originallutece | ic contact;

[ it's been a bit of a while, and there's an incoming call from John. ]

[It's nice she's alert and aware for this one, huh? Rosalind answers fairly quickly, tucking her phone between her ear and her shoulder as she fusses with something in the kitchen.]

Hello, John. Finally off work?

No. Do you want a lesson?

[ no. yes. sort of. what he is or isn't at the moment isn't really his primary concern. ]

. . . yes. It'd be nice to have something to occupy my time. I'm at home, if you want to come by, or I can make the journey to Shades Darker.

It's fine, I'll come over. Thanks.

[ and the line goes.

and opens up again twenty minutes later, John halfway there and his impetus half drained. as soon as Rosalind picks up: ]

Sorry. This isn't about a lesson.

[ no? shit? ]

I rather figured that.

[Still, she's gotten somewhat dressed and dragged a few things out of her lab, just in case. There's a kettle on the stove, and she waits by the window, watching for him.]

What is it about?

You been paying attention to the network? Go back an hour, have a look at the most recent upload.

[There's a bit of a pause, and then:]

Ah. I see.

[She does not sound impressed. Good grief, Prior . . . it's not that she doesn't feel the same, but for god's sake.]

Well. If you'd like to rant away, by all means.

[ he almost argues the point, that it's nothing as petty as a rant, nothing as poorly tempered. but it doesn't matter. it amounts to the same thing: he has something to get off his chest and she's willing to hear it. ]

He's a patient, and a friend. And I told him— I told him what would happen if he didn't stop and give his body time to recover. Which he didn't, of course he bloody didn't, and now he's up on the station marching through corridors and screaming at what might as well be brick walls.

[ and it's exhausting. and there's nothing John can do. he can't even blame him, that's the thing - John let him go, days ago, back in the hospital, because he understood that Prior couldn't bear to be still. and this is where it's led him. and there's no getting through to him, not in any way John can calm down enough to communicate, and it's—

John's still moving, marching through the streets on the way to her. he's got to work off the frustration somehow. might as well be a fast trip to a friend and a lesson shoddily administered if he can focus long enough. ]

[She knows Prior, albeit distantly. She had some vague sympathy for his situation; she can't imagine living with an incurable disease. But at the same time . . . no. No, she has no pity whatsoever for him here and now, because this isn't a result of his disease.

Yes, he's angry. Yes, what happened to him was horrific. But it had happened to all of them, and while Rosalind is as shaken and grief-stricken and furious as the rest, one doesn't see her engaging in utterly futile actions, does one?]

He's a grown man, John. He knows what the consequences might be. And . . . in my experience, men like that will do as they please with no regard for sensibility, because they're ruled by emotion. So let him go. He'll face the consequences one way or another.

And when he does, it isn't on your head. You know that, yes?

I know. [ he does. he knows.

but there's been a lot, recently. a lot of life and a lot of death. a lot of working out what is and isn't something to carry the guilt of. and John Watson's never been the best at leaving things be. he takes people in like hooks, bleeds when they yank away. he can't do it at the best of times. can't walk away where he ought to help.

and he ought to help now. ]

He's vulnerable.

[ right now more than ever. after everything. and here John is, abandoning ship. ]

So am I, John. So is Dorian. So is everyone who was taken. But that doesn't excuse sheer stupidity.

[John has trouble walking away; Rosalind has trouble attaching at all. Perhaps that's not what he needs right now, but it's what he gets: cold, harsh logic.]

I'm not saying it excuses it. But that shouldn't sign his death warrant.

[ not that John necessarily thinks it's going to be that dire, but the point's made clearer that way. it could be, in the worst case scenario. that's enough. ]

I don't think it will, frankly. But you're right, there's a chance.

[Hmm . . . how to approach this. Rosalind shifts, twitching the curtains back, trying to see if he's near.]

What would you have him do, then? If you had your way in all this.

Lay down for an hour to begin with.

[ stop rampaging around like a man who hasn't just survived through extreme circumstances with a body that's already constantly fighting.

he's closing in - almost there, but not quite enough to be in view yet. ]

I don't know. I don't know what's best for him, I just know what's best for his body.

Correct.

You've been a doctor for a fair few years, John. How often do your patients truly do what's best for their body?

[It sounds a little flippant, but she means it earnestly.]

