He winces faintly at the reminder, a thousand rejoinders clamoring to be aired, none of which are really airable. He could try to argue, 'of course I did,' but that wouldn't be true. After the Coffin, he hadn't considered his own missteps as being on par with hers. He'd entertained the idea that he was suffering his own sort of compulsion, that none of it was a choice he was free to either make or refuse. And Christ, he'd seen what Daisy's decision was doing to her. He can see it on her now, for all that Darrow's influence seems to have arrested its progress.
He hadn't wanted that, and he still doesn't. He couldn't bear the idea of becoming too hungry to function, or too weak to be of any use to anyone. If he ever manages to throw his life away, it'll be in service of Martin's continued survival, not out of any noble intention to go out cleanly, without harming anyone else. He'd made his choice in hospital, and there are aspects of what he's become that aren't optional.
But the taking was optional. He can survive without it, in both theory and practice. And while he wants to imagine this is a one-off, a desperate measure some part of him took out of desperate necessity, he can only call it a stop-gap if some other solution intends to present itself. And so far, it hasn't.
"I don't— I-I can't just... chuck it all out," he replies at length. "Can't stop being the Archivist. But I..." he huffs, gesturing vaguely towards his own head, as if the Archivist is a physical parasite lodged in the back of his skull. "I don't know how to-to stop fucking hunting in my sleep. Since that's apparently a, a thing now."
no subject
He hadn't wanted that, and he still doesn't. He couldn't bear the idea of becoming too hungry to function, or too weak to be of any use to anyone. If he ever manages to throw his life away, it'll be in service of Martin's continued survival, not out of any noble intention to go out cleanly, without harming anyone else. He'd made his choice in hospital, and there are aspects of what he's become that aren't optional.
But the taking was optional. He can survive without it, in both theory and practice. And while he wants to imagine this is a one-off, a desperate measure some part of him took out of desperate necessity, he can only call it a stop-gap if some other solution intends to present itself. And so far, it hasn't.
"I don't— I-I can't just... chuck it all out," he replies at length. "Can't stop being the Archivist. But I..." he huffs, gesturing vaguely towards his own head, as if the Archivist is a physical parasite lodged in the back of his skull. "I don't know how to-to stop fucking hunting in my sleep. Since that's apparently a, a thing now."