon
Location: Room 509 & the Hold
Characters: Saul & whoever's around
Summary: In which Saul has lost the ability to deal.
Warnings: All aboard the angst express ~~BOO HOO~~ WOO WOO~ CW for a panic attack. Also: Stephanie.

A — CLOSED to the residents of apartment 509;

[Saul is making pancakes at 5:45 AM because he's lost control of his life.

Or, more accurately, because he's awake and hungry and they just so happen to have the proper ingredients and if he doesn't do something aside from flopping from side to side in a futile attempt to get a little more sleep, he's pretty sure he might actually go crazy.

So: PANCAKES.

He's trying to be quiet, but he's chugged so much coffee that his hands are shaking and there's a good chance he might —

A pan clatters to the floor.

Oops.]

B — OPEN to whoever might run in to him;

[A little later, after he's fueled up on more caffeine and some syrup he's fairly certain is over a millennium old (call him skeptical, but he knows better than to believe, even for a second, that Mrs. Butterworth is still a thing), he makes his rounds.

First, he checks the office. It's still too early; no one's there, and it's too quiet. He tries sitting at his desk to meditate, but within seconds his leg is bouncing wildly, the toe of his wingtip digging into the carpet underfoot.

He refuses to believe that this is legitimate anxiety. That feeling clawing at the pit of his stomach — nope. Old syrup and crappy coffee, nothing more. It's certainly not the nightmares he's been having. It has nothing to do with Jesse. It's not the image of Stephanie, dead. It's not the possibility of Walter showing up and everything going to Hell.

When he hits his knee on the underside of his desk, he decides to head elsewhere.

He arrives in one of the Hold's training rooms shortly thereafter, where he checks to make sure he hasn't lost his ability to handle a weapon since getting taken out by one. His aim's a little off, but that's nothing new. His grip is firm, steady. Surprisingly so. He's not yelling at anything this time, not pausing to make snarky comments no one (correction: no one he can see) will hear — he's all focus this morning, to the point where he falls into a steady rhythm of load, fire, reload. Click, bang, click. It's almost hypnotic.

Almost.

The energy high starts to die down after about half an hour. When the momentum stops, so does Saul, slammed with a sudden wave of panic that makes him fumble with his gun.

If the Initiative can raise people from the dead, why can't they make them forget dying in the first place? That's what he wants to know.

He also wants to know why he decided to do this in one of his suits. With a shrug, he sheds his jacket, and he's soon sitting heavily on one of the benches outside the training area with his sleeves rolled up, tie undone, head in his hands. If he had the option, he'd have gone to the safehouse to do this, have his little moment of weakness in private rather than out here in the open, but the funny thing about walking is that it requires breathing.

And that's a bit of a problem, at the moment.

It's times like these he really misses the luxuries of his office, like the drawer full of benzos he kept just in case.

"Just in case what?" Francesca had asked.

This, he thinks. In case of this.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[She'd been meaning to see Saul, to make sure he's okay after... everything, but hasn't actually gotten a chance yet. When she sees him sitting on one of the benches, she knows straight away that the answer would be no.

There's no uniform today, just Steph in tights and a sweatshirt, walking over to Saul, making sure that her footsteps actually make a sound as she approaches; she even stops a few feet away instead of getting too close too soon.]

Saul?

[Does he need another hug....]

[Saul doesn't look up when he hears the footsteps, because his logic is this: if he doesn't look up, maybe whoever it is will get the hint that now's not a good time. But then his brain registers Steph's voice and all he can think is shit shit shit; of all people to show up —

He could, theoretically, tell her to go away, but he doesn't think he has it in him. So what he does instead is look up, blue eyes watery from the effort he's exerted to not lose himself completely. It's pathetic and he hates himself a little bit for it, but this particular freak-out feels like it's been a long time coming.]

Hey.

[If his posture didn't give it away, the look on his face tells her that something is clearly wrong, and she carefully takes a seat beside him on the bench, turned to face him.]

Can I help?

[With whatever is wrong.]

[Of course she does.

He folds his hands together and leans forward, arms on his legs, head bowed slightly. Can she help. There's a question. So where's the answer?]

Is it too-wishful thinking to ask if you've got any horse tranquilizers?

[Something uncomfortable tightens in her chest, and she's frowning as she looks at him.]

I do, actually.

[She's probably not going to give him any, though.]

