Yeah. I'm not bringing him out to socialize until then. It's like...
[Joseph slowly goes quiet. He brings his hand up to his face and covers the lower half of his face, closing his eyes and lowering his head slightly. His chest heaves once, twice, and he reaches up with his other hand to remove his glasses before rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand.]
[Well, that was to be expected, really. Monty rises from his chair and moves around the table to Joseph's side. He's hesitant to pull the other man wholly into his arms as he might for Cecil, but the gentleman isn't very sure there's much else to do. He kneels so he isn't looming over Joseph and tentatively wraps an arm around him, leans his head against the other man. Perhaps it if's Monty holding tight to him, it won't be as bad as the reverse in Joseph's mind.]
It's all right. It's like Sebastian. That's a bit funny, isn't it? I'm sure we'll have Rodan with better manners before he gets back. He'll be terribly annoyed, I'm certain.
[Joseph can't stand looking weak like this (though only himself-- he'd never, ever assume someone else was weak for expressing their emotions... go figure.) Part of him wants to light himself on fire out of sheer embarrassment, keeping much of his face covered by a hand. At the very least Monty can't see his face as well from his awkward sideways embrace.
For a cunning, manipulative murderer, he's really not a bad friend.]
I've always been able to follow him. Now I can't, and I...
I know. [Monty says, quietly, keeping his eyes averted from Joseph to give him some measure of privacy.] You're one of the strongest men I know, though. When I was very young, my father told me we follow the candles made and lit by others as we grow. But there comes a point when that light we chased goes dark. What burned in the heart burns up and out.
There are other ways to go, other candles to turn to... or we light our own, and move forward in the dark, the hand of someone else we'll have to lead clutched close. [He strokes gently down Joseph's side.] There are people here chasing your light, Joseph; you hold a candle that burns as bright as anything Sebastian held. You know the direction he was walking. It's just a little feeling your way out ahead. And you needn't walk any path alone. You know you have friends to turn to. I know you can do it.
[The candle analogy is strangely comforting... considering that the idea of anyone leaning on him or needing his light to go on feels overwhelmingly heavy right now. He knows that's not how it was meant, so he tries hard not to think of it that way.
He takes a long, shaky breath.]
I don't know where you see any strength in me.
[He's stoic. He's serious. He pushes himself to help others above all other things. But Joseph has never chalked any of that up to his own strength. He always could have done more. He always could have done better. He was only fortunate to have learned from one of the best officers, the best detectives that the KCPD had ever seen.]
You and him both. He always trusted me so much. If you asked him, he'd say I could walk on water.
He'd say I was being crazy like this. He'd be horrified.
He'd say you're being you. You act as though you ought to be able to walk on water, even when you'd never demand it of anyone else.
[As someone who puts a desperate amount of work into not being idle or 'useless' himself, Monty can appreciate self-imposed impossible standards. Not that he'll acknowledge his own, but seeing them in others is easy enough.]
And it's charming in a way, but you'll tear yourself apart from the inside, Joseph. You needn't be perfect. I don't think I'd care much for a man who was. No one would. You're more complicated than perfection. And that's terrible and wonderful all at once.
You said you'd listen to what I said... I'd like you to let go. Just for five minutes. No more than that. There's no need to carry on in misery for an age, but for five - ten minutes at most, I'd like you to let yourself let go. I think I should be a bit disappointed if you can't manage that. And Sebastian would, as well. There's no danger to rescue anyone from. There's no fight to be had. There's a quite moment here in this room. Please make use of it.
[He's not sure if it's the right tactic to take, but giving permission doesn't seem to be breaking through. Perhaps ordering?
Monty slips his other arm behind Joseph's back. For someone he didn't know as well, this would be mortifying, but for Joseph, it's all right. He just hugs the other man to him and doesn't look up, doesn't try to cast any judgmental looks, however well-meaning.]
[Welp. Monty hit the nail on the head on that one. Joseph seems to realize it, and doesn't bother trying to argue with him. Just the fact that someone has seen him weak enough to realize his perfectionism affects him so much is humiliating-- and at the same time, so, so indicative of that particular neurosis it's actually almost funny.
He almost wants to snap that he didn't need permission to feel. He doesn't need permission to mourn or grieve or to forgive himself. Now if only it didn't seem like he actually did.
Covering his eyes with one hand, he rests that elbow on the table and just sits there for a moment, silently. Every so often his chest shudders, but otherwise, he doesn't let anything else slip.
Not quite what Monty was encouraging, maybe, but a start, at least.]
[A very good start. Monty doesn't say anything for a minute or two, just slides his hand up Joseph's back to rub between his shoulder blades. There aren't many more words he has to offer to console, but there is music. A melody swirls around them, soft and low as Monty begins to sing. He has a smooth, rich tenor.]
I want to linger a little longer, a little longer here with you. It's such a perfect night. It doesn't seem quite right That this should be my last with you.
