Tfln overflow

[1sts]

You know what to do

Comments

[disproof]

[He has an argument locked and loaded, but Strand bites down on it hard. Stops just short of demanding because Tim has a point: it’s none of his business. He sits back as well, gaze dropping fixedly into his own cup.

[His words come clipped after a long hard think.] Is Bouchard’s special interest related to you inability to leave?

[kayaking]

Yeah. Wouldn't be wrong if you said that.

[ tim takes another drink, and then, against his better judgment- ]

Look, Richard. [ pointedly, personally- he doesn't use his first name often. ] Just leave the Institute alone. It's not something you want to dig into. I mean it.

[disproof]

I don’t care about the Institute, I’m concerned with— [His mouth presses flat, eyes cut out the window to keep the storm off of Tim.] —I’m concerned with disrupting bureaucracy wherever it fosters groupthink and abuse, a brand which seems inevitably espoused by every institution within a thought of esoterica. Wherever anyone preys on the vulnerable and victimized, particularly those trapped by a paycheck, I become very concerned. It’s 2018, for god’s sake!

[It rattles out fast on the fuel of a breath or two. At the end, his jaw wires tight, throat works hard to swallow a thought of Tim slouched over the barstool, small and miserable. The sterile entry of his apartment, cursorily stocked with relics and skeletons of something he isn’t anymore. Hugging the steam off his coffee looses his jaw, but not his tone.]

If Bouchard is—whatever he’s doing to keep you there, there are people that would help you get out.

[kayaking]

Don't.

[ tim's voice is quiet, but sharp. he glances over at the student, still engrossed in her homework, as if afraid that she's going to look over and listen it, but he shakes it off and inhales. steadies himself, because this isn't a conversation he's ready to have yet. it may not be one he's ever ready to have. ]

There aren't- it's more than that. It's got nothing to do with a goddamn paycheck, or some kind of - stupid NDA. The place - the things that run that place-

[ he's peeling back now, leaning away in his chair. ]

Look, Strand, I appreciate your- help. And concern. But it's wasted on me.

[disproof]

[Tim's explanations don't salve anything. Strand crowds in, table between them possibly the only thing keeping him out of Tim's space.]

Why?

[kayaking]

--because there's a project I'm needed on.

[ tim presses his hand to his mouth just in time to suppress something that sounds like a desperate sort of giggle. ]

Your research taught you much about circuses, Strand? Nasty things.

[disproof]

I understand it's a personal preference, but I've never needed to do research to come to that conclusion-- [Animal abuse, human abuse, and clowns all rolled up into one noxious package,but this feels like a distraction. He shakes his head, one hand gesturing sharply.] --but they're mostly relics now. What does that have to do with any of this?

[kayaking]

What's it that you said to me- 'I don't need more mysteries, Tim.' You're not going to believe a thing that I say, and I don't feel like wasting your time any more than you feel like having it wasted.

[ some of that foulness is returning, bitterness in the twist of his mouth as he sips at his coffee. he's punchy. ]

[disproof]

[That hitches in his ribs, and Strand skips like a scratched record. The song is the same when he gets moving again, but it's in a different spot:] You're taking that out of context.

[kayaking]

[ tim withdraws, sitting back. the look he gives strand is ugly, borderline resentful, because - why not rip the stitches open for someone else? ]

Alright. Fine. What do you want? Copy of the Statement I made today? I'll need until tomorrow for that. Not going back in right now.

it hurts, maman

[disproof]

No, I don't want your--no. I want to help you. I don't understand how this can possibly offend you, I'm trying to help.

I'm sorry he's such an idiot

[kayaking]

And I've been telling you that I don't want help. Not with this.

[disproof]

You're in danger. [Not a question, but the insistence leaks out of his voice too, like the tendons keeping him steady have been cut.] You can't tell me to simply look away from a person endangered.

[kayaking]

[ tim turns one hand, palm up, a quiet gesture of 'what can you do.' ]

You can't save everyone, Strand. Mind just taking me home?

[disproof]

What--christ. [His head hangs, knuckles dig into his temple as he laughs at the preposterousness of all that springs to mind. The age of it, the pompousness of it, but it comes to mind and seeps out of his throat before he can contain it--] What would your parents think?

[kayaking]

Right-o. I'll just catch the tube, then.

[ his parents? in a lot of ways, his parents had lost both sons when they'd lost danny. tim honestly can't remember the last time he spoke with them, and he's not sure if it's because of something he's done to himself or simply a byproduct of the institute's natural isolation.

regardless, he's on his feet, and his chilly demeanor is belied by the way he nearly sends the chair behind him toppling. ]

Good luck with your- everything.

caLL yoUr mOM TIM!!

[disproof]

Tim-- [The barista and distracted student both jump at the clatter of chairs, Strand's a split second after Tim's. He grips Tim sharply above the elbow, well out of the way of his bandaged wrist but nearly as sore. The barista barks over whether they're alright, but Strand isn't attentive to it.

[Quiet and clipped, too chilly with the urgency:] --you're behaving irrationally. You're being stupid, I've seen a hundred stubborn idiots wreck themselves. You don't have to. You don't owe them anything.

can't make him!!

[kayaking]

I'm not doing this for them.

[ tim startles when strand's hand actually ends up on his arm, if only because he's slipped into a mindset not dissimilar to one he wears at work- and no one there would touch him.

his nostrils flare. ]

And I'm not having this conversation here.

[disproof]

Fine. [Strand hisses across his shoulder.] Then where the hell will you have it?

[kayaking]

[ yanking his arm away, voice a snarl: ] I'm going home.

[disproof]

Wonderful. [The touch comes right back, albeit less fiercely, at the small of Tim's back and at his shoulder so that Strand can usher him out and suggest moving back towards the car. Out from under the anxious looks the few people around them, out from the restrictions of public politeness on yelling.] I'll take you there.

[kayaking]

You are- fucking infuriating. Has anyone told you that before?

[ but he won't twist away from the touch this time. instead, he'll just allow strand to usher him, because he'd rather take the ride home in a rental car than on the tube anyway. regardless, when he throws himself into the passenger's seat, it's with a sullen frown, like he's 8 instead of 28. ]

[disproof]

Yes. I know. [A constant refrain, usually recited when he’s at his most infuriated—like now as he slams into the driver seat with equal maturity. He can stay furious and immature for the whole of the ride, sudden-stopping no less than three times to avoid collision, distracted with the mental gymnastics of how he’s going to get Tim to talk when they make it back to his place.

[The tactic he ends up on is fuming in silence until they get in the front door—then taking Tim by both lapels and pushing him against the wall.] The project. Bouchard. Tell me. or call the police. Call the cops if you want me gone, but otherwise—

[kayaking]

Oh, fuck right off with that-

[ he's winded just from surprise, hackles rising when strand tells him to call the police. strand is being an insufferable asshole, trying to launch himself into danger- because learning about this stupid world is all you need to do to become completely entrenched in it.

he lunges forward just enough to kiss him, all sharp edges and teeth. an argument. ]

[disproof]

[Strand's weight comes up against him all at once, one hand spearing Tim's bad wrist to the wall at his side--the other scraping around the base of his skull to keep it from slamming against the wall when Strand meets him tooth for tooth.

[This is stupid, biting at Tim's mouth like leaving a mark will remind him somehow that he's real. Stupid, knocking between his knees and pawing between pants and shirt urgently--like pinning down his skin will keep him here.]