(( Open to Archbishop Timothy ))

[cuteandsomodest]

 Marco's back from the Nexus, with a man who's much better dressed than he is in tow. As they make their way from the pretty-nice park where the Nexus spits them out to the pretty-not-nice side of town where the apartment is, Marco fills the Archbishop in on the basics - Mom drowned two years ago, Dad never got over it, they're about one more late

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[cuteandsomodest]

"So he's home." Peter's face darkens as the pieces start to come together. He feels a surge of irrational anger at Marco, for putting Father Timothy up to this, for not facing the situation directly, but really, is he setting much of an example for facing things? His shoulders sag again and he wishes he could just sink into himself.

"It lets me sleep and keeps me from crying all day, mostly. I don't want Marco to see me like that again." But that's not entirely true. Part of it's just habit, because he's afraid to stop using it. Not that he likes Marco seeing him like this either. "We don't have health insurance anymore. The only reason we can still get the pills is because the pharmacist likes Marco and keeps giving us the member discount even though we're off the list."

The memory brings uncontrollable tears. He tries to keep his voice steady as he says "she told me she was going out to the marina, and it was storming, and I didn't tell her to be careful, I just asked her to pick something up from the store. I don't even remember what it was."

He covers his face as his shoulders shake, as he tries not to sob too loudly in front of the man reopening the wounds.

[ternaui]

Yardley always said a little blood was better than letting the wound fester in filth.

"It wasn't your fault," he says, quietly, simply. "What happened to her was not your fault. I saw this as a man who wouldn't necessarily mind kicking your arse up between your ears. You could not have known what was going to happen. You did not make it happen. Of course one regrets what was not said. And it's easy to pick at all the little what ifs, but down that road, one must just as easily take into account the fire that might have swept through the house a week after that. Possibilities are for the future."

[cuteandsomodest]

"I should have never let her get that boat. I should've helped out more so she wouldn't have used it to get away from home so much," Peter continues, hiccuping. "It's not little what ifs, don't you understand? It's places where I made the wrong choice and the consequence is that Eva's dead, and Marco has no mother and I don't have my wife and the world doesn't have Eva anymore, and it's my fault because I knew better and I didn't protect her."

He grabs his pack of cigarettes from the coffee table and lights one, still sobbing and gasping. "How would you know, Father? Have you ever failed someone so badly they died?"

[ternaui]

"I was a soldier before I was ordained. I 'let' a good deal of people die. After I was ordained, I was a military chaplain. And when I wasn't fast enough to get to them, good friends died alone, unshriven, and concerned for their souls. And I have spent more nights than I could possibly count reminding a commanding officer who'd just counted a lot of losses, or who'd just watched a seventeen-year-old boy dismembered in an attempt to protect him, that he had to go back out the next morning and keep making the decisions for everyone because someone had to."

Archbishop Timothy has been consciously -- never mind the time in stasis -- alive for more than four centuries. And right now, the eyes staring directly at Peter's rather look it.
"I am not new at this conversation, if that's what you're asking."

[cuteandsomodest]

Peter looks as if he's been slapped, or woken up, or as if for the first time he's realized that he's not the only person to deal with death. Dueling feelings of kindred and even greater self-loathing that he can't manage while this man can run rampant inside his head. Still crying, he stares intently at his burning cigarette.Anything to avoid looking at that knowing and war-battered gaze.

Finally, he asks, "how do you get up in the morning?"

[ternaui]

"Usually on the left side of the bed, with a prayer, a good agenda for the day, and quite a flock to worry about."

"The phrase 'never should have' is not going to do anyone any good, Peter. The decision of what you are going to do now could do a great deal."

[cuteandsomodest]

Peter nods slowly, defeatedly. "I know. It's just, if I hadn't..." But he trails off, because he knows if he finishes that sentence it will mean he hasn't taken anything from Father Timothy, and that isn't true. It's just hard to let go of guilt, when guilt has been so present for so long it's almost an old friend. Just Peter and his guilt and his self-pity and his sorrow, camped out on the couch together, safe from the world.

He surveys the dirty, cramped, broken-down apartment. "What do I do? Where do I even start?"

[ternaui]

Good show stopping yourself there, Peter. Timothy appreciates.

"There are plenty of options. Can you see a doctor about changing the medication? It's quite out of my field, I admit."