[That was a surprise. He didn't know Red made housecalls. Instead of answering, he pushes up from his spot on the back porch where he'd been sat for a few hours, and padded in to his cabin door. Opening it, he half steps out and glances down both ways until he sees Sweeney.]
Suppose neither of us havta go far huh. C'mon in. Mind the cat, he's the curious sort for new people.
[Pumpkin, a fatheaded orange cat steps out on cue and meows up at Raylan as he steps back in side. As soon as Sweeney got close enough, Pumpkin, being the brave cat he was, didn't hesitate in starting to sniff around the tall man's ankles.]
Sweeney's cleared half the distance by the time Raylan opens the door, and he has a whiskey bottle by the neck hanging at his side. He enters without further comment, and while he doesn't mind the cat, he doesn't drop to greet it either. Only then does he look back with an arched brow.
"How big a glass are we talkin'?"
Because Raylan can do the picking; Sweeney will do the pouring.
"I think coffee mugs'll do us just fine." Door closed, Raylan pads past Sweeney and into the kitchen, pulling down two mugs by their handles and gesturing towards the back door.
"Let's have a seat out there, huh? With the illusion of space and fresh air and shit. Hope you don't feel some kinda way about beaches."
He would lead them out onto a modest back porch, ceiling of it painted haint blue, and overlooking a small white sanded beach, complete with a bit of sea that lapped at it's edges. There was a small couch with a coffee table and two sunbeaten wooden chairs, one of which Raylan took as he set the mugs onto the table.
He pauses for only a moment at the sight beyond the door. It's still so strange to see cabins with 'outside' attached. The fucking houses are hard enough. But he doesn't seem displeased. Maybe wistful for a second, but he lets it go and turns his attention to the mugs.
"Been a while."
Sweeney does his best not to think about cliff jumping with Swamp Rat and the beach they sat on when she confessed to him what she was. Such a strange thing, how the smallest bit of snow on the wind could hold so much intimacy.
The mugs are filled comfortably, as if they held coffee instead. There's suspicion they will need to be refilling anyways. He puts the lid on the bottle and sets it on the table, taking up the other cup and the other chair. Sweeney slowly exhales. He doesn't look at Raylan when he speaks, and there's a sense of quiet weight in his voice.
"How ya holdin' up?" Sweeney means 'with Tim here', but breach talk isn't unwelcome.
Raylan couldn't help the faint lift of his smile at the amount upended into the cups, grateful for Sweeney's heavy pour, and he grabs the remaining mug. Taking a sip, Raylan hums at the question, eyes similarly lost out into the lie of a horizon in front of them.
"Is my not bein' dead yet good enough?" He glances over. "'Cause that's about where I'm at." He looks back at the view.
"I dunno, Red, honestly. Stuck somewhere between wantin' to rage or shut down, or just.." He sighs. "Gettin' so drunk I don't know which way is up."
Sweeney just listens, then slowly exhales through his nose, letting a moment hang before he answers, his eyes never leaving the water.
"Yeah."
The single word holds intense camaraderie; everything is just...too much.
"An' I died," he admits with a casual air and shrug of his head. It wasn't so bad. Not this time. By the way he speaks of it, he doesn't care that much; he's just presenting a fact.
"I got more bottles, if ya wanna go that last route."
"It'd be cruel and unusual punishment to rope you into that," he huffs, trying to keep his tone light. "Even though I ain't really supposed to drink like that alone."
Rules, ya know. Rules that he was certain he was going to break with enough stress and grief mounted on his shoulders, but for right now, he was still holding up. The whiskey in his hand and the company helped.
"You go down durin' the attack on Seattle?" He assumed so, but there were so many options this past time. Too many options.
He shakes his head as he cups the mug between his large hands. Sweeney wets his lip and squints at the horizon.
"Brother bit me. Partner put me down."
There's a intentional coolness in his tone; the situation simply summarized and free of the emotion it might have inflicted on him in other incarnations. What had happened had happened; there was no surprise that he'd meet an end like that; it was just the players that were unexpected.
"Shit," he replies quietly with a frown into his cup. "Worst goddamned nightmare. I don't think I got around to meetin' your brother. Don't think you got around to meetin' mine either but.. Glad you got to miss the fresh hell that came." That happened - Mason and Harkin hadn't been that close outside of the work they had to do together.
He swallows, clears his throat and pinches his brow.
"James.. Marcus.. Attacked the city. I ended up havin' to put him down with Silver's help. Not that it stopped the attack but.. Slowed it's drive.. I sure as hell hope we don't ever go back to bein' in that place again."
