"I didn't mean for it to happen." Her voice came out in a whisper. She could feel herself shaking, soft trembles as she let Arthur take her close. She couldn't bring herself to move. She was just shaking.
"But it was still-people still tried to help but I didn't. I didn't let them. It's on me. I made the choice." She was crying. Others, like John mentioned manipulation, but it didn't feel like it was the right word. "It's my fault."
"Darling, I promise you it's not." His hand rests on the back of her head, gently stroking her hair while his other arm remains comfortably tight, giving her support against him. "And I know the difference, trust me."
He presses a kiss to her temple, soft and sweet. "If you think you have something under control, then you don't let people help you. And it can take... longer, to recognise it, that you don't after all. Sometimes too long, and then reality comes crashing down around you and you realise how deep you're in it."
He gives her another squeeze. "But people will still want to help you. And they'll only be relieved that you're ready to let them."
She made a soft noise- a whimper- as she shook her head. He was being so gentle, and sweet, and...for all that he was offering all this comfort...
Aerith covered her face with her hands.
"I can't." The words burst out, and she tried covering her eyes. "I don't deserve it. I don't deserve to be-helped. I haven't done enough and I- what happened with Armand- I betrayed Zack. I betrayed myself and I-I don't. I can't. I-I can't Arthur."
"I spent more than a year after the fact drinking myself blind. I wasn't..." He takes a deep breath. "I didn't have it in me then, to just. Kill myself. But I would wake up in the gutter in a miserable autumn rain, disappointed that I was still... me."
"I never really liked alcohol. But I just...I couldn't sleep. Food hasn't been as good as it used to be." She stared at her hands. "I'm not really hungry anymore. And...I still have trouble sleeping. I've been drinking more. Socially. I don't like it very much, but people want to help so...I drink."
"None of it will start feeling better until you let someone in," he says, plain and gentle. "It took Parker to get me started on it, but I didn't... understand it until I was on the Barge. And at the start, it feels... wrong."
He loosens his grip a little, only so he can look at her again and brush one of her bangs free from her tear-sticky cheek. "When you feel as awful and unforgivable as that, any joy or love you experience feels... fake. Undeserved. Like you're a fraud for receiving it when you still feel so fucking rotten inside."
She nodded a little, feeling more tears trickle even as he brushed her hair away. He had someone- the sharp eyed Parker. She had all her friends. And the fact that any one of them, that Arthur wanted to help too...
And she couldn't bring herself to do it, that it did feel fake- it made her hate herself even more.
"I don't feel like I deserve to be here, helping people." She couldn't look him in the eye. "It's...I don't...I felt happy and content when we were...doing things. And after I felt like the worst person in the world. I don't feel...like myself anymore. And I...I don't...I can't talk about it. I can't do this Arthur. I just...I can't."
"You can," he says, and despite how gentle his voice is there's such a fierce protective energy to it, squeezing her hand as he cups her cheek with his hand, lightly thumbing a tear track from her cheekbone. "But it doesn't have to be me, or John." He gives a soft huff, warm and easy. "I think we might be two of the least qualified, in this instance."
He doesn't try to force her to meet his eyes, but his gaze stays steady on her. "But that's what I mean by eating the elephant. You don't have to tell me everything about what happened - but letting me know that you're in pain, so I can help you find a way to recover. That's one bite."
And he leans up to give her a little kiss on the forehead.
She remembered when Arthur Wayne did something similar, in the breach. When she would fall over, and she needed a bandage to her knee, he would kiss her forehead when it was all done. It brought fresh tears to her eyes.
"You're telling me Sheehan would be best for it." She felt a wave of dread come up. It wasn't fair to Sheehan she felt this way. But she couldn't. She wouldn't.
"I don't feel like I took much of a bite at all." She murmured. She couldn't look him in the eye. "I just feel sick, and raw and...and...stuck."
"Actually," and there's a warmth in his voice, some amusement despite himself. "I was going to suggest Saga."
Which might derail her enough that he continues uninterrupted, "I love my husband. I know his expertise, and normally I'd recommend him in a heartbeat. But the sort of pain you're dealing with, I think being as beloved as you are by us will just make it harder. But Saga... when she was my warden, she never made me feel small, or disgusted by my past. I think you need pragmatism, not sympathy."
It did startle her enough to look up at him, and stay quiet as Arthur continued to speak. Sheehan had been so carefully trying to make sure she would be all right, coming up with methods that were outside of regular therapy as she knew of it. (Or at least, what she read in books).
At least hearing that Saga was being suggested was enough to make her frown and let him talk his reason out.
