Roll Away Your Stone (Sean)

[Joshua Bernstein]

Josh shifted on the couch, glaring at the book he was trying to read. He couldn't concentrate; his mind kept jumping to Sean, and the fact that they hadn't talked since the Super Bowl.

It had been just over a week since his friends' disastrous attempt at forcing him and Sean into some sort of discussion. Just over a week since he'd started avoiding his best friend in discomfort and embarrassment. He knew it wasn't fair that the one person he still wasn't talking to was also the one person who had nothing to do with planning the intervention; Sean was just as much a victim there as he was. Unfortunately, as it was his relationship with Sean that had come under scrutiny, it was Sean who was temporarily cut off.

His hand hovered hesitantly over the phone as he wrestled with himself; when he and Sean weren't talking he was miserable (even though it was almost always due to his own inability to deal with uncomfortable situations) but calling, breaking the silence of the last week, that provided its own set of problems.

For instance, acknowledging the reason why he'd been notably absent. If they acknowledged that the intervention had taken place then there was a distinct possibility he would also have to acknowledge that his friends had succeeded in piling him with guilt. It was much easier to pretend the lapses in judgment were solely to blame on alcohol (or loneliness or the strong need for comfort that accompanied the end of other relationships or really anything other than complicated emotional entanglement) when he didn't have people shoving in his face how his behavior looked from some place other than his own mind; his own mind was very good at justifying to itself.

He sighed heavily to himself and picked up the phone, punching in Sean's number. It wasn't as if they hadn't done this before, going days without talking because avoiding seemed easier than an honest conversation. They always managed to overcome the accompanying awkwardness in the end, so surely this time couldn't be any different just because their avoidant tendencies had been pointed out by outside observers.

He waited until he heard the person on the other end pick up. "Hello, Sean? This is Josh." He paused awkwardly, trying to formulate some apology for avoiding his friend. "Sorry I haven't...been in touch. How have you been?"

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean knew it was Josh calling. Before answering the phone, he knew that it was Josh. Not due to a telepathy or a psychic hunch. And although he had expected that eventually the other man would resume communication – which was why he had not tried to restart it himself – that expectation was not the cause of his certainty.

He knew it was Josh because caller ID came standard with his telephone plan.

When the other man’s name and number popped up, the telepath turned off the television. It had only been the BBC – he usually watched news programs or the movie channel, particularly since one of the few scripted programs wouldn’t air new episodes until summer.

“Hello.” He waited for the other man to lead the conversation, in whatever direction he would. The telepath was unsurprised when Josh chose to dance around the topic. That impulse was what had led to the current state of their relationship. This was also why the intervention had been so misguided, believing that 1) Sean was the primary problem in this situation and 2) that Josh - who wanted to avoid the topic – would somehow open up when confronted by a group of people when he couldn’t do so privately. Perhaps one day they would have that conversation.

“You know how it is,” he replied, answering the other man’s question first instead of addressing the apology outright. By having a friendly conversation, he was tacitly forgiving the other man for the silent treatment. Of course, he had been frustrated by it, for two reasons: first, he had played no role in that disaster and understood that his friend was like a turtle when it came to how he coped with uncomfortable situations; and second, Sean was under a great deal of stress and Josh was part of his safety net. Being deprived of that hurt.

“The students had their pre-Valentine’s Day dance, and I spent it at the punch table, making sure nobody ruined the evening.” That had been the highlight of his week, sadly. “How have you been?”

[Joshua Bernstein]

Josh breathed a sigh of relief when Sean simply behaved as if nothing had happened. After thirty years he really ought to have expected this sort of easy forgiveness, but he was always afraid that this time would be different. He knew that Sean rarely held grudges, but that didn't stop himself from feeling as if he should.

"Ah. Oh. That's right, Monday was Valentine's Day, wasn't it. No wonder it was so crowded when I went out to dinner. Huh." That particular holiday was only ever important when he was dating, and even then only inasmuch as it generally resulted in arguments because he forgot about it. "So ah did your students behave?"

From the stories he'd been privy to in the past it seemed unlikely.

"Me? Not much, to be honest. Work, mostly. Met one of your coworkers, his name is Miles? He's a nice guy." As much as he harped on Hammel's methods they really did employ a caring, professional and unusually personable staff. Josh had yet to dislike any of the Hammel faculty he'd met.

"If you have time you need to make a trip to visit my mom. She's been asking about you, seems to think you're neglecting her." Charlotte Bernstein had all but adopted Sean and she expected him to pay just as much tribute to her as her own offspring; perhaps a bit more now that he lived close by again. She had always been fond of him, even when they were rooming together in grad school; if she'd known the truth...

If she'd known the truth he would have allowed himself to be pressured into marrying some poor, unsuspecting girl from Synagogue just to appease her. He and Sean would certainly not still be on any sort of speaking terms at all. He counted it a blessing that if his mother had ever suspected he was less than completely heterosexual (or, more accurately, not anywhere near heterosexual) she had never confronted him about it.

"Soooooo." Already that sounded less casual than he would like. "We should get together again soon. And ah wecantalkifyouwantbutwedon'thavetobut we should definitely get together."

It was difficult to sound anything less than anxious when mumbling at top speed. He wasn't sure what he would say if they had a conversation or even if Sean would want to have one; he wasn't sure if he would be relieved or not if his friend opted not to. And now he was annoyed with Cobalt and Ben (and to a lesser extent, Riley, but it was difficult to stay angry at the landscaper) all over again. He was not grateful to them for this guilt. Not at all.