The silent shrug of his head towards Raylan suggests an empathy; an unspoken 'I hope so too'. Sweeney takes a slow breath and rubs his thumb on the side of the mug.
"You know Will? New fella; dark hair, soulful eyes, 'bout yea high?" He holds his hand at his chest where the man would come to if Sweeney was standing.
"No, haven't met him yet. Haven't so much as laid eyes on him, that I can recall. Spent the week or so before the breach tollin' so I haven't gotten out much. I'll keep my eyes out though. He alright? Like, as a person, he okay?"
It's a strangely succinct and comes without a moment's hesitation. Will is Good, no matter what he's done that Sweeney might not be aware of. It's something he feels instinctively. There's a short lull after, as his attention turns back to the water.
The surety makes Raylan smile crookedly. Red had the magic of smooth, he thought to himself, grateful to and for the taller man's ability to step over and ignore the shit puddle of pain that they both clearly walked though. It made things easier, caged some of the rattling grief around in his chest.
"Not often I've heard you come out so solidly for someone before. I think that's good. That you're holdin' onto that... Never had a sibling before this run, myself. Malcolm was-" He didn't know if he was welcome to present tense or not. Yes, the whole thing had brought him and the profiler closer, but he couldn't assume on Malcolm or Malcolm's life like that. It felt like a selfish kind of burden to put on the smaller, younger man.
"Well. Was Mason's brother. I'd be annoyed at it if I didn't give so much of a shit about Malcolm in the first place." Raylan swallows down his guilt for not seeing Malcolm in person yet with a wash of whiskey.
There's a pause, and Sweeney slowly licks his lip, weighing both of their lots before sliding his gaze Raylan's way.
"I won that hand."
There's a bit of humor in it, but he would much rather share affection with Will than Malcolm. The fact that the child version of the shrink had gotten Lugh to read the fucking Chronicles of Narnia out of patriarchal affection was crime enough. It's gross, and he tries not to think about it.
"Sorry 'bout yer man." He lowers his focus to his drink, not wanting to trap Raylan under scrutiny. Especially because he's clearly no longer talking about Malcolm.
"You..." Doing alright? Of course he fucking wasn't.
"...managin'?"
That's all either of them can do at the end of the day.
"'Bout time," came his almost automatic reply. He meant it too - Red had been given too many shit hands and dying wasn't a great way to end it but a brother was a hellva boon to come out of it with.
Raylan kept his eyes up and on the waterline but it wasn't for lack of attention. It was hard enough talking about it, in the round about turned head on kinda way that they did that somehow also managed to almost never look at the actual issue. He knew Red wouldn't give that kinda sentiment without meaning it and as much as the man struggled with the pain of watching other people be in love or have folks, saying as much was a lot.
"Ain't done anythin' stupid yet." That was a start, right? "Sure as shit ain't gonna be sleepin' right for the next couple of months... again.."
The laissez-faire attitude was the easiest mask to haul up, the gold standard and best practiced. But it only took a few long seconds, his jaw working despite himself and a glance down to consider downing the whole mug.
"I killed him twice. Inside a goddamned month. Can't even look at him without wantin' to drink myself into a puddle."
He took a drink then, and a healthy one, but didn't hit bottom yet.
It's one of the biggest reasons he isn't looking for it here. There's too much risk for too much pain. He already carries the memory of running a spear through the people he cares about, and he didn't actually hurt them.
Sweeney's voice tells of his empathy and support.
"This place will tear ya up, but yer man...he loves you." He shakes his head before peeking at Raylan.
"I ain't suggestin' ya should just get o'er it. That's bullshit. Ain't sayin' he's gotta either. It just...is. It's a risk that comes with love..." He slides his gaze skyward.
"...in this fuckin' place." Sweeney presses his lips and turns his focus back to the water.
"You can have someone ta help ya bear it. Ta suffer it with ya." He tips his head in a small shrug.
"But it means both of ya will be sufferin' all the more when it comes ta a cost like that."
Was that how love worked? In Raylan's experience, it was fleeting and painful and.. lonely sometimes, emotionally oceans apart, and what he had with James was radically different. It didn't belay Raylan's fears that James would leave, like every new crumb of happiness was always moments of being snatched away.
Every day with James was a new learning experience. Every day, James and Raylan were reaffirming that they weren't going to go anywhere.
