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[bleak_midwinter]

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[ukan]

"The withdrawals were hell. Worse than my first change, which- well that's not important." He waves a hand. Wolf stuff can be saved or, you know, never talked about.

"The worst is after. When you realize why you got to where you were. See, all the things that I drank and you smoked to avoid, those are still there. And without opium or alcohol the only thing you can do is face it and deal with it, or break."

[bleak_midwinter]

Despite his exhaustion, he files that way-- a 'change', which sounds significant enough to think about. Later, though.

Right now, he has to decide what he should tell Lark. It's tempting to say nothing, to have the upper hand, to know more about Lark than he knows about Tommy. But soon, the man will know what he's going through, will tell him how he can best work through night terrors and sweat and desperation.

It doesn't seem like it's worth it, and so he shakes his head slowly. "I know why I use it. Half the time, the smoke doesn't even help."

[ukan]

"I know." Lark shrugs. "It doesn't help. It never did what it seemed like it would. That's the trouble with things like this...it's like ice fishing. The lake might be frozen over but everything's still alive and waiting underneath."

He looks at him intently. "If you know why you use it and it doesn't help, why were you still using?"

[bleak_midwinter]

"Because sometimes, it does." And that hope is all the keeps him going sometimes. A night without the shovels, without the nightmares; a day without the war crawling underneath his skin, itching at every part of him. Even the thought of reprieve can be enough, if the actual thing doesn't come.

[ukan]

"They can give you things here that will make you sleep all night. They might give you things to keep you from thinking about it during the day." But Lark's earlier statement stands: replacing one thing with another is not the same thing as coping.

[bleak_midwinter]

He feels uncomfortable to his core, like someone punched him in the stomach and is watching the bruise bloom in front of him. He bites at the inside of his lip, and decides he needs to shift the conversation, even if it's only briefly.

"What were you running from?"

[ukan]

This is a question he would rather break his own fingers than answer. But talking is how it has to be, it's why he came at all.

"From home. Which doesn't work because it goes with you, everywhere you go. The scars are gone, but you know how it is. It's there, under the skin, all the same."

[bleak_midwinter]

He can't help himself- lowers his eyes in agreement, then tilts his chin down a little as well.

"I see things. Hear things. It keeps me up until I give in."

[ukan]

"Is that why you're awake right now...?"

Because Tommy looks beat.

[bleak_midwinter]

He nods, rubs at his mouth and sighs.

"You ran from home. How did you get it to stop following you?"

[ukan]

"It still does." That's something that Tommy needs to be okay with. It doesn't stop.

"But the man who sat me down and had this talk with me taught me to keep asking myself things. The more you reorient yourself in the present, the weaker the past becomes."

[bleak_midwinter]

"Some questions don't have an answer, Lark." His hand unclenches, and his fingers feel out a splinter. He pulls it out, and for a split second there's the hint of a plea in his eyes.

Lark is sitting here like he knows what's going to happen- like he knows how to get over this and come out the other end with his wits intact. Tommy needs the help, but he's suddenly so afraid that it's not coming.

[ukan]

"Some don't." He agrees, both elbows on the table now. "But you have to ask them anyway. Sometimes hundreds of times."

It's a good sign, to have that look from Tommy, even if it does make Lark feel bruised to see it. There are just certain types of hopelessness.

"You can contact me, whenever you don't know what else to ask. When you feel stuck--and you will."

[bleak_midwinter]

"And to think, I was all set to never trust anything about you." His voice is hoarse and humorless, and he's once again avoiding meeting Lark's eyes.

[ukan]

"I won't go asking for your hand in anything. But I do mean this." And he's sure Tommy knows he does.

[bleak_midwinter]

Something in Tommy is still afraid that Lark will use this against him- will tell people, will make him seem untrustworthy, broken.

But admitting to that fear would make the possibility of it coming true even larger. He exhales, slowly; inhales, even slower, and finally looks up again and tilts his head.

"Thank you." Because that's all, really. If Lark doesn't use this against him, that's all he has to say.

[ukan]

Lark knows the anxiety that goes with it. So he rubs his jaw and decides, to hell with it, all in, cards on the table.

"I've got secrets I'd rather people not know. I'm a lycanthrope, is one."

[bleak_midwinter]

It's an unfamiliar word-- he knows werewolf, and he knows the words his family used when they told their stories, but he doesn't immediately recognize it. His brow furrows, and then he realizes:

"Furiosa. She kicked you, the first day you were here."

She'd told about that, but she never mentioned who it had been.

[ukan]

Lark actually smiles. Yes, yes she had. But he'd never known how far he could trust her with his secret; now he does. Even better, now it's a moot point.

"That was me."

[bleak_midwinter]

"The pack, the-- the reason you could smell it on me."

He's disconcerted, clearly, and probably with good reason. But if he would stop to think about it, he's not as upset as he would have thought he'd be.

[ukan]

"Just a part of what I am." Lark nods, staying still, letting him think.

[bleak_midwinter]

"What else do you do?" What does it mean, he wants to know; what can he expect.

[ukan]

"You won't be up for wardening Nux. I don't know how long--days. Weeks maybe, if you're unlucky." He glances at the doorway leading to the rest of his cabin. "You'll want somewhere you're comfortable. I can- when it happens. I can be here, if you want. I can try to walk you through the things that helped me. I can make sure you're safe."

[bleak_midwinter]

Lark hits the nail on the head, there-- this, this is the worst part. That he let the drug get in the way of his work, his duty. It's embarrassing, shameful even, and the thought of Lark being there in those moments shames him further.

He does these things alone. He has people for the good moments, but he doesn't need them to see the bad moments.

Suddenly he misses Polly so bad it hurts, so bad he wants to curl in on himself and press his hands into his eyes until he sees stars burst behind his eyelids. She's the only one- not Furiosa, not Grace, not his brothers- the only one he'd trust to get him through this without it changing them.

Instead he swallows thickly and slides his gaze back to the tabletop. "No one can make me feel safe, Lark." But he thinks he'll need it. He might ask for it, in a moment of desperation, all the same.

[ukan]

"It was a badly worded offer." Lark admits. Lark is a man who would kill off his best friend--who might even kill his own lover--if it meant getting further along this path he's on.

But there is still a distant part of him that feels empathy for no manipulative purpose at all.

He's not sure which part of him is operating here with Tommy, but he knows he feels a pang, seeing Tommy there wrestling with himself.

"Nothing will make you feel safe until it's over. Nothing. Not a family around you, not an army to protect you, not a woman to sponge the sweat off your face. You're going to be reliving every moment you ever buried in the smoke or the liquor. They aren't going to be there with you during it, just like they weren't there when you were first hurt. And, again--the less experience they have, the less they can do anything for you. My advice is to make a plan. Don't let it all take you off guard."