Had A Dream It Was All A Dream (Sean)

[Joshua Bernstein]

Sailing was one of life's greatest pleasures. Sailing with Sean, supplied with alcohol and sandwiches, was even better. And better still was the fact that they were now reconciled, had been for over a month now.

They'd discussed taking Sean's boat out again during the reconciliation, in fact, and had finally (after horrible weather and business) found the time to do so.

The weather was nice, if a bit brisk and cool, but it was fall and that was to be expected. The leaves were golden and crimson, making the tops of the trees look as if they were on fire, and the air smelled of falling leaves and a hint of smoke -- someone had a bonfire going nearby.

He ought to have been happy.

This was what he wanted, to spend his free time with Sean doing activities they both enjoyed. In fact, he'd been the one to suggest sailing in the first place, precisely because he thought it would make him happy.

And yet instead of pleasure he felt anxiety.

Anxiety wasn't a new feeling for him, of course, but this particular situation ought not to have aroused such feelings. He didn't even have to worry about accidentally waking up with Sean in the morning, because they were together again and they could do so on purpose and without the aid of beer.

He hadn't been feeling well lately, though, and he supposed the anxiety was probably related to that. I was probably stress at work, and nothing to worry himself over.

The smell of fall, particularly of mulch and leaves and woods and loam, had been causing him to tense up more and more, and he had been feeling awkward around Emma, even though she was a lovely young woman and willing to share cigarettes with him, and sometimes he felt so exhausted and drained he withdrew into his personal bedroom rather than staying with Sean.

But it was surely just the Sullivan case getting to him; it was taking up so much more time than he'd initially thought it would.

But rather than share such depressing thoughts on such a beautiful day he popped the tab off a beer and raised it in Sean's direction, tipping his head. "I propose a toast to Captain Neville for not capsizing us after such a long shore leave."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean had honestly been a bit surprised when Josh had agreed to go sailing with him. It was true that his partner had been excited about the prospect during their initial reconciliation, and that the other man had been the one to suggest the trip. However, Josh hadn’t been himself lately.

The telepath noticed. He was familiar with Josh’s mannerisms due to decades of caring and association, in addition to the telepathy. If Josh’s behavior had been subtle, Sean would have noticed that something was amiss.

However, the attorney’s behavior wasn’t subtle.

The past week and a half had been a game of roulette. Every night he wondered whether the other man would come to bed with him; a third of the time, the answer was no. Those remaining nights he was never certain whether his advances would be met with enthusiasm or with refusal. Sean always curbed himself immediately but Josh’s withdrawal was disconcerting.

In an effort to afford Josh privacy, Sean had begun to do something he hadn’t done in years: he shielded at home. Between Emma’s presence and Josh’s withdrawal, it seemed the best solution, even if it was wrong for him to have to shield in his own house.

However, Josh had agreed to come out today which was all that mattered. Sean wanted him to enjoy himself, and the telepath always enjoyed going out on the water; he found it utterly serene. Despite the past summer’s events, he wasn’t as out of practice as Josh’s toast suggested.

Still, he popped open a hard cider of his own (one of the pleasures of autumn) and held it up as well. “Thank you, but you should hold all applause until the end of the tour. Just in case.”

[Joshua Bernstein]

Had Josh been aware that Sean was shielding on his behalf he would have felt guilty. He probably should have known, of course; if Sean wasn't shielding he would surely have known immediately that it was the smells of fall and the presence of Emma causing the attorney's withdrawal and discomfort.

Or perhaps not; Josh had thus far managed to hide the true cause of his stress from himself.

He certainly felt guilty enough for retreating into his room, for rejecting advances, for barely talking in the evenings when he came home from work. He blamed it on the stress of work, said he didn't feel well. And he really didn't, but he didn't want to discuss the full implications of that, not even with Sean. He would get over it if he ignored if for long enough.

Still, despite the fact that the fall weather made him feel depressed rather than happy, like it usually did, he plastered a smile on his face, shaking his head as the telepath protested the toast.

"Are you planning on capsizing us today, Captain Neville?" He chuckled, tilting back his beer. No matter his mood it was always a good time for beer. "I didn't include going for a swim in my plans for the afternoon."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

The telepath assumed that when the other man desired to discuss whatever was bothering him, he would. They had a decades-long history of Josh withdrawing from Sean when he was upset, where he was unable to process his emotions and they overwhelmed him. Those periods of withdrawal always ended and the attorney eventually sought out Sean’s company. While it was true that those periods typically ended with Josh pretending that he had never pushed the telepath away, he had also promised to communicate better, which gave Sean.