"She wouldn't act like I was small or disgusting. And Sheehan wouldn't either. He let me save him, when the monsters were all over the ship. Sympathy doesn't feel...right. But Saga and I are friends. She might be...biased."
She would be biased, absolutely. But...she was also a seer. They had worked together. Just...not on Aerith.
"Saga and I were friends too. Still are, in fact. But I do have to admit that Sheehan is..." He gives a soft laugh, bashful and fond. "Well, he's not as unbiased as he wishes he was. And he'd certainly treat you with full professional respect, but he'd also... care. In a way that's a bit too much himself over his profession, if that makes sense."
He's hardly one to talk about adopting his inmate, but still.
Considering how much adopting Aerith did among wardens and inmates alike, she had no leg to stand on when it came to attachments.
"Sheehan is always as gentle as he can be with me. He tries to...not sneak in, but be subtle about his help." She sniffed, and brought up a hand to wipe her face. She still had the garden gloves on, which meant she streaked dirt and crushed up plant matter on her face.
"And John is protective of me. But he needs to keep an eye on Ashton, or anyone else that will want to solve problems with murder or torture."
He nods, and can't help the flicker of a smile, briefly joyful and amused, at the smudge of dirt.
"You need someone who won't soften the reality of your situation, no matter how ugly it might be. Upfront, but not unkind. I'm not saying not to use Sheehan's advice, or to avoid him if you're after his specific brand of kindness. But I think Saga would be good for you."
She didn't know what made him look so happy so briefly, and tilted her head, confused.
"I wouldn't avoid him. Sheehan is...and has been...very kind to me." She sniffled, wiping her cheek again. There was a little more dirt added to her cheek.
"Saga is steady. Always. And is good. I'm still...gosh I don't know what she'll think when she hears of it." She paused. "I don't think she'll shoot Armand."
"I trust her not to hold an unreasonable grudge about Armand," Arthur points out, "for having hurt you specifically. I'm afraid the same couldn't be said of John, he's incredibly biased. And Sheehan very nearly punched Trevor for assaulting Billy- er, sorry, his last inmate, Max, some time ago."
He takes his gardening gloves off so he can pat his pockets briefly, and to his own pleasure succeeds in finding a handkerchief in his back pocket, and he offers it immediately to Aerith. "I'm not any better myself, admittedly, but between the three of us we're not going to fuck over an inmate."
"Billy told me the name change during his announcement."
She told him. For a few moments, she didn't know why he was offering a handkerchief; there was a silent 'oh' before she took her gardening gloves off and took the cloth, wiping at her face, trying to get the smudges off.
"I'm surprised John hasn't exploded a little. Though...I have to admit. I keep thinking Sheehan is a pacifist, but Vincent Smith is one. It just means they don't like violence."
She bit her lip. "I don't think Saga would shoot Armand without good reason."
Saga was often too practical for that. Pragmatic, though not unfeeling.
"John has spent nearly three years learning how to make sure ripping someone's intestines out and shattering their mind is nowhere to be found in the options he can react with," he explains dryly. "But trust me, there's a lot of furious grousing behind closed doors."
He shifts as he keeps talking, interrupting himself with a few soft grunts and unhappy pops of his knees as he shifts onto his ass. "And Sheehan is- he's a war veteran, actually. Part of why he hates guns so much, but- generally speaking he's always hated violence. A pacifist doesn't mean they won't hurt someone, it just means they're more creative since they won't use plain violence."
"Oh. I had no idea. Not the ripping part, the grousing part."
She glanced at the cloth in her hand, made a face, and kept trying to get the dirt off her face. It felt like it was still there. And John, well...he had rescued her from the turned over ship, took over a dream she was hosting, and healed her all at once. Shattering minds and ripping intestines out wouldn't be hard for him, in capability.
"And if Sheehan wanted to, he knows how to hurt someone without violence. He and Sam could be some of the most dangerous people on the Barge, if they let themselves be."
She shook her head, before glancing up to Arthur. "Did I get the dirt off?"
He'll take the hankie back, flicking his wrists idly so he can cup her jaw in one clean bare hand, and gently wipe some of the tear tracks away. She already got the dirt itself, so this is mostly just to make her feel better. It's been a while since he's done it to someone, and he feels his throat tighten at the memory himself.
"It's actually sort of healthy, you know?" he says instead, pulling back when she's cleaned up. "Getting some of the anger out of your system before it starts to rot. It doesn't fix the problem, of course, but when you get the chance to pitch a fit about it somewhere safe, knowing you're just letting off steam and that no-one's judging you for having an- an impure thought," he teases, bopping her nose with the hankie, "or something, then it makes solving the problem a lot less daunting."
