Perfidious Albion, Chapter Ten
Sunday, December 23rd, 2018 08:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
challis_2070 posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
mindcrackloveHi! GO BACK UP YOUR WORK AND DON'T BE LIKE ME, ALMOST LOSING SEVERAL MONTHS WORTH OF WRITING. AND BACK IT UP IN MORE THAN ONE PLACE.
Cough cough.
Onward to Chapter Ten!
Link to Chapter Nine- https://mindcracklove.dreamwidth.org/1182886.html
Tom contemplated the flyer he had been given on base. He was sitting in the laundry room of the house right now, having gotten off duty two hours earlier, and was now waiting for his first load of laundry to finish up.
There was a mildly suspicious feeling that his wife and son were planning on going to this demonstration. Particularly since the date and time were on the calendar. (Maybe they wanted to have Paul’s birthday party early?) He was a bit leery on asking them, however. But…better to ask and be wrong than to not ask and worry the entire time. Also, that way would make it easier on if he wanted to volunteer or not.
He called out “Hey, Lasairfhíona, are you still in the kitchen?” He thought he could just barely hear the sound of her clicking knitting needles over the sound of the dryer.
“Hmmmm, yes Tom.” He heard the hobbling sound of his wife making her way towards the laundry room. “Did you need something?” She waved a knitting needle towards him in question.
“I had a question actually. There’s a demonstration coming up on Sunday, in Manchester…” He looked down at the flyer again.
“Yea. I know.” She nodded sagely, having already seen a printout, and thus, not as concerned about the flyer he was holding, since it was likely the same thing.
“Oh. Were…were you planning on attending it, then?” Probably she was. If she knew about it, she would go, in his experience, unless there was a damned good reason for her not to. Like being ill. But she was only ‘mildly’ ill right now, as she would say.
“I might be, why?” She probably didn’t mean to sound so antagonistic, he thought. Or hoped.
“Because they want volunteers to ah, back up the police and keep an eye on things…” Or to try to make it turn violent, he thought gloomily.
“For the love of god, Tom. Don’t volunteer for that.” She stabbed at the air in annoyance with the knitting needle. By the look of her, she wanted to be stabbing the flyer and not the air.
“So you are going, then?” He had thought so.
“Yes, I was planning on going.” So was Pól, but surely her husband could figure that out on his own.
“Do you have anyone going with you? I mean, I mean, you’re on a walker and braces and….and….I worry.”
“Yes. Don’t worry, I have it planned out.” Or he could not. Or maybe he assumed that their son was still too young for that kind of thing.
“Okay then, I just…I worry about you.” She shouldn’t be surprised. Sheshould not be surprised. She was surprised.
“Yea, which is why I don’t want you volunteering for this. That would be waaaay bad conflict of interest there, honey.” Real bad conflict of interest, like, get thrown out of the army level bad. That was laughable. He was married to her and hadn’t gotten kicked out.
“You’re right, of course. If something happened to you…” He made a short pained gesture with the flyer.
”Nó do mhac1…” she mumbled quietly in addition to what he had said.
“What was that, Lasairfhíona?”
“Nothing.” If he couldn’t figure it out, then maybe that was for the best. He could go re-read the damned calendar, it had both their names on it for that day, after all.
“Uh…huh. If anything were to happen to you, as I said, I’d probably panic, so….discretion.” He thought he knew what she had said, but his Irish skills were...not...where he wanted them to be yet.
“I’ve never seen you panic…”
“Well. Apparently I tend to get more…focused…when panicked. And only when it’s safer do I actually…break down.” Break down might be an understatement. Paralyzed would be another term.
“Oh?” He had never told her about that.
“Yeah. Rather severe panic when you were interned when Paul was twelve. That was….bad. I tried to punch the lieutenant at the time.” Tried nothing. Landed a punch before the lieutenant restrained him. Lieutenant took over of finding out what had happened and when he could go get his son at that point. He didn’t really remember much beyond that, the lieutenant had landed his own good hits down to keep him from fighting back more.