"I know life is sufferin', but.. I dunno that he can suffer with me when it comes with havin' put him down, or havin' him get shot with my gun while I'm bleedin' out with a slit throat on the floor. And I gotta ask how likely it all is back in the real world. If I fail him there, there's no comin' back. This is all.. supposed to be.. Shit, I dunno. Practice."
Practice he wasn't doing well on or with.
Raylan sighs and shakes his head, and empties his cup. It's set down between them in silent request for more.
"This view is the Caribbean, ya know-" he says, pivoting a little because he can't just sit in the conversation with it's overwhelming emotion. "James's idea."
Sweeney lets the man speak, then lets him turn their attention to the ocean, then lingers in silence a few breaths longer. His focus drops from the surface of the water to the surface of his whiskey.
"How would ya feel, if yer positions're reversed?" It's an honest question, quietly presented out of respect to the nature of the subject.
Raylan's head bobs a little back and forth as he considers the question.
"I still don't know that I'd be able to suffer with him in the same way. There wouldn't be blame, at least not for the breach, but the vampire-" He gestures uselessly. "I don't know. I considered doin' all that behind his back, keepin' him safe but I also know that woulda done more damage. So the real question is, which damage would have been worse; him dying next to me or havin' someone you love go do something they believed in and dying alone for it."
He doesn't have all the details on the situation, or even enough, probably. But that doesn't change the biggest factor.
"Not sure I'm the one ta answer that." For a hundred reasons, but most importantly:
"I've spent a bit too much time doin' the latter."
It's not the same, of course, nothing remotely the same, but there's no way for him to avoid the image of Dead Wife slipping out the Baron's door. The way that abandonment ate away at everything, and proved that there was only one good thing left to attempt, even though Sweeney knew he'd die without his Coin in his pocket.
He hums a short note of acknowledgement, and understanding. Another few beats pass before he speaks.
"I had to make a choice not to do the latter.. After havin' done it. I think it woulda broken the relationship." So it's obvious why he bends his rules for James. Some things were worth unnatural changes. He couldn't lose the Captain for something so easily remedied.
"So I gotta hope that puts me in good graces." He takes and lets a deep sigh with a draft of his whiskey. "Anyway. We're all back now, whole. Suppose that's all that matters, right?"
He glances over. "How're you managin'. With our new addition."
Sweeney does his best to follow along, but his own thoughts and experiences have started to make things murkier. Raylan's conclusion plucks him back to the present, and his brow lifts.
"Hm?"
It's obvious that he isn't sure which addition the marshal's referring to. Could be Gutterson. Or Dead Wife. Or something else that he's too preoccupied to be coming up with on his own.
OOC Note for me: This thread happens before Maggie's call.
He hadn't seen Tim, but Maggie had been kind enough to warn him right after the breach. Sweeney is quiet for a long moment, but then remembers Raylan and shifts to refill his glass, almost to the rim. What's the point of not doing so? Just means less time for your hand on the bottle. Going to finish it off, one way or the other.
Sweeney sets it down and sits back, still unsure of what to say about it. But he damn well knows that he shouldn't feel about it, and his neutral affect speaks to that effort.
"Is what it is. Nothin' ta do ta change it." He swallows and wets his lip.
"He dunn't know what happened b'tween us, so it ain't like I gotta right ta hold anythin' against him." No matter how much he might want to.
"New folk get'a pass." A recited mantra that's seen a lot of practice, as of late.
It was for the sake of not spilling, Raylan would say, that he sips a little off the top, bearing his teeth as he swallows it down and nods softly.
"An awfully advanced way of thinkin' about things. Considerin'."
Considering how hard it had been, how badly Sweeney had fractured. Raylan still remembered him drunk, roaming the halls, looking for Something. The way it had dwarfed Raylan's pain like a giant and forced him to re-perspective the whole thing.
"I'd be lyin' if I said I wasn't glad to hear it." In spite of everything, Raylan trusted what he knew about Tim, even if it was in direct conflict with what Tim Gutterson of the past had done.
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Suppose neither of us havta go far huh. C'mon in. Mind the cat, he's the curious sort for new people.
[Pumpkin, a fatheaded orange cat steps out on cue and meows up at Raylan as he steps back in side. As soon as Sweeney got close enough, Pumpkin, being the brave cat he was, didn't hesitate in starting to sniff around the tall man's ankles.]
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"How big a glass are we talkin'?"
Because Raylan can do the picking; Sweeney will do the pouring.
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"Let's have a seat out there, huh? With the illusion of space and fresh air and shit. Hope you don't feel some kinda way about beaches."
