entrancelogs | [CLOSED]

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Who: Dan Palmer & Evelyn O'Connell
Where: Just outside the library and wherever else they go.
When: May 17
Rating: PG
Summary: Sometimes stupid things you did come back to haunt you. Sometimes they stick around for the rest of your life to remind you of just how dumb you were.
Warnings: Talk of drug use.

The Story:

[It hits him when he's leaving the library at some god-awful time in the morning.

When Dan is actually going into the library for a book, and not to see if Evelyn is there, he finds it easier to go in the small hours when people are less likely to be around (or less likely to be paying attention), if only to avoid having to answer the inevitable questions that come his way simply through the fact that he will never look like someone who really belongs in a library.

He draws his breath in sharply and the spine of the book hitting the floor rattles in a way that normal noises simply shouldn't as it slips from fingers suddenly racked with faint spasms. He mutters 'ah, shit' and knows if he tries to bend down to pick it up he's going to faint, or throw up or something equally embarrassing and high on the list of things he doesn't want to do in this particular location (or any other, if he can help it). What he does instead, to avoid other unpleasant eventualities, is plant his back to the wall beside the library door and sink to the floor with one hand pushed into his hair, while his forehead grows clammy under his palm and he waits for the nausea to pass.

It's faint, so much better than it was years ago, but still enough that sitting down becomes a necessity. The nausea, he can ignore. The tremors and muscle twinges, he can ignore those too. What he can't ignore is the sweeping headache and dizziness that makes any room look like someone just installed a disco ball.

Dan was a stupid kid in the past, and the past never lets him forget it.]

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[Evelyn doesn't sleep well, and she freely acknowledges the fact when caught in the act (at any other time she would deny it, and do so poorly). The rote wandering places ought to have ruts in the floors by now, the same meandering paths over and over again through the gardens, the grounds, the stacks. Well-worn and well-loved, for all that they have taken, because at present they are all that she has left.

By this point she knows the library well enough to navigate it with her eyes closed - and has, while sleepwalking - rubbing at one cheek as she putters down the corridor with every intention of spending the wee hours in her work area, formatting and reformatting, transcribing new notes into new files for new faces. With a robe wrapped tightly around her, one arm crossed over her middle, Evelyn nudges the door open and starts as it nudges an outstretched leg.]

Oh! [Shutting the door behind her she is simultaneously relieved and concerned to recognise the man slumped against the wall.] You gave me a fright, Dan, for Heaven's sa-

...ke. Are...are you all right?

Hmm...

[Of all the people to find him sitting here momentarily looking like death, it was the one he would simultaneously least want to see him like this.. and the only one he would really trust to. He bumps the back of his head against the wall and looks up at her, eyes clear enough of any glassiness that might suggest a drunken stupor but still.. entirely uncomfortable.]

Will be. Jus' gimme a few minutes.

[A few minutes for the waves of nausea to stop so he can stumble back to his room and sleep off the rest of the symptoms. The exhaustion is the worst part.]

Don' worry. You jus'.. keep on doin' what you're doin'.

[She's not going to do either of those things. He knows that.]

[Of all the people Evelyn expected to see indisposed in the library this early in the morning, none of the potential candidates would have been Dan. Dan, who almost always has himself together, who also isn't a reading man by any stretch of the imagination but does have a history of being out this late. She might have anticipated he would hit the bar, not the books.]

Don't be ridiculous.

[She says indignantly, breathlessly, moving to his side and falling to her knees. Legs curled under her she hastily presses the back of her hand to his forehead, clammy with sweat but no real fever burning through his skin. He appears exhausted and wan, as though he is suffering the 'flu, or has some sort of stomach ailment.]

You look awful, [Evelyn murmurs, fingers up under his jaw to feel at his pulse. It's a mite too rapid, but perhaps not dangerously so. Her other hand cups a stubbled cheek, disconcerted by the chills and the muscles in his limbs as they seem to twitch and spasm.] Do you know what's wrong? Have you taken ill?

