Gone at Last (Josh)

[Dr. Sean Neville]

((OOC: This is set after most of the drama going on right now.))

Sean was worried. When he’d last spoken to Josh - which had been too many weeks ago – his friend had told him that work was getting busy. The telepath understood work concerns, particularly in a profession like law but he wanted his friend to cope as best he could, and moreover, he didn’t want anyone to be unduly stressed. As the Hammel psychiatrist, Sean’s life was quite stressful and he wished serenity for everyone else, perhaps as compensation.

Because it was Josh, he had the other man that if there was anything he needed, to simply call him. He’d also mentioned that Griff wanted to meet him if he found the time; that the Welshman also liked to cook – comfort food primarily – and that anytime he wanted or needed, he would have a banquet. The call didn’t come.

Because it was Josh, Sean had respected his boundaries. First he thought there was stress at work, and too much work to be done – which fit with the internship request although the telepath wished he’d been able to intervene in time. Because there was work to be done, he hadn’t wanted to interrupt. His friend didn’t like interruptions at work. And then as time went by, and Josh didn’t call him to go out or to come over, or even to talk, the telepath feared that something had happened. That perhaps he had done something. That fit with what Griff had told him, about Josh’s odd behavior at the bar and then later at the park. He had told the other doctor not to mind, that Josh was under a lot of stress and that he wasn’t normally like that, and something from work must have gotten to him. He had wanted to add that perhaps Griff had imagined part of it because Josh didn’t behave that way, but he hadn’t. Griff was a good man, so friendly; perhaps he had been over-sensitive and his anxieties had gotten out of hand. But none of that was conversational. He waited a while longer for Josh to call him, the way he always did; even if it led to another round of them pretending that nothing had happened, at least Josh would have worked through it himself.

But even more weeks passed and the telephone call never came.

So Sean had stopped being passive and respectful of Josh’s boundaries and he started calling. And the other man never answered his phone.

He could be busy. Or something could be terribly wrong emotionally. Sean had had a friend from the community where Josh’s father was check in with him; Bobby Bernstein was as to be expected. So it wasn’t his father. Then Ethan had told him about Leila and Sean assumed that it was that. The calls came in greater earnest but he never. picked. up. the. phone.

Worried for his friend, the telepath had finally disregarded the rest of the boundaries and the rest of their pattern of song and dance. He shifted his appointment schedule around to clear his afternoon, he bought a six pack of Yuengling, and he took the lunch hour at Josh’s office. When he arrived, Janice and Vincent were out, but he knew his friend was there, and so he knocked on the door to Josh’s private office room. “You’re coming out, or I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your door down.”

[Joshua Bernstein]

Josh couldn't for the life of him decide why Sean was calling him so desperately when they weren't on speaking terms. A tiny, niggling voice in the back of his head told him that perhaps Cobalt was right and he'd overreacted, but he told the voice to shut up. Besides, Riley had agreed with him, and he rather thought that Riley was a better judge of relationships than Cobalt no matter how much he liked the other attorney.

He was still telling himself that Sean definitely didn't want to be his friend anymore (and why should he, anyway) and so it was with great surprise that he heard that familiar voice calling outside his door.

He put down the papers he was looking at and pushed back his chair, not particularly looking forward to seeing his one time friend. Whatever reason he had for visiting couldn't be good; perhaps he wanted to tell Josh to his face that they weren't friends anymore. Just in case it wasn't obvious.

He slowly, reluctantly pulled open the door, taking in the fact that Sean had a case of beer with some confusion.

"....Sean." He greeted the telepath. "How...unexpected." That was putting it mildly. "May I help you?"

[Dr. Sean Neville]

The psychiatrist now had visual confirmation that his friend was physically in one piece; that was an important first step. The other man’s measured response was less than encouraging, since Josh was behaving as though he was a client who had stopped by with a legal question. Still, not everyone coped with stress the way that he did, and this was within the realm of typical stress responses, albeit an undesired one. After all, with 33 years of friendship, he’d hoped that the other man was comfortable leaning on him in times of need.