She felt her nose scrunch up, in that familiar, tender way that she used to when her mother used to clean up her face, from one adventure or another. And-it made her think of Arthur Wayne, cleaning her up from scrapes of one kind or another.
It gave her such a strong longing for a home that no longer existed- in her world or the breach.
It was enough to make her take a deep breath-though she smiled, a little, at the nose boop.
"I mean...I've been taking Alexei to what we call a rage room to break things, and all. But um...I mean, I'm sure John feels angry about a lot of things. And- I do too. Sometimes. It does take...awhile...for it to come up. And slower to calm down, sometimes."
"Patience is always an admirable trait," he says gently, resting his hands in his lap. "And on the Barge, certainly a vital one. But if you're just being patient, and letting everyone trample all over your good will without letting that frustration out somehow, then your patience wears thin all the faster, and your temper, when it's inevitably unleashed, all the more dangerous."
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Re: CW: victim blaming
"But it was still-people still tried to help but I didn't. I didn't let them. It's on me. I made the choice." She was crying. Others, like John mentioned manipulation, but it didn't feel like it was the right word. "It's my fault."
Re: CW: victim blaming
He presses a kiss to her temple, soft and sweet. "If you think you have something under control, then you don't let people help you. And it can take... longer, to recognise it, that you don't after all. Sometimes too long, and then reality comes crashing down around you and you realise how deep you're in it."
He gives her another squeeze. "But people will still want to help you. And they'll only be relieved that you're ready to let them."
Re: CW: victim blaming
Aerith covered her face with her hands.
"I can't." The words burst out, and she tried covering her eyes. "I don't deserve it. I don't deserve to be-helped. I haven't done enough and I- what happened with Armand- I betrayed Zack. I betrayed myself and I-I don't. I can't. I-I can't Arthur."
Re: CW: victim blaming
He's quiet for a few seconds, just letting that... sit.
"This is why I showed you Faroe."
CW: victim blaming, suicide ideation
"B-because you wanted to hurt yourself after? Even if it killed you?"
CW: victim blaming, suicide ideation, alcoholism
"I spent more than a year after the fact drinking myself blind. I wasn't..." He takes a deep breath. "I didn't have it in me then, to just. Kill myself. But I would wake up in the gutter in a miserable autumn rain, disappointed that I was still... me."
CW: victim blaming, suicide ideation, alcoholism, depression
"I never really liked alcohol. But I just...I couldn't sleep. Food hasn't been as good as it used to be." She stared at her hands. "I'm not really hungry anymore. And...I still have trouble sleeping. I've been drinking more. Socially. I don't like it very much, but people want to help so...I drink."
Re: CW: victim blaming, suicide ideation, alcoholism, depression
He loosens his grip a little, only so he can look at her again and brush one of her bangs free from her tear-sticky cheek. "When you feel as awful and unforgivable as that, any joy or love you experience feels... fake. Undeserved. Like you're a fraud for receiving it when you still feel so fucking rotten inside."
Re: CW: victim blaming, suicide ideation, alcoholism, depression
And she couldn't bring herself to do it, that it did feel fake- it made her hate herself even more.
"I don't feel like I deserve to be here, helping people." She couldn't look him in the eye. "It's...I don't...I felt happy and content when we were...doing things. And after I felt like the worst person in the world. I don't feel...like myself anymore. And I...I don't...I can't talk about it. I can't do this Arthur. I just...I can't."
Re: CW: victim blaming, suicide ideation, alcoholism, depression
He doesn't try to force her to meet his eyes, but his gaze stays steady on her. "But that's what I mean by eating the elephant. You don't have to tell me everything about what happened - but letting me know that you're in pain, so I can help you find a way to recover. That's one bite."
And he leans up to give her a little kiss on the forehead.
Re: CW: victim blaming, suicide ideation, alcoholism, depression
"You're telling me Sheehan would be best for it." She felt a wave of dread come up. It wasn't fair to Sheehan she felt this way. But she couldn't. She wouldn't.
"I don't feel like I took much of a bite at all." She murmured. She couldn't look him in the eye. "I just feel sick, and raw and...and...stuck."
Re: CW: victim blaming, suicide ideation, alcoholism, depression
Which might derail her enough that he continues uninterrupted, "I love my husband. I know his expertise, and normally I'd recommend him in a heartbeat. But the sort of pain you're dealing with, I think being as beloved as you are by us will just make it harder. But Saga... when she was my warden, she never made me feel small, or disgusted by my past. I think you need pragmatism, not sympathy."
Re: CW: victim blaming, suicide ideation, alcoholism, depression
At least hearing that Saga was being suggested was enough to make her frown and let him talk his reason out.