"Anyway." Change of topic again. "Other than dances filled with hormonal delinquents how has your life been?"

[Dr. Sean Neville]

The psychiatrist couldn’t conceive of a large enough faux pas to make him want to cut off all communication with Josh. He could barely stand how Kathleen was incommunicado, and yet he was saner for that.

Sean thought back to that dance. Of course the students hadn’t behaved. Even with a student to staff ratio of 5:2 and most of the security staff present as chaperones, they hadn’t behaved. Although a certain degree of misbehavior was expected – experience with students as a whole and individually taught him that – the students had gone above and beyond with their conduct. He might have to reconsider volunteering to chaperone at the next dance. “There were more than enough spats to render Valentine’s Day a failed experiment.” Although the other man couldn’t see him, Sean shook his head to himself at the memory. “I also had to listen to more Lady Gaga than I’ll ever need in life.”

Idly, he wondered who Josh had gone out with on Valentine’s Day, given that he hadn’t realized the holiday. It couldn’t have been his mother, since she would have mentioned the day. But Josh had stopped speaking to nearly his entire social circle – or so Sean assumed since Josh had stopped speaking to him. Perhaps he had gone out alone and that was how he met Miles. “He is nice,” the telepath agreed with that assessment. “I’m glad to have him aboard.” He had proven a good addition to the staff generally and to the mental health services department specifically.

Then came the admonishment for not visiting Josh’s mother. The telepath was as fond of her as she was of him, even if he had to be in the closet around her. “Honestly, I’d wanted to stop in with her for the holiday – I even bought her a present – but I didn’t want to impose.” Regardless of his relationship with her, she remained Josh’s mother, and when Josh had stopped speaking with him, Sean had retreated to give him whatever personal space he wanted. That included not going out to his family lest a premature meeting take place. “Tell her that I’ll stop by this weekend. I’ll even help her make kugel if she wants.” Or he’d take her shopping around Burlington since her eyes were going; she might want the help or at least the company.

“I’d like to get together soon.” That didn’t come off as too desperate, he hoped. It wasn’t as though Josh was unaware of where Sean stood in all this. He’d cross the hypothetical conversation when they got to it. “Are you free tomorrow night? Supper’s on me.”

How had his life been? Lonely and stressful. That was the pattern these days. Then he had a thought. “I don’t know if you’ve seen, but there are these union protests out in Wisconsin. I’ve had the urge to catch a flight and join in. Take that as you will as indication of my mental state.”

[Joshua Bernstein]

"I am fairly certain we behaved as children," Josh commented, trying to envision what would have happened had there been spats at any of the dances his own high school had put on. "Don't they know they're supposed to wait until college to rebel?" Although even then any conflict ought to be fueled entirely by righteous indignation over political (in)action, not the raging hormones and relationship issues that flared up at school dances.

"You know my mother doesn't think of visitors as imposing." Particularly not when that visitor was Sean, whom she'd known forever. "I'll let her know. She'll be thrilled." That would be the highlight of her week; she was always flattered when someone visited out of pure affection with no hint of filial duty.

"Tomorrow is good for me." He agreed. If he didn't get together with Sean then his dinner plans would consist of whatever he had in the house; he thought maybe there was enough sliced turkey to make a sandwich.

"Alas, skipping work for protests is much more difficult than skipping classes. Perhaps you can use this as a teaching opportunity for your students, arrange a protest with some of them to show solidarity. I'll help."

A jaw-cracking yawn forced its way out, alerting him to the fact that it was nearing bedtime. "Sorry, I should probably turn in. I'm exhausted for some reason. I'll call you after work and we can work out supper plans then?"

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean had behaved as a child, but he also didn’t expect most children or teenagers to follow in his footsteps. He was shockingly mild-mannered before and during his years at Hammel. He’d been well behaved at college for the most part; despite the protests and the occasional substance use, he’d always been friendly and had avoided violent confrontation. But he was the exception to the rule; more than twenty years of working with teenagers, thirty years of studying psychology, and forty years of telepathy had taught him that. “Hormones and boarding school can be a dangerous combination. The important part is that everyone survived the night.”

The telepath knew that his mother wouldn’t think of one of his visits as imposing, but he hadn’t stayed away for her benefit. He had done so for the other man, to avoid potential awkwardness. There was no reason to admit that, since it would only give rise to the conversation that they needn’t have tonight, if at all. “Thank you. And if you could ask if she has a day preference?” He was free both Saturday and Sunday, so it could revolve around how her husband was feeling and whether she wanted to meet after synagogue or if she wanted to wait a day.

“Good.” They could resume this tomorrow. That would give the telepath a night to figure out what, if anything, he wanted to say to the other man. And he never minded time with Josh or feeding him; Heaven knew his friend needed that additional level of mindfulness, since he’d never learned for himself.

Sean wasn’t a history teacher. If he was, he would skip several lesson plans ahead to teach the importance of the labor movement and would be tempted to do just that. Since he wasn’t he was less keen on the idea of using students, particularly since his relationship with them wasn’t one of teacher-student but rather psychiatrist-patient, a trust which couldn’t be exploited, even with the best of intentions. But now Josh was keen on the idea, so he would have to compromise. “Find out if there’s a solidarity protest in Burlington that we can go to.”

Then he heard the other man yawn. He’d probably thrown himself into his work this past week as a means of coping and avoiding everyone. He must be exhausted. “Go to sleep. I have a session that should end a little after five, so call me then.” He could give the other man a ride on his way home from work. “Good night.”