Maybe not yet. But maybe not ... no The whole holiday thing makes it come up.
Christmas will probably be worse for that, and I'd rather not be a complete basket case during either.
[ It's the truth, and it's a lie. It's that, but it's, also, that she held Claire in her arms. Heard her voice. Her laugh. Felt her hands grip in. Made her cry. Chose something that wasn't her again, saving people, saving herself, but not Claire, not choosing Claire, not staying with Claire, which sticks even when she knows it wasn't really Claire either. Except the things Harry said last night, about what he was doing for Maggie here and now were still ringing in her head, and had pricked a need to do ... something.
She just didn't know if she wanted to be brave enough to do the thing she thought it was. The one she knew she didn't want to talk about. Not with Vanya. Not even with Luther. ]
[It's probably bad that she's relieved. Like, really relieved, because she doesn't know how to talk about families, especially not with her own. Allison was the only one who figured out how to have her own, and it had clearly gone to shit.
Vanya doesn't want to risk lapsing and saying that to her.]
I don't really know what to do. Is there something I should do?
[ It's a small enough thing for today. Maybe putting it out there. When it already feels like too much in some ways. Like peeling back her skin. Three who never liked to show weakness or assume any stance that required or admitted the acceptance of anything looking like comfort. Not while in competition withholding where she was, especially next to Diego and Luther.
That wasn't them. (And yet it was, wasn't it? Somehow so far down, none of them knew how to burn it out.)
Maybe it was enough to just acknowledge that it was a door, and it was there, and it was on her mind. But that she didn't know if she wanted to open that door. If she could. Knew how. Was ready. ]
It's not like I have a clue how that might go if I did feel ready. There's never been anyone I've ever talked to about all of that.
[ Not even Luther. There were some things Allison wasn't sure they'd ever really talk about. She knew what her family thought of her Hollywood life, and she knew none of them pictured her last many years as mostly alone even among millions of people who thought they knew and loved her, while she knew they knew nothing about her and would hate her if they did. And it was even more than that when came to discussing being married, and her daughter, with Luther. Which was basically never, or almost never, close enough to never to basically be never with like five total words on top of it.
Feelings were shit. This was why she liked scotch better when it came to talking about things.]
[The question's out before she can think better of it. It's not that she doesn't believe Allison, it's just...she knows that Luther is here, that Luther has always kind of been there, present or not, for Allison, and she just assumes...she just assumes that everything she says to Allison might eventually find its way to Luther.]
And how much easier -- how much harder does she have to fight herself not -- to make a joke, to blow it off, imply for her sister's sake what she has for her family, for the world. That she's unruffable and untouchable somehow, she's just kidding; and that in the places she isn't, they have no right to judge or speak. Especially since she got and made it big, and no one else managed that any more than the managed a marriage, and a kid.
How hard is one word. So hard. Even after she writes it. Just staring at it. There are so many feelings it tangles up. It feels too true. It feels too easily used against her. It feels like a betrayal of Luther. Of Patric. Of the lie of herself, even to herself. But eventually she takes a breath, and she presses it anyway, feeling stupid as hell about it and letting it go anyway.
If anyone was going to understand this, wasn't it, maybe, Vanya? ]
[And this time it feels clearer, at least to her: she's not apologizing to apologize, to fill a space she doesn't understand. Vanya has spent pretty much her whole life without anyone to confide in. Ironically - horribly - Leonard was the only one to give her that, to be a sounding board for the things she wanted, goals, things she needed to talk about.
Needed to, without ever knowing she did. If that is where Allison is at, then what else can she be but sorry?]
[ It's Allison's turn to stare at the two words uncertaintly. Uncertain what to do with them. Uncertain if Vanya means them. Uncertain what to say as she sheers off pieces of skin by inches and miles. She supposes if she wanted to be technical, she's actually talked about with that therapist. But she's not sure she'd call it talking.
It was like water boarding by noise, where she showed up by voluntary steps, but was required to go. She hadn't given up much more in that room than she had to for so long, and there had been any number of sullen silences and refusals to say anything first.
She stares at the blank space, and the flickering cursor forever. Not knowing . Trying words in her thoughts (It's fine. It is what is. It doesn't really matter. That's my fault. Thanks.) but none of them are right and all of them are the blade under her skin, slicing slowly, and her own persnickety fashion of how to handle feeling vulnerable. The best and the worst ones. She counts them out, trying to think, trying not to put down the phone and back away from this entirely. ]
So. Yeah.
I guess I'm figuring that out.
Or figuring out if I want to. Something between those.
[Which is probably the most obviousstatement she's ever made, so she tries to elaborate, even though explaining herself is her least developed skill.]
