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[ 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. ]

But still alive.

[So one ought to take their victories where they can. Rosalind watches him for a few seconds.]

What did you tell him?

[ for now, yeah. but it's only been an hour.

Rosalind asks after the conversation and John only barely hesitates. ]

That I'm angry with him. That he's being stupid and reckless and to call me if he needs to.

[She tips her head in a silent sort of acknowledgement. That seems to cover it, her gesture says.]

And now you're going to wait with me anxiously until he does, I imagine.

[She watches him for a few seconds, then:]

Who is he to you? A friend, I know, but . . . how far back do you two go?

[ well, she's not wrong. until he does, or until John gives up and goes home. ]

Far enough. I've been his doctor for 6 months or so now.

But he's more than that. What made him cross the line from patient to friend?

[A beat, and then:]

Then again. I suppose all social structures are weakened thanks to the fact we're all refugees. It's hard not to bond with people over that alone.

Yeah. And he's only thirty years or so out from me, time-wise. I'd have been alive when he was, and our worlds seem to match up mostly. Besides that he's not a difficult person to like.

[ there are a lot of things that combined to make the friendship - one or two of them personal to Prior and not his to share. ]

... when he's not being a cock.

[She nods, accepting all that-- though at that last remark, she bites back a smile.]

He's hardly the worst example here. But I do know what you mean. It's been a long while since I've been in 1910, but I'd still enjoy chatting with someone from that time.

At least I've people from the same country, though. That's worth a fair bit.

Edited 2018-04-10 03:56 (UTC)

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