Anger and No One Can Heal It [Closed]

[whatisay]

WHO| Jason and Swann
WHAT| Jason finally sees a doctor about those headaches.
WHEN| Forward-dated a bit, after the staff reviews.
WHERE| Swann's place.
WARNINGS| Typical Jason awfulness, painkiller shenanigans.

The day he receives a notice from the human resources department that he'll need a doctor's note about his migraines before he takes any more sick days, Jason proves the second part of the notice (that he needs to enroll in an anger management course) entirely correct. He shoves an Avox over a table and slams a door so hard the lock on it breaks when it bounces back and hits him in the shoulder, and then he calls Swann. At first, he's so angry and upset she has to tell him to slow down and talk to her in person, because she can barely understand him over the phone.

"-bad enough I have to have these headaches in the first place, now I have to get proof, as if I'm faking them, and they want me to see someone for anger when maybe they shouldn't be doing things damn bound to get me worked up-"

A few days later, Swann's got him set up with an appointment with someone (a delicate operation that requires all of her tact and skill that makes her a good Escort), and Jason's demeanor's only barely improved. He's spending the night at her house, although he's anxious and distressed enough that he doesn't sleep. At about four a.m., Swann is sleeping, sprawled across him, while he just sits in her bed smoking and glowering at the wall and fidgeting.

Comments

[cigne]

"Yeah, so? I'll just have the car bring us back, too, it's not a big deal." Swann turns toward him, holding a soapy loofah still, suds running down her body and along the tub to disappear into the drain. She starts at his neck, scrubbing in soft circles with a knit of concentration between her eyebrows. "Jason, I really don't want you to drive until it's all worn off, please."

[whatisay]

"You think I can't?" He narrows his eyes at her, ignoring that he's got a hand against the shower wall to keep from tipping. "You think I'm incapable now?"

[cigne]

"No," she says slowly, taking a deep breath. "That's not what I said, please don't put words in my mouth, Jason. All I'm saying is that, as someone who's been on painkillers, it would make me feel happier if you didn't drive for just one day. Please?"

[whatisay]

"You were the one who said it was a good idea to take these. Meanwhile, they've made me sick and I can't even get to work. Some great idea that was." He grumbles and rinses out his hair, using it as a shield to avoid having to look at her.

[cigne]

"You would have been just as sick without them, and at least you got sleep and weren't miserable." There's just a tiny bit of snap in her tone, because she's tired of having things pinned on her. It wasn't as if she'd forced the pills down his throat. "I'm saying that you aren't used to them yet, so it would make it easier for me to breathe if you were extra cautious for a day."

The shower is big enough that she can step away and make a point with it. "But who cares what Swann wants, right? Never mind."

[whatisay]

"Fine, we'll call a car if that makes you happy." He makes a scoffing noise and steps aside so she can get the benefit of the water. "Because it's always about what you want. Good grief."

He steps out of the shower and grabs a towel, wrapping it around his shoulders like a cloak as he goes to shave.

[cigne]

Swann suppresses the urges to both cry and to kick him in the shin as he leaves, and finishes showering. She gets out and wraps herself in a towel, then uses a second to wrap her hair, and leaves to go the closet and find something to wear.

But first, she grabs her phone and calls for a car.

[whatisay]

"How much is that going to cost us? Remember to double it, since we need to take it back too." He winces as he accidentally cuts himself while shaving. "Damn it."

[cigne]

"Don't worry about it," she calls back, shimmying into a fluffy petticoat before pulling her skirt over it. She tucks her blouse in once that's on, then goes to her dressing table to do her hair and finish her makeup.

She knows he'll push about the cost, like it matters, like she would allow him to pay for something she insisted on.

[whatisay]

"Right. I forget, sometimes, that some people don't have to worry about money." He emerges from the bathroom, toilet paper pressed in a wad to the cut on his neck, and grabs the clothes off the bed.

[cigne]

"Or maybe I said don't worry because it's not costing anything at all," she snipes, looking at him in the mirror as she applies mascara to her permanently lengthened eyelashes. "It's one of the HMH company cars, so I don't pay for it."

[whatisay]

"Everything costs something, Swann, even to Honeymeads," he snipes right back, although he has a way of sounding sharper than she does, probably because of how used to razor edges his voice is. He sits on the bed and pulls his pants on, socks, shirt.

