( a slightly longer stretch, but she's not responding!! it's not like she's working or has a life or has her own fucking damage or just needs some fucking time, Daniel, let her breathe!!! )
it doesn't have to be right now. but you know. if you want to. i'm sorry. if you don't want to. it feels unfair to say it like this but just in case you
[ his texts come in quick enough succession that she barely has time to consider how she wants to respond. yes, he'd fucked up. yes, she's angry. no, neither of those things negate that she's been worried and misses him.
part of her wishes they did. but since they don't she reaches for her phone (after reaching for a bottle of something, whatever she'd left by her bed last night) and taps out a respond. ]
( well, if she wanted to talk in person, he figures she'd have said so, so maybe he shouldn't ask. )
i'm sorry. i mean that. not just for being a raging drunk that wants to shove you out of my life with both hands because it feels wrong sometimes when people give a shit about me for not telling you sooner, too. it feels twisted and fucked up to have let you like me without telling you all the reasons you shouldn't first.
but i liked that you liked me, up until i wanted to feel like shit and just thought i'd make you feel like shit too. so i guess i'm sorry for both and sorry i told you like that. you should have known a long time ago but it shouldn't have been like that.
[ she doesn't care how, honestly. in person might be better, or maybe not, but she doesn't know how that would go or if he would still want to after the time it would take for her to get there. there's the voice option, but he ends up not taking that either, and she ends up staring at the screen when she seen that he's started to type instead of answering the questions.
it takes her a few times reading it all over, comparing and contrasting it with the last few times they'd seen each other, and even the times earlier on. if he'd told her earlier, would it have made a difference?
it might have before camp harmony. she doesn't know if it does now, and she isn't sure what to do about that. ]
i don't even know if i'm as mad about you having not told me. you should have, but i get why you didn't. i did like you. do like you. i don't even know if any of that is enough to have made me stop liking you and that fucking sucks because none of what you did is okay and i don't want you to come away from this thinking that it is.
( look, he figures he doesn't have much of a leg to stand on when it comes to how this talk goes down. if she wants it in person, if she wants it over text, if she wants it over carrier fucking pigeon and he has to write it all out by hand, that's fair. Daniel knows he doesn't get to blow holes in someone's trust and then get precious about them needing distance after. )
well good news there is i don't think it's okay. i've spent decades knowing that killing animals for satan and giving up my uncle in law of exactly two hours up to my family to murder and just letting it all swelter in silence isn't okay but i can't change it, you know? that's just it, that's a part of me and i don't like it but it's there and it's always gonna be there and if that's too much for you i get it and i respect it and i will miss you if you don't think you can do it anymore but that's for you to decide not me.
but for what it's worth i don't want to be that guy now. even after being like, hey, maybe we don't kill this newlywed got me shot in the throat. didn't really work out but it still feels like the least shitty thing i've done in decades
( besides helping Alex get out, but, look how that fucking went in the end. )
i'm not asking you to forgive me or just tolerate me continuing to make the same shitty selfish choices over and over, if that's what i wanted i would just give up and let you hate me. i want to be different and the less shitty version of me that i am with you, sometimes, and i don't really know how to do that but i'm trying and this whole whatever is the start of that. me trying i mean and i'm sorry for spending the past six months acting like you were anything like the people in my life before who were content doing just that, because i forgot a normal human being would get fucked up watching someone depressively spiral endlessly. i think that's my last sorry for awhile unless i'm forgetting something
[ that he wants to change is worth more than he probably thinks that it is. part of why she'd continued talking to him after initially not wanting to was noticing that he'd been reaching out and making offers he hadn't had to just to keep people from potentially getting pulled into sex work they hadn't signed up for when checking in to temporary lodging. hell, even checking in on her after their first meeting had gone a long way, further than she had even realized at the time.
and now even hearing how far back it goes, she can't help but feel for him in spite of how much he'd hurt her. if there's anybody who understands being born into an institution that had expected and ingrained fucked up beliefs and response systems and actions from birth, it's her. she understands hating that part of yourself and wanting to cut it out and start over. the only difference is she'd had the opportunity to escape and change much younger than he had. and when he'd had the option to change things, he'd taken it.
