we tried so hard to live in the truth

[mallarkey]

Date & Time: January 25th - into February (whenever)
Location: Around Exsilium, wherever. Feel free to specify!
Characters: Doug Rich and ___ (YOU).
Summary: Doug's been a bit unfocused since his wife disappeared. Which means: overworking (on what he can), weird hours, and a lot of self-distraction. Maybe even some actual honesty!
Warnings: Possible canon spoilers wrt mentions of drugs and death.

[ It's been days, and in all honestly Wayne -- Doug, now -- has had trouble keeping track of how many. He hasn't slept well or consistently since Dahlia disappeared (or left, but he wants to believe he knows her better than that) and every handful of hours he gets are in a chair or couch because lying -- even sitting -- on the bed they'd shared unnerves him. One night she'd been there with him, and then she wasn't.

He'd hoped for something better, when she'd arrived not remembering the last few months that he did. Not in general, but for them, because he'd forgotten what it was like having her not be angry with him. He feels now like he did when she was in prison (his fault, too), guilty and lost and on the verge of an existential crisis. Somehow not having her here at all had been manageable, but losing her was impossible.

Some days he doesn't leave his apartment, fumbling frantically and sleeplessly with his code of conduct notes. Writing things down, scratching them out, ripping up paper and muttering in frustration at varying volumes. Sometimes he knocks furniture over, or just paces around. Other days he drags a chair outside and sits in the freezing brightness to help him stay awake and focused, writing in the fresh air or getting lost in his racing, tired thoughts. Still other days he put on his coat and walks around town for as long as he can stand the cold, either getting a bite or something warm to drink or just some brisk, head-clearing exercise. Not that he's much of a fan of that last one; all he needs is coffee. ]

Comments

[therapeutics]

[ she's never been the type to explore places. she's nosy, yes, but she prefers the depths of peoples' minds as opposed to walking down dark corridors. walking through the town (can this be called a town?). slipping on ice.

she's not slipping, for the record, but she's also outside. taking a walk. clearing her head.

the fact of the matter is, julia is restless. she has patients (a patient), a mission happened, but there's still something - antsy about the way she moves. there's nothing for her to do, nothing for her to pick up on. she's used to things happening around her to observe, not actually having to go out in order to be nosy.

but she gets just that when she sees him outside of his home. in a chair. just hanging out.

she narrows her eyes over at him. ]

What're you doing?

[mallarkey]

[ He could sympathize with restless, if he knew. Even when there's something happening there's a certain emptiness that lingers, and Doug isn't sure he can attribute the entire feeling to simply missing his wife and kids.

Which is why distractions are just as valuable. Julia's a familiar face, even -- enough of one. He sits forward in his chair before he makes himself stand, which is a little painful given how the cold's already made a point to lock up his joints. His knees ache, but he walks over to greet her more properly. ]

Hey. I was just getting some fresh air. Nice day, isn't it? [ No. ] ... At least for a walk, apparently.

[therapeutics]

It's cold as shit. [ completely deadpan as she stares at him, crossing her arms. of course, she's quick to give herself an excuse - or at least attempt to. she shakes her head and looks away from him. ] I mean, it's not like there's anything else to do.

[ so, really, she has just as little (less) reason as he does. but she's not going to admit it in the midst of small talk, either. ]

[mallarkey]

Well... yeah, actually. [ A lot colder now that he's not sitting numbly in a chair spacing out. His knees hurt, his hands hurt, fingers, nose, Christ it's cold. ] Now that you mention it.

[ He glances at his apartment door, then back at her. ]

You can come inside if you want, warm up a little before you go wherever. Isn't like you're interrupting anything.

[therapeutics]

You alone? [ she squints at him, tilting her head. she thought she heard something, about a family - a wife, at least, and she frowns. was she gone?

then he must not be in a very good place. a pang of something similar to sympathy goes through her, but is quickly replaced by curiosity. ] Is there coffee?

[mallarkey]

Yeah. Just me.

[ Straightforward enough, though the inside of his apartment may imply that was not the case until very recently. ]

There's coffee and some food, though not that much of it. Nicer to eat out than in so supplies are a little scarce.

[therapeutics]

[ so she notices once she gets inside. she doesn't take him up on the offer of food just yet, instead choosing to snoop around. ]

A lot of stuff for just one person. If you don't mind me saying so.

[mallarkey]

[ He doesn't answer immediately, heading into the small kitchen area to see what he can do about some coffee. The apartment isn't super warm, given the circumstances -- resources like heating and such are still optimistic -- but it's at least not the outdoors.

As he gets the water started he admits: ]

Me and my wife had been staying here. Just me now. [ He holds out his hands like what can you do? ] Uh-- how's business been?

[therapeutics]

She leave? [ she says it almost callously, because these things just happen. they're things to observe when they happen to other people, only tragedies when they happen to her directly.

luckily, she's never had to worry about that.

she shrugs. ] I have my patients. Fine, overall. [ and that's that. she'll make a big deal about confidentiality until, suddenly, she doesn't. ]

[mallarkey]

[ He nods, as nonchalantly as possible. He doesn't mind her callousness, really, since his own approach to grief or emotion is to shut it down inside. It's simpler. ]

Yeah, so I got plenty of space. Can't complain.