[cigne]

"Oh boo hoo, one of the accountants will have to mark that we used a whole fifth of a battery charge." It's a nasty mutter, spurred by his tone. The driver would be getting paid regardless of whether or not they took the car, that was already owned, so essentially this was free. Using something that's paid for doesn't incur an additional cost.

She blasts her hair with a dryer, then sets about styling it into a bun atop her head. Not a single hair is out of place when she stands up to get shoes and jewelry, and she doesn't even look at Jason.

[whatisay]

"I'm just saying, that money has to come from somewhere."

He looks significantly less put-together than she does. His face has the flat quality of someone still half-asleep, his eyes still glazed over. He finishes dabbing at the blood on his neck and tosses the tissue aside. It falls short of the wastebasket and he just sort of stares at it.

"I hope you're right, about feeling better by tomorrow."

[cigne]

"Yeah, well, the company's managing to survive despite my frivolous use of a single car, so I'm not that worried."

He's driving her crazy, she doesn't know why he can't just let it go and accept that he's not making any kind of actual point by pushing this. He's just pissing her off.

"I know I'm right," she says, coming out of the closet ready to go. She checks her phone. "Car will be here in ten minutes. I'm going to get some coffee, you want any?"

[whatisay]

He stares at the crumpled tissue instead of her, brow knit and eyes still a bit unfocused. It takes him a bit too long to answer, because he's continuing the argument with her in his head, spiraling it downwards until it's nothing but vague feelings of irritation and righteousness at each other.

Finally he rubs his hands over his face and gets up. "Yes, please."

[cigne]

"'Kay."

She leaves the bedroom and fills two travel mugs with coffee from the kitchen, where she lingers longer than necessary just to avoid having to deal with any more of his vitriol than she has to. Eventually, Swann returns and hands him a mug, sipping from her own.

[whatisay]

Jason feels like it takes him forever to finally get over to the tissue and toss it in the wastebasket, like even the most automatic motion requires him to dredge up energy from the very base of his well.

"Thanks." He takes the coffee and takes a tentative sip (it isn't too hot, Eta made it well ahead of time). "Alright, let's go take this car you're so excited about."

[cigne]

There's just a brief second where Swann has to literally bite her tongue to keep from snapping, to inform him that he's welcome to run himself into a pole in his own car if he's going to be such an ass about it all.

Instead, she just turns on her heel and heads toward the elevator to the garage, grabbing her purse and work bag from Eta on the way. "I'll see you tonight. Make pizza tonight, please?" she murmurs to Eta, and she puts emphasis on the fact that she might be alone.

[whatisay]

He just might, Swann. He just might. And then it'll be someone else's fault for putting a pole there.

Jason slouches and slumps his way to the car, taking ginger sips of his coffee as if he's afraid it might bite him, hoping it'll wake him up a bit. Despite still being under the influence of the painkillers, he doesn't miss Swann's tone.

"I have to go home tonight anyway. You know that. So it's not like you're punishing me or anything."

[cigne]

"Yeah, enjoy your not-punishment night with your mother."

It slips out before she can stop it, a mutter filled with irritation and acid, and all she can do to keep the rest of her thoughts in is to take a long drink of coffee as the elevator sails downward and opens into the garage, where a sleek black car waits for them. A chauffeur with a small HMH button on his lapel opens the back door for them.

[whatisay]

Jason waits for Swann to get in the back, and then takes the seat up front, riding shotgun. If she wants to be pissy, he thinks, she can do so alone. He has to continue waking up.

Naturally, he manages to spill coffee on himself, but thankfully it's only enough to leave a small stain on the thigh of his pants. Regardless, he groans and rests his face in his hands.

"I hope you're happy," he shoots back at her.

[cigne]

Swann's not even looking at him, and she doesn't notice that he's spilled on himself. Because he's still being an ass, she stretches her legs out across the backseat and just starts hammering away at the touchscreen of her phone.

"Perfectly," she answers blandly, because she figures he'll at least stop being outright bitchy if he doesn't get enough of a response out of her. Like a child.

[whatisay]

Because that has always worked, Swann.

"Good, because I'm not." He rests his head against the window and sighs. "I'm not doing that again. I'll just have the headaches, alright?"

[cigne]

Well, engaging doesn't work either! She only has the two options here.

"Because this is so much different than the aftermath of the headaches." Her tone is still flat, and there's no other acknowledgment of him. "Whatever. I can't force you to not torture yourself."