unpavemypaths | open post

[She hesitates for a second, shrugging a shoulder.] I guess I -- always liked helping people. Seemed like the best way to go if I wanted to do that.

[And it sounded like a challenge, something interesting enough that she'd never get tired of it. A field where there's always new things to learn and keep up with. But that makes her feel a little guilty to say out loud, even if both are true. It's people's lives, after all.]

I’ve always been good at helping people, it’s…rewarding, feels like I’m making a difference, doing something that matters. [Helps clear his conscious about being the child that survived. Maybe if he helps others, eventually he’ll break even.

He takes his shot, motioning for another. The bartender just leaves the bottle instead.] Plus, it’s something different every day, new opportunities, new ways to advance, I don’t like staying still.

[Sounds pretty similar to him, but he’ll let her judge that.] Let me guess, you are the caretaker of the family?

[She takes a shot, partly so she doesn't have to respond to his explanation, because it does sound far too familiar. Not identical, but similar enough. Part of her just wants to tell him to shut up now. Knowing more about him feels like a terrible plan. It's probably better to stay distant rivals.

But fuck if she isn't also curious what he meant, so.]

...I guess, yeah.

[It didn't used to be true really, but then everything happened, and their parents -- they never quite recovered.]

But I bet half the class would probably say that. [A little bit of a protest.]

Yeah, maybe. But not all of them have tragic family history.

[He stares at his shot glass before pouring himself another one and downing it in quick succession.] My brother died. When he was two. SIDS.

[Perhaps one of the things they hold most in common, even though her brother is still around. It still leaves scars, another mark they share.]

I remember your brother’s accident, by the way. I collected your homework for you, left you my notes…I think your brother’s soulmate took it from me. He was staying in your room…

[He doesn’t know why he says it. Maybe because he’s tipsy and he assumes she’s too drunk to remember. Or maybe because she thinks this is an isolated incident, and it isn’t. He’s been helping her for a while, she just never realized.]

[She's already watching him after the first confession, trying to figure out if there's something she should say. Can say. Apologies aren't much help, but she has the urge to anyway -- for bringing it up, maybe.

So she's facing him when the surprise flashes across her face, and then confusion. Trying to think back. Most of that year is a blur. Barely clawing her way through finals, falling apart all summer, only to come back the next semester and somehow have it hit her even worse. The only thing that stands out is when Gilly got sick. Not that it's a pleasant memory, losing one of her best friends, but she does remember it clearly.]

...Yeah. He did. [It got easier the next year. They gave her a single room, when she came back. Some kind of weird consolation, or maybe they just didn't want her grief to affect anyone else. Either way, she's pretty sure can count on one hand the number of nights she was actually left alone there.]

I didn't know that. I wasn't.... I missed a lot of things. [She's still not sure how she didn't flunk out by the time she resurfaced, to be honest. With help, apparently.] ...You never brought it up.

[Since they've been here, she means. Or maybe since they've started competing like this.]

Edited 2025-05-04 02:26 (UTC)

[He did. Or tried to. He’s tried to bring it up multiple times, in his own way. Offering condolences, collecting her homework, making sure she had the notes, buying snacks or lunch for a class when he knew she wasn’t eating enough. He was more obvious at the start, doesn’t blame her for missing it, it’s not like he did it for recognition, it almost feels wrong to tell her now.]

I didn’t —- I was just being helpful, it didn’t matter if you knew.

[There were other things through the years too, headaches he took from her, tiredness, aches and pains, anything to help her just a little bit. Now he feels like it’s too much to say, that it might come out more creepy than kind when it’s lumped together like that.

He pours himself another shot and takes it, staring at the glass once he’s through.]

Clinical should be interesting tomorrow. [In more ways than one.]

[So what changed that you hate me now, she wants to ask, but she's just sober enough to know it's a bad idea. She doesn't think he really hates her anyway, but they're not friends. She doesn't get why he'd have done any of that and then turn around and act -- like this.

Maybe she just takes it too seriously or something. He just gets under her skin so easily.]

...Would've been nice to know. [She doesn't know why she says it, isn't even sure why she thinks it. Maybe she could've tried harder to be friendly if she knew.