He would lead them out onto a modest back porch, ceiling of it painted haint blue, and overlooking a small white sanded beach, complete with a bit of sea that lapped at it's edges. There was a small couch with a coffee table and two sunbeaten wooden chairs, one of which Raylan took as he set the mugs onto the table.
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"Been a while."
Sweeney does his best not to think about cliff jumping with Swamp Rat and the beach they sat on when she confessed to him what she was. Such a strange thing, how the smallest bit of snow on the wind could hold so much intimacy.
The mugs are filled comfortably, as if they held coffee instead. There's suspicion they will need to be refilling anyways. He puts the lid on the bottle and sets it on the table, taking up the other cup and the other chair. Sweeney slowly exhales. He doesn't look at Raylan when he speaks, and there's a sense of quiet weight in his voice.
"How ya holdin' up?" Sweeney means 'with Tim here', but breach talk isn't unwelcome.
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"Is my not bein' dead yet good enough?" He glances over. "'Cause that's about where I'm at." He looks back at the view.
"I dunno, Red, honestly. Stuck somewhere between wantin' to rage or shut down, or just.." He sighs. "Gettin' so drunk I don't know which way is up."
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"Yeah."
The single word holds intense camaraderie; everything is just...too much.
"An' I died," he admits with a casual air and shrug of his head. It wasn't so bad. Not this time. By the way he speaks of it, he doesn't care that much; he's just presenting a fact.
"I got more bottles, if ya wanna go that last route."
He takes a sizeable swig from his mug.
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Rules, ya know. Rules that he was certain he was going to break with enough stress and grief mounted on his shoulders, but for right now, he was still holding up. The whiskey in his hand and the company helped.
"You go down durin' the attack on Seattle?" He assumed so, but there were so many options this past time. Too many options.
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"Brother bit me. Partner put me down."
There's a intentional coolness in his tone; the situation simply summarized and free of the emotion it might have inflicted on him in other incarnations. What had happened had happened; there was no surprise that he'd meet an end like that; it was just the players that were unexpected.
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He swallows, clears his throat and pinches his brow.
"James.. Marcus.. Attacked the city. I ended up havin' to put him down with Silver's help. Not that it stopped the attack but.. Slowed it's drive.. I sure as hell hope we don't ever go back to bein' in that place again."
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"You know Will? New fella; dark hair, soulful eyes, 'bout yea high?" He holds his hand at his chest where the man would come to if Sweeney was standing.
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"No, haven't met him yet. Haven't so much as laid eyes on him, that I can recall. Spent the week or so before the breach tollin' so I haven't gotten out much. I'll keep my eyes out though. He alright? Like, as a person, he okay?"
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It's a strangely succinct and comes without a moment's hesitation. Will is Good, no matter what he's done that Sweeney might not be aware of. It's something he feels instinctively. There's a short lull after, as his attention turns back to the water.
"He's my brother." Present tense.
The one that bit me.
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"Not often I've heard you come out so solidly for someone before. I think that's good. That you're holdin' onto that... Never had a sibling before this run, myself. Malcolm was-" He didn't know if he was welcome to present tense or not. Yes, the whole thing had brought him and the profiler closer, but he couldn't assume on Malcolm or Malcolm's life like that. It felt like a selfish kind of burden to put on the smaller, younger man.
"Well. Was Mason's brother. I'd be annoyed at it if I didn't give so much of a shit about Malcolm in the first place." Raylan swallows down his guilt for not seeing Malcolm in person yet with a wash of whiskey.
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"I won that hand."
There's a bit of humor in it, but he would much rather share affection with Will than Malcolm. The fact that the child version of the shrink had gotten Lugh to read the fucking Chronicles of Narnia out of patriarchal affection was crime enough. It's gross, and he tries not to think about it.
"Sorry 'bout yer man." He lowers his focus to his drink, not wanting to trap Raylan under scrutiny. Especially because he's clearly no longer talking about Malcolm.
"You..." Doing alright? Of course he fucking wasn't.
"...managin'?"
That's all either of them can do at the end of the day.
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Raylan kept his eyes up and on the waterline but it wasn't for lack of attention. It was hard enough talking about it, in the round about turned head on kinda way that they did that somehow also managed to almost never look at the actual issue. He knew Red wouldn't give that kinda sentiment without meaning it and as much as the man struggled with the pain of watching other people be in love or have folks, saying as much was a lot.
"Ain't done anythin' stupid yet." That was a start, right? "Sure as shit ain't gonna be sleepin' right for the next couple of months... again.."