Edited 2016-06-19 04:07 (UTC)

I knew y' were gonna say that. [He mutters, shifting with faint but visible discomfort as if to give her more space on a floor that has more than enough room to accommodate them both. His expression scrunches up slightly under the touch of her hand and he knows exactly how he looks, yet can't bring himself to be embarrassed about it.

Both hands press to the floor to bring some pause to the twitching in his fingers and he straightens his back against the wall.]

I'm fine, really, [He tells her, and he's never lied to her before. It's not really a lie now, though it certainly looks like one.] 'M not ill, anyway, jus'... Look, I was a really stupid kid, yeah? This is how I pay for it.

[He's fine, of course, and Evelyn would roll her eyes if she wasn't so concerned with the way that he's moving just to make it appear as though it isn't all as bad as his grimaces would imply. Dan shifts and Evelyn sits at his side, close, but not so much so that the contact might cause him any discomfort. Very gently, she pries the hand nearest her off the floor and laces its fingers in hers, attempting to provide some semblance of stability while he shivers.]

Everyone is stupid when they're young.

[Evelyn speaks from experience, providing a mild distraction in the thumb that rubs over his. If he isn't actually ill she won't push for a diagnosis, but Dan already knows the origin of what wracks him so late at night.]

Some more than others, and... [Softer, she interrupts herself.] Hey. Look at me. What happened?

[For a long moment he looks at her and almost seems wary. His fingers stay lax in her grip, half way towards a total rejection of the offered comfort. He glances away, free hand curling against the cool floor and decides that of all things to hide from someone he's come to trust so strongly, this is not the place to start.

He holds her hand, bringing it up to the top of his thigh to clasp it between his palms.]

The first time I hit New Reno, I was eighteen. I thought I could make it on my own. Was there 'bout a week b'fore I fell in with the wrong people. [She's seen the marks on his arms, the tracks in the skin. They tell a story just like every other scar on him.]

Drugs. Lots of 'em. There was one called 'jet', made y' feel invincible. Real short fuse on it though, so y'd take more of it. Mix it up with other things. I got so messed up a few times I woke up not knowin' where I was.

[His voice is soft and level, low if only to avoid being overheard by anyone who might walk by. He shoots Evie a rueful look.]

Got off it eventually, but it's a hell of a drug. Reckon it did some permanent damage.

[Patience is not a robust quality of hers, but Dan is treated to a rare show of it with she attentions pointedly secured on his story as he speaks, slowly at first, but gaining momentum with each word that passes his lips. They begin sluggishly until he finds his stride, and the question was more of a distraction from his current predicament than one born of sheer curiosity. It serves both purposes. Evelyn looks down at their hands, urged into his space by the motion, shoulder touching shoulder.

The drugs she might have anticipated, having recognised similar (newer) scars on Victor's forearms, having seen him tie a tourniquet about his bicep, relief sagging into his narrow frame. Both of them indulged recreationally but its side-effects are so much more severe here, spreading through Dan's muscles so many years after the abuse.

She sighs through her nose as the thought of a younger version of him, dragged out of his senses by a substance of which she's never heard tell. Permanent damage, decades later. Evelyn reaches over with her free hand to push the damp hair away from his forehead, cradling his cheek once more.]

You were a stupid boy. [She confirms just as softly, a mournful touch to the edges of her smile.] We were all like that at one time.

[It's important to ground it in facts, like an explanation for the level of stupidity somehow excuses it. Other things are more difficult to get into than this, but complicated and personal topics are always more difficult to approach and almost always given the circular treatment that he now aptly demonstrates. He can be direct in the now, about topics not being dredged up from his past and laid out like they're something fresh, but this always feels different. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

It's that distaste that has him shifting away from Evie's hand this time, frowning not in annoyance at her but rather at the recollection of his own idiocy.]

There's limits, Evie. T' what's acceptable t' put into that category.

[He draws his hands free, gives a small shake of his head to clear it then picks up the book he'd dropped. With that in hand, he pushes himself up to his feet and exhales briefly.]

Right. Can't sit on the floor all damn night.

[He isn't telling her everything.