She steals the bottle from him as he's drinking, takes another herself, huffing a quiet laugh at his words.] God, yeah. Probably time to stop soon. [She pours herself another despite her words. Not ready to go home and be alone again. Or to break up this weird moment of peace between them.]

Remind me to tell you when you’re sober.

[He assumes she’s too drunk to remember the conversation at all, let alone be able to recall it and ask him later but he doesn’t really know how she handles her liquor. The last time he saw her drunk, they were still undergrads.

When she takes another drink, her words completely going against her actions, he laughs slightly, something soft and quick, dropping his serious exterior for just a moment. He pours himself another one once she’s done, placing the bottle back down between them.]

You’ll probably be fine hungover, the kids love you. [He’s only the slightest bit resentful about it, but mostly only because it’s something he’s not immediately good at. He doesn’t like struggling.]

[She tips him a little salute instead of answering. She's not sure how clear this conversation's going to be tomorrow anyway. This is a lot for her. Hopefully it does its job and knocks her out, at least.]

I've had practice. I used to do a lot of babysitting. [A shrug.] Anyway, most of them... they just want you to really listen. And maybe be excited about stuff they like.

[A pause, and then she glances his way with a little smile.] You'll get better at it. Give it some time.

Unless you have some special way to see the future, I don’t think that’s going to happen. More likely I’ll barely get by these next few weeks, move onto another rotation, and never have to worry about it again.

[Which isn’t entirely true, in Emergency med it is likely he will occasionally see children come through the doors. But it will at least be less frequent.

He takes another shot, the shot glass tipping slightly when he sets it back down, not quite coordinated enough to settle it properly. He doesn’t usually drink and it’s even more rare that he drinks this much.]

[She grins a little to herself, a private joke, reaching for the bottle to refill her own glass again.] Maybe. Or maybe you'll get used to to working with them.

[She's not even sure if this is actual certainty or she's just trying to return the favor, be positive since he's actually being nice right now. Reinforcement or something. It'd be nice not to be at each other's throats, she genuinely does admire his skill. Is jealous of it sometimes.]

It's a good skill to have up your sleeve, anyway.

I have plenty of skills. [He shoots her a look, more playful than anything else, even if he is trying to prove a point. He’ll do fine without being fantastic at pediatrics. He doesn’t need to excel at them all.] I’m very skilled.

[Once she’s set the bottle back down, he refills his own glass, not sure if someone will stop them or the bottle will run out before they finally finish this back and forth.]

Since you know mine, it’s only fair I know yours. What’s the focus you struggle with?

[She wrinkles her nose at him, a doubtful expression on her face, but it's playful, not genuinely trying to put him down. She even relents after a moment:] ...Sure, but you could always use more.

[She looks a little reluctant, pouring herself a drink before she answers. It's more because she doesn't like admitting her weaknesses than anything to do with him, but at the moment it does seem fair enough.] Psych. I don't know, it's probably a mental block. Trying to figure out what's going on in people's heads feels trickier than working out what's wrong with their bodies.

That’s surprising. [He admits, throwing back his shot, before slamming the glass back on the bar, a little harder than he expected. He smiles a little sheepishly.]

You just seem so empathetic. I feel like it’d be easy for you to tell what people are thinking.

[She's a little surprised by that, glancing sideways at him, offering a little smile.] I think it's too easy to empathize. Makes it harder to figure out whether something needs to be on a checklist of symptoms or if it's just... normal.

[She shrugs, reaching to refill her glass, reaching over to fill his as well this time.]

Anyway, I never really wanted to go into it, so. Could be worse. Could have turned out to be squeamish or something.

I guess I just treat everything like a symptom. Everyone probably has something that needs healing. [Whether that be mental or physical, he knows first hand that everyone has a little bit of pain, there’s never been a person he’s touched that hasn’t transferred something to him. Just some need the help more than others.

He smiles at her when she fills his glass, lifting it to cheers with her before taking it.]