Additionally, when Josh had severe problems, he did talk. For now it was merely a matter of patience.

Sean had that in abundance, even if the rejection was undesired.

Besides, Josh had agreed to come out with him today which was improvement.

The telepath took sip of his hard cider, enjoying the taste of apple and spices that bloomed on his tongue. He met the other man’s question with a shake of his head. “I never plan on capsizing but you know how Poseidon feels about hubris. The moment I congratulate myself on successful maneuvering, he’ll send us a tidal wave and we’ll flip over.”

Sailing, alcohol, mythology references, and his partner; it would be a good day.

He took another sip and added, "If you don't want to swim, I can be used as a floatation device."

[Joshua Bernstein]

"That is an excellent point," Josh conceded, making a show of peering over the edge of the boat into the depths of the lake. "I don't suppose you've ever seen any kraken down there, have you? I was holding out hope that any watery death I had would be by siren."

After the end of that little speech he found his beer regrettably empty, and thus foraged once more in the cooler.

"It's a....ahhhh....a nice day for sailing." Was he truly reduced to talking about the weather? He must have felt worse than he thought if that was the case. Best drink a few more beers, maybe the alcohol would help him relax enough to enjoy himself, because really he was in a situation that ought to be enjoyable. There was no reason for him to carry the stress of work onto this little excursion.

He looked deep into his second can of beer, praying it would send him some inspiration. None was forthcoming.

He leaned against the railing, looking out on the light ripples in the center of the lake just in time to see a flash of silvery fin. "You know, I forgot to ever buy a book on New England fish. And we were going to study it together, too." He shook his head sadly at that thought. They were supposed to pretend they were in college again, staying up late studying for an exam, but he'd not ever done so. "I suppose I got a bit distracted with the more....ahhh....interesting books for our late night study group." Even if he wasn't practicing very well the last week or so.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

The telepath drank half his cider and then put the bottle down. He couldn’t drink too much, as he was operating a vehicle. The fact that it was a watercraft rather than a car didn’t change the need for him to remain clear-headed while behind the wheel. Josh, however, could drink as much as he wanted, and Sean would encourage that if it helped his partner relax.

His partner dearly needed to relax.

“I’ve yet to see a kraken, but that could mean that it is hiding, rather than that it isn’t there. I’ll keep my fingers crossed.” The other comment caused Sean to raise his eyebrow, although it was done in furtherance of their banter. “I see. So as long as the creature’s singing voice is better than mine, you’d prefer it. Even if it’s female. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Not that Sean could fault him. The telepath’s singing voice was as far from a siren’s as Josef Stalin temperament was from Gandhi’s.

The other man was most certainly out of sorts, since he was now grasping at the last straws of small talk. However, Sean wouldn’t comment on that because he wished to give Josh space. They could discuss the weather. Reaching for his cider again, he nodded. “It is. I’m glad we could take advantage of it before the snow comes.”

That was an exaggeration but only a minor one. It could snow next month, particularly with how wet this past year had been.

While the attorney watched the water, Sean watched him, studying his posture and his expressions silently. He was concerned, even if he had to keep that to himself. At the comment regarding the fish book, he shook his head. “We can always do that another day. Unfortunately, the other books have been rather distracting. That’s something that never changed from college.”

Rejection at night aside, it was something that would never change in the telepath’s mind.

[Joshua Bernstein]

Ordinarily Sean's quip about his singing voice would have been met with a jest in turn, but Josh couldn't even think to joke back, and so after several seconds of silence wherein his mind churned because he knew reciprocation was expected but coming up with nothing, his shoulders slumped in dejection. "That's not what I meant." He protested weakly, expression turning apologetic. "I just meant sirens are supposed to lure you so you don't know you're dying and kraken just eat you. I don't fancy being eaten."

"I wish it had stayed summer a bit longer." He sighed mournfully. Ordinarily he didn't mind the fall, in fact preferred the cooler temperatures to the oppressive summer heat. And he didn't mind snow, though he wasn't fond of cycling in it; it was an excuse to curl up inside with the heater (or, now that he had a house, the fireplace) and a cup of cocoa and Mopsy and a book. Or Sean and a book this winter, an idea that should have thrilled him, but the most enthusiasm he could muster for that idea was a very brief smile.

