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Feb. 7th, 2007 11:13 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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neutral_omensTime: January 6, 2001
Status: Private (John, Crowley - Complete)
Place: John's and Crowley's Rooms
Summary: Post-Kit fallout.
John made it as far as his door before the shakes really started to set in, but it took him a few tries to get the key in the keyhole so he could unlock the thing.*
Kit, here in the Manor. In his world, this was roughly the equivalent of the Titanic rising from the deep and running aground in the middle of St. James Park.
He didn't know what to do. She wasn't prepared for a place like this; nothing in her experience provided the framework she'd need to deal with the people and things she'd find here. And he wasn't prepared to shield her from it, and had sod all chance of persuading her to leave if she didn't want to go--if he could even bring himself to try. He didn't really even know why she'd come, though everything she'd said downstairs seemed to add up to her being worried about him.
Worried about him? It had been seven years since she'd last laid eyes on him. She'd left poor old Brendan to slowly pickle himself to death, hadn't attended her own dad's funeral. Since when had Kit Ryan ever troubled herself to worry about the men she'd left behind? And why was he even contemplating giving her the chance to tear him down again? Why had he been daft enough to go to Belfast in the first place, for that matter?
He stumbled inside on the dark current of these thoughts, not bothering to put a light on, and sank into the nearest of the big posh armchairs, scrubbing wearily at his face. A civil, sober conversation lasting less than half an hour, and it had left him feeling exhausted and completely out of his reckoning. Only Kit had ever been able to do this to him, and before today she'd only done it the once.
All things considered, he thought, it really was simpler dealing with Hell.
He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself and still the tremor in his hands before he went to make sure Crowley wasn't too freaked out. It must have been a shock for him, too, meeting a woman he'd shared memories of loving but never actually seen.
---
*He absolutely, positively refused to acknowledge any unfortunate metaphors this difficulty might bring to mind.
Status: Private (John, Crowley - Complete)
Place: John's and Crowley's Rooms
Summary: Post-Kit fallout.
John made it as far as his door before the shakes really started to set in, but it took him a few tries to get the key in the keyhole so he could unlock the thing.*
Kit, here in the Manor. In his world, this was roughly the equivalent of the Titanic rising from the deep and running aground in the middle of St. James Park.
He didn't know what to do. She wasn't prepared for a place like this; nothing in her experience provided the framework she'd need to deal with the people and things she'd find here. And he wasn't prepared to shield her from it, and had sod all chance of persuading her to leave if she didn't want to go--if he could even bring himself to try. He didn't really even know why she'd come, though everything she'd said downstairs seemed to add up to her being worried about him.
Worried about him? It had been seven years since she'd last laid eyes on him. She'd left poor old Brendan to slowly pickle himself to death, hadn't attended her own dad's funeral. Since when had Kit Ryan ever troubled herself to worry about the men she'd left behind? And why was he even contemplating giving her the chance to tear him down again? Why had he been daft enough to go to Belfast in the first place, for that matter?
He stumbled inside on the dark current of these thoughts, not bothering to put a light on, and sank into the nearest of the big posh armchairs, scrubbing wearily at his face. A civil, sober conversation lasting less than half an hour, and it had left him feeling exhausted and completely out of his reckoning. Only Kit had ever been able to do this to him, and before today she'd only done it the once.
All things considered, he thought, it really was simpler dealing with Hell.
He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself and still the tremor in his hands before he went to make sure Crowley wasn't too freaked out. It must have been a shock for him, too, meeting a woman he'd shared memories of loving but never actually seen.
---
*He absolutely, positively refused to acknowledge any unfortunate metaphors this difficulty might bring to mind.
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Date: 2007-02-12 01:33 am (UTC)Ensconced comfortably in their old bickering roles, Crowley sighed silently with relief. It looked like, for now, John was going to be okay.