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.
His eyes go distant, then darken, finding his glass with the hopes of solace. It isn't there. There's more quiet before Sweeney slowly exhales.
"Then that's one less thing fer you ta worry about," he assures him, his focus sharpening with a press of his lips; his mind coming back to the present.
"Gotta lot more practice at not makin' a fuss, so." Sweeney shrugs a shoulder and lifts his drink, though he finishes his thought before taking the swig.
Oh, Raylan was still going to worry about it. It was a nice sentiment, he would argue the correct one, but injured hearts were capable of swift changes. That worry was balanced between what he knew Sweeney's dedication to his word, and that's where the real bet of it all lay.
"Makes me worry less, but.. He might not remember but you do. I do. Maggie does. Him not rememberin' doesn't mean that shit didn't happen or that it needs to be tucked anywhere." A beat passes, he winces, and bobs his head.
"Maybe some slight tucking. My point is, givin' him a pass ain't gotta be you layin' down and taking another strike without argument."
Sweeney's gaze lifts from his cup to Raylan, and he blinks once. The question is simple.
"What's there ta argue?"
That's the heart of the thing. He knows he could rage. It's what he's done. What he always does. Nothing changes except the extra pain that comes with his impotency.
"I warned him about what happened, when I first saw him. Gave him the.. bare bones of it all. Thought it only fair to let him know what might be comin'." So Tim Did Know, but it wasn't his choices. New People got a pass and all.
"It is, and there's isn't a point to arguing against it but that doesn't stop some folk from takin' that option." It was meant as a compliment, his previous comments.
"A good, big ass step in the right direction... Tim's a good guy. I-" His lips press together as his eyes drop into his glass.
"I know you know he had his own issues. I think the shit he went through.. I think it.. Broke him a bit. Bent him further than he could handle, and I-" Another spoonful of guilt is swallowed down.
"It's a kindness that he don't remember. For his own sanity."
"Yeah." Sweeney mutters the word with a distance in his eyes.
Tim's blessed to be free of it, but he isn't. He can still feel the sticky slick of the blood-coated spear. When his thoughts get caught there, he can still feel the aching want to kiss Swamp Rat's last breath from her, their bodies joined by wood and metal, so close he always laments the moment lost.
He kills his mug off in one go, then picks up the bottle to see the vacancy rectified.
"He's gotta chance here, this time. Hopefully more sand beneath his feet b'fore it slides."
"Ain't that the truth." Raylan takes and lets a big sigh, eyes drifting out over the horizon.
"I ain't one for Wishin'-" He knew better than to be so frivilous with it, sitting next to Sweeney. "-so I'll stick to thinkin' we all need a big ass break. Then again, that might just be me bein' old about it. The normal ain't terribly exciting, but at least we get to sit a little longer in our own skin."
Sit and drink and watch a few stars and planets go buy.
He rubs his head, making a fresh mess of his hair.
"Course we need it." That's not hard to deduce.
"Ain't gonna get it."
Sweeney's damn sure of that. Not given the breach and everything surrounding it. He's so fucking tired. But he's doing his best to take some level of comfort in Harkin's philosophy, clinging to the mindset that doesn't require constant pain, just because you're constantly in shit that inflicts it.
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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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His eyes go distant, then darken, finding his glass with the hopes of solace. It isn't there. There's more quiet before Sweeney slowly exhales.
"Then that's one less thing fer you ta worry about," he assures him, his focus sharpening with a press of his lips; his mind coming back to the present.
"Gotta lot more practice at not makin' a fuss, so." Sweeney shrugs a shoulder and lifts his drink, though he finishes his thought before taking the swig.
"Just one more thing ta tuck in that belt."
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"Makes me worry less, but.. He might not remember but you do. I do. Maggie does. Him not rememberin' doesn't mean that shit didn't happen or that it needs to be tucked anywhere." A beat passes, he winces, and bobs his head.
"Maybe some slight tucking. My point is, givin' him a pass ain't gotta be you layin' down and taking another strike without argument."
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"What's there ta argue?"
That's the heart of the thing. He knows he could rage. It's what he's done. What he always does. Nothing changes except the extra pain that comes with his impotency.
It's better to just accept and move on.
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"If you were childish, there'd be plenty."
He pauses to take a drink of his whiskey.
"I warned him about what happened, when I first saw him. Gave him the.. bare bones of it all. Thought it only fair to let him know what might be comin'." So Tim Did Know, but it wasn't his choices. New People got a pass and all.
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"Fair," Sweeney agrees.
"But I still don't see the point in arguin'. Inn't the whole point'a this place that we better ourselves an' not be cunts fer no reason?"
Because it feels like punishing the new Gutterson for the old's sins is a pretty dick move.
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"A good, big ass step in the right direction... Tim's a good guy. I-" His lips press together as his eyes drop into his glass.
"I know you know he had his own issues. I think the shit he went through.. I think it.. Broke him a bit. Bent him further than he could handle, and I-" Another spoonful of guilt is swallowed down.
"It's a kindness that he don't remember. For his own sanity."
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Tim's blessed to be free of it, but he isn't. He can still feel the sticky slick of the blood-coated spear. When his thoughts get caught there, he can still feel the aching want to kiss Swamp Rat's last breath from her, their bodies joined by wood and metal, so close he always laments the moment lost.
He kills his mug off in one go, then picks up the bottle to see the vacancy rectified.
"He's gotta chance here, this time. Hopefully more sand beneath his feet b'fore it slides."
They all need as much as they can get.
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"I ain't one for Wishin'-" He knew better than to be so frivilous with it, sitting next to Sweeney. "-so I'll stick to thinkin' we all need a big ass break. Then again, that might just be me bein' old about it. The normal ain't terribly exciting, but at least we get to sit a little longer in our own skin."
Sit and drink and watch a few stars and planets go buy.
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"Course we need it." That's not hard to deduce.
"Ain't gonna get it."
Sweeney's damn sure of that. Not given the breach and everything surrounding it. He's so fucking tired. But he's doing his best to take some level of comfort in Harkin's philosophy, clinging to the mindset that doesn't require constant pain, just because you're constantly in shit that inflicts it.
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/end