tumbataure | 178th page

[ marriage? what? oh right. ]

Y-yes, that's. That must be it. But there's no "out." Only duty.

[ oh ow. ow that hurt. has to cover his eyes with a hand for a minute. ]

Hey. You okay?

[turns attention to him again through all the nam flashbacking. touches the screen between them, apprehensive. you need a doctor or something. spiritual healing. exorcism. aspirin]

[ winces and looks back up at the screen, the shape of his hand outlined there. ]

A headache, I'm just. It's the stress, I'm sure. Thank you.

[ sits up straighter so he can stare a bit more. ]

Sure. [looks at him warily before taking hand down and continuing]

Well if you ask me- [i don't know. are you asking me. usually they're asking him] -you gotta do what's right. For you. You've always gotta choice. Might not like the options, but they're there.

[ looks at his own hands in absence of the one on the screen. kind of huffs a little laugh at that advice. ]

You suggesting I...what? Rip up the rules? [ rubs the back of his neck and hunches a little. ] Choice. What if I make the wrong choice? How am I supposed to know?

Well you won't know until you make it. That's kinda the whole point. But I can tell you, if somethin don't sit right with you, that's worth checkin out.

[yes. rip up those rules. throw them away. how did he make it into priesthood. no one will ever know. maybe this religion values smartmouthed little rebels]

Feelin like crap is usually the first sign you're doin somethin you shouldn't.

[ watching his silhouette and trying to understand what he's getting at. how frustrating it must be to be a priest, like trying to teach poetry to fish. ]

What did you feel, Father? When you were about to be married?

[narrows eyes briefly before looking down, knows he didn't mean to turn it on him, but he can't help react defensively.]

Like I was doin the right thing.

[he doesn't really remember, which is weird. how they met or why or where but it doesn't matter much, just that they did it for the kid and, well aaron may not make his heart pound but he's a good guy. usually. he could have done worse.]

Do you? Feel like it's the right thing?

[he'll just redirect that back around because delving into his history is equal parts confusing and headache-inducing at the moment for reasons unknown]

No. No, I don't, not at all. But whenever I try to do the right thing, I always end up ruining--[ exasperated headshaking ]everything?

[ why does he think that. ]

He has someone, I know that he does. And she's very kind, good to him, I'm certain. Who am I to take him away from her?

[ starts to chew on a thumbnail, because it's making his stomach churn that he can't see the priest's face. they've only just met but he trusts this man, bone-deep and deeper. ]

[doesn't question his assertion that he's a ruiner. which is probably one of the shittiest things that could choose to bubble up from the memory bank first but there it is. just takes it at face value.]

Sounds like you already got it worked out. I mean, you know there's a right and a wrong here.

[he's not gonna tell him what to do because it's not his place, but he can catholic guilt trip him six ways from sunday]

It sounds so simple when you say it like that. [ the next is softer, half to himself, but half intended for the priest to hear it. ] Where were you before, when I needed to hear it.

[furrows eyebrows, defensive again. he's never gotten so defensive with someone before. it's his job to sit and listen and offer advice, try to help, be some kind of guide. not take offense to every little thing. shifts in annoyance, throwing a glance at the divider. an automatic response comes to mind, like when you run through an argument in your head after it's already through, but it's too biting and he rewords it slowly, in that way you can tell he's being careful with what he says]

I'm always here if you need to talk.

[ isn't normally so aggressive either, but he feels trapped in this booth, like he can't leave until the priest releases him. double-takes when the response sounds a little wrong, like when an actor goes off script. ]

[ but this sounds so much better than what he'd been expecting it helps him to relax, shoulders sloping instead of winding tight. he leans closer to the lattice, trying to watch the man's eyes to see how sincere he is. ]

But what if it's too late now. What if I can't turn back?

[looks down at his lap when he leans in and smiles nervously, scratching at his forehead. are we still talking about the wedding. this is a very nervewracking confession]

You can uh, you can always turn back. Right up till the edge of that cliff. Sorry, I just, are you sure you've never been in here before because I could swear-

[can't help but veer into the unprofessional but it's bothering the holy hell out of him]

[ lets out a breath so quickly it's like he just swandove into ice water. ]

-That this is chillingly familiar? [ that you, specifically, are familiar. and not in a howdy-neighbor sort of way. ]

[ would gilda laugh at him if he told her he's going to have to ditch on his own wedding because he can't stop staring at the priest scheduled to officiate it? he knows norman wouldn't find it very funny. ]

Yeah. Yeah, somethin like that.

