[He’s a doctor, Jack. He’s was in the business of people oversharing with him, even if he feels badly equipped half the time to deal with it, outside of a clinical fix-all. And that’s not something he can offer this time — but he can mitigate the other man’s shame over something he can’t control.]
If you weren’t feeling sorry for yourself just a little, I’d be wondering if something else was wrong with you.
[So don’t feel bad.]
And I don’t know if it’s commiseration you want, but if you need to get it off your chest about… [Hand gesture. Awkward.] …bad car accidents, I’ve been there, done that. Even if the situation’s wildly different.
[“Just”. Should his previous self hear him say such a thing, he’d be obscenely offended.
The redirect is fine, though, if it gives him something else to mull over. Something to not hyper-fixate on the fresh revelations regarding sleep and brain issues.]
It was a combination of as many terrible things you could think of, all rolled into one. It was raining, nighttime. I was speeding and texting back-and-forth about prospective new patients.
[Well, going over MRIs, but same difference.]
At that point, you could say I had it coming to me. That's how I got- [He lifts his hands up, affording clearer view of faded scars running up and down his fingers.] -these.
( Just a neurosurgeon. Jack isn't, by nature, very expressive. Even so, there's probably something detectibly deadpan written in him somewhere. His mouth, his shoulders maybe. Oh, but a lowly neurosurgeon.
Raining, texting and driving at night. At least he wasn't drinking.
He blinks at the scars, apparently having gone the entire duration of their knowing each other without noticing them. Not when handed meds or scripts, not during the MRI, not while dying together a thousand times. Nope. Completely oblivious. )
Oh. Huh. Have they been there the whole time? ( Obviously they have, stupid. Come on. ) Neurosurgery must have been really hard after that. One wrong move and their brains are basically mashed potatoes.
( Dark. Inappropriate. Sorry, he's a little desensitized. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
If you weren’t feeling sorry for yourself just a little, I’d be wondering if something else was wrong with you.
[So don’t feel bad.]
And I don’t know if it’s commiseration you want, but if you need to get it off your chest about… [Hand gesture. Awkward.] …bad car accidents, I’ve been there, done that. Even if the situation’s wildly different.
no subject
Time to latch on to the potential redirect. )
I wouldn't have guessed sorcerers could actually get into car accidents. What happened?
ages later, i'm sorry
[“Just”. Should his previous self hear him say such a thing, he’d be obscenely offended.
The redirect is fine, though, if it gives him something else to mull over. Something to not hyper-fixate on the fresh revelations regarding sleep and brain issues.]
It was a combination of as many terrible things you could think of, all rolled into one. It was raining, nighttime. I was speeding and texting back-and-forth about prospective new patients.
[Well, going over MRIs, but same difference.]
At that point, you could say I had it coming to me. That's how I got- [He lifts his hands up, affording clearer view of faded scars running up and down his fingers.] -these.
i am slow as balls it's ok
Raining, texting and driving at night. At least he wasn't drinking.
He blinks at the scars, apparently having gone the entire duration of their knowing each other without noticing them. Not when handed meds or scripts, not during the MRI, not while dying together a thousand times. Nope. Completely oblivious. )
Oh. Huh. Have they been there the whole time? ( Obviously they have, stupid. Come on. ) Neurosurgery must have been really hard after that. One wrong move and their brains are basically mashed potatoes.
( Dark. Inappropriate. Sorry, he's a little desensitized. )