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

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[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

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.]

[Wow okay someone is officially distracted from... everything...

It'd be nice if Saul could say he's used to this by now, but alas, that is not the case. So after he's taken a second to regain his bearings, he clears his throat and starts rattling off Latin terms left and right with brief explanations in between.

Dear everyone who thinks he's a shitty lawyer: SUCK IT. How many years out of law school, and he still remembers all that? Yeah. That's right.]

[She is, actually, a little bit impressed, but instead of saying anything like that, she just makes a show of fanning herself with a hand, as though she's getting all hot and bothered.]

I think I need a cold shower.

[STEPH.......]

[Why this.

Saul cocks his head and looks at her sideways, like he suspects she's lost her mind. The look only lasts for a few seconds, though, before it's covered up with a wry smirk and a brief flash of teeth.]

You're free to go and get one if you need it that badly. I'm better now, I swear.

[It's amazing how often people look at her like that.]

I'll try to compose myself. [Who lets her say words or exist in public at all.] Do you really feel better?

[Because she's still concerned, underneath the trolling.]

Really.

[He bites back a smile that he has no intention of actually keeping at bay, what with how obvious it is.]

You're an excellent distraction.

Flattery will get you everywhere.

[Because clearly being called a distraction is a compliment.]

Though at the rate I'm going I really should start charging.

[Considering Saul is now the third dude she'd had to comfort in like two weeks.

Not that he knows that.

Context is important for jokes.]

Oh, I know.

[That mantra is way up there on his list.]

Maybe you should. You're good enough at it that I bet you'd make a killing.

Does that mean I'm not special?

[If he's just flattering pepole for the sake of it. Or something. It doesn't really make sense, she's just enjoying teasing him.]

I'm not even sure how I'd market that.

[Market what. Steph stop just saying things.]

I dunno. That depends on whether you think I'm faking it or not, I guess.

[Saul's not even sure what they're talking about anymore.]

Get someone to market it for you.

[you know

like a pimp]

I suppose I'll keep being flattered, then.

[Since they've established that he's terrible at faking it.]

Are you offering?

[Good lord.]

[He leans forward.

Rests a hand on her knee.

And looks so serious.]

Absolutely not.

[She goes still, though it's more just - waiting, than the tension that had practically ripped through her when Nikolai touched her. And she at least manages to huff a laugh at what he says.]

You know, for someone who wears such bright suits, you're kinda boring.

[So maybe his hand lingers a few seconds more than needed in order for him to get his point across, but then it's gone and only the look remains. Halfheartedly so.]

Boring because I don't want to punch people or be a pimp. Hm. Is now a good time to tell you about all the ways in which I've had my life threatened in spite of not doing those things? I was also kidnapped once. Brought into the middle of the desert, bag over my head and everything. That was fun.

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

you dirty little liar

it's true i'm not sorry at all

ORBIT!!!!!

flying lawnmower dot gif

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