(no subject)
Title: Teleology
Pairing: Dakin/Irwin. Kina.
Rating: R for very minimal sex
Prompt: Dakin considers his past and his present and comes to a decision.
Prequel to You Did This.
There is no barring accidents.
It was true. Even now. Even years after leaving the comforts of a structured society and going out into the real world the words were still true. Sometimes he found himself writing them mindlessly in his doodles.
There is no barring accidents.
But what is an accident? He remembered a pretty girl he’d met at a bar once who had told him with a sad smile that we are the sum of our experiences. She had said something similar. There is no barring accidents. All things happen and all things change us. And nothing is an accident. It all has reason. We are the sum of our experiences.
“Are we also the sum of the experiences we have not had?” he had asked her.
“Silence is still noise,” she said, “A lack of experience is still an experience.”
He didn’t believe her. But at least he asked. And barring accidents. It would have happened. And he would be the sum of one more experience. But there is no barring accidents. And no experience does not add to the sum of one’s self.
That was when he made the decision.
He found a quiet bar. One filled with the intellectuals of the area. Where hot headed boys would come and have heated, drunken arguments about string theory. And Chaucer. And tabula rasa. It was perfect. He sat there for hours, for days. But he never came. Not until two weeks after he began coming and sitting in the corner eyeing every person who walked in. He was younger then he would have liked. But he had the right walk. The right confidence to cover the insecurity. Not perfect. Close enough.
They went home together that night. One man uncomfortable and with a slight sway from alcohol while the other determined and burning with his experiences.
“There is no barring accidents,” he said when they were finished.
“What?”
“Nothing. Get out.”
The experience just made him angry. One more experience. What was the sum. What would it take. What accident would have to be barred.
It wasn’t hard to catch the news. Every other day.
This is my accident, he would tell himself when he sat there watching the tv with a drink. And after the story concluded he would drink himself into a stupor and lay on the floor staring at the ceiling. Until he once again came to a decision.
He answered after the third knock. Opened the door without the slightest hesitation with a smile on his face. Which disappeared. And it became clear that he hadn’t checked who it was before answering. What wasn’t clear was how he felt about it.
“Dakin,” he said. Then smiled, “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“Are you alright? Is something wrong?”
“We are the sum of our experiences.” There was no response, “Have a drink with me.”
“Dakin.”
“Stuart.”
“Stuart.”
It was then that the small boy ran through the hall. A dark haired woman appeared running behind him as the child barreled into the blonde’s legs.
“I’m sorry, honey,” she laughed and kissed him on the cheek, “we have a visitor?”
“No,” Dakin said before anyone else could say anything.
“Come in,” Irwin said and opened the door wider.
“No,” he said again, “I just came to tell you that Wittgenstein was right. No euphemism.”
And he walked away.
There is no barring accidents.
Pairing: Dakin/Irwin. