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Robin Hood is the Prince of Thieves (robinofthehood) wrote in wariscoming,
@ 2013-09-18 23:40:00

Entry tags:

claire callahan, robin hood

Who: Claire C and Robin
What: Talking about playing death, maybe
Where: Claire's place
When: Some time in the afternoon

The first time he'd spoken to Claire in this way, it had been out of something akin to desperation. Though he would never label it that. His best friend, and his wife, had both, though unintentionally, left him feeling as though he had reason to speak to someone like her. The trouble with that was knowing deep down they were right, when he'd spent so long vehemently dismissing the notion that he needed help. When the majority of your time was spent focused on helping those around you, it was easy to turn a blind eye to your own problems. Easier to wrap yourself in the comforting blanket of denial. Here, though, he led a very different life. Here there was plenty of time when he had little to do. And it was in those moments that oft ignored feelings and memories clawed their way back to the forefront.

He had come a long way with her, and made a lot of progress. That was how she worded it. To him, a lot of it had been to do with Marian. He'd needed a way to tell her, and up until all too recently hadn't known how. Now that he had been able to share more with her, they had grown closer than ever. Up until recently, that was. Unsurprisingly (in hindsight), volunteering to take part in deaths sacrifice had not been a popular move.

Though it had involved bringing people to their ends, one of the hardest parts for him to accept in taking on the role of death was that such suffering still existed in the world today. He had given up more than many people might conceive to help the hungry, and the poor. And then death had transported him to a place where famine and poverty existed on a dizzying scale. Though rationally he knew that didn't change the good he had done, it was hard not to think of that as being of little impact by comparison.

So now he was sitting on the couch in Claire's apartment, eyes focused on something through the glass doors as she occupied herself with something in the other room, lost in his thoughts. His foot tapped a constant beat on the carpet until he became aware of it, and he put a hand on his knee as a physical reminder not to. Anxiety had brought with it a few habits the first few times he'd come to see her that he hadn't quite broken yet. It wasn't that he didn't like her, or truly appreciate all she had done for him. It was just that he never knew just what she would end up getting him to talk about, before he even realised he was doing it. That and he hated the notion that he needed help. He still hadn't been able to lose the feeling that somehow, it made him weak.

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changinghats
2013-09-19 12:18 am UTC (link)

Robin Hood had been one of the first to welcome Claire into Lawrence. Which was fascinating in and of itself. But then she'd gotten to know him and the legends weren't all crap, he was genuinely a nice person. Willing to help, eager to do good. But she'd also come to see his dark side over the last several months as well. He'd come a long way. He was actually willing to talk now, which was a vast improvement in itself. He was sleeping more, maintaining a normal lifestyle. The talking was doing him good. So she was more than ready the second Death had made his choice (or Fate, if one preferred, but she didn't know that she believed in Fate) to speak with him when he was ready.

It shouldn't have been him. Others likely could have handled it so much better. More mentally prepared. But he, as he so often did, ran towards danger rather than away from it, especially if it helped others. It was admirable in some ways and infuriating in others. But it didn't make her surprised when he showed up at her door. For all of his fighting, he actually did seem to listen to her when she talked. When she requested he see her, when she told him to stick it out. Claire assumed it was because he knew he needed the help and just needed the prodding to get to it. Either way, she didn't turn him away when he showed up at her door.

She prepared a pot of tea-Kat's influence, but it really was soothing-and carried it into the living area, setting it on the coffee table in front of him so he could prepare it as he liked. If he liked. Sure, he was English, but he was like, pre-tea English. So maybe he didn't even like tea!

"All right," she began, a matter-of-fact tone in her voice. "Let's get this out. Is this a friendly 'hi, Claire, let's chat' visit or a 'I could use a session cause I've just been through hell, almost literally' visit?" Because that made the difference on how this went, really.

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robinofthehood
2013-09-19 12:42 am UTC (link)

His gaze moved back in to the room when she set the tea down on the table. His smile was half genuine, half humoured, because despite not having grown up in a world with tea, he knew the reasons people often drank it. When Marian wasn't enjoying her coffee, they often shared it together.

"Straight to the point, aren't you? I'm always happy to say hi and chat, Claire." His tone was as casual and laid back as he didn't feel. But he also knew with her that wouldn't fly. He'd tried it before. She never let him get away with it for long. So he went on. "I walked in deaths shoes for a day. And the funny thing is I think I'm doing better with that than logic says I should be. For the record, though, it was far from 'almost literally hell'," he added.

"I will say death isn't without his sense of humour." Sitting forward, he set about pouring himself tea, offering her one wordlessly. He didn't know that he'd actually drink it, but it gave him something to do with his hands. Dealing with this or not, he knew she had been right when she said he should talk about it. And right now he and Marian weren't talking. So he was short on options.

