Phil Connors (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
goodweather) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
come_sailaway2022-12-07 02:47 am
goodweather) wrote in come_sailaway2022-12-07 02:47 am
i've got a thousand one stories [open]
Who: Phil and you!
What: December catch-all (being tired, being chased by a piano, as you do)
When: Early/mid December
Where: John's, around, wherever, you know
Warnings: General quiet angsting about nightmares and being a widower and stress
Notes: Bracket is my default, but I'll match.
i. let me read you a story [META]
[ He is having so much fun, you guys.
There's just... a lot on his plate right now. There's a lot going on and he doesn't have the same support system he does at home, which means, he can't deal with it the way he normally would, which is just Talking To A Bunch Of People A Lot About It. Everyone he knows here either has much bigger things to worry about or isn't someone he can go to about this stuff. It's... fuck. Fuck! Fuck.
He's worried about Darcy, and he's worried about Maeve, and he's worried about SecUnit, and the wounds of his past have been split open and are gushing out nightmares and paranoia like nobody's god damn business, and everything feels like it's beyond him and most of the ship could just kill him if they wanted to so what can he do about it anyway and he's so far out of his league with everything here and he's effectively a fucking widower now because he can't go back home and his world will blow up or something if he tries and he will never see Punx again and he will never ever see Rita again, and his only cold comfort is that she wasn't left alone, and that somewhere out there she still exists, making her world a little better by being in it, but he will still never get to have back what he had. And February's in two months.
... But nevermind that. There's a wedding to prep for. ]
ii. let me read you a romance
iii. i will read, you will listen (john's)
iv. and this terrible night will pass (wildcard)
What: December catch-all (being tired, being chased by a piano, as you do)
When: Early/mid December
Where: John's, around, wherever, you know
Warnings: General quiet angsting about nightmares and being a widower and stress
Notes: Bracket is my default, but I'll match.
i. let me read you a story [META]
[ He is having so much fun, you guys.
There's just... a lot on his plate right now. There's a lot going on and he doesn't have the same support system he does at home, which means, he can't deal with it the way he normally would, which is just Talking To A Bunch Of People A Lot About It. Everyone he knows here either has much bigger things to worry about or isn't someone he can go to about this stuff. It's... fuck. Fuck! Fuck.
He's worried about Darcy, and he's worried about Maeve, and he's worried about SecUnit, and the wounds of his past have been split open and are gushing out nightmares and paranoia like nobody's god damn business, and everything feels like it's beyond him and most of the ship could just kill him if they wanted to so what can he do about it anyway and he's so far out of his league with everything here and he's effectively a fucking widower now because he can't go back home and his world will blow up or something if he tries and he will never see Punx again and he will never ever see Rita again, and his only cold comfort is that she wasn't left alone, and that somewhere out there she still exists, making her world a little better by being in it, but he will still never get to have back what he had. And February's in two months.
... But nevermind that. There's a wedding to prep for. ]
ii. let me read you a romance
[ Phil is around as he usually is, but he's... sluggish now, more than he'd been just a month ago. He seems to move a little slower, distracted a little more. More than once he nods off when he doesn't mean to. It isn't uncommon to see him slumped in a chair with a book open in his hand, or in the middle of whatever weird crafts project he'd been doing, or whatever else.
It's a little strange. Phil was the type to disappear at 10 PM and be up at 5 the next day. He'd never made a habit of this before. ]
iii. i will read, you will listen (john's)
[ That fucking piano's still at it. Phil, not one to be easily deterred, still practices regularly on the thing whenever it deigns to reappear in John's, peaceably inanimate.
His regularity does, however, mean that he's there more than once when the moment strikes to grow teeth. He's in the middle of crawling through this terrific passage of a Brubeck when suddenly it turns and snaps at his fingers. Phil yelps, jerking backwards, and scrambles to snatch his book from the music stand. ]
You have got to be kidding me! [ he barks, as he books it before the piano can decide to have chicken for dinner. ]
iv. and this terrible night will pass (wildcard)
[ got something else? hit me! ]
ii
About ten minutes later, things get heavy. First, there is a heavy sigh, and then there is a heavy weighted blanket on Phil. It is warm and has a slightly fuzzy cover and it smells like lavender and chamomile.