He isn't obligated to do so, but when Dan pulls himself away to the cessation of all contact Evelyn realises that she's stuck her finger into a festering wound, his half-grimace a tell that she is neither wanted nor needed. Dan has developed a habit of casually strolling around the meat of a conversation and he does the very same here, perhaps on more violent terms than he has in the past but no less similar.

Getting to his feet he changes the subject and Evelyn bites back a protest of concern, for both the crux of his remembering and the fact that he can't possibly have recovered from the episode. Not yet. On the floor Evelyn wrings her hands; while accustomed to treading untraveled paths and venturing into uncharted territory the sudden distance - so different from all their previous exchanges - feels like a chasm yawning wide between them. Her own transgressions cannot be easily filed away under "stupid mistakes," no matter how young she was.]

I'm sorry. [Using the wall Evelyn very slowly stands and hazards,] I overstepped.

[For a moment she seems to consider the merit in bowing out where her company is superfluous, but arrogance breeds tenacity.]

B-But you shouldn't be walking about in your condition-

[It's a lot to tell.

As she stands, he lightly touches her elbow. He's leaning on the wall and he knows she's right but he can't very well stay here when someone he trusts far less than Evelyn might come along and start asking about his condition. He isn't angry with her, and nor does he want to be without her company, but she's venturing into topics that he's never tried to discuss with anyone before.]

Y' care. I know y' do.

[While not recovered, he's been through this enough times to know where his limits are. He'll make it back to his room. Barely. If he's careful.

He plants a hand on her slim shoulder and flickers a quick smile in her direction. Though it's small and brief, it isn't lacking any of its usual warmth.]

C'mon. You can help me back.

[Evelyn cares too much and to her own detriment, going so far as to patch the holes in others with pieces of herself. This wouldn't be the first time she pushed to help someone else and it won't be the last - she half-anticipates Dan asking her to leave, but his fingers graze her elbow instead. Her shoulder.

How ignorant art thou in thy pride of wisdom...]

Glad to see you've come to your senses,

[she sniffs, internally aware that she wouldn't have let him sit here alone if that was the decision he made. Rather gingerly, she moves his hand so that his arm is draped about her shoulders, because if he topples over she'd much rather have a firm grasp on him. (Evelyn may be comparatively small, but she is sturdier than she looks.)]

And it's about time I returned the favour.

Don't push yer luck. [He points out wryly, leaning a portion of his weight against her slim frame but still steadily carrying most of it himself. The stability is more of a necessary feature of this arrangement - he doesn't much rate the idea of ending up walking into a wall.

Regardless of her thoughts on the matter, he's personally assured that he could have chased her off if he'd wanted to.. but that would have required upsetting her to a degree that he didn't want to intentionally approach.

It's a short while of silence later that he speaks, his thumb idly moving along the spine of the book in his free hand. The other rubs a single sweep across Evelyn's shoulder, fingers grasping loosely.]

It's somethin' that happens an' it gets dealt with by whatever means I got available at the time. That's just how it is.

[Evelyn has a wry remark to that, but holds her protests for his sake. Not wanting to exacerbate whatever agonising sensations Dan is currently experiencing, she adjusts his arm - oddly hot, he's still sticky - around her and they make their way out into the hall quietly.

Dan is still clutching the book; a cursory glance down and Evelyn catches a glimpse of -les Dickens.]

What happens if you're in the middle of a firefight.

[A rhetorical question, but the point still stands. He already suffers from sleeplessness, Evelyn has seen him around in the stacks, and he her. Talk of their respective night issues, whether they are terrors or insomnia, has yet to arise and she almost hopes it never does if only to save Dan the time and herself the ache.

She shifts the arm around his middle, fingers curling supportively into sweat-damp knit.]

...what were you reading?

I keep fightin'. Run, if I can. Not so proud I don't know when I'm beat.

[Thankfully, it isn't a situation he's ended up in very often. He thinks it's the rush that stops it when it might take hold, the pulse of adrenaline that sharpens his focus and narrows everything down to each individual moment. She probably already knew the answer - limited options once again - but it gave him something to talk about.

He lifts the book, revealing the title as he looks down at it.]