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changinghats
2013-09-19 12:58 am UTC (link)

"Well, I have to be. I made a promise long ago not to analyze my friends. I won't do that. I'll offer advice, I'll be kind, but I won't sit and...shrink them, if that's the word you wish to use. Unless that's what they want." She shrugged and took the cup he poured, adding a liberal amount of sugar to hers. Because while Kat and John might think tea made the world go round, Claire needed the boost in order to enjoy the drink.

She watched him closely as he talked about his experience. He did seem to be holding up well enough. All things considered. Honestly, when his name had been chosen, she'd been terrified for him. She'd been more than willing to do the task required. But Death hadn't wanted someone like her. He'd wanted her patient, a man who, until recently, could barely keep it together some days.

"Have you been to literal hell?" she inquired, with a smirk, leaning back in the easy chair nearest to the couch. "Because you don't know, it could be close."

Her face settled easily into listening mode. Partially as his therapist but also in part because she really was curious. In some ways, she'd genuinely wanted to be chosen. To try and understand Death better. Maybe it would help her come to terms with her own. There was just no way of knowing, really. "Humor, hmm? I didn't find him very amusing at all, actually. He was kind of a jerk."

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robinofthehood
2013-09-19 01:15 am UTC (link)

"Not a word of my time. Marian is the one who got all the up to date knowledge and references. Not me." People might still have got taken away and locked up, or dunked in a pond for being a witch, but they didn't sit and have someone 'shrink' them, or sit and talk about their feelings. "She got the knowledge, and I got a ring." His voice held a rueful tone. It was a bit hard for his mood not to turn when it came to the subject of his wife, at the moment. Of everyone, she was the one who's support and understanding he craved the most.

He actually laughed at her question, as ridiculous as it was. "Not yet." One had to die to get to hell. He was sure one day he'd become acquainted with it. "But the books say its all fire and brimstone, and I saw none of that. A lot of suffering people, yeah. No fire, though."

Robin shrugged, picking up the cup of tea he'd poured but not drinking it. "He sent me to a place where the people were suffering through a famine. If that's not ironic humour I don't know what is." Sending Robin Hood to a place where the people were starving to death and he couldn't feed them. That was no accident, and the hardest thing for him to accept.

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changinghats
2013-09-25 12:37 am UTC (link)

Claire shrugged. "Figured maybe you'd picked it up from someone else. God knows, Mal uses it enough. If anyone is critical about my career, it's him." She pushed that thought aside. She was good at what she did and had no shame in it. Even if it got her judged from time to time.

That ring he'd wished for had been his engagement ring. And the two of them were fighting. Claire didn't envy him that for a moment. She could sit back and take an impartial view of the couple, and she genuinely felt badly for them both. She could see both sides, but she had a feeling Robin didn't really want to hear that just then.

So she focused on his other point. "Well until I get word otherwise, I'm reserving judgment on literal hell. It could be anything. Plush luxury accommodations for all I know." Lucifer and all. "I'm not even entirely sure what brimstone is. Or what's so great about it."

Her joking tone faded, though, as he finally opened up. She pulled her legs up beneath her. There was a fine line between professional and friend and she pushed it constantly in Lawrence. There wasn't really a choice anymore. "You spent your life feeding the poor...and he sends you to take the lives of the starving? Well all right, then." She shook her head, anger pulsing through her. That had to stop. She couldn't get too emotional just then. That wasn't what he needed. "How did you handle that?"

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robinofthehood
2013-09-25 08:45 am UTC (link)

"Mal uses a lot of words a lot. I'm sure it's a blessing I don't understand Chinese." Talking about something else, someone else, was always easier, always preferred. Even if he knew what he was here to talk about, he had trouble simply jumping in to the topic. He always did. No matter how often he had come to see her, he was yet to be able to simply start talking about something without skirting the issue for a while first. He didn't ever intend for it to be that way, it simply happened. As though his subconscious still wanted to cling to the last of his secrets.

"Brimstone is sulfur," he replied absently. So hell was fire and a never ending foul smell. He didn't even know where he'd heard that. Maybe he'd read it in a book. "Whatever hell is, I guarantee you it isn't plush luxury." The mere concept of it was absurd.

He could actually feel his mood turning when she asked him that, when she turned her focus to the real reason he was there. The cup of tea, which had by this point become almost an absurd prop for his restless hands, was set down again, and he ended up crossing his arms as he once more glanced out the window. "I really hate when you ask me that. Have I mentioned?" How did he handle that? How did it make him feel? What did it matter? The fact was, he didn't. He didn't handle any of it. He simply did what he had to, and carried on. How was anyone meant to deal with taking the lives of innocents? With the knowledge that they had slaughtered hundreds of people in the name of a fool King, and a ridiculous cause? The truth was, for all that he had tried to talk to her about it, for all the progress he had made, it still left a bitter taste in his mouth. She'd helped him deal with the flashbacks, with the nightmares. But that didn't mean he could accept what he had done, or pretend he didn't have a firm idea of what was intended for him upon his own death.