[ He also shrugs, rubbing his hand over his mouth. ]

Do you really get patients out here? What do they do-- just talk about their problems?

[therapeutics]

So does that mean you don't care? [ totally, totally the wrong approach to that question, but it's the one julia's prone to taking, voice even taking on a professional tone at that. it's an instinct. ]

Something like that. That, and what led to them. It helps.

[mallarkey]

No. She's my wife, for God's sake. I love her.

[ The water finishes and shortly after he brings her a cup of coffee -- probably not great coffee, but it's warm and at least for him does the job. He almost collapses into a chair, exhaling and sitting silently.

Therapy is something that's always been sort of beyond him. A rich people thing. He doesn't really understand it. He says, mostly as a joke (even if he kind of believes it): ]

Sounds like a good way to blackmail someone.

[therapeutics]

Any sugar?

[ because she's taken a sip of it and it's bitter and bland, and while she's got enough tact not to call him on that, it's still important. she holds the cup by the handle, palm resting on the warm side of the cup as she continues her professional insistence and inquiry. ]

Oh, not at all. All meetings remain perfectly confidential. I'm not about to lose my license.

What was her name?

[mallarkey]

[ He stares into his cup and then looks up at her, seeming to function in the moment on a five second time delay. ]

Sugar. Yes -- sugar, coming up, sorry.

[ He stands again, actually preferring a reason to keep moving because he's much more aware of how tired he is when he sits. It's habit just to pour the coffee and drink it, the bitterness strangely soothing. The only sugar he has are in packets, but hopefully that'll do. ]

Never knew anyone that saw a shrink and lived to tell about it. [ He says it like it's a joke, walking over to bring her the sugar. Now, though, he can maybe understand more why someone would want to, for lack of anyone else to talk to. ] But, I can see the appeal. It's like confession that you pay money for.

Er-- [ A pause. ] Dahlia.

[therapeutics]

Thank you. [ she leans forward, plucking the packets out of his hands, tearing them open at once to pour them in. she tilts her cup in a circle in place of having a spoon, letting the sugar dissolve before taking a sip.

not great, but it'll do. ] I mean, that and it's not a system based on guilt, but that's neither here nor there.

[ she squints her eyes, tilting her head to the side, and asks: ] Were you married long?

[mallarkey]

[ He sits back down, collapsing tiredly into the chair and gripping his own cup of coffee in both hands. It warms them, at least. And calms him. Who needs sleep when you have coffee? ]

Isn't it? What does a person see a shrink for if not guilt?

[ He furrows his eyebrows slightly, taking a sip of coffee. Maybe he really doesn't understand this. ]

Yeah. Since-- [ since they were teenagers ] Uh... we got married after high school. Seemed like a good idea at the time.

[therapeutics]

Plenty of reasons. Unhealthy thoughts, a way to break free of things holding them back. All sorts.

[ really, the last thing she'd intended was to turn this into an appointment. and an impromptu one, at that - one that she isn't getting paid for, she remembers bitterly, but she presses onward. ]

At the time? Did something change?

[mallarkey]

Things holding them back, huh? [ He can relate to that sentiment enough to want to brush it off, somehow. He compromises by sipping his coffee again. ] So you're like a, what's the term, a life coach? Like rich people get?

[ Ahrm. He has to start with what he knows. ]

Not exactly. I guess we got pretty lucky for two kids that didn't know each other that long.

[therapeutics]

It's not really my place to advise them of what to do with their lives, only to help them overcome their troubles. [ she makes a wide gesture, as though it's all some kind of show. in some ways, it is. but she does take pride in her work. ]

Oh? How long was that, exactly?

[mallarkey]

Kind of the same thing, if you ask me. That's what I'd ask advice for, anyway.

[ He shrugs lopsidedly, tilting his head along with his shoulder. It also takes him a moment to remember, exactly, how long. ]

Less than a year. Maybe six months, somethin' like that.

[therapeutics]

And you've been together ever since. [ well. until now. she pauses, although that probably rings out through the silence. ] Congratulations.

[ it is an accomplishment, if nothing else, that they'd managed to make that work. ]

sorry this took so long!!

[mallarkey]

[ That earns another shrug and a wry sort of smile. ]

Thank you. Yeah, guess that's something to celebrate these days. Maybe we just came from very committed gene pools. [ He sits back. ] You ever been married?

it's all good.

[therapeutics]

[ she allows the digression, for a moment, taking a sip of her coffee. ]

No. Between medical school and traveling, I never had the time.

<3

[mallarkey]

[ That gets a curious eyebrow raise from him. ]

Did you do a lot of traveling? Me too, but-- [ He shrugs, though he's still curious. ] What for?

[therapeutics]

Well, I went to college. [ vague enough, but far enough away from her hometown to count. ] And then I moved away to be a live-in therapist for several years.

[ but, this isn't about her. ]

And you?