empathicfault | IC Inbox

[ From here. ]

Will had checked on the dogs first thing when they were yanked back on the ship. Fine, both fine. He'd headed back to his cabin to get things settled and finally change his clothes when the Admiral's announcement hit.

Thank fuck Harkin offers to come over. Will gratefully opens the door for him- which creates a small explosion of dogs. Buster and Winston are very happy to see both Harkin and Jax, and there is much tail wagging and sniffing. Will ushers Harkin inside with a tired smile and closes the door before the doggy meet-and-greet can truly get rolling.

"You want a drink?" he asks his brother, in lieu of their normal 'hey' and 'hey' greeting. Because yeah, he would like one too, right now. He's already moving towards his little cabinet of foodstuffs and glasses.

Sweeney's a step inside and halfway to sitting when Will offers him a drink. It makes him pause, bent in between start and destination, while he considers it. Normally, he'd decline appreciatively. But with all the bullshit that seems to be rolling in:

"That'd be great."

He finishes his decent, plopping on the floor and waiting his turn to greet each dog once they've finished with each other.

"'m glad yer safe. That Malcolm is." Those fates are undeniably bound, so there's comfort in knowing that either one is.

As Sweeney sits down, two more dogs join the group- Jet and Bear, whom Shaw asked Will to look after. Bear is exceptionally well-behaved, waiting until prompted to come near for pets. Jet...slightly less so. He finishes sniffing the other dogs and shoves his face in Sweeney's, licking his chin.

Will continues his quest, since Hark's not saying no. Will himself doesn't drink much anymore, but he's glad for the excuse tonight. He has to squeeze past a couple of canvases- the non-living-room side of his cabin is starting to resemble an art supply storehouse- but it doesn't take him long. Soon he's joining Harkin on the floor, with an unmarked bottle of whatever whiskey is at this port. He sets two glasses up on the coffee table next to him and just enjoys the swarm of dogs.

"Hope we didn't worry you," he tells Harkin, sincerely. "I suppose if we really wanted to be safe, we should've stayed in the city. But I was more comfortable out there. We did try to be careful."

He pours for both of them, just a splash for now, and holds a glass out for his brother. "If this is terrible, I'll break out the space station bottle. I know that stuff's good." Nothing wrong with experimenting, though, right?

Edited 2024-02-03 18:04 (UTC)

"Worry me?" He looks up from the herd of smacking tails and slobbery tongues with a knowing expression.

"You mean while ya were out there with fuckin' monsters an' a literal river of Death?" A beat passes with that brotherly stare of 'what do you fucking think?'. Sweeney takes the glass when it's offered.

"I think ya underestimate how low my standards are." He rethinks the statement, pausing before he gets the rim to his lips.

"It gin?"

Because then he might reconsider his stance.

Will's shoulders hunch up, much like when Harkin would lecture him for taking needless risks back in Seattle. It takes him a moment to notice that and forcibly shove them down again. He rubs at his face.

"Nah, it's whisky. Or whatever they have here that passes for it." Because they haven't left this world yet.

He swallows before he speaks, his Adam's apple visibly bobbing. "I should've checked in more. I'm sorry. Most of it wasn't dangerous for me. But...not all."

At the clarification of the cup's contents, Sweeney tips his head in approval. His tone makes it clear that he's moved past the requisite chiding phase, and has no lingering issues with the topic.

"Knew ya were with Malcolm. That's all that was really needed. Forests don't tend ta give wolves too much trouble, even filled with predators, an'...I know ya got Gaius as a backup." What else is needed at the end of the day? At the time, he didn't know anyone could get stuck.

"F'gured when the stop was wrappin' up, if ya couldn't find yer way back, the Adm'ral'd scoop ya up, like he does. And..." Sweeney takes a moment to consider the words, trying to capture the idea succinctly.

"If the worst were ta happen, an' there was no undoin' it, you were with the one person in the world ya should be. You two, together. Whate'er was ta come."

That's important. What he'd done wrong those years ago. Not 'done wrong', maybe. But had to carry the weight of, all the same.

Will grimaces a little, first at his first sip of booze and then at the reminder of the worst possible outcome.

"Yeah, we definitely did get scooped up. What the Admiral said about the river, we took it seriously. I didn't want to risk getting 'detached' from the boat." He downs the rest of his glass, suddenly needing more of the burning. "Either I'd go back to death or...I wouldn't die, and that'd be worse."

He shakes his head. "But it wasn't bad. Mostly zombie-like things, a few other abominations. We felt good, being able to help by fighting things. Keeping the stragglers from the river safe."

The puff of air isn't a proper snort, just a quiet sound lost in his tipped glass.

"Still strange ta me, Malcolm wantin' ta do violence." The man always seemed so...well, not delicate, but adverse. Like he feels there should always be another, better, solution.

The alcohol isn't bad, and he tips his head to Will in appreciation for it.

Thinking about Malcolm in that context has Will leaning back against his couch, an admiring smile on his face. It very effectively kicks Will out of his current worries.

"Oh, he's exceptionally good at it. Skilled, efficient. Graceful as he goes about it, even. It seems like his natural state. And that's why..." Why he could never accept it. "He works very hard to give himself another choice. A way to disarm, a way to talk someone down. Most everything down there, thankfully, was pretty mindless. He was able to let loose without guilt."

"Oh, there's a difference between bein' good at somethin' an' wantin' ta do it." Sweeney knows that shit all too well. He sighs and sips his drink.

"Just not sure what tempers him. If it's guilt or shame or love fer the common man." Or whatever, the small shake of his head suggests.

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