Envy flushed through Schofield, a longing pang inside him to have what the other did, more days that were good than bad. It was a sin he knew like an old friend. Stealing himself, he reached for a fry, hoping to hide his emotions from the other. “Like building a rickety dam, only to have the water spill through the cracks… it just gets worse, as you said,” he analogized with an understanding nod. “I feel as though I know most people who deal with things that way.” Bringing the fry up to his lips, he stared down at it for a second before chomping down on it.
At Russel’s words he suddenly became aware of how salty the fries were, his mouth feeling dry. Talking. A method everyone had thrown at him. Go to a therapist, a psychiatrist, attend a group therapy for soldiers… He’d looked into all those things, but had yet to cave and actually go. It was hard to relive your past through memories, but even worst to say it out loud. Makes it real. Losing Blake, holding him in your arms as he takes his last breath…
His eyes misted at the thought and he quickly turned away, fighting to keep control of the dam. “Um. Company is nice. Yours is appreciated,” he responded quietly, gaze on the fry as he twirled it between his fingers. “I’m grateful you’ve shown me an insight into your coping mechanism, might be useful for me in the future. Do - ” The sentence broke off as he finally glanced over at Russel and the dam in his mind splintered, a voice, possibly Blake’s telling him to open up before he burst…
“Have you ever lost someone?” he asked, eyes darting away when it registered what he’d said. Shit. Of course Russel had probably lost someone, everyone on the planet had dealt with death in some way or another. “I – I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have asked.”
"Yeah, exactly. Or the old exploding bottle metaphor,” said Russel. He didn’t tend to explode, but he did sometimes bottle up and then only let things pour out when he was sure no one would notice. He wasn’t sure that was the best method, since it seemed his bottle filled up pretty quickly that way. At least he had his mother to cry to when it all got to be too much.
Russel didn’t know a whole lot about Schofield beyond the basics, only knew he’d been in the military but nothing more than that. He figured it was a military type thing to be tight-lipped about what you did in service of your country. Loud mouths were often liars or just plain jerks. It was one thing to be proud of being a veteran. It was another thing to go around making sure everyone you met knew it.
Green eyes flicking between the tv screen and the other man, he wondered if he was actually going to say something. When he finally did, the tv was forgotten. Schofield looked away, but Russel stared at his face, realizing the depth of this “bad day.”
“It’s fine. But... No, not really,” he said softly. “I mean, my grandparents, and pets, but that’s not the kind of loss you mean, is it? People don’t generally start off like that if they’re going to talk about their childhood dog.”
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