"She wouldn't act like I was small or disgusting. And Sheehan wouldn't either. He let me save him, when the monsters were all over the ship. Sympathy doesn't feel...right. But Saga and I are friends. She might be...biased."
She would be biased, absolutely. But...she was also a seer. They had worked together. Just...not on Aerith.
Re: CW: victim blaming, suicide ideation, alcoholism, depression
He's hardly one to talk about adopting his inmate, but still.
Re: CW: victim blaming, suicide ideation, alcoholism, depression
"Sheehan is always as gentle as he can be with me. He tries to...not sneak in, but be subtle about his help." She sniffed, and brought up a hand to wipe her face. She still had the garden gloves on, which meant she streaked dirt and crushed up plant matter on her face.
"And John is protective of me. But he needs to keep an eye on Ashton, or anyone else that will want to solve problems with murder or torture."
Re: CW: victim blaming, suicide ideation, alcoholism, depression
"You need someone who won't soften the reality of your situation, no matter how ugly it might be. Upfront, but not unkind. I'm not saying not to use Sheehan's advice, or to avoid him if you're after his specific brand of kindness. But I think Saga would be good for you."
Re: CW: victim blaming, suicide ideation, alcoholism, depression
"I wouldn't avoid him. Sheehan is...and has been...very kind to me." She sniffled, wiping her cheek again. There was a little more dirt added to her cheek.
"Saga is steady. Always. And is good. I'm still...gosh I don't know what she'll think when she hears of it." She paused. "I don't think she'll shoot Armand."
Re: CW: victim blaming, suicide ideation, alcoholism, depression
He takes his gardening gloves off so he can pat his pockets briefly, and to his own pleasure succeeds in finding a handkerchief in his back pocket, and he offers it immediately to Aerith. "I'm not any better myself, admittedly, but between the three of us we're not going to fuck over an inmate."
no subject
She told him. For a few moments, she didn't know why he was offering a handkerchief; there was a silent 'oh' before she took her gardening gloves off and took the cloth, wiping at her face, trying to get the smudges off.
"I'm surprised John hasn't exploded a little. Though...I have to admit. I keep thinking Sheehan is a pacifist, but Vincent Smith is one. It just means they don't like violence."
She bit her lip. "I don't think Saga would shoot Armand without good reason."
Saga was often too practical for that. Pragmatic, though not unfeeling.
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He shifts as he keeps talking, interrupting himself with a few soft grunts and unhappy pops of his knees as he shifts onto his ass. "And Sheehan is- he's a war veteran, actually. Part of why he hates guns so much, but- generally speaking he's always hated violence. A pacifist doesn't mean they won't hurt someone, it just means they're more creative since they won't use plain violence."
no subject
She glanced at the cloth in her hand, made a face, and kept trying to get the dirt off her face. It felt like it was still there. And John, well...he had rescued her from the turned over ship, took over a dream she was hosting, and healed her all at once. Shattering minds and ripping intestines out wouldn't be hard for him, in capability.
"And if Sheehan wanted to, he knows how to hurt someone without violence. He and Sam could be some of the most dangerous people on the Barge, if they let themselves be."
She shook her head, before glancing up to Arthur. "Did I get the dirt off?"
no subject
He'll take the hankie back, flicking his wrists idly so he can cup her jaw in one clean bare hand, and gently wipe some of the tear tracks away. She already got the dirt itself, so this is mostly just to make her feel better. It's been a while since he's done it to someone, and he feels his throat tighten at the memory himself.
"It's actually sort of healthy, you know?" he says instead, pulling back when she's cleaned up. "Getting some of the anger out of your system before it starts to rot. It doesn't fix the problem, of course, but when you get the chance to pitch a fit about it somewhere safe, knowing you're just letting off steam and that no-one's judging you for having an- an impure thought," he teases, bopping her nose with the hankie, "or something, then it makes solving the problem a lot less daunting."
no subject
She felt her nose scrunch up, in that familiar, tender way that she used to when her mother used to clean up her face, from one adventure or another. And-it made her think of Arthur Wayne, cleaning her up from scrapes of one kind or another.
It gave her such a strong longing for a home that no longer existed- in her world or the breach.
It was enough to make her take a deep breath-though she smiled, a little, at the nose boop.
"I mean...I've been taking Alexei to what we call a rage room to break things, and all. But um...I mean, I'm sure John feels angry about a lot of things. And- I do too. Sometimes. It does take...awhile...for it to come up. And slower to calm down, sometimes."
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"You get kinda brittle in a way right? I...well. It's not always an outward explosion. Sometimes it's inside."
She pressed a hand to her chest.
"And you break your own heart."
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