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changinghats
2013-09-27 03:04 am UTC (link)

"Maybe so," she admitted at his confession. "But it's my job, Robin. I can't tell you how to feel. You have to do that. And you have to think about how it is you feel. I can't do that for you." She leaned forward in her seat, arms crossed on top of her knees.

He knew better by now. This was how it had to go. She could, and would, guide his train of thought. But it was up to him to get there. He had to come to terms with his emotions, with his memories. It was ultimately Robin's responsibility to deal with his past. She was just the one who would get him there.

"You were asked to do something no one should have had to. You were asked to take another life. Again. But this time, Robin... These people were already suffering. And, if Death is to be believed, their souls would have moved on safely afterwards. I can't imagine any of those people had a one-way ticket to hell so... You ended their pain and likely sent them on to somewhere far more peaceful. Isn't that something to think on?"

Okay, maybe she could give just a slight push in the right direction. But this wasn't any ordinary case. This wasn't even PTSD at its finest, the way Robin usually was. This was Death. A day working as Death. This was extreme.

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robinofthehood
2013-09-28 04:15 am UTC (link)

"Sometimes it's easier not to." Which as an admission he knew was not all that surprising coming from him, especially to Claire. She knew just how reticent he could be, and had been on a number of topics. But that didn't mean he hadn't tried. Endlessly he'd fought himself, made himself open up to her. Because she was going out of her way to help him, when she didn't have to. A lot of it was because he knew it was helping him, as well, and he knew things could be better. But most of all it was for Marian. She'd told him that him being happy and okay made her happy, and he had said time and again that her happiness was what was most important to him. It was what he fought for the most passionately.

"I know that. Looking back at it objectively I know that they were suffering. But I could have helped them. That's all I did, Claire." That was all he could do. What good was he if he couldn't help people in that way? "And they were terrified. They might not be suffering any more, but I'll never forget the looks on their faces. I get what you're saying. I just..." He wasn't sure how to finish that sentence, or what he was even trying to say. Because the whole thing was one giant contradiction. He knew how much he had done to help in the fight here, by taking on this task for a day. And yet to have taken the lives of people that in another life he might have saved was a slap in the face.

"It's fine," he eventually concluded, almost dismissively. "I know you'll say it's not, but what alternative is there? I'll deal with it."

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changinghats
2013-10-01 01:16 am UTC (link)

Honestly, as stubborn as Robin was and as hard as he tried to push away his issues, he really had at least made an effort, and that's all Claire had ever asked of him. He was a good guy, and not just in the Hero of Nottingham sense. He really cared about people in general, his friends and loved ones especially. But that was what had put him in this position to begin with. Always caring for others, never worrying over himself until it was too late.

"You could have helped," she said softly. "But for how long? How far gone were most of them? They'd have needed help far beyond your skills. So far from home? You could have given them some bread and meat that day, but what about the next, or the one after?" She shook her head, her eyes closing, trying not to think too long on the pain he'd seen. It would be hard to take that backseat if she didn't.

Right. She could do this. He was trying to brush it off and she knew better. You didn't work that closely with someone and not know them well. "Those people needed medical attention. To be that close to death, it was more than you could have handled. You're one man, Robin. I know you want to save everyone, but you can't."

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robinofthehood
2013-10-01 05:59 pm UTC (link)

"I am acutely aware of how little help I could have been, thank you Claire." He was doing his best to hold down his frustration, but in this situation it wasn't easy. In 1192, brining people food and money, saving them from the sheriffs antics, that had helped? Here, in this day and age? It felt like child's play. The notion that it could make any difference seemed ridiculous. He had felt ridiculous. Useless, anyway. And what about Becker? He'd been sent to a war torn country and he seemed to be coping just fine.

"There were children there, hundreds of them. I know it's foolish but somehow I thought in this day and age things would be better." A mother had been holding her child in her arms when Robin had reached their side, and that had nearly stolen his resolve. He'd had to take her child from her, and he couldn't imagine that pain. If, when, he and Marian had children, he knew just how terrifying that would be. Raising them in this place. In an apocalypse. How could he not constantly be worried for them?

Sighing he leaned back in the chair, eyes focused directly ahead of him. "But it's like I said. It doesn't matter. I can't do anything about it. I sure as hell can't change it." No, he was one man in the middle of an apocalypse hundreds of miles away feeling more powerless than he had in almost his whole life.

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