“Oh. Pól has never actually said what happened then…I mean, I have some idea, but still.” He would mumble about things as he had clung to her when she had gotten released, but it was nigh incomprehensible.
“You do know he was interned as well, pretty much?”
“Yea, but not for how long or what happened.” More than a few days, less than a month, that’s all she knew.
“Roughly a week. You were taken on that Tuesday, and things filtered down slowly on what happened and what I could do, so it was the next Wednesday (not the next day, the next week) before I was allowed to go get him.”
“Ah shit, Tom.” She knew it had been more than a day or two. She had actually stalked down people she knew had been held at the same place at the same time, but they were…not very talkative themselves. All they were willing to share was that they had tried to protect her son.
“He didn’t um, he didn’t talk to me. He refused to talk at all. I had to force him to eat when we got in.” Well, forced in the sense of sitting him down and handing him food and watching him until he ate, but still. He winced at the thought of someone actually forcing his son to eat. Or to take food, to be more precise.
“Wait. You were on duty then…” Pól, she knew, hadn’t seen him in uniform before then…She didn’t want to think about the ‘forced to eat’ comment. She’d experienced that before and prayed he didn’t actually mean it that way. He could not have possibly done that, he must have just death-glared their son until he ate some of the food, of course. Of course. Clearly.
“Yea, I think it scared him to see me in uniform at that point. And looking um….apparently…focused or, you know, for a twelve year old, scary.” Paul wouldn’t look at him. He looked at his hands during the trip back to the house. As far as he knew, he didn’t even move after he ate and Tom had lead him to his room while he had to run back to base to finish his shift.
“Or the fact that he might not have recognized you at first, you know. You’d have looked like every other soldier…” Or, nothing at all like his father.
“Ah. Yes. I hadn’t thought of that, really.” He winced at that realization. Of course he’d have been scared, he probably thought he was being taken to an army base. “He…thought he was being taken to a base, didn’t he.”
“I don’t know, but probably so. I got very little news. It wasn’t until you came to see me that I knew what happened to him at all.” There was one guard who had told her that they had lodged complaints in about her son being taken as well. She didn’t believe him, but hell, anything was possible, she supposed.
“Oh god, I’m sorry. I thought you would have been told where he was.” How exactly she would have been told, he wasn’t sure, but god, people weren’t that much of assholes, right, to withhold information from her about her son…yes. Yes they probably were. God damn everything.
“I knew where he was when we were separated, I didn’t know what happened after that.” She knew that they were unlikely to move him because of his age, at the very least. And that he was probably fearing his fifteenth birthday to some extent, because of it. He’d be almost old enough to be interned intentionally now. Oh god.
“I am very sorry.”
“We can’t really change the past.” She made a small calming gesture with the knitting needle.
“I know, but we might be able to work through it, at the very least.” He was trying to remember what the therapist had said about the topic.
“I don’t think he’d want to talk about it very much.” Probably not at all…she was almost certain that she heard a coughing sound, but the dryer was damned loud.
“You might be surprised.” They both jerked around to see Pyro leaning on the door way to the laundry room.
“…Pól…how long have you been standing there?”
“Only since you said that you knew where I was when we were separated.” He shrugged slightly, but was clearly not very happy.
“I…” Well, at least he wasn’t standing there the entire time.
“In so much that I mean that I’ve talked to Dinnerbone, ah, Nathan, about it.” He wasn’t sure they remembered his cousin’s nickname.
“Oh, uh…” She wondered for a brief moment where the hell his cousin had gotten the nickname before refocusing on the task at hand.
“There was….something that caused me to think about it. I might have caused Dinnerbone and Uncle Baj…and Millbee, for that matter…to be kind of…worried about me.” In that they threatened to call an ambulance, yes, but he might be able to retain some dignity if he didn’t mention it. He could always mention it later and pray they wouldn’t make a big fuss about it. He would never be that lucky, he knew, but hope springs eternal…
“When you were here before, you mean?” Well, he couldn’t mean much else.