and gotten murdered for it. ]
it's worth something.
i don't hate you. i don't think i can.
i
[ and after a few tries of typing and re-typing whatever comes next, she just calls him instead. ]
( does he battle answering? maybe. because typing all that shit makes him feel fucked up and bent in eight different directions, raw and angry and bitter and sore. all sorts of things he's tried to drown or silence or stifle and if someone talks to him right now they'll hear it, all the broken pieces sliding around together. not the bland front that he's been living under for decades because that got him less grief from his family.
but he answers anyway. )
Hi. ( it's rough and he sounds terrible and he feels terrible too and yet still he laughs at himself. bitter and distinctly joyless. he's always been good at laughing at himself, it's easy because he's always been a joke. )Hi. I sound like an idiot but I don't know what else to say.
[ it's small and raw and there's a tearfulness she can't quite will out, in spite of desperately wishing that she could. apparently she doesn't know what else to say either, because it's another few moments before she can say anything else. ]
I'm - I don't know how to move forward. But I want to. I don't want you not in my life.
[ there's a crack in her voice just at the end, but tears don't start flooding through it. not yet. ]
Please, please don't cry. ( is that dickish, to ask Max not to cry? it might be dickish to ask her not to cry, to try and trample down her emotional reaction because even the shine in her tone and crack in her voice as she tries to talk makes Daniel feel like he'd really rather dying all over again than sitting still and listening to her so unhappy because of him. and man he chased close enough to it on his bender, he really would like to not feel like death anymore. but maybe that's a part of changing, looking the damage he did to someone bald in the face. not ignoring it, not running away from it, not drinking it down until it lands somewhere pleasantly numb. ) Nevermind. If you have to, I deserve it. It just feels like some exquisite torture because I don't even know where you are and I can't make you feel better.
( maybe he can't make her feel better. maybe that's just how this is, sitting here, feeling shitty. maybe that's the first step on clearing all of it, venting it out of their systems and bleeding it out like a poison. )
I don't really know either. I just figured... First thing was talking, right? Get it all raw and ugly out on the fucking table and then we can take stock and go around it, or not, but at least it's all out there now.
( somewhere, dissonant, past the heavy vibrato of his voice, is the sound of miserable puppy whimpering. which probably explains where Daniel is, at the very least, and that Goldie Hawn does not APPRECIATE all his ✨BAD VIBES✨ lately!!! don't worry, Daniel might have lost his soul to satan at birth but he's not a sociopath. he's petting the sad dog for sure. )
[ maybe it's a little dickish of him, but it's not as if she wants to cry, and she's still trying so hard not to. it's not until he mentions not even knowing where she is that her resolve crumbles and she breathes out with a sob, and it takes her a second before she can compose herself enough to answer. she's barely let herself feel any of the pain she's been carrying around, let alone cry about it, and being afraid she couldn't stop once she's started is a huge part of why she hasn't wanted to feel it. ]
I'm - I'm at my place. [ if that makes a difference. she doesn't even know if he's in a place where he can leave to find her, or if she should go to him wherever he is. or if meeting up is a good idea at all.
where he is gets answered, at least, when she hears goldie's protests on the other end of the line, and relief floods through her, remembering her absence when she'd last been over. she'd been worried about the puppy, of course, but hearing her back is a sign that he might be able to take care of himself again and she sobs once more in relief before drawing in a breath, willing the tears out of her voice before she tries speaking again. ]
Yeah. It's - a start is good. [ she sounds a little steadier when she speaks again, but still tense and uncertain, almost afraid to hope. ] What do you want to do next?
Fuck, ( Daniel mutters, and it feels a little far away, like he was either trying to not say it or hide the worst of it in his shirt, because goddamn he's gotten way too good at making girls cry lately. girls he likes, girls that make his shitstain of a life a little better. the parts of Duplicity that have helped him keep going after everything. and they say you can't change for anyone but yourself but Daniel thinks that's a bunch of bullshit. if it weren't for Lotti, if it weren't for Max, if it weren't for plenty of other people he's met here — he would just keep spiraling and spiraling and maybe the alcoholism would eventually do him the favor of putting him in the ground like the rest of his family. but there are people here that matter to him, there are people here that give a shit if he's running himself into the ground on purpose. he can hear it, even if Max doesn't want to let herself feel it or share it or show it.
so he doesn't ask Max not to cry again, just lets her, even if it fucking hurts. at least it's honest? they've always liked each other, gotten along well — yet somewhere in knowing each other they couldn't quite be honest, and it means something that both of them are forced up front and personal, ugly and raw, even if it sucks.