[ a sound in the back of his throat - frustrated. she's right, of course she is. but the thing is, patients can do what they want to. John's not attached to patients. patients' refusals to do what they need to in order to recover don't cut him, or he'd have given up being a doctor long ago.

the point is - ]

He's a friend.

[ and up until recently John had been able to help.

and now, when he most needs Prior to be healthy and alive, when he feels that responsibility to preserve him most keenly— this is when he's deciding to march to the beat of his own destructive drum. ]

[She exhales audibly, not a sigh so much as a release, and goes silent for a few seconds. Her voice is softer, now.]

I can't tell you what to do, nor how to stop him. Frankly, John . . . if you're asking about matters of friendship, you've come to the worst possible person.

[Because she's never had a friend beyond Robert before coming here. But that's not the point.]

But . . . in a situation like this, I think there's nothing to do but stand back and watch. I'm not saying it's easy, nor that it's necessarily the right thing to do. But you can't tie him up and keep him safe. You'd only make things worse if you tried to control him like that. He's going to do as he likes, and perhaps he'll learn from the consequences. And when he comes back, you'll be there to pick up the pieces.

[Is that right? She doesn't know. She really doesn't, but she imagines Elizabeth. She'd gotten attached to DeWitt so quickly, and she'd fussed over him, worried when he'd been hurt . . . but she hadn't stopped him when he'd thrown himself headfirst into danger.

It's not remotely the same situation, but it's all she knows. And she thinks Elizabeth would have advised something like that.]

[ what she's saying makes sense. it makes sense, and it's right. but a stubborn, angry part of himself resents the need to pick up anything. resents that Prior won't just bloody listen in the first place - that he himself will drift back and patch up whatever needs patching even though it could have been avoided, even though he should stand some kind of ground.

he's not got it in him to deal with this shit right now. he doesn't know the right thing from the wrong thing.

there's a bit of quiet from his end of the line. the sounds of his footsteps have stilled. finally: ]

Thanks, Rosalind.

[ earnestly said, though there's something held in it. another brief pause, and, ]

I'll be by later. About an hour? Sorry to mess you around.

[ if he's going to save himself the aggravation of the aftermath, he needs to know that he at least tried. ]

An hour, then.

[She'll be quite annoyed if he cancels or postpones on her again, but at least she can be lazy for another hour. That's worth something, and she buries herself in a book. She's vaguely worried about him, but fretting won't get anything done, so she doesn't indulge in it.

But she checks the clock a little more often than she otherwise would. There's no reason behind it, she just wants to see what time it is, that's all.]

[ and, perhaps surprisingly at this point, there is in fact a press on the bell or a knock on the door or whatever the entryway calls for, about an hour later.

John Watson, waiting there, looks - possibly worse than he did the last time she saw him. the bruises on his face are fading out nicely, lip healing well, but his body doesn't bother to hide how little sleep its had, how sporadically he's been feeding himself. he'll catch up with all that sooner or later, but for now he's running behind. ]

[At least they match. Rosalind looks as exhausted as he does, though she's slept more than she usually ever allows herself. She's dressed in a loose top and a skirt, and he'll be able to see bandages peeking out, because she's wrapped in them from hip to chest.

Though the burnmarks and bruises are the things he might notice first. There's purple bruises on her throat, all in the shape of fingers.]

There you are. Did you call him again?

[Yes, he did. She knows he did, because she listened in on the conversation. She found out a fair few things too, but she won't bring that up just now.

She knows a lot about John Watson, she realizes, that he doesn't know she knows.]

I did, yeah.

[ it's good to see her up and about, at least. John tries not to make a point of looking her over, does his best not to show how his trained eye immediately rests to take in the progress in each injury and hurt, clock it for later. he's not to treat her. if anything, she's doing him a favour still letting him come by - attention where she likely least wants it isn't any way to repay her. ]

Went up there for a bit, actually.

[ not with any real hope - just to be able to remind himself that he'd tried. ]

Edited (WHY) 2018-03-30 00:43 (UTC)

How did he take it?

[She can't help but notice where his gaze lingers, but fortunately he says nothing, which is how she likes it. She turns, leading him towards the front room, curling her legs beneath her as she sits on the couch.]

Well, he's still up there.

[ which is about all he can say on the matter. the conversation wasn't bad, but it was a waste of time. John drops himself down into an available seat, more heavily than he might usually.

forgive him the small signs of a temper tantrum turned sulk. it has, as everyone planetside is well aware, been a long couple of weeks. ]

ic contact;

call, u.n: j.watson

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