“Yes, otherwise he’d have called you. He wants to talk to you about a birthday party for me, by the way.”
“Don’t try to avoid the topic.” She didn’t think he really was, but, strike while the iron is hot, and all. She could call Baj tonight after dinner. That could wait.
“It was an aside. I wasn’t going to avoid the topic, even though it honestly hurts like god damn hell to think about.”
“I am very sorry.” Tom looked mildly stricken.
“It wasn’t really your fault. You scared the hell out of me when you took me home, but I don’t think you were entirely mad at me…right?” Lasairfhíona winced at that, she had been right in one that her husband had scared their son when he had gone and rescued him.
“No. I wasn’t mad at you at all. I was mad you had been taken and that it took a week for them to let me go get you.”
“Ah. I was worried you were mad at me, that you thought it was my fault.” He wrung his hands in consternation of having to talk about the incident. Would his father get angry at him about it now?
“Oh god no.” Tom shook his head violently at the entire thought. No, no, he was afraid for his son, not angry at him!
“Mummy.”
“What?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to her what he might ask right now.
“How do people not go crazy there? I mean, I don’t think I’m…entirely…crazy…but…”
“Well. Some do. Stubbornness gets you very far, however. And you’re not crazy.” She was now entirely certain they really needed to sit down and talk about exactly what had happened then. Well, both when he was twelve and also what had happened last year, as well, even though they were different incidents.
“The therapist agrees with you, so I’m probably not crazy, that is true. Just uh, something about post-traumatic stress disorder or something?” The therapist had said it very very quickly, it was kind of hard to understand what she had said.
“Yeaaaaaaah, that seems very very likely. PTSD.”
“Oh. I never heard it actually spelled all the way out before.” The therapist had given him paperwork about it, but he hadn’t actually gotten the gumption up yet to read it. Scary stuff, that paperwork is.
Notes, Translations, etc
1 “Or your son...”
Link to Chapter Eleven- https://mindcracklove.dreamwidth.org/1183413.html#cutid1
Cough cough.
Onward to Chapter Ten!
Link to Chapter Nine- https://mindcracklove.dreamwidth.org/1182886.html
Tom contemplated the flyer he had been given on base. He was sitting in the laundry room of the house right now, having gotten off duty two hours earlier, and was now waiting for his first load of laundry to finish up.
There was a mildly suspicious feeling that his wife and son were planning on going to this demonstration. Particularly since the date and time were on the calendar. (Maybe they wanted to have Paul’s birthday party early?) He was a bit leery on asking them, however. But…better to ask and be wrong than to not ask and worry the entire time. Also, that way would make it easier on if he wanted to volunteer or not.
He called out “Hey, Lasairfhíona, are you still in the kitchen?” He thought he could just barely hear the sound of her clicking knitting needles over the sound of the dryer.
“Hmmmm, yes Tom.” He heard the hobbling sound of his wife making her way towards the laundry room. “Did you need something?” She waved a knitting needle towards him in question.
“I had a question actually. There’s a demonstration coming up on Sunday, in Manchester…” He looked down at the flyer again.
“Yea. I know.” She nodded sagely, having already seen a printout, and thus, not as concerned about the flyer he was holding, since it was likely the same thing.
“Oh. Were…were you planning on attending it, then?” Probably she was. If she knew about it, she would go, in his experience, unless there was a damned good reason for her not to. Like being ill. But she was only ‘mildly’ ill right now, as she would say.
“I might be, why?” She probably didn’t mean to sound so antagonistic, he thought. Or hoped.
“Because they want volunteers to ah, back up the police and keep an eye on things…” Or to try to make it turn violent, he thought gloomily.
“For the love of god, Tom. Don’t volunteer for that.” She stabbed at the air in annoyance with the knitting needle. By the look of her, she wanted to be stabbing the flyer and not the air.