Goldie is still whining, despite full body pets and her favorite chin scratches. maybe she can hear Max, too, and is incredibly not okay with her inability to find her to give her comforting licks on her face and up her nose. that's a golden retriever puppy's idea of comfort, apparently. ) Whatever you want to do, ( Daniel starts with, and that feels too lacking. more of the same, not putting himself out far enough to get hurt. )
Okay, no, I'd like to come over. Maybe? We can both come over. So you'll know there's no funny business. ( he's not sure what they'll do then or if it's a bad idea, just that if Max cries like that again he's not sure his sad old ticker can take it if he can't at least... try to hold her. or at least let the puppy crawl all over her and offer comfort she might not be ready for from Daniel himself. )
[ she can hear it, in spite of her own breath and tears and the effort she puts into trying to quiet both so she can talk to him. because this conversation is important to have and to complete and she doesn't want to get so caught up that she can't have it. but just as she's feared, it's difficult to stop once she's started. tears still leak down her cheeks even as she calms her breathing down, and her heart aches a little more at hearing goldie whimpering.
he puts the ball in her court, and then takes it back and makes the offer to meet her where she is. it's unexpected and it occurs distantly to her that he hasn't been here before - not that she makes a habit of having visitors, really, but it's always been her going to him. usually because she'd make the offer (or invite herself over) first, but it's still something. ]
Okay. Yeah. I'd like that.
[ maybe the conversation will be that much more difficult to have in person, but the effort can't just be on his part if they really want to move forward. and she does. ]
( maybe it will be difficult. maybe he'll have to talk to the wall or the dog will have to sit between them like a referee, only they're allowed to pet her for moral support. it's entirely possible that they'll be tired of emotion and talking and they'll just... put it off a little longer. sleep on it. crack into it again tomorrow. Daniel has to guess she has questions as as much as he doesn't want to answer them — isn't that sort of what she needs now? honesty?
he can do it. if he doesn't want to leave their friendship in shattered ugly pieces on the floor from tearing it up on purpose, then it's the only option. because if he goes back to what he always does, distance and secrets and dealing with things at the bottom of a bottle of bourbon, then they'll just end up in the same bitter place again later. maybe they still will anyway. it's just that Daniel isn't enough of an asshole to ask her for another chance with the willful intention of ruining it. )
Okay. Okay. ( he breathes out, and pets the dog, because honestly Goldie Hawn. crying is not helping the crying. it just means there's more crying!!!! ) We'll come down then. Half an hour maybe? ( Daniel vaguely knows where Max lives, it's just a part of the paperwork and contracts and permission slips he's signed for her 8 thousand jobs. it does occur to him that she's never asked for him to come to her, and he's never offered — maybe that's another step in making things between them better.
[ she doesn't tend to invite people to where she lives. there's been maybe one guest she's had over since laura had moved out and then disappeared from the city, but for the most part if she's seeing somebody she ends up going to them. it hadn't been a conscious decision to not want anyone in her space, but it is something she'd gotten used to. it had just been easier to go to him. and she wouldn't have minded doing that again, but it means something that he made the offer to go to her instead. ]
Okay. [ there's less tearfulness and shakiness in her voice when she answers; she feels better knowing that they're making steps to fix what's been broken, that neither of them want to leave things as they'd been. none of this is going to be easy to work through, but that they both care enough to want to try gives her more hope than she's felt in weeks. ] I can meet you downstairs, then lead you up.