Great Expectations. [Still a difficult read, but it's become the thing he's challenging himself with.] Didn't think y'd mind if I borrowed it.

[The walk isn't a long one, a short jaunt from the library to his rooms on the first floor, the proximity not unlike her own chambers to the books. It's enough time to mull over his response.]

Dickens is dense, even for me, [she laughs breathlessly, remembering how cumbersome it was for a younger Evelyn to plod her way through Bleak House (admittedly, the title alone did not inspire much confidence).] But I always thought Pip was charming, if simple.

[There's something unabashedly cruel in itself, to place someone else upon a pedestal, to expect them to meet your purported expectations of their social grace, their candour, their geniality. While Evelyn never related to Estella she is altogether too familiar with being seen as an idea, rather than a person. One must sympathise with a great deal of literary women, because they are so wickedly represented by men.

She slows as they reach Dan's door, prolonging the inevitable.]

Are you enjoying it?

Yeah, he's simple enough.

[The journey doesn't take long enough for good conversation, and even when they reach the door he idles with his arm around her shoulder and the book held up as if it might form its own barrier between them and the inevitable.] Didn't get too far yet. He's talkin' to the convict in the graveyard.

[He looks at her and smiles again, sliding his arm free to reach for the door handle and open the door. They are immediately greeted by Oscar, who escapes briefly into the corridor and sniffs around their feet before bounding back inside at a sharp whistle from his master.]

You uh, you wanna come in fer a few minutes?

[Her shoulder is relinquished when Dan acquires a steadying force with the doorknob, come in, for a few minutes. She shouldn't. The warmth and the company is tempting, but she shouldn't.

Evelyn hovers in a space of uncertainty - it's late, he's not well, she's only wearing her nightgown and robe - and accepts the excuses for what they are: truths, but not necessarily facts that would hinder her ability to enter his rooms this early in the morning. Worrying at the threshold for a moment too long she finally nods in agreement, a great sigh expelled from somewhere deep within her.]

I don't want to impose, but I think I should.

[Loitering in his doorway looks even more conspicuous, so Evelyn bites the bullet and steps in after him. She makes idle shoo-ing motions for Dan to sit.]

Is there any food or drink that might help you?

Nothin' you'd want t' see me eat.

[He says this wryly, recalling their previous conversation in regards to the 'local cuisine' in Dan's own world. Though, he's mostly joking - food doesn't help with this, not really. At best he'll be able to keep it down.

Subtly using a chair, a cabinet and the back of the couch as aids to keep himself upright he drops down onto the couch and pets Oscar when the animal sets his head on his master's knees. Dan clicks his tongue lightly against the roof of his mouth and silently reassures the dog that he's just fine, then glances at Evie and nods towards a seat.]

You warm enough? Can't really tell in this place, 'm always cold.

Hmm.

[Evelyn hums with something that isn't entirely amusement, incapable of forgetting what sort of culinary horrors to which Dan has been subjected. Aimlessly puttering around the living area she refrains from making audible note of his current state as he props himself up strategically before settling on the sofa, dog's snout in his hands.

She turns on the ball of her foot and smiles thinly, because she has experienced constant cold since her return on the beach. Presumably not being alive manifests itself in a slightly lower body temperature at all times, and Evelyn was already prone to chills. The desert is a different kind of climate entirely.]

I am, as well. [She seats herself next to him on the couch, unwilling to give up proximity if it means not being able to help in some way.] I miss the sand, and heat. The weather here has always been so...I wouldn't say dreary, but mild by comparison. Boring.

[That she keeps quiet on the issue is something that he silently appreciates. It's a shocking thing to see, he knows, but you see worse on the streets of Freeside and Dan is used to witnessing the worst that humanity has to offer. You haven't seen a true drug addict until you've seen a Fiend who can't get a fix.

He continues gently fussing his concerned pet as she speaks, giving a small and understanding nod.] Makes me miss the storms. Hell, even the radiation storms.

[Green lightning. You'll never see anything else like it.

He falls silent a few moments, bolstered by being seated and comfortable, then he looks over to her and reaches across to take one of her hands in his.]

