View source for Logs:Hashing Through the Fucked Up Bits of Our Brains

{{Log 
| content-warning=alcoholism, mention of burning bodies, discussion of the difference between protection and possession, discussion of unhealthy thought patterns including feelings of worthlessness
| cast= [[Mearcstapa]], [[Jack Martingale]]
| setting= A beach on Lanai, Hawaii
| log=Jack's made sure to (loosely) schedule some time to be alone with both his partners, and so one late afternoon he picks up a box from the localvore market and restaurant that the resort runs, and leads Mearc down the winding path to the beach. It doesn't take long to get there, and they seem to arrive at something of the perfect time - most families and couples who have spent their afternoon in the water are packing up for the evening and heading back to their rooms. There's ample space to set out one of the extra blankets from their room in a place where the tide won't reach them, to have a picnic dinner while the sun sets.


Mearc helps to lay out the blanket, and sets his sandals down in the sand beside it, wriggling his toes a moment in the sand before settling down. “We should find time to picnic when we get home, too.”

A lot of the tension has left his shoulders, and he has managed to take everything slow, relaxing over the vacation. Except when texting Sturm, of course. Once a day, a ‘the city is still here and not on fire’ text, as she had promised.


"Hopefully there's gonna be time for a hell of a lot of shit like that." Jack eases down onto the blanket with a groan, and scoots close to kiss Mearc's cheek. "Philly's not on fire yet?" He slides an arm around the other Darkling's waist with a sigh, and looks out over the ocean.


“Yet. It might be by the time we get back. Sturm was talking about Alex chasing the bridge burners. And about some problem with rats holding people in iron cages. And about Sigrun beating herself up.” A sigh as he leans into Jack, resting his head on his shoulder.


"Sounds like nothing we gotta worry about until we get back. How're...you? After..." Jack gestures, indicating the events from last night. Or...maybe the events of the past few months, who knows?


Mearcstapa doesn’t answer immediately, letting out a sound that’s between sigh and laugh. There’s clearly a lot of thought going into the answer. “I don’t know if the me who came to Philly last Autumn would recognize me now.”


Jack moves his arm to run his fingers through Mearc's hair. "Is that a bad thing?"


“No. But it is a scary thing. To be changing.” He closes his eyes while his hair is stroked. “To not know who I’ll be in another six months. If I’ll like that version of myself.”


"Change is...yeah. Fuckin' sucks, even when it's for the better." His voice is gentle. "How d'you feel about yourself, now?"


“It’s hard to analyze the self you’re being.” Mearc chuckles and seeks out one of Jack’s hands.


"Fair enough. How d'you feel about the things you're doing?" Jack takes Mearc's hand and brings it to his lips. "'Cause I know I for one am pretty fuckin' proud of you."


“You don’t know everything it is that I do. I don’t brag about moments like walking up to Robin’s impaled head to steal a lock of her hair to keep for myself. Is that something to be proud of, Jack? That I can keep a piece of Robin with Cordray’s ashes?”


There's a pause, Jack's lips still brushing against Mearc's hand. "I...I dunno. 'S complicated, isn't it?" The hand is lowered, and Jack squeezes it. "Are you proud of it? 'S...a reminder, I guess. Of the shit you've dealt with. That we've dealt with."


“I see my enemies burn, to protect my family. My loves. My people and my city.” His mantle flares up as he speaks, that being-watched feeling intense, the rustling sound mingling with the crash of waves.


"Not a lot you wouldn't do, to protect all of us, is there?" Jack shifts a little as Mearc's mantle flares, his smudgy mien flickering.


“No, there’s almost no line I wouldn’t cross, for the sake of your well-being.” This comes out as a whisper, not a proud boast.


"You...may want to make note, if those lines change in any way." His voice is still gentle, and he runs his thumb across the back of Mearc's hand. "There's a line where that desire to protect...could slip into possession. I...none of us want that, I don't think." A beat. "...Right?"


“No. That is not what I want. I respect your autonomy, your right to make your own choices. But I would do terrible things to one who would threaten you, Jack. Or anyone else who’s my people.”