As surely as the reverse was true.

The telepath held up the caddy with the beer bottles, showing his friend that he’d come bearing a gift. “I brought you this. I thought we could have a chat. Maybe get some lunch if you’re not too busy.” If Josh was too busy to actually go out, Sean would order from the Chinese restaurant he favored and have the food brought here. He wouldn’t mind if his friend needed to go over a motion while they talked.

After all, it was enough that he could see his friend. Even if he’d had to track him down himself to do it.

[Joshua Bernstein]

Have a chat was one of those phrases, much like we need to talk, that implied serious and solemn discussions. Discussions that Josh wasn't interested in having, not when he was convinced he already knew the outcome.

"Ahhh..." He took a fortifying breath, trying to figure out the most polite way to decline this invitation. Sean had left him the opening of being busy, which was quite nice of someone who didn't like him anymore, but he felt that if he wanted to not deal with this again he ought to address the underlying issue at hand at least superficially.

And so after a moment of fidgeting he finally said, "I ummm appreciate that you came all this way out here, but you don't....we don't need to chat. I got the message the first time."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

His friend was behaving strangely, which he could still chalk up to the personal and professional stress. It wasn’t encouraging, particularly not when Josh took such a long pause to respond to what was a basic invitation, and when his response was wholly the opposite of what it should have been.

While it was true that the telepath had called fairly often recently, he hadn’t left explicit messages. He didn’t like having emotional conversations over answering machines, and after his last attempt to leave a voice mail that had somehow managed to convince his friend that he was going to commit suicide, he’d not made the attempt.

There had been a few “call me if you have time” messages, intended not to put greater pressure on Josh, but that was it. Most of the calls left no residue but for the “missed call” alert and his phone number.

Thus he frowned at the other man’s vague remark. “If you know why I’ve been calling, then you can at least talk for a bit. If not for yourself, then for me.” Josh might not want to be pampered in a time of need, but he should know that Sean worried. Josh was his closest friend, after all. “I promise not to make a nuisance of myself.”

[Joshua Bernstein]

Josh narrowed his eyes at Sean. Games weren't the sort of thing he normally went in for, which made this behavior confusing. He wasn't behaving as if he'd cut off their friendship for good, but he had to have known. It wasn't as if referring to someone as your ex wasn't deliberate.

"This has nothing to do with your phone calls. I haven't the slightest clue why you would be calling me. I meant the message you sent with Dr. Jones. While I would have appreciated hearing to my face that you intended to end three decades worth of friendship, I assure you that I can take the hint. You don't need to elaborate."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

“I beg your pardon?” It was the telepath’s typical, cultivated, polite response to a situation that made little to no sense; an effort to remain non-confrontational while affording the other person the opportunity to elaborate.

There was a brief pause, however, because Sean was somewhat shellshocked by the accusation that he had intended to end their friendship. That he would at all, that he had done it by proxy with Griff, that he would come here to rub it in the other man’s face.

A pause as he remembered his conversation with the Welshman, who had vaguely questioned whether Josh had a hormone imbalance or emotional disorder. Who had embarrassingly inquired about some other facts in their relationship, mentioning a party – through context he’d realized the poker party but it could have easily been the New Year’s one –that he’d heard about. Rumors flew around a small town, and thus Sean hadn’t thought too much of it at the time, aside from being surprised and giving reassurances; he wasn’t embarrassed of his behavior when he was single, which he’d tried to make plain at that botched intervention.

All of that, he realized, was about the time that Josh had stopped taking his calls completely and had ceased all conversation.

It was his turn to narrow his eyes, and his usually affable expression morphed into the one he used during sessions with petulant teenagers and discipline. His tone was devoid of emotion as he half-asked, half-narrated, “You had a single conversation with Griff and decided based on that alone that I wanted to end our friendship, and so you were deliberately rude to him and stopped answering my telephone calls for weeks. Without even checking with me.”