“So you are going, then?” He had thought so.
“Yes, I was planning on going.” So was Pól, but surely her husband could figure that out on his own.
“Do you have anyone going with you? I mean, I mean, you’re on a walker and braces and….and….I worry.”
“Yes. Don’t worry, I have it planned out.” Or he could not. Or maybe he assumed that their son was still too young for that kind of thing.
“Okay then, I just…I worry about you.” She shouldn’t be surprised. She
“Yea, which is why I don’t want you volunteering for this. That would be waaaay bad conflict of interest there, honey.” Real bad conflict of interest, like, get thrown out of the army level bad. That was laughable. He was married to her and hadn’t gotten kicked out.
“You’re right, of course. If something happened to you…” He made a short pained gesture with the flyer.
”Nó do mhac1…” she mumbled quietly in addition to what he had said.
“What was that, Lasairfhíona?”
“Nothing.” If he couldn’t figure it out, then maybe that was for the best. He could go re-read the damned calendar, it had both their names on it for that day, after all.
“Uh…huh. If anything were to happen to you, as I said, I’d probably panic, so….discretion.” He thought he knew what she had said, but his Irish skills were...not...where he wanted them to be yet.
“I’ve never seen you panic…”
“Well. Apparently I tend to get more…focused…when panicked. And only when it’s safer do I actually…break down.” Break down might be an understatement. Paralyzed would be another term.
“Oh?” He had never told her about that.
“Yeah. Rather severe panic when you were interned when Paul was twelve. That was….bad. I tried to punch the lieutenant at the time.” Tried nothing. Landed a punch before the lieutenant restrained him. Lieutenant took over of finding out what had happened and when he could go get his son at that point. He didn’t really remember much beyond that, the lieutenant had landed his own good hits down to keep him from fighting back more.
“Oh. Pól has never actually said what happened then…I mean, I have some idea, but still.” He would mumble about things as he had clung to her when she had gotten released, but it was nigh incomprehensible.
“You do know he was interned as well, pretty much?”
“Yea, but not for how long or what happened.” More than a few days, less than a month, that’s all she knew.
“Roughly a week. You were taken on that Tuesday, and things filtered down slowly on what happened and what I could do, so it was the next Wednesday (not the next day, the next week) before I was allowed to go get him.”
“Ah shit, Tom.” She knew it had been more than a day or two. She had actually stalked down people she knew had been held at the same place at the same time, but they were…not very talkative themselves. All they were willing to share was that they had tried to protect her son.
“He didn’t um, he didn’t talk to me. He refused to talk at all. I had to force him to eat when we got in.” Well, forced in the sense of sitting him down and handing him food and watching him until he ate, but still. He winced at the thought of someone actually forcing his son to eat. Or to take food, to be more precise.
“Wait. You were on duty then…” Pól, she knew, hadn’t seen him in uniform before then…She didn’t want to think about the ‘forced to eat’ comment. She’d experienced that before and prayed he didn’t actually mean it that way. He could not have possibly done that, he must have just death-glared their son until he ate some of the food, of course. Of course. Clearly.
“Yea, I think it scared him to see me in uniform at that point. And looking um….apparently…focused or, you know, for a twelve year old, scary.” Paul wouldn’t look at him. He looked at his hands during the trip back to the house. As far as he knew, he didn’t even move after he ate and Tom had lead him to his room while he had to run back to base to finish his shift.
“Or the fact that he might not have recognized you at first, you know. You’d have looked like every other soldier…” Or, nothing at all like his father.
“Ah. Yes. I hadn’t thought of that, really.” He winced at that realization. Of course he’d have been scared, he probably thought he was being taken to an army base. “He…thought he was being taken to a base, didn’t he.”
“I don’t know, but probably so. I got very little news. It wasn’t until you came to see me that I knew what happened to him at all.” There was one guard who had told her that they had lodged complaints in about her son being taken as well. She didn’t believe him, but hell, anything was possible, she supposed.
