milliways_bar | (no subject)

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There's a Watcher in the bar.

Specifically, there's an Andrew Wells in the bar, seated in a booth not far from the fireplace. He's ostensibly making a list in his notepad, but right now he's staring into the fire without really seeing the flames or the serenely circling fish, pen resting forgotten on the page.

He's got stuff on his mind.

Any moment now he's going to notice that the tip of the pen's making a large blot and the list will have to be redone.

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"I'm gonna try. I'm gonna talk to the guy who's doing the thing and ask him, and cover every single possible loophole I can think of. And get it in writing if I can."

He nods. One hand stays fastened to his coffee mug; the other, he slips down to settle on Gogo. It's more heat; more reassurance.

"Being aware of it may be the only thing you can do," he says after another breath. "And...working to make sure you understand every part of it."

Andrew nods in turn, and absently reaches to pick up and nibble a broken fragment of graham cracker.

"There's one other thing," he says slowly.

The hard part.

"What?"

Carefully, he runs his hand over Gogo's head.

"The thing that he needs my help for ..."

He bites his lower lip.

"I'm worried it might be dangerous and I might not make it back."

Oh.

Well, murmurs something in the back of Gaeta's mind, it's not like that's so bad.

"Is there any way to confirm that, too?"

He shakes his head silently.

... well. There could be a way.

(a life for an afterlife)

But somehow he can't face the thought of asking Jonathan so, this spell that calls for the murder weapon: does it also happen to call for the blood of the murderer? Like, all of it? Especially if it doesn't.

(I guess by somebody's math that's fair)

Or maybe especially if it does.

"Okay."

He reaches the base of Gogo's neck and starts at the top of his head again.

"Is..." Gaeta hesitates. "Is something that big enough to stop you?"

"No," he says without hesitation.

And then, with a painful smile: "Just scare me. Like. A lot."

For a second, Gaeta mirrors his smile, right down to the pain. He glances down at Gogo.

"I don't know how reassuring this would be."

Barely audible.

"But for me, at least...it didn't hurt."

(it didn't hurt too much?)

The smile falls off Andrew's face, and for the space of a blink

(you know, it wasn't that bad)

it's replaced by a wave of terrible suspicion.

When the silence keeps stretching, Gaeta looks up -- just in time to catch that expression on Andrew's face.

He frowns: what?

That look is already disappearing, as he shuts his eyes and rubs a hand across them. No. Stop that. Don't be stupid, you saw him pick up things, he's not --

He manages a wan smile, looking up again. "It's okay. But ... I mean okay, yeah, pain is scary, but that's not ..."

The words won't come, somehow.

"Is it not knowing?"

When it'll happen; what will come after.

"... that doesn't help, yeah. Like, if I knew it was gonna happen, maybe ... "

His mouth is dry; he takes a swallow of milk.

"Or maybe I'd just be more scared."

I don't want to die.

Gaeta rubs his free hand over his mouth. The cold's diminishing a little, as the topic shifts; he keeps his other hand on Gogo anyway, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing.

"Yeah," he whispers, and can't think of anything else to say.

"Anyway, so." Trying to shake off the brief chill. "That's why I was making a list. I'm trying to work out what I've gotta take care of, in case ... in case it goes down like that and I don't make it back here after."

Gaeta nods again, silent.

And then, on impulse: "Is there anything on there I could help with?"

He glances up, a little surprised -- and visibly gratified -- by the offer.

"Thanks," he says. "I don't know, though ..."

"If not, it's fine," he's quick to add. "I just thought..."

He sort of has some experience in the matter of last requests.

"I know." A little softer. "And thanks. I appreciate it."

A beat.

"The thing that's bothering me right now is I feel like I'm forgetting something, and I don't know what."

"Yeah." Quieter.

He has some experience there, too.

"Do you have some time to think it over?"

"A little, yeah. That's why I'm writing everything down." He taps the paper with the pen.

"Makes sense," he says, no louder.

Gaeta hesitates.

"I hope everything works out."

A small but heartfelt smile. "Me too. Thanks."

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