[ she isn't sure what questions she'll have, or if he'll have any for her. she's sure there are some that'll come to mind for both of them, but they can worry about that and when they'll actually be asked when he gets here. the night already been pretty emotionally taxing, but if he's making the effort, she wants to put forth an equal measure of it. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
3/3
it doesn't have to be right now. but you know. if you want to.
i'm sorry. if you don't want to. it feels unfair to say it like this but just in case you
nevermind. i'm around if you want to text back.
no subject
part of her wishes they did. but since they don't she reaches for her phone (after reaching for a bottle of something, whatever she'd left by her bed last night) and taps out a respond. ]
i'm around.
talk.
no subject
( well, if she wanted to talk in person, he figures she'd have said so, so maybe he shouldn't ask. )
i'm sorry. i mean that. not just for being a raging drunk that wants to shove you out of my life with both hands because it feels wrong sometimes when people give a shit about me
for not telling you sooner, too. it feels twisted and fucked up to have let you like me without telling you all the reasons you shouldn't first.
but i liked that you liked me, up until i wanted to feel like shit and just thought i'd make you feel like shit too. so i guess i'm sorry for both
and sorry i told you like that. you should have known a long time ago but it shouldn't have been like that.
no subject
it takes her a few times reading it all over, comparing and contrasting it with the last few times they'd seen each other, and even the times earlier on. if he'd told her earlier, would it have made a difference?
it might have before camp harmony. she doesn't know if it does now, and she isn't sure what to do about that. ]
i don't even know if i'm as mad about you having not told me. you should have, but i get why you didn't.
i did like you. do like you. i don't even know if any of that is enough to have made me stop liking you and that fucking sucks because none of what you did is okay and i don't want you to come away from this thinking that it is.
tw: animal abuse, murder
well good news there is i don't think it's okay. i've spent decades knowing that killing animals for satan and giving up my uncle in law of exactly two hours up to my family to murder and just letting it all swelter in silence isn't okay
but i can't change it, you know? that's just it, that's a part of me and i don't like it but it's there and it's always gonna be there and if that's too much for you i get it and i respect it and i will miss you if you don't think you can do it anymore but that's for you to decide not me.
but for what it's worth i don't want to be that guy now. even after being like, hey, maybe we don't kill this newlywed got me shot in the throat. didn't really work out but it still feels like the least shitty thing i've done in decades
( besides helping Alex get out, but, look how that fucking went in the end. )
i'm not asking you to forgive me or just tolerate me continuing to make the same shitty selfish choices over and over, if that's what i wanted i would just give up and let you hate me. i want to be different and the less shitty version of me that i am with you, sometimes, and i don't really know how to do that but i'm trying and this whole whatever is the start of that. me trying i mean
and i'm sorry for spending the past six months acting like you were anything like the people in my life before who were content doing just that, because i forgot a normal human being would get fucked up watching someone depressively spiral endlessly.
i think that's my last sorry for awhile unless i'm forgetting something
tw: abuse, murder, sw mention
and now even hearing how far back it goes, she can't help but feel for him in spite of how much he'd hurt her. if there's anybody who understands being born into an institution that had expected and ingrained fucked up beliefs and response systems and actions from birth, it's her. she understands hating that part of yourself and wanting to cut it out and start over. the only difference is she'd had the opportunity to escape and change much younger than he had. and when he'd had the option to change things, he'd taken it.
and gotten murdered for it. ]
it's worth something.
i don't hate you. i don't think i can.
i
[ and after a few tries of typing and re-typing whatever comes next, she just calls him instead. ]
no subject
but he answers anyway. )
Hi. ( it's rough and he sounds terrible and he feels terrible too and yet still he laughs at himself. bitter and distinctly joyless. he's always been good at laughing at himself, it's easy because he's always been a joke. ) Hi. I sound like an idiot but I don't know what else to say.
no subject
[ it's small and raw and there's a tearfulness she can't quite will out, in spite of desperately wishing that she could. apparently she doesn't know what else to say either, because it's another few moments before she can say anything else. ]
I'm - I don't know how to move forward. But I want to. I don't want you not in my life.
[ there's a crack in her voice just at the end, but tears don't start flooding through it. not yet. ]
no subject
( maybe he can't make her feel better. maybe that's just how this is, sitting here, feeling shitty. maybe that's the first step on clearing all of it, venting it out of their systems and bleeding it out like a poison. )
I don't really know either. I just figured... First thing was talking, right? Get it all raw and ugly out on the fucking table and then we can take stock and go around it, or not, but at least it's all out there now.