[Joshua Bernstein]

The manner in which Sean recited prior events made Josh uncomfortable. There was nothing like hearing your actions narrated to make them seem unreasonable. Of course, it didn't help that Cobalt had essentially told him the same thing, that he hadn't reacted rationally.

The disapproval on Sean's face was obvious, even to Josh, who wasn't always very good at reading body language, and he felt a gnawing doubt in his stomach. This wasn't what he had expected at all.

"Well..." He began, trying to decide how exactly he ought to articulate the thoughts behind his actions. It had made so much sense at the time! "We hadn't been talking much before that...." Which was his fault, really, he always avoided Sean when his friend was dating, a product of insecurity and jealousy. He was sure that as much as the telepath claimed to have time for him, he really didn't; lovers trumped everything else, he'd seen that first hand. "I understand that people change when they start seeing people. There's not room for anyone else, you don't really need...." A moment's hesitation as he stopped himself from ending that with me. "other people."

He sighed and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he tried to explain why, exactly, he'd thought what he'd thought while avoiding the fact that he really had been a jerk to Dr. Jones. "And there's a huge difference between exes and best friends. I wouldn't go around telling people you're my ex, that erases the most important part of our relationship. There's no logical reason you would tell Dr. Jones that we were exes unless you didn't intend to keep the friendship part of our relationship."

Sean was a smart man, surely he could see how important precise labels were. It was beginning to be apparent, of course, that his assumptions had been inexplicably incorrect, but that didn't mean that word choice wasn't still offensive.

"Maybe I should have talked to you." That was a grudging admission, given defensively, "But I didn't want to have a fight about it. I can't say that you have to be friends with me just because I want it. You don't."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

“You did this on purpose,” he said quietly, still in a state of disbelief. Realization struck Sean twice. First with the events as they had transpired, and again with the fact that Josh still didn’t understand what the problem was, and that enraged him. It enraged him because there was a knife that permanently lived two inches from his chest, and every so often, someone he cared about gave it a shove, piercing his heart. It enraged him because this was Joshua Bernstein, someone who should know better. Someone who had already hurt him once so badly that he was in his fifties and still carried the scars. Usually, he took credit for that and for Josh’s scars as well, but the fact that he had to drag this much conversation out of the other man, like pulling teeth, while true understanding still dangled out of Josh’s grasp was too much; it broke something inside him.

Perhaps that something was his calm. Perhaps it was his patience.

“That is one of the vilest thoughts anyone has ever had of me,” he informed the other man, his jaw working unconsciously to keep his voice even. The caddy was suddenly heavy in his hand and he set it down, stifling a different urge in the process. “That you could think me capable of that, wanting that, actually doing it and in such a heartless and cruel fashion.” His friend believed that he would throw away over three decades of friendship because he was dating someone new, someone who, at the time, he’d only had a couple of dates with? His friend reached that decision so easily and with such finality that he wasn’t willing to even call him to ask about it? His friend still believed that this was possible because he was defending those thought processes?

“We weren’t talking much before because you said you were busy, and I have this bizarre quirk where I assume my friends are telling me the truth about their plans. I have this pathological fear of smothering you so I let you dictate the terms of our relationship.” And then, his voice was no longer even, because the throb began in his temples. “You’re the one who stops speaking to me for weeks at a time. You don’t want to have discussions so I keep my mouth shut tight, like I do with everyone else.”

The telepath was beyond trying to explain how this misunderstanding could have happened; he knew. Griff wasn’t a native English speaker, and his discussions about how complicated his friendship and past with Josh had been reduced to a single word, and that word had been the incorrect one. It wasn’t Griff’s fault; he had no blame in this.

