He takes a deep breath, and for once looks right at Lark. He's nervous, suddenly, and a little scared. But he knows he needs to say this now, or it'll be worse for him later.
"When it's happening, I'll- I think I'll ask for someone."
Lark nods in understanding. He remembers calling for the friend he'd lost, over and over, while Tati sat nearby. But he doesn't say anything out loud, doesn't want to risk fracturing the moment before Tommy can say what he needs to say.
"Her name is Grace," he says in a rush, like if he doesn't say it now he won't say it at all. There's a deep, undeniable pain in his voice when he says her name.
Now, he needs time to answer. He hasn't told anyone but Furiosa- doesn't intend to tell Lark his deal, but no one else knows about Grace. He knows he needs to say it, but all his instincts scream at him to shut up, keep it close.
He knows those instincts will be buried in feverish imaginations in a few days. And he needs control, more than anything.
"That we love each other, and that she betrayed me in spite of that."
And he truly is. If Lisbeth had ever betrayed him--and she might have, given time--he already knows it would have crippled that last part of himself that can still put a loved one above himself.
"I won't give you hope about her, if that's really what you think is best."
"If I come back home and she leaves, I- I don't want the memory of her helping me through something like this. Not even the imagined memory." Because if he does have that he knows with cold certainty that he'll leave everything behind for her. And he is not that man.
"I get afraid. I fight. I--" He hates that every time he wants to explain, he has to consider that not everyone knows what happened during the war. It's a little difficult to imagine that for Lark, his service is as abstract as the Napoleonic War is to Tommy.
"I know some, yes." His schooling had focused on the flashy heroics of the
flying aces. Later, Lark learned about foot rot, about how bloody and
difficult and different trench warfare had been. He hasn't read about the
War in years but he doesn't want to make Tommy leave the personal things
aside to explain. This is about Tommy, needs to stay focused on him.
"We went down into the earth, underneath the trenches. We dug tunnels into enemy territory. Loaded them with explosives, if we got close enough. Sometimes, the enemy would dig right into our own tunnel."
In daylight, he has no trouble explaining this. But Lark can draw his own conclusions about the claustrophobia, and the fear, and the absolute agony of being yards underneath the earth and having to fight for your life with no way out. There's no way for anyone who wasn't there to truly understand, anyway.
Lark stands, and though he's been curious a long time about the rest of Tommy's quarters, the circumstances of the tour make it hard to feel much excitement about it. Especially since the questions have to start now, and he's sure Tommy won't like any one of them. Especially when the withdrawals really hit.
"I'll only ask once or twice more after this, but it's important to keep informed, on both ends. How are you feeling about it all right now?"
He shrugs, before he pushes open the doors to the rest of his cabin. "It has to happen," he says, dull, "but it's daunting." He's scared, but if he's honest he feels better now. He has some methods and techniques, and he knows what will happen. He's not going into this blind.
He pushes open the doors, then; shows Lark the offices to the sides, the betting tables, the chalkboard. Then he goes upstairs; skips the other rooms completely (he only does that on his lowest days, when he needs the comfort of his family) and goes directly to his own bedroom.
Lark pauses a half-step to just take that extra breath of air around those closed doors, so he has an idea of what's inside. Nothing alarming.
He follows him to the bedroom, and pauses there beside him, taking in everything he might need to know later. Even if they won't use this room, probably. You never know. "Is it all right if I bring by supplies you'll need? If we do it a little at a time, no one's going to have questions."
"I mean water, I mean fluids to keep your electrolytes up, soft foods."
Nothing too difficult to gather, but they'll need a lot, if he remembers
right.
"...Is she why you don't want to do the recovery in here?"
"Alright," he says, and then he looks away from Lark. Inevitably, his eyes land on the mantle. It's wallpapered and decorated, calmly, nicely, but there's such tired hate in Tommy's eyes that Lark must get half the picture from that alone.
"No," he says, because in the end they'd only had the one night together once and it was at her place. Nothing about this room is about Grace.
He hesitates before answering, because war is one thing, but hearing things, seeing things, it's quite another. One more secret he's giving over to Lark, and he does so with an exhausted sigh. "At night I hear the picks and shovels of the enemy against that wall. Sober or not."
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He takes a deep breath, and for once looks right at Lark. He's nervous, suddenly, and a little scared. But he knows he needs to say this now, or it'll be worse for him later.
"When it's happening, I'll- I think I'll ask for someone."
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"Don't give me any hope about her."
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"What do I need to know about her?"
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He knows those instincts will be buried in feverish imaginations in a few days. And he needs control, more than anything.
"That we love each other, and that she betrayed me in spite of that."
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And he truly is. If Lisbeth had ever betrayed him--and she might have, given time--he already knows it would have crippled that last part of himself that can still put a loved one above himself.
"I won't give you hope about her, if that's really what you think is best."
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"If I come back home and she leaves, I- I don't want the memory of her helping me through something like this. Not even the imagined memory." Because if he does have that he knows with cold certainty that he'll leave everything behind for her. And he is not that man.
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"I'll do whatever I can to keep you grounded in what you're doing."
He can't say 'the present' because a very large part of this will be him drowning in the past traumas.
"What do you associate with Grace? Smells, tastes, sounds?"
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No music, then. Even songs without vocals could be bad, depending on how this goes.
"Have you had flashbacks before? Long ones?"
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"Tell me what happens when you have them. What you see, what you do in the real world."
He doesn't want to spend the next week, weeks more like, having to wrestle Tommy down.
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"Do you know what tunnelers did? During the war."
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"I know some, yes." His schooling had focused on the flashy heroics of the flying aces. Later, Lark learned about foot rot, about how bloody and difficult and different trench warfare had been. He hasn't read about the War in years but he doesn't want to make Tommy leave the personal things aside to explain. This is about Tommy, needs to stay focused on him.
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In daylight, he has no trouble explaining this. But Lark can draw his own conclusions about the claustrophobia, and the fear, and the absolute agony of being yards underneath the earth and having to fight for your life with no way out. There's no way for anyone who wasn't there to truly understand, anyway.
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Lark listens, focused tight on him, calculating the best move: how much to try to shield Tommy from while he recovers.
"Is it okay to open this place up before then? Get more light, more air?"
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"I suggest making sure there are rugs down." He leaves it to Tommy's imagination why that might be. "But wherever you need to be, I'll go."
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"I'll show you the house, now. Before."
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"I'll only ask once or twice more after this, but it's important to keep informed, on both ends. How are you feeling about it all right now?"
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He pushes open the doors, then; shows Lark the offices to the sides, the betting tables, the chalkboard. Then he goes upstairs; skips the other rooms completely (he only does that on his lowest days, when he needs the comfort of his family) and goes directly to his own bedroom.
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He follows him to the bedroom, and pauses there beside him, taking in everything he might need to know later. Even if they won't use this room, probably. You never know. "Is it all right if I bring by supplies you'll need? If we do it a little at a time, no one's going to have questions."
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"I mean water, I mean fluids to keep your electrolytes up, soft foods." Nothing too difficult to gather, but they'll need a lot, if he remembers right.
"...Is she why you don't want to do the recovery in here?"
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"No," he says, because in the end they'd only had the one night together once and it was at her place. Nothing about this room is about Grace.
He hesitates before answering, because war is one thing, but hearing things, seeing things, it's quite another. One more secret he's giving over to Lark, and he does so with an exhausted sigh. "At night I hear the picks and shovels of the enemy against that wall. Sober or not."
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