[Bossie gives him a tiny smile. Barely there at all.]
So you were always kind of a good guy, huh?
...You could've just talked to one of us soldiers. We saw the dictators getting installed firsthand.
Fucked me up, what happened in Iraq. In Afghanistan. Seeing who ended up in charge. I really thought...for a little while, before I got there...that we could make things better.
[ Harold gives him a small smile back in reflection, a bit more than Bossie's but sad and knowing. ]
This was the late 60s -- my options were limited. [ Technically, he'd been hacking ARPANET, and then Vietnam had only made things worse. ]
I thought we might be trying to make things better, too. But unlike everyone else, I didn't have to wonder -- I could know. And I found it went up to the highest echelons. ... Needless to say, I've never been much for respecting authority.
[Trying to imagine that for himself makes him nauseous.
Fuck, he's so weak. He swallows hard, reflexively trying to think what Pope would say, then smacking that thought down. Pope is gone. Pope betrayed him. Carver killed Pope for him.]
More than you'd think. I trust you to protect me, [ he points out. That was something Carver had said Bossie was specifically good at doing when he showed up, and Harold hasn't seen reason to doubt it. ] Or should I not?
[ It's a very mildly challenging statement more than a question. ]
I do. Or rather, I trust myself more than anyone else, egotistical as that is.
[ Harold used to struggle with this, but he's come to a kind of peace with it. He can either trust his own judgement, or he can passively defer it and watch people die around him knowing he could have done something. He's made up his mind, now, to do the former.
His eyes are calm. ]
I know I will be very careful with you. I can't be sure of that with anyone else.
[ He can't promise much, but he can promise that. ]
[He breathes out slow but shaky. Harold has always been up front about being imperfect. He's always said he'll make a mistake eventually. Pope never owned up to that. Not in the Army and never, ever after the world ended.]
[ A beat of silence before he points out, tentative, ]
I don't actually know how he hurt you. But I doubt it.
[ He doesn't know. He's only made inferences about any of Pope's behavior, which have been damning enough on their own. Harold's not sure he really wants to know. ]
[ This is a longer silence. Harold wasn't looking for Bossie to fill in those blanks, but this is a blank he doesn't fill in himself much. Almost never.
In this circumstance, he thinks it's warranted, but he still has to find the words. There's so many ways to explain it, all of them deeply personal, and painful like the cut of a fine-edged knife: silent at first and then you look down and see the blood flowing, and it won't stop. ]
There was a bomb, [ is all he can say at the moment, ] and my oldest friend died.
[ Because of me, is what he can't say. Because I make mistakes. ]
[The silence is just long enough that he almost speaks up to change the subject. Let Harold off the hook. Maybe Harold doesn't trust him like that. Trusts him with weapons, yes, but not with words. Not with anything personal.]
I'm sorry. [Meaning it. Thinking of Michael Turner, the person he loved more than he's ever loved anyone, with half a wine bottle jammed into his head. With his skull staved in, leaking grey matter and blood as Bossie tried to hurry him home.]
...You still dream about it? I- you don't have to answer that. I just. I dream. A lot. And I dont' know what to do about it. I'd be less fucked up, maybe, if I could stop dreaming.
Not lately, [ Harold admits softly. ] I have other things to dream about now.
[ New nightmares, new tragedies. That's the only reason he can talk about what happened to Nathan to this extent; it's become faded compared to more recent horrors.
Harold watches Bossie with concern. ] Did the potions from Auriel help? I may have found a way to create more, or something similar.
[ Pope killed him. He goes still for a moment, processing that, gaze frozen and piercing.
It's only a moment, but it's palpable when it passes and Harold seems to sink back into his skin. ] It might be more than he deserves, [ Harold says a shade coolly, ] but it's not messed up. He's an incredibly important figure in your life. It's natural he'd appear in your dreams, positive or negative.
[ The amount of dreams he has about the Machine still... ]
Mr. Carver has been respectful of your right to tell your own story.
[ It's something Harold appreciated, and never pushed for more. Everyone gets a chance from him, and so far Carver hasn't wasted it. There's no practical reason for Harold to distrust his judgment. If he didn't think Harold needed to know the details, then Harold didn't ask for them. ]
Whether you want to defend him is one thing, [ he goes on, regaining some equanimity, ] but if you need practice not doing it, you don't need to defend him to me of all people. I asked Ms. Shaw to acquire a long-range rifle in the event that he ever shows up.
[ Harold asking someone else to get a specific weapon is, notably, unprecedented. But losing so many people in such quick succession recently has changed him. ]
[ Harold wouldn't ask Ms. Shaw to kill anyone, including Pope. As he'd said to her a while back, that man isn't going to be the one to make him break that rule, especially not when it's pointless here. He'd just return to life, madder than ever, probably.
Ms. Shaw is more than capable of taking out a knee. And Harold is sure he could convince Dr. Romano not to help him fix it.
Bossie laughs, but Harold is completely serious and perfectly calm, gaze almost flat. ] Not anymore, no. Not about this.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
So you were always kind of a good guy, huh?
