forgodssake | ic inbox } ataraxion.

[ Black eyes catch blue ones. His expression shifts, slow and fluid, from cold distance to the brittle edges of a frown. Not quite anger. Annoyance. Offense. ]

Just because you could never fathom doing any work that didn't immediately intellectually entertain you doesn't mean I'm the same.

Edited (sometimes i remember grammar sometimes not ) 2014-08-09 05:13 (UTC)

[ --that gets a disbelieving scoff, but that gaze is held all the same. It's easier to just allow it go pass by. Yes, fine, obviously. But maybe he wants an answer to his question. ]

If you didn't think the pain is something to warrant desperation [ is restated, clear, sharp ] regardless as to how personally fascinating you may or may not find it, then why are you treating it seriously.

I already know your work ethic. That's not what I'm asking.

Because I'm not an arsehole who sees no middle ground between desperation and not important, Charles.

[ Is that really a question? Really? Severus just stares at him, fully incredulous. ]

[ Incredulity is blandly accepted, jaw setting firm in low level frustration. Maybe their first conversation and this attentive assistance should not feel as incongruous as it does.

It makes more sense, however, when he considers that he is Snape's work. ]

I was, though. Desperate. You said it yourself, a hammer. Maybe not desperate, I was-- I wasn't well. The things I said, Severus, they're not-- they're not why.

[ Already the thread of his point feels like he's groping in the dark, and eye contact breaks. ]

And I was afraid, when you found me.

[ Severus is immediately angry that Charles is choosing right now to suddenly have a breakthrough in emotional honesty-- or manipulation, frankly Severus isn't sure, and furthermore isn't sure if he cares. ]

Is that supposed to change something for me? [ Fear. He almost laughs. As if Severus could be moved by pandering to something he's not sure he remembers how to feel. ]

[ He has a lot of time on his hands. A lot of arguments to have until repetition starts to show itself. Eye contact regained, there's a flare of visible anger, couched as it is in whatever stops him from making his case more articulately than he is. ]

I don't know. It could. Why wouldn't it.

Motivation doesn't make what you did any different. The way you presented it to me doesn't change what it is.

[ Excuses are meaningless. No one's ever gone easier on him because he had reasons - even completely justifiable ones - fueling his mistakes. ]

Alright.

[ It's a little like giving in. There has always been a barrier behind Severus' eyes, and he can feel it, now, telepathy returned only to touch those boundaries with all the force of a hand checking the texture of a brick wall. Removal, now, in more ways than one.

Ironically, it's the Charles of ten years ago that would have argued, just now. That people are more than what they've done. That context and intentions matter. Hard lessons mean he can't really fight the point, now can he? People sometimes don't change. Maybe he won't either.

His gaze switches from one black eye to the other, before focus hollows out. ]

It works brilliant, the potion. Thanks for it.

[ He could loop the conversation back around to future treatment, agreement that he'd keep Severus updated on his intentions, but he doesn't think to. ]

[ Someone else can give Charles a hug and tell him it's all right. Emma, maybe, if she thinks it'll help. Severus doesn't work that way.

All the tools are right here for Charles to help himself. If Severus has to draw a map and hold his face against it, he'll never actually improve.

The wizard gives him a flat look. Because of course it's brilliant, he made it.

Severus turns, waves the door open, and leaves. ]

[ In fairness, he doesn't quite have the look of a man who wants (or, indeed, truly needs) a hug; the tracking of Snape's progress out of his room is vaguely hungry and hostile, if passively so. They fought. He lost his space job. According to Charles' understanding of the universe, even from down here, there should be a conversation with a resolution in sight.

There isn't one. Just five long hours til the next jump to kill, anyway, and as he did before, he spends his new found painlessness doing fuck all. ]

ic inbox } ataraxion.

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