[catches his eyes through the grid and watches him for what's that. oh yeah. another uncomfortably long period of time.]

I'm sorry, I don't usually.

[nope. you are freaking him right out. makes the sign of irish jesus cross and absolves him hurriedly. alanis morissette god loves you, act of contrition, etc. gets up to let himself out]

[ throat feels so dry, the next thing he tries to say just comes out kind of croaky. why is his voice so weird, anyway. did he have a childhood illness or something? did he have a freaking childhood. ]

[ kind of hypnotised into sitting still while their eyes are locked, but as soon as the priest moves he's getting up too. i'll come with you. i'd rather be here. ]

No, I understand, I don't think-- Wait, please.

[awkwardhandsing out of the booth. ]

I'm sorry, I have a lot of work-

[nope nope nopeing ahead of him to his office. closes it between them. beelined. pls stop triggering me. this is weird and uncanny.]

[ comes up short against the door, hands flattening against the surface. just scared the shit out of their priest, and probably should care, but does not. no, sir. ]

[ doesn't call out again, but he does stand there for a while. just stares down at the doorknob, seeing himself opening a latch without using his hands, seeing the priest in a beautiful room that has no doors at all, seeing a wall that's supposed to become a door he isn't supposed to open. ]

[ is this. is this a nervous breakdown. is this what nikolai said would happen if he didn't stop drinking so much coffee. ]

[awkwardly clears his throat.]

Hey. Sergei. [flawless pronunciation.]

Do you know if— Actually, are you okay? You look...

[has never actually seen anyone look "anguished" before, because all appearances to the contrary he doesn't actually live inside a soap opera, but sergei looks textbook anguished. that might even be anguished longing.]

...Stressed.

[...??? who the hell is sergei who the hell are you what are you doing get out of my bubble. ]

[ oh right. husband. the priest is named john remington, and he's married, and this is his husband. ]

Mister Remington...Jones. I'm, I'm sorry I'm-- [ looks between him and the closed door, the absolute absence of sound behind it, and tries to get himself under control. come on, sergei. this kind of behavior isn't going to reflect well on the mayor's assistant, or by extension the mayor, and norman would be disappointed ] --not feeling well.

I might have. Have gotten upset with Father Remington. I wanted to apologize but... [ textbook anguish. ] Please pass on my regrets.

[ flees. ]

[watches sergei's panic attack with the kind of fascination people watch train wrecks with. oh, but then he's leaving. aaron halfheartedly raises a hand to stall him.]

Hold on, Mr. Kalashnikov, don't—

[oh it's too late. he's gone. frowns the way he'd gone, but aaron doesn't know what he'd have said anyway. "don't marry that guy" seems a little abrupt.]

[sweet jesus on a boob cracker.]

[slowly cracks door open with one hand braced on it like he might need to slam it shut again quickly. leans out a little to watch him go and then to aaron with an entirely harassed look]

[i think i just got a stalker i don't know what the hell just happened. sos]

What are you doin here?

[turns back to the now open door and winces at john.]

I— My shift's over. I wanted to—

[takes a breath. tries to organize his thoughts enough to spit out a coherent sentence.]

You know how sometimes you say a word so much it loses all meaning? Well that hasn't happened yet: I'm sorry. I'm still sorry. I think it's pretty clear I have no idea what I'm doing, and I, I don't even actually know why I'm doing what I am doing, but I think it's pretty clear I'm not good at, at...

[more deep breathing.]

I don't know what I'm doing but I want Heather to be okay. I want her to be more than okay, I want her to be perfect, because she deserves that, and I want to be a part of her life and I want you to be happy too but I think maybe we'd be better off not married.

[slightly panicked staring. that last part got away from him. what he gets for talking to the other john for five hours.]

This would be easier if you quit looking like you were about to slam the door, by the way.

[stares at him during his whole. speech. did you practice that? you practiced that. looks around paranoid before yanking him into the office by the front of his shirt before he makes more of a scene]

You wanna divorce. From our fake marriage. Really?

[turns to him after closing the door. is that what he got out of that]

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⇒ ⇒ this definitely counts for two.

⇒ we'll just keep dean at 1 we don't want to get ahead of ourselves.

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