“Oh god, I’m sorry. I thought you would have been told where he was.” How exactly she would have been told, he wasn’t sure, but god, people weren’t that much of assholes, right, to withhold information from her about her son…yes. Yes they probably were. God damn everything.
“I knew where he was when we were separated, I didn’t know what happened after that.” She knew that they were unlikely to move him because of his age, at the very least. And that he was probably fearing his fifteenth birthday to some extent, because of it. He’d be almost old enough to be interned intentionally now. Oh god.
“I am very sorry.”
“We can’t really change the past.” She made a small calming gesture with the knitting needle.
“I know, but we might be able to work through it, at the very least.” He was trying to remember what the therapist had said about the topic.
“I don’t think he’d want to talk about it very much.” Probably not at all…she was almost certain that she heard a coughing sound, but the dryer was damned loud.
“You might be surprised.” They both jerked around to see Pyro leaning on the door way to the laundry room.
“…Pól…how long have you been standing there?”
“Only since you said that you knew where I was when we were separated.” He shrugged slightly, but was clearly not very happy.
“I…” Well, at least he wasn’t standing there the entire time.
“In so much that I mean that I’ve talked to Dinnerbone, ah, Nathan, about it.” He wasn’t sure they remembered his cousin’s nickname.
“Oh, uh…” She wondered for a brief moment where the hell his cousin had gotten the nickname before refocusing on the task at hand.
“There was….something that caused me to think about it. I might have caused Dinnerbone and Uncle Baj…and Millbee, for that matter…to be kind of…worried about me.” In that they threatened to call an ambulance, yes, but he might be able to retain some dignity if he didn’t mention it. He could always mention it later and pray they wouldn’t make a big fuss about it. He would never be that lucky, he knew, but hope springs eternal…
“When you were here before, you mean?” Well, he couldn’t mean much else.
“Yes, otherwise he’d have called you. He wants to talk to you about a birthday party for me, by the way.”
“Don’t try to avoid the topic.” She didn’t think he really was, but, strike while the iron is hot, and all. She could call Baj tonight after dinner. That could wait.
“It was an aside. I wasn’t going to avoid the topic, even though it honestly hurts like god damn hell to think about.”
“I am very sorry.” Tom looked mildly stricken.
“It wasn’t really your fault. You scared the hell out of me when you took me home, but I don’t think you were entirely mad at me…right?” Lasairfhíona winced at that, she had been right in one that her husband had scared their son when he had gone and rescued him.
“No. I wasn’t mad at you at all. I was mad you had been taken and that it took a week for them to let me go get you.”
“Ah. I was worried you were mad at me, that you thought it was my fault.” He wrung his hands in consternation of having to talk about the incident. Would his father get angry at him about it now?
“Oh god no.” Tom shook his head violently at the entire thought. No, no, he was afraid for his son, not angry at him!
“Mummy.”
“What?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to her what he might ask right now.
“How do people not go crazy there? I mean, I don’t think I’m…entirely…crazy…but…”
“Well. Some do. Stubbornness gets you very far, however. And you’re not crazy.” She was now entirely certain they really needed to sit down and talk about exactly what had happened then. Well, both when he was twelve and also what had happened last year, as well, even though they were different incidents.
“The therapist agrees with you, so I’m probably not crazy, that is true. Just uh, something about post-traumatic stress disorder or something?” The therapist had said it very very quickly, it was kind of hard to understand what she had said.
“Yeaaaaaaah, that seems very very likely. PTSD.”
“Oh. I never heard it actually spelled all the way out before.” The therapist had given him paperwork about it, but he hadn’t actually gotten the gumption up yet to read it. Scary stuff, that paperwork is.
Notes, Translations, etc
1 “Or your son...”
Link to Chapter Eleven- https://mindcracklove.dreamwidth.org/1183413.html#cutid1
