[ The last time they stared at each other in anguish over a death, it was Sam's. A young, gangly Ian with devastated eyes and a desperation to fix something that was irreparably broken. He couldn't, of course - at the time, no one could, and no amount of condolences could soften the blow that ultimately drove Nate into a recklessness bordering on suicidal.
It strikes him now that his approach to dealing with his death has largely been avoidance, combined with the occasional acknowledgment that drags him back into the place he'd been after Panama. Nate doesn't come to the conclusion independently, it comes with the expression on Ian's face and the fact that he seems to be mourning the loss in a way Nate hadn't anticipated.
Or maybe he had, he just didn't want to acknowledge it. Pity usually follows grief and he can't take that without feeling the same looks he felt as a kid when Mr. Morgan dropped his sons off at the Saint Francis Boys Home and the nuns watched them from the doorway.
Nate doesn't ask for comfort. He rarely asks for anything, partly out of that deep-seated desire not to be seen as incapable of handling himself or his problems even when he's steadfastly pushing them away. It's not for lack of wanting it, because Christ, he does, so when a hand extends and rests on his thigh it feels a little bit like being given permission to breathe. ]
Yeah, [ He exhales with a hoarse laugh, ducking his head. Guilty as charged. The hand holding his beer tips toward the contact, brushing his knuckles in a gesture of gratitude. ] Yeah, I'm sure you're right.
no subject
It strikes him now that his approach to dealing with his death has largely been avoidance, combined with the occasional acknowledgment that drags him back into the place he'd been after Panama. Nate doesn't come to the conclusion independently, it comes with the expression on Ian's face and the fact that he seems to be mourning the loss in a way Nate hadn't anticipated.
Or maybe he had, he just didn't want to acknowledge it. Pity usually follows grief and he can't take that without feeling the same looks he felt as a kid when Mr. Morgan dropped his sons off at the Saint Francis Boys Home and the nuns watched them from the doorway.
Nate doesn't ask for comfort. He rarely asks for anything, partly out of that deep-seated desire not to be seen as incapable of handling himself or his problems even when he's steadfastly pushing them away. It's not for lack of wanting it, because Christ, he does, so when a hand extends and rests on his thigh it feels a little bit like being given permission to breathe. ]
Yeah, [ He exhales with a hoarse laugh, ducking his head. Guilty as charged. The hand holding his beer tips toward the contact, brushing his knuckles in a gesture of gratitude. ] Yeah, I'm sure you're right.