[That gets his full attention. He glances over at her, both brows raised, a ghost of a smirk on his lips.]

Horse tranquilizers?

[It actually takes her a second to realize why that was worth a reaction: Saul is from a world without weird shit.]

Useful when you're fighting a dude who turns into a giant bat. Or a mutated crocodile monster. Or Bane.

[Not that she would be allowed within like ten miles of Bane, but the point stands.]

I guess.

[He runs a hand over his face, then pushes his hair back. It's better this way, he guesses — he wants to calm down, not pass out.

Maybe half the dose...

Nah.]

Hey. [She punches his arm, though the gesture is really too light to actually be called a punch, she just isn't sure what other type of physical affection is appropriate for this situation.] What's going on?

[The gesture should make him laugh, or at least smile, but all it manages to do is twist Saul's stomach into an even tighter knot. Jesse did the same thing, back in the infirmary. After —

He swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing visibly.]

Bad week.

Yeah, I think it's been a bit like that for everyone. [Which - sounds kind of dissmissive and she winces, because that's not what she meant, just that it's okay if he's freaking out a bit since pretty much everyone is.

Words are hard; she's just going to move on.]

Is there anything I can do?

[He doesn't take it as dismissal; it's fact, all things considered. He's been watching the network, monitoring the conversations. He knows he's not alone.

Too bad that line of thinking has never been particularly comforting.

Anyway, he's quick to shake his head.]

I'll be okay.

But you're not okay now.

[She just sounds... worried. Sometimes she forgets that a lot of the people here aren't used to all the ridiculous shit she is, like being reminded that Ellie can handle herself against soldiers perfectly fine, but giant spiders are something else entirely.

Saul isn't used to the revolving door of life and death, like she is.]

It's temporary.

[Everything's temporary, apparently.

Deep breath in, slow exhale. It's progress. It's more than he'd have managed, he thinks, if Steph hadn't shown up. There's something too solid about her presence for him to ignore, but that's a train of thought he's quick to jump off of for a whole freight car full of reasons.]

Look, see? I'm better.

That doesn't make it suck less.

[Especially panic attacks, if that's what was going on when she showed up. Apparently Steph gets contrary when she's worried about someone.]

You're a terrible liar.

[Just sayin'.]

Am I? How do you know I'm not faking it?

[He's not faking it.

BUT HE COULD BE.

...but he's not.]

Guys are terrible at faking it.

[Because if all else fails maybe really terrible innuendo will solve all Saul's problems.

Mostly she's just hoping to make him laugh.]

[To be fair, he did walk right into that one. He doesn't laugh, but he does smirk, so that's something...!]

Yeah, well. That's kind of a physical impossibility.

[She kind of hates her brain for thinking that Bruce could probably find a way to manage it.]

Exactly. So I can tell you're not faking it.

[What happened to this conversation.]

[That gets him to chuckle, albeit tiredly.]

Or I could be faking my inability to fake it. Maybe I'm just that good.

[Score one for Batgirl.]

You know that doesn't even make sense, right?

[Saul please.]

Doesn't it?

[He reaches up and taps her forehead, lightly, with his index finger.]

Think about it.

[And while she's not thinking about it, he's going to return his focus to breathing normally, which is a thing that's slowly but surely happening.]

[She pouts at the tap, as if horribly put out by it.]

You can't confuse me with your fancy lawyer talk.

[Joking, of course, because there was no fancy lawyer talk happening at all.]

[And suddenly, out of nowhere, Saul sounds a lot like someone's long-lost Jewish grandfather.]

You want I should talk to you about litigation? Get some Latin going on in here?

[That makes her laugh, though she's also shaking her head at him.

Once she's calmed down:] Talk jurisprudence to me, Mr. Goodman.

[There's a wink to accompany that.

Steph no.]

b ofc though i guess steph could've decided to sneak into the apartment at like 6am

aw gurl way to miss out on pancakes

she thought he wouldn't approve of her sneaking in his window at ungodly hours in the morning

probably not...

she'd knock.... maybe...

knock on the window? INSTANT HEART ATTACK.

would he rather batgirl just suddenly appear at his bedside??

he might have had a dream like that once? /SHOT

s c r e am

THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU SAY THINGS

you're the one with your mind in the gutter!!!

not my fault!!!!!!!

totally your fault!!!

lies and slander.

i would never

:|

I'll take blame for this next tag tho

CRIES

ilu

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i'm so sorry for this