I mean if you want to, I'll listen. I want to listen
But I don't know how to ask about this and if you need someone to prompt you, I get that [Because god does she need that, most of the time,] but I don't know how to tell when that's okay
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no subject
Maybe not yet. But maybe not ... no
The whole holiday thing makes it come up.
Christmas will probably be worse for that, and I'd rather not be a complete basket case during either.
[ It's the truth, and it's a lie. It's that, but it's, also, that she held Claire in her arms. Heard her voice. Her laugh. Felt her hands grip in. Made her cry. Chose something that wasn't her again, saving people, saving herself, but not Claire, not choosing Claire, not staying with Claire, which sticks even when she knows it wasn't really Claire either. Except the things Harry said last night, about what he was doing for Maggie here and now were still ringing in her head, and had pricked a need to do ... something.
She just didn't know if she wanted to be brave enough to do the thing she thought it was.
The one she knew she didn't want to talk about. Not with Vanya. Not even with Luther. ]
no subject
[It's probably bad that she's relieved. Like, really relieved, because she doesn't know how to talk about families, especially not with her own. Allison was the only one who figured out how to have her own, and it had clearly gone to shit.
Vanya doesn't want to risk lapsing and saying that to her.]
I don't really know what to do. Is there something I should do?
no subject
This is fine.
[ It's a small enough thing for today. Maybe putting it out there. When it already feels like too much in some ways. Like peeling back her skin. Three who never liked to show weakness or assume any stance that required or admitted the acceptance of anything looking like comfort. Not while in competition withholding where she was, especially next to Diego and Luther.
That wasn't them. (And yet it was, wasn't it? Somehow so far down, none of them knew how to burn it out.)
Maybe it was enough to just acknowledge that it was a door, and it was there, and it was on her mind.
But that she didn't know if she wanted to open that door. If she could. Knew how. Was ready. ]
It's not like I have a clue how that might go if I did feel ready.
There's never been anyone I've ever talked to about all of that.
[ Not even Luther. There were some things Allison wasn't sure they'd ever really talk about. She knew what her family thought of her Hollywood life, and she knew none of them pictured her last many years as mostly alone even among millions of people who thought they knew and loved her, while she knew they knew nothing about her and would hate her if they did. And it was even more than that when came to discussing being married, and her daughter, with Luther. Which was basically never, or almost never, close enough to never to basically be never with like five total words on top of it.
Feelings were shit. This was why she liked scotch better when it came to talking about things.]
no subject
[The question's out before she can think better of it. It's not that she doesn't believe Allison, it's just...she knows that Luther is here, that Luther has always kind of been there, present or not, for Allison, and she just assumes...she just assumes that everything she says to Allison might eventually find its way to Luther.]
no subject
And how much easier -- how much harder does she have to fight herself not -- to make a joke, to blow it off, imply for her sister's sake what she has for her family, for the world. That she's unruffable and untouchable somehow, she's just kidding; and that in the places she isn't, they have no right to judge or speak. Especially since she got and made it big, and no one else managed that any more than the managed a marriage, and a kid.
How hard is one word. So hard. Even after she writes it. Just staring at it. There are so many feelings it tangles up. It feels too true. It feels too easily used against her. It feels like a betrayal of Luther. Of Patric. Of the lie of herself, even to herself. But eventually she takes a breath, and she presses it anyway, feeling stupid as hell about it and letting it go anyway.
If anyone was going to understand this, wasn't it, maybe, Vanya? ]
No.
no subject
[And this time it feels clearer, at least to her: she's not apologizing to apologize, to fill a space she doesn't understand. Vanya has spent pretty much her whole life without anyone to confide in. Ironically - horribly - Leonard was the only one to give her that, to be a sounding board for the things she wanted, goals, things she needed to talk about.
Needed to, without ever knowing she did. If that is where Allison is at, then what else can she be but sorry?]
no subject
It was like water boarding by noise, where she showed up by voluntary steps, but was required to go. She hadn't given up much more in that room than she had to for so long, and there had been any number of sullen silences and refusals to say anything first.
She stares at the blank space, and the flickering cursor forever. Not knowing . Trying words in her thoughts (It's fine. It is what is. It doesn't really matter. That's my fault. Thanks.) but none of them are right and all of them are the blade under her skin, slicing slowly, and her own persnickety fashion of how to handle feeling vulnerable. The best and the worst ones. She counts them out, trying to think, trying not to put down the phone and back away from this entirely. ]
So. Yeah.
I guess I'm figuring that out.
Or figuring out if I want to.
Something between those.
no subject
[Which is probably the most obviousstatement she's ever made, so she tries to elaborate, even though explaining herself is her least developed skill.]
I mean if you want to, I'll listen. I want to listen
But I don't know how to ask about this and if you need someone to prompt you, I get that [Because god does she need that, most of the time,] but I don't know how to tell when that's okay