Too much

[formersurgeon]

Who| Joan and Sherlock
What| Post trauma
Where| Joan's room in the District 11 suites
When| After everything, the day before the Arena
Warnings/Notes| Death, suicide, angst. So much angst.


It seemed like forever, standing up there on that rooftop, trying to help Punchy, trying to support John, trying to keep it together, keep it all together. Because that's her job, right? When things fall apart, it's her job to put them back together, to stitch them up, to support them until they can heal. Her failure to do that with the patient who died on her table changed her irrevocably.

And now?

Her father, Sherlock, Punchy, John, it's too much, it's all too much, she has no idea where to start, she can't think, it's too much, it's all too much.

It seemed like forever, but too soon, much too soon, there was nothing more to be done. She returns to her room, stands very still by her window, and looks out, trying to breathe. Just trying to breathe.

Comments

[costing]

He doesn't rush back to the room. He can't give whoever's watching the satisfaction, and knows that if he reveals anything right now--right now, when his other-self has self-immolated and innocent bystanders are being treated as leverage--he'll have lost any ground he might have.

So he slinks back to the Tributes' quarters, steels his patience for the elevator ride back to the eleventh floor. Finally--finally--he reaches Watson's door, and lets himself inside.

His first words are flat, uninflected. "I trust you weren't harmed."

[formersurgeon]

She doesn't turn from the window, still staring out over the city. She knows what he means, knows he's talking about whether she's been injured. Still, her initial reaction is silence. Not harmed. The definition by which that is true is very narrow.

"I'm fine," she replies, her voice likewise flat. Then, "What do you know?"

[costing]

The thing about Panem is that he knows nothing, not really. That fact has gotten under his skin and taken up residence, itching at him until he wants to claw his way out of himself one inch at a time. But he can't; he's trapped and impotent.

And now this.

He steps further into the room, lips pursed for a moment before he speaks. "Frustratingly little. I only just realized the guests were leaving. I've been... otherwise occupied."

It's not quite an apology.

[formersurgeon]

She's silent for a long, long moment, almost long enough for him to think that she might not speak at all. Then she speaks, quiet, even, deceptively calm.

"I guess it makes sense. That they wouldn't show what they actually did."

Her hands curl into fists, then slowly relax again.

"They showed up with chains and a muzzle. They didn't ask him to come with them. Didn't ask him anything. Just...."

She stops. Swallows. Turns her head.

"He didn't understand. He was..."

She can't begin to describe his terror, so she doesn't try.

"I tried to stop them. They drugged me."

[costing]

He can process what she says immediately, but as ever the emotional impact takes a moment to hit him. He crosses the rest of the distance between them and then stops abruptly. It isn't in him to offer comfort; even if he understands that that might be what's called for, he doesn't move.

"It's for the best," he says after a moment. "You would never have been able to overpower them. There's nothing you could have done."

[formersurgeon]

She grimaces slightly at that, eyes narrowing. Nothing she could have done. True, of course. But far from any comfort.

"He's here because of me," she says. "And now..." Swallow. Starts again, voice even. "They say he's somewhere safe. Which probably means they're holding him so the next time I do something they don't like..."

She doesn't finish the sentence. He can fill in the blanks.

[costing]

"They use people as leverage." He says that very firmly. "You and I may both be here in order to curb others' actions. That does not mean the fault lies with them. As ever, it is the perpetrator who deserves the blame."

He pauses a moment, once again feeling empty and powerless.

"That does not mean that we have to go along with their demands."

[formersurgeon]

He doesn't understand, she thinks bitterly. Of course he doesn't, his own family connections are antagonistic at best.

"I can't just do nothing. I can't just leave him there for them to torture becsuse of me. Even just keeping him like that..."

[costing]

"I would never suggest we do nothing. But they are clearly trying to get you to react in a certain way-- so that they can justify their actions, or enjoy your pain all the more for its predictability. You have to outsmart them."

[formersurgeon]

Again she falls silent. He's right. She's giving them exactly what they want. She wants to ask him what they should do, but he wouldn't be able to give her any meaningful answer here, where the Capitol is surely listening. There's nothing to be done. And she hates it.

So she turns her head slightly toward him. "Did you see what Sherlock did?"

[costing]

That is the question, isn't it? What did Sherlock do? He still has no love for the other man, resents him more than anything, but that kind of self-destructive act rings too much like a bad end, a harsh prophecy.

"It was rather bright. I imagine everyone saw."

[formersurgeon]

"You saw the message? His 'note?'"

She knows Sherlock doesn't care for his double...that's probably an understatement...but he has to know that what happened would affect Joan, if only because the Capitol was sure to question her about what he had done and how.