[It's strange to imagine Archy at nineteen. Stranger still to imagine him so out of control-- scared, helpless, terrified at being caught, so sick from what he'd done that he'd thrown up. At least, Rosalind thinks, she hadn't done that. Cried a fair bit, but the gore itself hadn't thrown her, not that much.
But his story makes her feel a bit better. Why, she wonders. Why should hearing Archy's reactions make her own feel more justified? Perhaps because it points towards a favorable conclusion. Archy had reacted the same way, and now he's fine, perfectly all right with taking a life if he has to. And so soon she'll be all right, just as he is. Hypothesis, evidence, and conclusion: everything boils down to science, sooner or later.
Not that she's quite all right yet. Still, Rosalind huffs a laugh at his last statement-- not quite light-hearted, but fond, fond and weary all at once.]
The things I've made, the people I work with-- I'm not so stupid to think my actions have had no effect. By proxy, I've most certainly killed people before. But--
[But, but, but there's such a difference between writing a formula and pulling the trigger. Between knowing you've made a deadly concoction and seeing a man's head splatter across your wall.]
I ought to have expected this. This kind of reaction, I ought-- it was stupid, not preparing myself more for this.
[Archy presses a kiss into her hair when she laughs, pleased that he was able to at least provide that for her. If he's the butt of the joke, that's fine. He had been an idiot at nineteen, it's only fair.
He has to consider what she says. She's completely right, as she tends to be. Archy himself had to learn how to be okay with being an indirect cause of mayhem. He trained the lads to the best of his ability, but that included advising on when to use their guns. It became more true after taking over, and there's something more unsettling about not having it directly on his hands.
Archy pulls her in even closer, arm around her tight.]
First all, no one's prepared for it. Ever. You could've read every book, went through every scenario, and you still wouldn't be ready. I definitely wasn't fucking ready. Thought I'd be alright with it if it was someone trying to do me in. It ended up being just that and I... well, I wasn't alright.
Second-- [The hand holding hers clutches it with more strength. He pulls back, but not far, just enough to be able to look at her.] Proxy is a different beast. Everyone's guilty by proxy if you look hard enough. Man, woman, child, everybody has an affect. Some they can predict, some they can't. You just have to do right by you.
And you did right tonight, Ros. [He kisses her forehead.] You bloody did. And now I'm gonna take care of you, alright? No one's gonna know, and no one's gonna try again. Or they're gonna answer to me.
[He means that. And he means himself. Someone takes a crack at the woman in his grasp again, and not one man in his squad will have a chance to do a thing before Archy personally rips his throat out.]
[She knows, deep in her heart, that she needs to be stronger. That no one takes a woman seriously if she falls to pieces, especially in the criminal world, especially after something so common as killing another person. She needs to keep her cold mask on, to pull away and shrug and act as if this is nothing at all. And she will, in time. When they face others, when this is dealt with, when anyone but Archy is around, she'll be calm. She'll be cold.
But Archy is different. Archy has been different since the very beginning, and so it makes sense that in this, too, he is allowed more than others are. He'd respected her from the start, calling her Dr Lutece until she'd allowed otherwise; acted entirely professional until she'd made the first move. He's not some sexist fool who finds emotion indicative of weakness. So Rosalind curls against him, eyes closing, and lets her expression melt into something more vulnerable. His words wash over her, soothing in their sound logic. No one's prepared for it, and that above all soothes her. She isn't being weak; she's being normal. This will fade.
But-- I'll take care of you, he says, and for just a moment her expression cracks. She looks stricken-- just for a moment, her eyes widening, darting about his face as if to check the validity of that statement. But he doesn't seem to be lying, nor teasing-- and so, warily, with a little exhale, Rosalind settles back down against him.]
All right.
[She says it breathless-- and once he kisses her forehead again, she presses back against him, fingers curling idly against his shirt, hiding her face from view. He doesn't care, she tells herself, but there's only so defenseless she can allow herself to appear.]
How many times have you walked someone through this?
[It's a weak joke, and she still doesn't look up-- but she's trying.]
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2016-01-21 05:50 am (UTC)But his story makes her feel a bit better. Why, she wonders. Why should hearing Archy's reactions make her own feel more justified? Perhaps because it points towards a favorable conclusion. Archy had reacted the same way, and now he's fine, perfectly all right with taking a life if he has to. And so soon she'll be all right, just as he is. Hypothesis, evidence, and conclusion: everything boils down to science, sooner or later.
Not that she's quite all right yet. Still, Rosalind huffs a laugh at his last statement-- not quite light-hearted, but fond, fond and weary all at once.]
The things I've made, the people I work with-- I'm not so stupid to think my actions have had no effect. By proxy, I've most certainly killed people before. But--
[But, but, but there's such a difference between writing a formula and pulling the trigger. Between knowing you've made a deadly concoction and seeing a man's head splatter across your wall.]
I ought to have expected this. This kind of reaction, I ought-- it was stupid, not preparing myself more for this.
no subject
Date: 2016-01-25 03:25 am (UTC)He has to consider what she says. She's completely right, as she tends to be. Archy himself had to learn how to be okay with being an indirect cause of mayhem. He trained the lads to the best of his ability, but that included advising on when to use their guns. It became more true after taking over, and there's something more unsettling about not having it directly on his hands.
Archy pulls her in even closer, arm around her tight.]
First all, no one's prepared for it. Ever. You could've read every book, went through every scenario, and you still wouldn't be ready. I definitely wasn't fucking ready. Thought I'd be alright with it if it was someone trying to do me in. It ended up being just that and I... well, I wasn't alright.
Second-- [The hand holding hers clutches it with more strength. He pulls back, but not far, just enough to be able to look at her.] Proxy is a different beast. Everyone's guilty by proxy if you look hard enough. Man, woman, child, everybody has an affect. Some they can predict, some they can't. You just have to do right by you.
And you did right tonight, Ros. [He kisses her forehead.] You bloody did. And now I'm gonna take care of you, alright? No one's gonna know, and no one's gonna try again. Or they're gonna answer to me.
[He means that. And he means himself. Someone takes a crack at the woman in his grasp again, and not one man in his squad will have a chance to do a thing before Archy personally rips his throat out.]
no subject
Date: 2016-01-25 04:01 am (UTC)But Archy is different. Archy has been different since the very beginning, and so it makes sense that in this, too, he is allowed more than others are. He'd respected her from the start, calling her Dr Lutece until she'd allowed otherwise; acted entirely professional until she'd made the first move. He's not some sexist fool who finds emotion indicative of weakness. So Rosalind curls against him, eyes closing, and lets her expression melt into something more vulnerable. His words wash over her, soothing in their sound logic. No one's prepared for it, and that above all soothes her. She isn't being weak; she's being normal. This will fade.
But-- I'll take care of you, he says, and for just a moment her expression cracks. She looks stricken-- just for a moment, her eyes widening, darting about his face as if to check the validity of that statement. But he doesn't seem to be lying, nor teasing-- and so, warily, with a little exhale, Rosalind settles back down against him.]
All right.
[She says it breathless-- and once he kisses her forehead again, she presses back against him, fingers curling idly against his shirt, hiding her face from view. He doesn't care, she tells herself, but there's only so defenseless she can allow herself to appear.]
How many times have you walked someone through this?
[It's a weak joke, and she still doesn't look up-- but she's trying.]