At the confirmation, Jack goes to snuggle close. And squirms a little as Mearc continues to talk. His mien still flickers slightly, "I know. 'S one of the reasons I feel so fuckin' safe around you. Dunno...'f that's a good thing," he finishes with a self-deprecating huff of laughter.

"When I got back Ironside, I thought I'd gotten away from...killing. Violence. An' now that shit makes me feel safe." The words come out slowly, like Jack hadn't quite realized it until now.


“You’re changing too, slowly.” He chuckles. “Lux...I think they are beginning to realize it as well. They’re learning how to manage responsibility, and I think they’re a little overwhelmed by all of that.” He sighs. “Like passing on a pair of escalators, almost. I need to learn to delegate and accept that it isn’t all my duty. They need to figure out how to cope with duty as a thing.”


"'S overwhelming as fuck, I remember being there." Jack nods. "The fact that you've got a plan, for all that shit...'s impressive as fuck. I still feel like I'm kinda finding my voice, when it comes to managing."


“Your problem is a lack of faith in yourself.” There is a bit of a smile as Mearc makes that pronouncement. “You don’t see how amazing you are, when you step up to the plate.”


Jack ducks his head, giving it a small shake. "Yeah well...'s pretty hard to see that shit, where I am. Getting better at pretending, sometimes."


Mearc gives Jack a considering look. “What makes it so hard for you to see?”


"I fuck shit up so often?" Jack says it like it's an established fact, and shrugs.


There’s a long pause. Mearc  stares at Jack quietly.

“Babe. My love. My Jack of hearts. We all fuck things up. With relative frequency, too. But that doesn’t make our accomplishments worth less, in any way.”


"It's a hell of a lot easier to see the fuck ups than the accomplishments..." Jack doesn't meet Mearc's eyes.


“I know. I have a theory that part of that is your aunt and uncle never acknowledging what you’ve accomplished. They’ve installed a voice in the back of your head that tells you how much you’ve fucked up, on repeat. And other experiences have enforced that. Your durance, yeah? You have this tape recorder constantly playing your worst hits, and it beats you up every day a little.”

Mearc looks out to the ocean. “Does that sound right at all?”


Jack shrinks into himself as Mearc talks, all thought of eye contact lost as he continues to speak. He's quiet for a few long moments after Mearc asks, and then he clears his throat.

"I'm hungry. You hungry?" He moves toward the box of food.


"I was talking about this with Fox while I was packing Monday night. Texting. Not about you, but about the little voice that tells me that I'm worthless, if I'm not doing something to be useful. Because that's a loud thing in the back of my head, something that never lets up." It seems Mearc's not going to allow the subject change, sorry Jack.


"Oh yeah?" Jack is very busy pulling out food. And a few small bottles of alcohol, too - rum, of course, and something sweet for Mearc. "You're not worthless, when you're not being 'useful.'"


"Sure, but hearing that doesn't make the voice go away, right?" He glances at the booze, his smile dying away completely, before his gaze goes back to the water. "Fox's point was that, like. That thought pattern is something installed in me by those who were trying to keep me down. Just like your litany-of-fuck-ups was. He compared it to a lever installed for the purpose of controlling me. Which isn't exactly inaccurate. Fox's advice was to recognize when that lever's being tugged, give it a name, and tell it 'no'. I'm going to try it. See if it helps. Funny thing is, Glitch came up with really similar advice, at least about the origin of the thought pattern. 'Some asshole made you think that way, solely for their gain'."


Jack does take a bite of the sandwich he got for himself before cracking open the rum, at least. "That...makes sense, I guess." Then the rum goes down, and he sighs.


Mearc grabs his own sandwich now, but doesn't go after the booze. "But yeah, I guess the bottom line is, you're not accurately seeing exactly how awesome you are."


"I mean...you're probably right." He can't quite bring himself to agree all the way. "Sorry to uh...turn this into a kinda heavy conversation, feels like the kinda thing we shouldn't do in front of a sunset like this..." Another swig of rum, to finish off the tiny bottle. The sunset is gorgeous, flooding the sky with color and sparkling on the water.


Blink-blink. "Why not?"


"...'Cause it...feels like we should be appreciating the sunset, drunk on each other's company, instead of hashing through the fucked up bits of my brain." He takes another bite of his sandwich, and eyes the second bottle of booze. "You gonna drink that?" It almost sounds like he's afraid to ask, like he knows it's courting the kind of conversation he doesn't want to have right now.