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“… ?”
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Okay. That's very sweet. He's going back to bed. See you in half an hour.
Phil pulls the blanket closer over his shoulders, puts his head down, and passes the hell out.
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Blinks again, seeing SecUnit. Ah, he hadn’t imagined it. He remembers now.
“Hi. Thanks for… this. And the blanket. Where did you get this?”
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"I wasn't going to...?" he starts in bewilderment, at the same time he remembers suddenly. Security of personnel. Does... is he supposed to count as personnel? Is this a whole ship thing, or is this because...
Either way, Phil's first instinct is to find the whole thing terribly sweet, so there's no helping the mirthful huff he gives as he shakes his head. "I'm sorry, I didn't even mean to. I don't try to make sleeping in public a habit. I've just been tired lately."
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You know how it is, you're leaving someone's house after a day spent together, and on your way out the door, they say text me when you get home and they mean I love you and you do remember to text because that's how you say I love you too?
Murderbot isn't not doing that right now. It isn't not saying I love you without using words that are claggy and heavy and get caught in its throat and make its circulatory pump speed up. It's worried about Phil, who is one of its
best friendscrewhumans.no subject
“No, no, the cabin’s fine, Rosalind is fine. I just… it’s—bad dreams and stress.”
He considers leaving it there, but… if there’s anyone he ought to be completely straight with, it’s probably SecUnit. Not that he’s just going to unload on it, either. Phil has to allow it to choose to hear it from him. Or not.
“… It’s… I won’t get into it if that’s not what you’re here for. I can handle it on my own either way, so don’t worry about me.”
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It tucks the book away in a pocket of its cargo pants (for you see, that's its own copy, not the library's).
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Phil leans back, pulling the blanket more firmly over his shoulders so it doesn't slide off. What a conversation to get into in the middle of the day, just after waking up.
"It's... I haven't died in a long time, and when I... well, back when it was normal for me, the thing is that every time I got back up, it was. Always in bed, at 6 AM sharp, without so much as a scratch. And then now, I die and come back on November 1st, and it's the exact same thing. I'm just somewhere else."
What day is it? he'd begged of Erin, the first person he saw. What day is it?
"It was like all of those old memories I thought I'd buried were... well, to speak in metaphor, breaking all the windows of my house and coming in. I didn't expect them, I didn't want them, and now they're here wrecking the place, and it's... giving me nightmares. Making me jumpy." A flippant turn of the head. "PTSD stuff."
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"The men who are getting married, they discovered that you don't need to leave someone in the bed they were in, to wake up after dying. You could arrange with your roommate to call me if you die, so I could bring your corpse somewhere else to wake up. If that would help, next time. Too late for this death, but we can prevent it in the future."
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Harmph. "I'd hate to make you carry my dead body. Rosalind isn't around much either, it's... kind of hard to contact her."
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I love you. I love you. I love you.no subject
I know. I love you too."The nightmares are just one thing, though. It's also..." A deep sigh. "Ever since the whole information share with the black binder, I've been... dealing with a thought. If I'm a copy, then... in my home world, there's, still a Phil with his wife. But I don't. And I can't go back. I'm."
His jaw sets. It's always difficult when you have to say it aloud.
"That makes me a widower. I've... been trying to not bring it up, not when there's a wedding coming up. No one needs a wedding downer on a wedding day."
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"I can understand not bringing it up with them specifically, but. Most people are capable of caring about multiple things. Of experiencing joy and sharing pain. Sometimes, even, at the same time. Are you planning on forcing yourself to attend the wedding?"
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"Forcing myself? Yeah, I plan on going, but nobody ever said anything about me forcing myself. I'm happy to attend. It's my friends' wedding. I've even been working on their wedding gift for the past month."
Something something what was that about caring and feeling about multiple things at the same time?
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"Even though it will cause you to feel pain?"
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"Yeah. I want them to be happy. I want them to be glad that I'm there instead of worrying that I'm not, and I want to celebrate this with them."