(no subject)
It isn't fair, Harvey knows.
Just another human being, just another piece of meat, no more special than the others. And yet here he is, giving him preferential treatment, wasting time on him that could be better spent saving (burning) his city. Here he is, tirelessly researching possibilities for Judah's case, staying up and talking him through the rough parts of his detox, making him coffee and tea -- but not tea -- and dinner when he's too ill or out of it to do it himself. Making sure he eats and drinks, once it's prepared -- helps him, even with that, at the worst times.
He knows it isn't fair, knows he isn't treating him equally, and part of him rages against that, snarling and spitting curses and wanting to do every terrible thing to Judah, to the piece of meat that Harvey's willing to break his principles, willing to make himself a hypocrite for. The other part of him, heels dug in, repeats the bleeding-heart mantra of he's my friend, like it even matters. Like that makes him more.
One flip is all it would take to resolve the conflict, to collapse the waveform and give him a solid answer -- live or die? Partnership or solitude?
The idea teases at him when he's frustrated, and when they both fall silent for too long and little not-voices rise to fill in the quiet. The weight of the gun in his shoulder holster, the weight of the coin in his pocket, and all it would take...
It isn't fair. And the less he thinks about that, the better.
Just another human being, just another piece of meat, no more special than the others. And yet here he is, giving him preferential treatment, wasting time on him that could be better spent saving (burning) his city. Here he is, tirelessly researching possibilities for Judah's case, staying up and talking him through the rough parts of his detox, making him coffee and tea -- but not tea -- and dinner when he's too ill or out of it to do it himself. Making sure he eats and drinks, once it's prepared -- helps him, even with that, at the worst times.
He knows it isn't fair, knows he isn't treating him equally, and part of him rages against that, snarling and spitting curses and wanting to do every terrible thing to Judah, to the piece of meat that Harvey's willing to break his principles, willing to make himself a hypocrite for. The other part of him, heels dug in, repeats the bleeding-heart mantra of he's my friend, like it even matters. Like that makes him more.
One flip is all it would take to resolve the conflict, to collapse the waveform and give him a solid answer -- live or die? Partnership or solitude?
The idea teases at him when he's frustrated, and when they both fall silent for too long and little not-voices rise to fill in the quiet. The weight of the gun in his shoulder holster, the weight of the coin in his pocket, and all it would take...
It isn't fair. And the less he thinks about that, the better.