The laissez-faire attitude was the easiest mask to haul up, the gold standard and best practiced. But it only took a few long seconds, his jaw working despite himself and a glance down to consider downing the whole mug.
"I killed him twice. Inside a goddamned month. Can't even look at him without wantin' to drink myself into a puddle."
He took a drink then, and a healthy one, but didn't hit bottom yet.
"Surprised he doesn't hate me, honestly."
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It's one of the biggest reasons he isn't looking for it here. There's too much risk for too much pain. He already carries the memory of running a spear through the people he cares about, and he didn't actually hurt them.
Sweeney's voice tells of his empathy and support.
"This place will tear ya up, but yer man...he loves you." He shakes his head before peeking at Raylan.
"I ain't suggestin' ya should just get o'er it. That's bullshit. Ain't sayin' he's gotta either. It just...is. It's a risk that comes with love..." He slides his gaze skyward.
"...in this fuckin' place." Sweeney presses his lips and turns his focus back to the water.
"You can have someone ta help ya bear it. Ta suffer it with ya." He tips his head in a small shrug.
"But it means both of ya will be sufferin' all the more when it comes ta a cost like that."
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Every day with James was a new learning experience. Every day, James and Raylan were reaffirming that they weren't going to go anywhere.
"I know life is sufferin', but.. I dunno that he can suffer with me when it comes with havin' put him down, or havin' him get shot with my gun while I'm bleedin' out with a slit throat on the floor. And I gotta ask how likely it all is back in the real world. If I fail him there, there's no comin' back. This is all.. supposed to be.. Shit, I dunno. Practice."
Practice he wasn't doing well on or with.
Raylan sighs and shakes his head, and empties his cup. It's set down between them in silent request for more.
"This view is the Caribbean, ya know-" he says, pivoting a little because he can't just sit in the conversation with it's overwhelming emotion. "James's idea."
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"How would ya feel, if yer positions're reversed?" It's an honest question, quietly presented out of respect to the nature of the subject.
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"I still don't know that I'd be able to suffer with him in the same way. There wouldn't be blame, at least not for the breach, but the vampire-" He gestures uselessly. "I don't know. I considered doin' all that behind his back, keepin' him safe but I also know that woulda done more damage. So the real question is, which damage would have been worse; him dying next to me or havin' someone you love go do something they believed in and dying alone for it."
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"Not sure I'm the one ta answer that." For a hundred reasons, but most importantly:
"I've spent a bit too much time doin' the latter."
It's not the same, of course, nothing remotely the same, but there's no way for him to avoid the image of Dead Wife slipping out the Baron's door. The way that abandonment ate away at everything, and proved that there was only one good thing left to attempt, even though Sweeney knew he'd die without his Coin in his pocket.
And then he did.
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"I had to make a choice not to do the latter.. After havin' done it. I think it woulda broken the relationship." So it's obvious why he bends his rules for James. Some things were worth unnatural changes. He couldn't lose the Captain for something so easily remedied.
"So I gotta hope that puts me in good graces." He takes and lets a deep sigh with a draft of his whiskey. "Anyway. We're all back now, whole. Suppose that's all that matters, right?"
He glances over. "How're you managin'. With our new addition."
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"Hm?"
It's obvious that he isn't sure which addition the marshal's referring to. Could be Gutterson. Or Dead Wife. Or something else that he's too preoccupied to be coming up with on his own.
OOC Note for me: This thread happens before Maggie's call.
"Unless somehow you've managed to miss him poppin' back on board."
He doubted it.
Re: OOC Note for me: This thread happens before Maggie's call.
Sweeney sets it down and sits back, still unsure of what to say about it. But he damn well knows that he shouldn't feel about it, and his neutral affect speaks to that effort.
"Is what it is. Nothin' ta do ta change it." He swallows and wets his lip.
"He dunn't know what happened b'tween us, so it ain't like I gotta right ta hold anythin' against him." No matter how much he might want to.
"New folk get'a pass." A recited mantra that's seen a lot of practice, as of late.
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"An awfully advanced way of thinkin' about things. Considerin'."
Considering how hard it had been, how badly Sweeney had fractured. Raylan still remembered him drunk, roaming the halls, looking for Something. The way it had dwarfed Raylan's pain like a giant and forced him to re-perspective the whole thing.
"I'd be lyin' if I said I wasn't glad to hear it." In spite of everything, Raylan trusted what he knew about Tim, even if it was in direct conflict with what Tim Gutterson of the past had done.
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