...You could've just talked to one of us soldiers. We saw the dictators getting installed firsthand.
Fucked me up, what happened in Iraq. In Afghanistan. Seeing who ended up in charge. I really thought...for a little while, before I got there...that we could make things better.
no subject
This was the late 60s -- my options were limited. [ Technically, he'd been hacking ARPANET, and then Vietnam had only made things worse. ]
I thought we might be trying to make things better, too. But unlike everyone else, I didn't have to wonder -- I could know. And I found it went up to the highest echelons. ... Needless to say, I've never been much for respecting authority.
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You've never trusted someone to be in charge?
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No. I can't say I ever have.
[ Including himself. ]
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Fuck, he's so weak. He swallows hard, reflexively trying to think what Pope would say, then smacking that thought down. Pope is gone. Pope betrayed him. Carver killed Pope for him.]
Do you trust anyone?
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More than you'd think. I trust you to protect me, [ he points out. That was something Carver had said Bossie was specifically good at doing when he showed up, and Harold hasn't seen reason to doubt it. ] Or should I not?
[ It's a very mildly challenging statement more than a question. ]
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You trust yourself to lead me and Carver though?
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[ Harold used to struggle with this, but he's come to a kind of peace with it. He can either trust his own judgement, or he can passively defer it and watch people die around him knowing he could have done something. He's made up his mind, now, to do the former.
His eyes are calm. ]
I know I will be very careful with you. I can't be sure of that with anyone else.
[ He can't promise much, but he can promise that. ]
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You afraid what'd happen if someone else got hands on our loyalty?
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Yes, he cares that others might be hurt. But he also cares about them, just as much. ]
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He rakes gloved fingers through his hair and fights the impulse to pace.]
I'm trying to do good here, you know. Like you and Carver are doing.
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When you break a bone, you're much more likely to break that same one again, rather than a new one. Maybe you've experienced that yourself.
I at least think if I do wrong, it will not be the same wrong you were done before.
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Did anyone ever hurt you like Pope hurt me?
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I don't actually know how he hurt you. But I doubt it.
[ He doesn't know. He's only made inferences about any of Pope's behavior, which have been damning enough on their own. Harold's not sure he really wants to know. ]
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Can I ask how you got hurt? [Motioning, very slightly, at Harold to indicate his back injury.]
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In this circumstance, he thinks it's warranted, but he still has to find the words. There's so many ways to explain it, all of them deeply personal, and painful like the cut of a fine-edged knife: silent at first and then you look down and see the blood flowing, and it won't stop. ]
There was a bomb, [ is all he can say at the moment, ] and my oldest friend died.
[ Because of me, is what he can't say. Because I make mistakes. ]
I didn't.
cw gore
I'm sorry. [Meaning it. Thinking of Michael Turner, the person he loved more than he's ever loved anyone, with half a wine bottle jammed into his head. With his skull staved in, leaking grey matter and blood as Bossie tried to hurry him home.]
...You still dream about it? I- you don't have to answer that. I just. I dream. A lot. And I dont' know what to do about it. I'd be less fucked up, maybe, if I could stop dreaming.
no subject
[ New nightmares, new tragedies. That's the only reason he can talk about what happened to Nathan to this extent; it's become faded compared to more recent horrors.
Harold watches Bossie with concern. ] Did the potions from Auriel help? I may have found a way to create more, or something similar.
no subject
I had nice dreams about Pope though. That's messed up, right? Dreaming good things about the guy who killed me.
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It's only a moment, but it's palpable when it passes and Harold seems to sink back into his skin. ] It might be more than he deserves, [ Harold says a shade coolly, ] but it's not messed up. He's an incredibly important figure in your life. It's natural he'd appear in your dreams, positive or negative.
[ The amount of dreams he has about the Machine still... ]
no subject
I guess Carver didn't tell you what he did to me, huh?
...Fuck I just want to get to a point where I don't want to defend Pope anymore.
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[ It's something Harold appreciated, and never pushed for more. Everyone gets a chance from him, and so far Carver hasn't wasted it. There's no practical reason for Harold to distrust his judgment. If he didn't think Harold needed to know the details, then Harold didn't ask for them. ]
Whether you want to defend him is one thing, [ he goes on, regaining some equanimity, ] but if you need practice not doing it, you don't need to defend him to me of all people. I asked Ms. Shaw to acquire a long-range rifle in the event that he ever shows up.
[ Harold asking someone else to get a specific weapon is, notably, unprecedented. But losing so many people in such quick succession recently has changed him. ]
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You don't fuck around, do you?
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Ms. Shaw is more than capable of taking out a knee. And Harold is sure he could convince Dr. Romano not to help him fix it.
Bossie laughs, but Harold is completely serious and perfectly calm, gaze almost flat. ] Not anymore, no. Not about this.
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I don't know what I did to earn that from you.
[He's not a good person. Hasn't been in a long, long time now.]
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CW: suicidal ideation
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