i_speak_softly | Sixty-Second Theory [Action]

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Sixty-Second Theory [Action]

[Today, Don can intermittently be found standing outside House 55, eating a large but careful amount of the household's remaining food, and watching a long line of Kin'corans walk - or be forcibly herded - into the barracks to be teleported to wherever they're going.]

[In between these breaks, he will be industriously stripping the plaster from the walls of one of the house's long-vacant bedrooms, demolishing it right down to the studs. He has the windows open to help ventilate the inevitable dust, and the sound of his efforts can be plainly heard in the surrounding area.]

[Ask what he's doing in there? Complain about the noise? Or just join him to observe the sad parade of refugees?]

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[Thank you for being disgusted by Don's sweaty towel, Robert; that really makes him feel good.]

[The Turtle steers the panicking scientist more forcibly out of the room, and slams the door behind him. Maybe don't come back for a while.]

...

[At first, there's complete non-comprehension as Don pushes Robert out the door, since Robert is so wrapped-up in his various neuroses to really notice why. But when the door is quite suddenly slammed in his face -]

... Don?

[He doesn't try to open the door again. Even Robert can understand what a door slammed in his face means.

This is the angriest he has ever made Don, and he has absolutely no idea what it was he did. Completely bewildered and hurt, Robert just stares at the closed door, a physical recreation of the distance between them, before he starts to cry silently.]

[For the next few minutes, Don loudly and violently tears down the remaining chunks of drywall, throwing them to the floor until the interior structures behind them are laid bare. When that's done, his initial anger is spent, and he turns to the task of cleaning up the mess.

Intact pieces of the wall are piled in a corner, to be taken away later. The dustpan is filled, many times, and tipped carefully into the bushes under the window. When he's finished, it's probably still not up to Robert's obsessive standards, but it should at least not look like a health hazard anymore.

From there, Don slips silently into the bathroom to wash up, then to the kitchen to boil some water.

About an hour after the slam of the door, he enters Robert's room, quiet and penitent. The man is hunched in a corner, staring at nothing, half-dried teartracks streaking his face.

Don kneels beside him - slow, calm, formal - and offers a steaming cup of the Terran's favorite tea. Peace?]

[An hour. A lot of things can happen in an hour.

Robert wasn't standing in front of the door crying the whole time, no. Even his processes function better than that. He could only stand a few minutes of it, the angry noises of destruction behind the door juxtaposed with the dark staring silence of its surface, and when it rapidly became evident that Don's emotions were not changing, he left. What else was there to do?

Since then he's obsessively scoured dust from his clothing and himself, washed Don's towel at least twice over (and no, it wasn't the sweat that bothered him, it was the dust on that too), and then... emptiness set in. Suddenly the dust's presence seemed unproblematic next to whatever trouble he caused.

As he is wont to do in any situation where he has caused a problem and can't understand what it is, he essentially retreated to his room to hide.

And that, of course, is where Don finds him. He is indeed staring at nothing, and there are worrying marks on his hands where he's been rhythmically rubbing them. His nanocomputer sits open at his desk, screen blank and forgotten. It's evident he tried to write something, failed, and then simply got caught up in his own thoughts. Don's towel, cleaned and almost reverently folded on the bed, is likely the only sign he's done anything whatsoever.

At first the noise of the door opening, and the light of the hallway filtering in, is not noticed by the occupant. But the sweet scent of tea in a room as sterile as Robert's...

He turns, enough to see Don there, kneeling, and he doesn't really know what to say.]

...

[He takes the tea from Don's hands, cradles it like a lifeline, and looks into his eyes.

Peace.]

[Don remains silent, letting Robert drink the calming tea. If the scientist hasn't said anything yet when half the cup is gone, the Turtle will begin with:]

I'm sorry.

[Robert immediately shakes his head.]

I am the one who... sh-should be sorry...

[Didn't he cause he the problem? (Doesn't he always?)]

[It's not important who's at fault. What matters is that they were upset with each other, and now they've made up.]