We've had a lovely time, partners we are in crime. A pair, a set, not one but two. You've made me stronger, I'll last here longer for all you gave - your friendship true.
And come December I will remember Our joys, our pains, our lows and highs. And as the days go by, I'll think of you and sigh This is goodnight not goodbye.
I want to linger a little longer a little longer here with you.
[The music trails off along with Monty's voice. Perhaps that had been more absurd than comforting to a man who's never heard Monty sing his feelings before, but it's meant in the spirit to honor Sebastian, at least.]
To say the least, the idea that the man can summon up his own musical accompaniment on command is... weird. But then again, look where they are.
The gesture, at least, is appreciated, even if Joseph doesn't move to react to it very much. He shakes his head at one point, then takes a few more slow breaths.
Eventually he slumps a little further, resting his arms on the table and pressing his forehead to them.]
[What's a little mournful musical number between friends, Joseph? At the very least this isn't the sort of moment that calls for spontaneous choreography. He'll save that for another time when he can have Joseph join him in a dance. Possibly even a chorus or two.
The gentleman just holds where he is, waiting for the detective to ask him to let go. Joseph had asked him to be a voice, so Monty does speak.]
We'll get him back like we got Ms. Oswald back. We'll maintain until then. You'll endure. You've managed the end of the world. You're certainly ready to handle this. He was your senior, wasn't he? He gave you the skills you need to keep going. And you, Joseph, you've brought drive and passion. I e faith in you, just like Detective Castellanos would.
Still, the man is a man of words, not unlike Joseph. Joseph just can't seem to make his own words have the sort of effect that Monty's do, here. Catches of them repeat themselves in his head. We'll get him back. We'll maintain. You'll endure.
It's so much more believable coming from someone else. Someone Joseph knows to be a liar and a murderer, no less, but still...
He still doesn't say anything for a long moment, then finally tilts his head aside to speak softly.]
I am right. [There's no 'probably' about it. Slowly, Monty lets go of Joseph, satisfied that he's been moved by some emotion, as least. He doesn't let go entirely, though, one hand staying firm on his back, then moving up to the detective's shoulder to squeeze gently.]
If you can't have faith in yourself, then trust what others might say of you. Sebastian held nothing but admiration for you. So the same might be said of me and the other people you've let close.
[It should be as simple as that, shouldn't it? And isn't that what he's always done? Joseph has always been so hard on himself. Always unable to believe in his own abilities, or to believe that he had really done his best. Always depending on Sebastian's feedback and encouragement and belief in him.
There's a gaping hole in his life with Sebastian gone, but can't he listen to other people, too? Clara and Monty both think he has it all together. Others probably do too. Can't he let that prop him up for now?]
I've always looked stronger than I am. But you've seen through me before. I can't handle the thought that others might too.
But it's hard, always putting on a show for everyone else. For my own sake.
Joseph... I grew up in a slum. My mother was a laundress. I've murdered people for revenge. [It's blunt, but it's almost freeing to admit all of that at once.] And yet, I'd still like everyone to see me as a gentleman, and I'd like them to know that I can be kind and generous and everything my family was not. Please know you are not the only one putting on a show. Nor are you the only one who frets that he'll be seen through so easily. I think you might be surprised by the number of people who wear their masks, trying to put out that they're stronger than they are.
The best you can do is keep trying. And fall back on those who would support you and raise you to where you wish to be when you don't quite make it. There's no shame in taking strength from another when you're willing to give it so easily.
[Oh, right. Monty does know exactly how it is, doesn't he? Let it be a testament to how scattered and off-center Joseph is that even something he knows to be true sounds profound and surprising.
He would argue that he shouldn't need to take strength from other people, when it's his duty to be the strength FOR other people. What else is his badge a symbol of? But of course, that would lead the argument right back in on itself, so he'll keep from admitting that out loud just yet.]
[Joseph, you're talking to someone whose main motivation is and has always been 'I will not become that sort of man.'] But they can decide not to become that, especially when others won't let them.
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[Joseph slowly goes quiet. He brings his hand up to his face and covers the lower half of his face, closing his eyes and lowering his head slightly. His chest heaves once, twice, and he reaches up with his other hand to remove his glasses before rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand.]
God.
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It's all right. It's like Sebastian. That's a bit funny, isn't it? I'm sure we'll have Rodan with better manners before he gets back. He'll be terribly annoyed, I'm certain.
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For a cunning, manipulative murderer, he's really not a bad friend.]
I've always been able to follow him. Now I can't, and I...
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There are other ways to go, other candles to turn to... or we light our own, and move forward in the dark, the hand of someone else we'll have to lead clutched close. [He strokes gently down Joseph's side.] There are people here chasing your light, Joseph; you hold a candle that burns as bright as anything Sebastian held. You know the direction he was walking. It's just a little feeling your way out ahead. And you needn't walk any path alone. You know you have friends to turn to. I know you can do it.