Yer a good person. Don't remember the last time someone cared that much 'bout what I was doin' with m'self.

[An eager chaser of storms both literal and metaphorical, Evelyn wouldn't disagree with the idea of finding merit in a hurricane, in lightning. For the pall it may cast she finds them to be a relief, something to break up the monotony on her shore when water has lapped so lazily at the edges, wearing them smooth: the same hope, the same loss, the same lesson. She leans back against the sofa and sighs for all the sameness, startled only when rough fingers wind into hers.

You're a good person. She knows, she knows, and don't other people know it, too? So much so that it is easier to manipulate, to squeeze a bleeding heart for all that it is worth until it is wrung dry for what she sheds?]

I'm sorry, [Evelyn says quietly, no pity in the words, but regret for the lack of sentiment in his world.] I wish there was something more I could do.

Y'know what...

[He straightens himself, squeezing her hand. There's something in her tone that says more than she speaks aloud, and it isn't the first time he's heard that kind of tone in her voice.

She's a good person, but that isn't even half the reason why he spends so much time around her.]

Y' already did more than I ever-- than anyone ever tried to. So... it counts for somethin', okay? [He looks away and half laughs, half snorts at himself.] But yer turnin' me into a sap, so y' can quit that part.

[They've held hands before over small, bitter things, Evelyn splitting herself open over another disappearance or nightmares for which she did not ask. If this is Dan getting maudlin she would hate to see him genuinely upset; it isn't an emotion rubbed raw, but a sore that never healed and an wickedly vulnerable piece of himself with which she has been trusted. She has to wonder if this has happened before, since his arrival to Wonderland, and if he dragged himself back to his rooms to recover while the world spun around him.

Does he knows how many times this has happened, or more importantly, does he want to? Dan defers the sympathy with assurances that mean little to Evelyn, who would happily extend her grasp to anyone in need. The self-conscious flustering is a new development on his part, and she leans over to try and catch his shifting gaze.]

Dan Palmer, do you have a soft spot under that shell with my name on it?

[She would, but her kind is rare when it comes to Dan's experience. He's been lucky enough to meet a few people he might have one day considered placing so much trust in, but had never spent enough time around to meet the lowest levels of qualification for such trust.

It's easy enough to catch his gaze. He meets hers and grins crookedly.]

An' if I do?

[Why lie about it? She can see right through him anyway.]

Say I did. What would y' do with it?

Well.

[Evelyn takes a deep breath and lets it all out again in a sigh. For this she must be infinitely more critical: of herself, of his withdrawal-induced state, of how she wants to be seen and how she is seen when she thinks no one else is watching. Dan is still ill, and she is still fixing the pieces of herself that would contest negation to what she prepares to say, would recommend avoidance and care again.

For her own safety.]

I would not take advantage of it. I am not so cruel.

[Quietly, and without drawing attention to it Evelyn rests her other hand over his.]

But in the hypothetical scenario wherein you could easily be swayed by my influence I would treat that as a privilege, rather than a right.

[Dan has never exactly prided himself on being honest, as if honesty is something that should be seen as an unexpected quality. He simply is honest, save for in situations where honesty would cause far more harm than good.]

'Course y' would. [Oscar still has his head on his master's knee, and in the silent moment that passes between Dan and Evelyn the dog whines quietly, head tilting as his eyes swivel in the woman's direction. It provides a small distraction and he gets a rubbed ear for his trouble, giving Dan a moment to collect his thoughts.

She may not draw attention to it, but he feels the light touch of her other hand like a static shock up his arm.]

As it is... I would'a preferred y' didn't have to see that kinda mess. But.. [And then he shrugs, because she has, and that can't be changed.] If someone had to, wouldn't have it be anyone else. So.. thanks.

[The subject must be an embarrassing one - or one he hasn't broached with anybody else before - for Dan to need more time to gather a response. So quick-witted, a response readily in hand for every other occasion, and here he falters as though he were not the one who asked what she might do with the fragility he has shown her.

