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May. 24th, 2020 08:06 pmDaisy does head home, eventually. It's a semi-awkward inevitability: John knows from ample personal experience that sleeping on the couch isn't exactly comfortable for a person of their height, just as he knows that no amount of reassurance, no matter how genuine, can fully outweigh the inherent discomfort of being a third wheel. So when Daisy reaches the point where her restlessness outweighs her exhaustion, John fetches her a bag for her clothes, and they send her on her way.
John wouldn't categorize her departure as a relief. There is, perhaps, a sense of release that accompanies it, but not one that puts him at ease. Quite the opposite, really. All the focus he's put into looking after both her and Martin, into making sure that they're okay... it's kept him busy, but it's felt like bailing out a sinking vessel with a tablespoon. No amount of effort could be enough to counter the fundamental inadequacy of the tool at his disposal; nothing he might accomplish with that sorry little tablespoon will patch the hole in the hull.
Martin could have died. He very nearly did. And John can See it, he can close his eyes and See the hole in the earth and the monster that erupted from it and Martin, trapped, with such clarity that it's almost like he was there.
But he wasn't. Not when it mattered. And if Daisy hadn't been there, if Martin had... Christ, he would have Seen that, too, wouldn't he? He would have Known, and it wouldn't have changed a fucking thing.
He shuts the door softly, and does up a few of the latches out of habit more than caution. Then he presses his palm against the wood to steady himself, feeling suddenly as if he might just pitch to the floor.
John wouldn't categorize her departure as a relief. There is, perhaps, a sense of release that accompanies it, but not one that puts him at ease. Quite the opposite, really. All the focus he's put into looking after both her and Martin, into making sure that they're okay... it's kept him busy, but it's felt like bailing out a sinking vessel with a tablespoon. No amount of effort could be enough to counter the fundamental inadequacy of the tool at his disposal; nothing he might accomplish with that sorry little tablespoon will patch the hole in the hull.
Martin could have died. He very nearly did. And John can See it, he can close his eyes and See the hole in the earth and the monster that erupted from it and Martin, trapped, with such clarity that it's almost like he was there.
But he wasn't. Not when it mattered. And if Daisy hadn't been there, if Martin had... Christ, he would have Seen that, too, wouldn't he? He would have Known, and it wouldn't have changed a fucking thing.
He shuts the door softly, and does up a few of the latches out of habit more than caution. Then he presses his palm against the wood to steady himself, feeling suddenly as if he might just pitch to the floor.