“I think so highly of you,” Sean said, his jaw working but it didn’t matter because the volume of his voice had gone up. Thankfully, thankfully, they were alone. “I speak only well of you. And you’re right, there is a big difference between exes and best friends. Exes don’t bail you out of jail after you set a goddamned statue on fire in the middle of town and then protect your law license by erasing memories. Exes don’t leave each other as the near sole beneficiaries of one another’s wills!” He was sure that was news to Josh, but at this stage, he wanted to make his point and it shouldn’t be that surprising in retrospect, once Josh thought about it.

Unfortunately, critical thinking skills – those required by his friend’s profession – had apparently gone missing.

He shook his head to himself, and the throb in his temples grew. He didn’t need this. “I don’t know what darkness you see inside of me, or that you imagine in yourself, to let you think this, but this,” He gestured between the two of them, “this isn’t working.” Obviously.

[Joshua Bernstein]

Sean never yelled.

Never.

He didn't yell, he didn't make a habit of cussing, and he didn't slam cases of beer around.

So it was with wide-eyed shock that Josh took in the litany of favors the telepath had done for him, most of which he was aware of (but somehow had managed to forget or overlook) though being the recipient of Sean's will was a new one.

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He wasn't sure it would have done much good anyway; Sean wasn't slowing down his rant at all, instead pouring out his grievances one after another. He winced as his original complaint all those years ago, that he was being smothered, was thrown back in his face. He had no good reply for any of this, and he was too taken by surprise to react.

Even after the telepath had finished he wasn't sure what to say. He knew he had to say something, that he was probably expected to say something, but forming coherent thoughts had become difficult.

He had made a mistake.

Not just a little mistake. A huge, irreparable one.

The worst of it was he knew now that he had nobody to blame for this but himself.

He dropped his gaze to the floor, casting about for some inspiration, but none came.

"I'm sorry." That didn't nearly cover everything he needed to say, and he knew it. Was there any apology that could fix this? The fact that Sean thought his assumptions were vile was painful. He could already feel the weight of his guilt crushing him but there were no words to express this.

"You're....you're absolutely correct." Him and Cobalt both; wasn't that a wonderful thought, that Sean and Cobalt stood united in the realization that Josh Bernstein was an idiot. Grand. "I didn't....handle this....well."

That wasn't an easy admission to make. But that was the best apology he could make at the moment.

He rubbed at his temples, feeling his own (self-induced) headache coming on. "I.....you...I don't want..."

He couldn't think properly. He wished this were a legal argument, then he could hide behind laws and regulations instead of defending his emotions.

"This...it....maybe it isn't." He admitted finally, glumly. Because it was his fault it wasn't working and that fact was inescapable. "I'm sorry." That phrase remained inadequate.

"This is my fault." There, that was better. "If you really feel it isn't working, I'll understand."

How Sean had put up with him for thirty three years was already beyond him; after this, he wouldn't blame the other man at all for ending things.

"I suppose I can't...I can't blame you for saying that. I've been an idiot."

He felt as if he was floundering, trying to figure out how best to repair something he'd broken beyond recognition. And he knew it couldn't be fixed, not if Sean was now agreeing that his original assumption was going to be correct because he jumped to that conclusion. If ever the phrase self-fulfilling prophecy were applicable to a situation, it was this one. He wanted to kick himself. Instead he gave his best impression of meekness as he accepted that he was responsible for this death.

"I'm sorry."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

When the floodgates finally closed, Sean inhaled sharply, and then exhaled in a rush. With that, he was calm.

Not calm, but calmer.

He could listen now, through the pounding in his head, waiting for any words the other man might find for him. He did listen, to the apologies, to the meek tone and submissive posturing. But it was an unvoiced thought, the ones he tried not to respond to since they were never given voice that nearly broke him. And because he had already broken so many rules – he’d managed to lose his temper, with Josh and make mention of everything he'd held back all these decades – what was one more?