"It doesn't seem like much has changed since college, does it?" He agreed. Nothing much except careers, states, and relationships in between then and now, and decades worth of baggage. "Except when I was in college I thought I would have changed the world by now. I'm sure if my eighteen year old self could see into the future he'd be disappointed."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Josh didn’t respond as he usually did. In fact, he didn’t respond at all which was disconcerting and which caused the telepath to regard him with a creased brow. His partner sat there in silence, taking what should have been an obvious joke as though it was serious. Then, when he finally responded, Josh didn’t add banter; he apologized and tried to explain his thought processes. Sean was concerned, and he shook his head slightly; but he didn’t want to pressure the other man to explain what was bothering him so. He spoke gently, “I know what you meant, and I understand. I promise we won’t get eaten.” That was all he could say on that topic, since it was absurd and his partner lacked that humorous spark.

“So do I,” Sean agreed with a wistful smile. The summer had felt shorter, which was because the pleasurable aspects had been fewer. Between Josh’s withdrawal and then the fallout at Hammel, and then the hurricane, there had been fewer opportunities for pleasure. Since he couldn’t guarantee that autumn would last longer than its typical truncated period, all they could do was try to enjoy the clear weather while it lasted. “We can pretend it’s still summer this weekend.”

While the telepath understood that life was unpredictable, and that youthful expectations rarely blossomed into reality, he had to disagree. He disagreed with the conclusion, even though he remembered quite vividly Josh’s teenage idealism. Which wasn’t too different from his current idealism. “Your eighteen-year-old self shouldn’t be disappointed. You turned into a good man and you’ve helped a lot of people.” He took a long drink from his bottle of cider before adding, “I don’t even think my eighteen-year-old self would be disappointed, and I know he hadn’t expected anything that happened in the last thirty-six years.”

[Joshua Bernstein]

Josh knew he wasn't quite as cheerful as normal, but while he felt guilty for his lack of enthusiasm he couldn't bring himself to use the energy necessary to banter. It was usually second nature, but recently it had taken so much out of him, and he just couldn't do it.

While Sean may have thought his eighteen year old self ought not have been disappointed, Josh remained sure that if a fortune teller had predicted to him the trajectory of his life he would have disbelieved them because it wasn't at all what he wanted it to be. Too many mistakes that could have been avoided, that his younger self would have sworn he would never make, and too many future changes to civil rights' discourse he hadn't yet managed to see. There was still racism and sexism and homophobia and metaphobia, though the laws protecting minorities were stronger than they had been when he was a boy. They simply weren't strong enough.

"I'm sure eighteen year old Josh would ask what I've done with my life. Only the bare minimum, really." He frowned, draining his second beer. "Of course your eighteen year old self wouldn't be disappointed, you've followed in your mentor's footsteps and you've been noble and kind and moral and strong."

He yearned for a calming cigarette, and he found his hands in his pockets before he even remembered that it wasn't polite to smoke in front of non-smokers, particularly when those non-smokers were his best friend and partner. Still, he needed the nicotine, and he gave the other man an apologetic, "Do you mind if I smoke?"

[Dr. Sean Neville]

The psychiatrist shook his head, denying the claim that Josh had done only the bare minimum with his life. As far as he was concerned, Josh had done far more than that. “You’ve helped countless people with your practice over the years, people who had nowhere else to go and whom you dedicated hours and days of time, work, and concern. That isn’t the bare minimum. And it’s certainly more than going to protests and being ignored ever achieved.” The telepath didn’t regret his time protesting, but he remembered quite vividly how few minds they had changed during most of their marches.

Sean had just about finished with his cider when Josh made his other remark, and the telepath lowered the bottle from his lips, a crease in his brow which he immediately smoothed. “I’m not Robert, and I never will be.” That also hadn’t been his eighteen-year-old self’s goal. His eighteen-year-old self had wanted to help, of course, which had had, but he had envisioned a starkly contrasted family life. He never would have expected the years of bachelorhood, the failed relationships, the absence of children and family, and the fact that he was working at Hammel instead of practicing medicine in the City. But he wouldn’t have been disappointed. “And you’ve also been all of those.”