Evelyn won't press further when he's dealt with enough and she, too alert by what transpired in the library to gently persist in delicate conversation, feels the edges of her lips tug in an apologetic smile. Gratefulness on his part isn't necessary. He would have done the same for her; he has done the same for her. Still, she accepts Dan's thanks with a shallow nod.]

You should get some rest.

[Evelyn prompts, familiar with unease and bone-deep gratitude in equal measure.]

I think I already mentioned that you look awful.

Y' did.

[He drops his head against the back of the couch with a quiet grunt, closing his eyes briefly. They squeeze shut, then blink open and he rolls his head to one side to look at her again.] And I do, and I feel awful.

[A little nauseous and tired, mostly, now the shaking has stopped.

He often finds himself overstepping his own boundaries when it comes to Evelyn. She brings it out in him, he thinks, in a way that others haven't managed simply because he was never in one place for long enough. He's aware that he's still holding her hand, but conscious of the hurt that was clear on her face when he'd pulled away from her before and unwilling to prompt a repeat of it.]

But I mean it. Thank you.

I know.

[She responds with another small sigh, this one more rueful than the last. In Evelyn there is now a certainty that becoming close to others is akin to offering them the weakest parts of you, exposing her Achilles' heel with a trusting smile. Hoping against hope that it will not be twisted beyond recognition when they're through. Will Graham taught her that when he dismantled her world in front of her very eyes.

Evelyn edges closer, hands still twined in Dan's and with that control she pulls his arm over her shoulders again, nestling against his side. It is warmer here, warmer than she has felt in months, breathing in sincerity and candour and wishing it hadn't been so long since she received them: a parcel delivered to her doorstep so late she had almost forgotten it was coming.]

And you're welcome.

[His grip on her hand loosens as she moves, ready if not willing to let her go and bear out the rest of the night until he could drag himself to bed. What she actually does is more than unexpected, it's enough to stun him far past caring whether or not she can hear his heart thudding against his ribs.]

Ah. [He says, lighting a brief touch to her hair and carefully rearranging his arm around her, ending with his hand placed just above her elbow.

She smells like a flower he doesn't know the name of, as delicate and sweet as he knows she both is and isn't all at once. Maybe he fell. That must be it. He fell and hit his head really hard and now he's hallucinating that scent and the light tickle of her hair on his neck, the warm weight of her against his side.

Dan glances down as best he can, presses a kiss to her hairline, then settles his head back against the couch. He was falling, all right.]

You sure?

[If Dan's palpitations are noticed, they aren't mentioned. He shifts to accommodate her and she mumbles her thanks, knowing that her desire to stay longer is a selfish one in light of his ailment. Pulling her legs onto the sofa, under her, Evelyn accepts the invitation to remain if not for company, than a heat to stave off the chill from which they both suffer. He doesn't push her away - and he could, should he want as much. Dan presses a kiss into her hair and it reminds her of The Ink Spots.

There is a deep and abiding ache that makes her stomach clench when his breath ghosts over her temple, and she leans her head on his shoulder to keep it at bay.]

You need the company. [I need the company. A sleepy addendum:] And I don't trust you not to fall on your face if you try to putter around your rooms by yourself. I like your nose.

[He might have left it there and let himself drift off to sleep if not for that last sentence. Dan snorts in the most undignified way possible, squeezing her arm as he laughs.

There are a lot of things he could be insulted about if he were inclined towards being more sensitive. The assumption that he needs company in this state, the assumption that he wouldn't be able to manage without her or that he hasn't managed himself like this a hundred times before. He knows that none of these things are really the reason she's staying. She respects his ability to take care of himself as much as he respects her ability to do the same.]

Y' like my nose? [He says, his level of incredulity tempered by his softened tone.] Well, heck. I better start lookin' after it, then. Just fer you.

Mhm.

[Which is as much of a cursory response as it is an agreement with his terms, now that exhaustion has set in and she is at ease.

There are few things that speak so loudly of trust as being able to sleep in the same room as another person - as falling unconscious on their shoulder when there is no one else around - and it speaks volumes that Evelyn is happy to use Dan as a pillow, if only for a little while. She shifts minutely, angling into him with her fingers lingering over her necklace before they fall into her lap.]

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