“I don’t put up with you,” he said, and his voice was even again, had returned to an acceptable volume. It did little for the growing headache, but he felt better about himself, because he was calmer. He felt miserable because he had let his control lapse in the first place.

Frustrated because his inner dam had broken and it was going to destroy the house of cards he and Josh had spent so long building. Hurt because of what Josh had thought and how he had behaved. Frustrated more because Josh kept hurting him, even though he knew he knew that wasn’t his intention.

“I don’t put up with you,” he repeated, firmer now because it was positively ghastly that Josh viewed himself this way. That Josh thought the telepath kept him around like some toy to play with until he grew bored, and that perhaps he had done so now.

“And I know you’re sorry.” He saw that in every movement, heard it in every word, felt it in his thoughts. The fact that Josh was sorry wasn’t the problem; it was that his friend didn’t seem to understand what bothered the telepath, and thus that he wasn’t apologizing for the right reasons.

Moreover, apologies couldn’t fix this. In this moment, with a headache pounding like a jackhammer, and Josh refusing to meet his eyes, and his own voice echoing in his ears, he saw everything clear for what had to be done, to repair the foundation that had eroded due to a complete and utter lack of proper communication.

And he didn’t think they would be able to do it.

Because Josh shied away from conversations about emotions and intimacy and all of the best and worst parts of their relationship as young men; because his friend insisted on pretending that they didn’t wake up in bed together sometimes and put up these emotional barriers. And as a result, Sean went against every natural instinct he had to respect those barriers, at great pains to himself sometimes. Because what he had told the other man mere moments ago was true; he did everything he could to keep himself from smothering Josh.

The fact that Josh apparently took offense to that sometimes was baffling. Because everything Sean did with their pattern was for him, and he didn’t know how much plainer he could make it, not when he defended him to their friends and to his sister an cleared his schedule to be with him and never pressured him, and had told him multiple times that he still loved him. And his friend still thought, somehow, that he would just cut him loose for no reason.

The telepath closed his eyes and took another deep breath. “Apologies aren’t going to do it.”

He took another breath and then opened his eyes again. He spoke softly. “It’s toxic right now. I’m absorbing all of it, and that will only make both of us feel worse. Do you understand?”

[Joshua Bernstein]

It wasn't a surprise that his apologies weren't enough; he'd known that even as he uttered them, and so he nodded slowly at the telepath's words, reluctant agreement at best. He thought he knew what the other man was saying, that all the negative feelings between them were too much for someone with telepathy. And how many times had he said he needed a break, asked for space at the expense of his friend. It was only fair that Sean asked the same now.

From a completely logical standpoint there was no particular reason for him to think that Sean was putting up with him. He couldn't point to any action and say this is proof because it was a purely emotional response based largely in the hero worship he'd felt in the beginnings of their relationship. Sean was just....better. At everything. And that idea had stuck with him despite years of seeing the telepath at his worst.

"Of course." He agree finally, "Space is...it's an understandable need."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

He needed to get to his car, which was the location of the closest bottle of Excedrin. He needed to brew a mug of tea when he got back to Hammel and put on careful affectations to allow him to get through the late afternoon meetings. He wanted to talk to Robert, which was impossible. He ought to take some time to meditate. Under no circumstances could he touch the scotch in his desk drawer at Hammel or the wine in his liquor cabinet at home. He was already making a list of what he should do to get through the tasks of the rest of the day and that was a start.

Crisis mode always helped him cope.

However, he needed to explain, because he needed the other man to understand and he didn’t sense that Josh did. “It isn’t space; it’s detox. I don’t want to explode again.” That wasn’t entirely true, since he wouldn’t explode again, not in anger or frustration. But he didn’t think Josh was ready to have this conversation, and if he didn’t leave now it would happen.

He couldn’t let himself do that, and he couldn’t do that to the other man.

He took a deep breath and then he turned toward the door and didn’t reach for the caddy of bottles. “Keep the beer, but don’t drink too much. That never seems to help either of us.”