[Don shifts a little closer, resting their shoulders together. Is this okay?]

[Yes, it's okay. Robert lets his shoulders relax and leans into Don slightly, a small half-smile on his lips.]

... I... must be f-frustrating, sometimes. [He means his obsessive desire to make everything clean, but unknowingly this could apply to his equally-obsessive desire to keep Don safe and out of trouble.]

[That sounds like a dangerous thing to agree to, so Don goes for the safer:] Me too.

[Robert's just being self-disparaging, nothing new.

But in response to that, he takes Don's hand with his own free hand and squeezes it gently. It's not a word, but it's an unspoken "no".]

... I want you to... be h-happy, Don.

[Don's shoulders slump, and he turns a little to face Robert more easily.]

I want to - do it.

[Do what? The project?]

You wish to... continue working? Or...

[Nod. He's enjoying the project itself, and looking forward to the result. Please don't ask him to stop.]

[After a few moments, Robert murmurs -]

... Is... is it that you... do not w-want to wear anything? Was that the issue...?

[It's a little halting. He doesn't want to make Don upset again, but he also worries.]

... Because... if that is important to you, then... I suppose you... do not need to...

No, it... [He taps his snout, indicating the way the mask was suffocating him. He wouldn't mind wearing something that fit.]

... Would it be better if I made you something, then? [They could guarantee a fit that way, and it'd be sturdy enough to use more than once.

He looks earnestly up at Don. You aren't mad because he wants you to be safe, right?]

[Don nods, but very hesitantly. He has a sense now that if a properly-fitting mask became more than just theoretical, he would find it to be as restrictive and embarrassing as the one he tried earlier. He's kind of regretting implying that he would wear one.]

Edited 2012-09-09 03:51 (UTC)

[The problem here is largely a perception one, namely of degrees of acceptable risk. Robert doesn't really understand how Don can just dismiss the risks of what he's doing without protecting himself if the protection is available.

At the same time though, he also doesn't want to prevent him from doing something he wants to do. It's a tight situation.]

... I-In the interim, I... I could clean the r-room while you work...?

[It's not the best possible solution, no. But it's better than the alternative and it'd give Don a free pair of hands to help in a pinch.]

[No, that - is not a good solution. Don goes into a kind of Zen when he's working, and he'd rather not have non-ninjas in the vicinity when he's wielding power tools.]

[... Mm. There's really no other way, then, is there?

Robert sighs a little and glances down once more.]

... Do you think Nala's healing magic would help any damage...? [It seems ridiculous to rely on that, not when they could just prevent it entirely, but he doesn't want Don hurting himself. (Of course, chances are Don won't hurt himself enough for it to be a problem, but Robert really does worry. The marks on his hands are proof of that.)]

Edited 2012-09-09 04:18 (UTC)

[Don looks down at his plastron. He doesn't feel damaged, but he'll let you try some healing magic if it would really make you happier about the situation.]

[It would. At the least it would make him slightly less paranoid and also feel useful.

Closing his eyes, Robert presses his palm gently against Don's plastron, and concentrates. For him, the magic is a very mental process, his brain focusing on the knowledge and the structure of Don's Turtle lungs as he channels the power of the magic into him. He wishes he understood it better, but for now he knows it is, for him at least, a partially-physical process.

If Don's lungs were feeling at all constricted or even inconvenienced, that feeling is probably rapidly dissipating.]

[All Don feels is a sort of warm tingling in his chest, and maybe a vague sensation in his throat like he just swallowed a cough drop.]

[Guess he was okay after all.]

[Oh well. Robert is still glad for the effort, anyway, and it wasn't particularly difficult or taxing. Releasing his grip and letting his concentration fade, he glances up at Don again.]

... Thank you for... indulging me. [His anxieties, especially.]

[It's no problem. Your teacup is empty. Can he take it away for you?]

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semper_cogitans - 2012-09-11 01:16 (UTC) - Expand

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