( somewhere, dissonant, past the heavy vibrato of his voice, is the sound of miserable puppy whimpering. which probably explains where Daniel is, at the very least, and that Goldie Hawn does not APPRECIATE all his ✨BAD VIBES✨ lately!!! don't worry, Daniel might have lost his soul to satan at birth but he's not a sociopath. he's petting the sad dog for sure. )
no subject
I'm - I'm at my place. [ if that makes a difference. she doesn't even know if he's in a place where he can leave to find her, or if she should go to him wherever he is. or if meeting up is a good idea at all.
where he is gets answered, at least, when she hears goldie's protests on the other end of the line, and relief floods through her, remembering her absence when she'd last been over. she'd been worried about the puppy, of course, but hearing her back is a sign that he might be able to take care of himself again and she sobs once more in relief before drawing in a breath, willing the tears out of her voice before she tries speaking again. ]
Yeah. It's - a start is good. [ she sounds a little steadier when she speaks again, but still tense and uncertain, almost afraid to hope. ] What do you want to do next?
tw: suicidal ideation
so he doesn't ask Max not to cry again, just lets her, even if it fucking hurts. at least it's honest? they've always liked each other, gotten along well — yet somewhere in knowing each other they couldn't quite be honest, and it means something that both of them are forced up front and personal, ugly and raw, even if it sucks.
Goldie is still whining, despite full body pets and her favorite chin scratches. maybe she can hear Max, too, and is incredibly not okay with her inability to find her to give her comforting licks on her face and up her nose. that's a golden retriever puppy's idea of comfort, apparently. ) Whatever you want to do, ( Daniel starts with, and that feels too lacking. more of the same, not putting himself out far enough to get hurt. )
Okay, no, I'd like to come over. Maybe? We can both come over. So you'll know there's no funny business. ( he's not sure what they'll do then or if it's a bad idea, just that if Max cries like that again he's not sure his sad old ticker can take it if he can't at least... try to hold her. or at least let the puppy crawl all over her and offer comfort she might not be ready for from Daniel himself. )
no subject
he puts the ball in her court, and then takes it back and makes the offer to meet her where she is. it's unexpected and it occurs distantly to her that he hasn't been here before - not that she makes a habit of having visitors, really, but it's always been her going to him. usually because she'd make the offer (or invite herself over) first, but it's still something. ]
Okay. Yeah. I'd like that.
[ maybe the conversation will be that much more difficult to have in person, but the effort can't just be on his part if they really want to move forward. and she does. ]
wrap on urs perhaps???
he can do it. if he doesn't want to leave their friendship in shattered ugly pieces on the floor from tearing it up on purpose, then it's the only option. because if he goes back to what he always does, distance and secrets and dealing with things at the bottom of a bottle of bourbon, then they'll just end up in the same bitter place again later. maybe they still will anyway. it's just that Daniel isn't enough of an asshole to ask her for another chance with the willful intention of ruining it. )
Okay. Okay. ( he breathes out, and pets the dog, because honestly Goldie Hawn. crying is not helping the crying. it just means there's more crying!!!! ) We'll come down then. Half an hour maybe? ( Daniel vaguely knows where Max lives, it's just a part of the paperwork and contracts and permission slips he's signed for her 8 thousand jobs. it does occur to him that she's never asked for him to come to her, and he's never offered — maybe that's another step in making things between them better.
meeting somewhere in the middle. )
👍
Okay. [ there's less tearfulness and shakiness in her voice when she answers; she feels better knowing that they're making steps to fix what's been broken, that neither of them want to leave things as they'd been. none of this is going to be easy to work through, but that they both care enough to want to try gives her more hope than she's felt in weeks. ] I can meet you downstairs, then lead you up.
[ she isn't sure what questions she'll have, or if he'll have any for her. she's sure there are some that'll come to mind for both of them, but they can worry about that and when they'll actually be asked when he gets here. the night already been pretty emotionally taxing, but if he's making the effort, she wants to put forth an equal measure of it. ]