"No, I'm not going to drink that. Are you?" His voice is even, sounds perfectly calm.


"...Kinda wanna, yeah." Jack manages to match Mearc's tone, and reaches for the bottle. Too casually.


"Okay." Mearc nods, his attention focusing on the sandwich instead of on Jack now.


It's opened and emptied before Jack finishes off the end of his sandwich, and he digs in the box again before pulling out a container of fresh fruit. Two chocolate covered strawberries sit on top, both drizzled in caramel and sprinkled with a bit of sea salt.

"Conversation kinda ruined the mood for these, too." Yep. Definitely just the conversation that did that.


"We can save them for later. Put them in the minifridge, pull them out when we want a midnight snack. Or something." He shrugs, finishing his sandwich and balling up the fancy parchment paper it had come wrapped in.


"...I..." Jack sighs and runs a hand through his hair. His own hair, he clearly doesn't dare touch Mearc right now. "I'm...sorry."


"Are you really?" He tilts his head to one side as he looks Jack up and down.


"It's...I'm sorry my shit's affecting our shit. 'Specially this week."


"Jack, I don't know how to help you with this problem. You seem to be going out of your way to avoid being helped, and it scares me. Like a slow-motion self-destruct sequence. I worry. I don't know what to do or say, or even if I'm allowed to say anything. But you have a problem." Mearc's words are slow and quiet, as if he's afraid that he's going too far by talking about it.


To his credit, Jack manages to bite back his immediate defensiveness.

"I...I dunno what to say. It's...it - I was so much worse, before. One'a the only things I can remember from Over There's the withdrawal." He shudders. "An' it doesn't fuck with my Clarity the way other shit does. But I..." It's clear he's aware he's making excuses, and stops talking, looking guilty. And a little scared.


"I need you to think about getting help, Jack. Because this is an addiction. It's a physical dependency, and that's so scary to watch someone deal with." He looks quietly at Jack, his tone of voice almost pleading. "I need to know that you're someone I can rely on. Alcohol makes that very hard. Yes, I know you can function to some degree while drinking. No, that doesn't reassure me at all."


Jack...crumbles a little, his smudged mien going a few shades lighter. "I'm - I...never claimed to be someone to rely on. To anybody." His voice is quiet, and a little shaky. "I don't...I don't even know where I'd start, I...it kept me from crawling outta my skin, when I got back." More excuses, and he knows it, and a few bits of charcoal break away from his mien to explode into nothingness as he draws his knees up to his chest.


"You've been back for a while now. Please, Jack. Please get help?"


"I..." Jack swallows, and wraps his arms around his knees. "I think I need help to even get there." It's barely above a whisper. Asking for help might be harder than telling someone what he wants.


"Okay. I will reach out to a few resources, and try to create an effective game plan for safely treating alcoholism in a changeling." He nods. "I can help you get there. Anything for my Jack of Hearts."


"...Okay. I...I love you. And I'm sorry." Jack looks at Mearc, but makes no move to touch him, yet.


Mearc closes that gap, moving so he's sitting right up against Jack, shoulder beside shoulder.


Jack is tense, charcoal still flying in all directions. But he leans into Mearc's shoulder all the same.

"Sorry I fucked up our last night here. I wanted this to be a nice dinner, not...any'a this."


"You haven't fucked it up. I feel better, with some of that in words. As memories, instead of just thoughts I keep to myself." An arm wraps around Jack, and then he leeeeeans until they're lying on the blanket, against one another.


"I just...I know you've kept it to yourself, and it's...I don't want you to feel like you can't bring shit up..." Jack trails off as Mearc leans, and lets his legs go to flop down on the blanket. Then he snuggles in close.


Mearc noms at Jack's shoulder. "I don't want it to be a bad time for you."


Jack shivers and drapes an arm over Mearc in response. "Don't think there's a good time to bring that shit up."


"Maybe this is the best time, then. Instead of in the middle of a crisis, when I'm stressed to my limit and may say it in a more harmful way. I'm glad we got this chance to talk." He closes his eyes, relaxing against Jack.

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