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He takes a long, shaky breath.]
I don't know where you see any strength in me.
[He's stoic. He's serious. He pushes himself to help others above all other things. But Joseph has never chalked any of that up to his own strength. He always could have done more. He always could have done better. He was only fortunate to have learned from one of the best officers, the best detectives that the KCPD had ever seen.]
You and him both. He always trusted me so much. If you asked him, he'd say I could walk on water.
He'd say I was being crazy like this. He'd be horrified.
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[As someone who puts a desperate amount of work into not being idle or 'useless' himself, Monty can appreciate self-imposed impossible standards. Not that he'll acknowledge his own, but seeing them in others is easy enough.]
And it's charming in a way, but you'll tear yourself apart from the inside, Joseph. You needn't be perfect. I don't think I'd care much for a man who was. No one would. You're more complicated than perfection. And that's terrible and wonderful all at once.
You said you'd listen to what I said... I'd like you to let go. Just for five minutes. No more than that. There's no need to carry on in misery for an age, but for five - ten minutes at most, I'd like you to let yourself let go. I think I should be a bit disappointed if you can't manage that. And Sebastian would, as well. There's no danger to rescue anyone from. There's no fight to be had. There's a quite moment here in this room. Please make use of it.
[He's not sure if it's the right tactic to take, but giving permission doesn't seem to be breaking through. Perhaps ordering?
Monty slips his other arm behind Joseph's back. For someone he didn't know as well, this would be mortifying, but for Joseph, it's all right. He just hugs the other man to him and doesn't look up, doesn't try to cast any judgmental looks, however well-meaning.]
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He almost wants to snap that he didn't need permission to feel. He doesn't need permission to mourn or grieve or to forgive himself. Now if only it didn't seem like he actually did.
Covering his eyes with one hand, he rests that elbow on the table and just sits there for a moment, silently. Every so often his chest shudders, but otherwise, he doesn't let anything else slip.
Not quite what Monty was encouraging, maybe, but a start, at least.]
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I want to linger
a little longer,
a little longer here with you.
It's such a perfect night.
It doesn't seem quite right
That this should be my last with you.
We've had a lovely time,
partners we are in crime.
A pair, a set, not one but two.
You've made me stronger,
I'll last here longer
for all you gave - your friendship true.
And come December
I will remember
Our joys, our pains, our lows and highs.
And as the days go by,
I'll think of you and sigh
This is goodnight not goodbye.
I want to linger
a little longer
a little longer here with you.
[The music trails off along with Monty's voice. Perhaps that had been more absurd than comforting to a man who's never heard Monty sing his feelings before, but it's meant in the spirit to honor Sebastian, at least.]
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To say the least, the idea that the man can summon up his own musical accompaniment on command is... weird. But then again, look where they are.
The gesture, at least, is appreciated, even if Joseph doesn't move to react to it very much. He shakes his head at one point, then takes a few more slow breaths.
Eventually he slumps a little further, resting his arms on the table and pressing his forehead to them.]
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The gentleman just holds where he is, waiting for the detective to ask him to let go. Joseph had asked him to be a voice, so Monty does speak.]
We'll get him back like we got Ms. Oswald back. We'll maintain until then. You'll endure. You've managed the end of the world. You're certainly ready to handle this. He was your senior, wasn't he? He gave you the skills you need to keep going. And you, Joseph, you've brought drive and passion. I e faith in you, just like Detective Castellanos would.
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Still, the man is a man of words, not unlike Joseph. Joseph just can't seem to make his own words have the sort of effect that Monty's do, here. Catches of them repeat themselves in his head. We'll get him back. We'll maintain. You'll endure.
It's so much more believable coming from someone else. Someone Joseph knows to be a liar and a murderer, no less, but still...
He still doesn't say anything for a long moment, then finally tilts his head aside to speak softly.]
I know you're probably right.
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If you can't have faith in yourself, then trust what others might say of you. Sebastian held nothing but admiration for you. So the same might be said of me and the other people you've let close.
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There's a gaping hole in his life with Sebastian gone, but can't he listen to other people, too? Clara and Monty both think he has it all together. Others probably do too. Can't he let that prop him up for now?]
I've always looked stronger than I am. But you've seen through me before. I can't handle the thought that others might too.
But it's hard, always putting on a show for everyone else. For my own sake.
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The best you can do is keep trying. And fall back on those who would support you and raise you to where you wish to be when you don't quite make it. There's no shame in taking strength from another when you're willing to give it so easily.
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He would argue that he shouldn't need to take strength from other people, when it's his duty to be the strength FOR other people. What else is his badge a symbol of? But of course, that would lead the argument right back in on itself, so he'll keep from admitting that out loud just yet.]
I suppose there's nothing else to do.
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