I’m not squeamish but I don’t think I could ever do surgery. Some of those noises when they cut through things. [He shudders, refusing to elaborate more than that. He’s fine with small procedures, but full surgery, he’ll leave that to the pros.]

[She tips her glass to him, overly careful to avoid spilling anything, taking a drink before making a face in response to his words.] Yeah, I think I'm with you on that one. One go around was enough for me.

[She reaches for her water to at least take a few sips before turning back towards him as she pours herself another, curious.] So. Emergency, huh? You're sure about it?

[He calls the bartender over again after a moment and orders a water for himself, and some French fries. Maybe some kind of food for the two of them will keep the inevitable hangover from being too horrible.]

Pretty sure, why, you going to miss me? [He smirks after he says it but it’s missing his normal cockiness. Truth be told, he’ll likely be missing her. They don’t always have clinical together but they’ve shared a classroom for as long as he’s known her, once they choose their focuses, that’s it, they’ll be on separate paths, moving in two very different directions from each other.]

Oh, it'll be torture, not being reminded every time I slip.

[She's joking, but her expression is more contemplative than anything. She's not sure she'll miss him, but it will be -- weird. She might not know why she sees so much of him, but she's also kind of used to it, no matter how much she questions it.

Weirder when she graduates, when she gets back home. She's been so focused on it -- the idea that there's anything she's going to have to get used to being gone is sort of strange. She shakes it off after a second, tilts her head, doing her best to cover with playfulness as she pours herself another.] I mean, you think you'll miss me? [She still expects the obvious answer to be no, despite everything.]

Edited 2025-05-05 02:21 (UTC)

I don’t do that. [It comes out quick and then he thinks back, maybe he does do that. The needling, the criticism, pointing out her flaws, telling her when he’s better. He’s pretty sure it wasn’t his intention, just wanting to get her attention, make her see how good he was, how amazing he can be. He can see now that he took it too far.

He watches her for a moment after she asks her question. He feels like he’s so obvious. Always following her around, taking the same classes, going to the same school. It’s almost a shock that she doesn’t realize.] You’re right. You are bad at reading people’s minds.

[Not said unkindly, if anything he just sounds a little sad.]

[Something in his tone catches her attention, frowning a little, forgetting her drink in order to watch him closer. It feels like a dangerous spot, like standing on the edge of something, something unsettled in her chest, but she's drunk enough to ignore that feeling of warning.]

Why do I always feel like I'm missing things with you? [She doesn't sound upset or even annoyed; she sounds like she's trying to solve a puzzle.]

[The sad expression if anything just deepens. That’s his fault that she’s missing out, he’s the one being rude here, keeping her in the dark. He just doesn’t know what to say, how to tell her all the secrets he’s been keeping. So much time has passed, revealing it now would just make him seem cruel.]

It’s okay, Imogene, just forget I said anything. [He puts a hand on her wrist, not trying to take anything from her. Instead just trying to offer comfort, his thumb sliding across her hand for just a moment.]

[It's not the touch that surprises her as much as him using her name for once. It does nothing to stop her from scrutinizing him, even as her hand turns slightly under the touch without thinking about it, falling open like she's looking for more. It feels nice. Fuck, she doesn't think she's that touch starved, but it's settling in a way she didn't know she wanted.]

That's still not an answer. [But she sounds resigned to not getting one, for the most part.]

[He frowns slightly, mostly just confused, his gaze moving to stare at her hand, his own sliding up her wrist, fingers pressing into her palm as he slowly slides them until they are interlocking with hers. It feels amazing, not that he ever thought it wouldn’t, both comforting and terrifying, his pulse quickening slightly. He feels like if he breathes the wrong way it might ruin this.]

Why do I feel like I always say the wrong thing with you? [It comes out hushed, matching her question with one of his own.]

I don't know.

[She feels like she should pull away just as much as she wants to lean into his touch, tangled up between different instincts, and after a second she goes on, her voice soft.] I don't know what to expect from you. Right now you're nice and sometimes you're so... not. I don't get it.

[Part of it is that she takes it too personally, as much as she hates to admit it. It's been a long few years. Her confidence gets shaky enough without someone else pointing out when she makes a mistake.]

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