The telepath managed not to frown when Josh fished through his pockets for a cigarette. While the other man smoked, and they had an agreement about where was appropriate in exchange for Sean not listing health consequences, Josh typically had greater self-control, and didn’t light up in front of him. The question was indicative of how out of sorts his partner was. While yes, he did mind, they were also in an open area and if Josh was this upset... “Go ahead.”

If the cigarette didn’t soothe his partner’s nerves, Sean intended to turn the boat back to dock.

[Joshua Bernstein]

Sean's observation that his law practice resulted in more obvious change than protests did was absolutely correct, and yet Josh still felt that protesting was somehow more pure than simply working, because it was much more clearly ideologically charged and visible and resulted in much more external validation from the people who agreed with him. Grand, symbolic gestures were important to him in some ways precisely because they were symbolic and ineffective and after doing them he could claim legitimate devotion to whatever his cause de jour was.

He was, however, surprised by the denial that Sean was like Robert. "I didn't say you were Robert, I said you'd followed in his footsteps. Everything you told me you admired about him, you have all those traits. I think that's following in his footsteps."

He didn't think he was particularly noble or kind, not considering the way he'd treated Dr. Jones (or several of Sean's other ex-lovers) and he certainly wasn't strong, not when he'd succumbed again and again to jealousy, to desire, to fear. Not when he'd been thoroughly unable to defend himself against the terrorists, had to rely on his oldest friend and close peer to save him.

As soon as he had permission the box of cigarettes was whisked out of his pocket and he'd lit one and stuck it between his teeth.

"Sorry, I'm feeling a bit," A deep breath, inhaling the smoke r relief, "of an existential crisis. Emerson and Thoreau are trying to possess me, and I think the answer to that is to get as drunk as possible."

He offered the other man a strained smile, hoping this would be enough to pass as normal banter rather than discouraged, unhappy self-deprecation.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean didn’t want to have a debate about whether he was sufficiently similar to Robert. He was satisfied with himself, but that missed the initial point of his comment. He had intended to cheer Josh and prevent the other man from focusing on his negative self-image, because his friend did have many accomplishments and his eighteen-year-old self should be proud of the man he had become. Unwilling to discuss this further, he dismissed the tread of conversation with a folk reference. “You know what they say: We are traveling in the footsteps of those who’ve come before.”

The telepath leaned against the mast of the boat, perched where he was across from the other man. He hoped that this was a mere existential crisis, because those could be solved with philosophical discussions and occasional lifestyle changes. He wished this was a mid-life crisis; those could be solved with motorcycles and trips abroad, and the occasional flirtation which Sean could cope with better than most others.

He doubted this was either. While he wasn’t certain what, precisely, plagued his partner, he knew that it wasn’t a simple crisis of purpose. That was troublesome. Absent sufficient information for a diagnosis, he couldn’t help; instead all he could do was watch his lover withdraw further from their relationship, from him.

“Do you want to get as drunk as possible?” Sean asked, completely serious. This wasn’t a question of whether the other man wanted to drink and forget his anxieties; rather, it was inquiry into a plan of action. “Because if you do, I’m turning this boat around to dock. You’re not getting drunk without me, and I can’t get drunk when I’m behind the wheel.” Of a boat or a car.

[Joshua Bernstein]

Josh was blissfully unaware of Sean's doubts; at this point he would have been unable to articulate any of his problems even had the telepath asked. He thought (or hoped) that it was perhaps a slightly more severe manifestation of the existential crises that occasionally struck him, or work-related stress wearing him down.

And when memories of last fall drifted through his mind he did his best to dismiss them, to not acknowledge their importance.

He nodded in affirmation at Sean's question, feeling there was no reason to deny this when he'd just said as much. "That was the plan for today." Then he listened as Sean continued on, explaining that this plan was going to cut short their sailing trip. Guilt began to burrow into his mind, blaming him for ruining a nice outing for drink. But he wasn't into the sailing enough for the guilt to do more than make him hunch his shoulders apologetically.

"Ahh, i hope you don't mind, the sailing is lovely, but I think there's a sixpack calling my name. I suppose there's one calling yours, too, eh?"

And that did cause a genuine smile; at least Sean was still willing to get drunk with him even after he wasn't very much fun on their sailing trip.

"I would never ask you to stay sober while I get drunk."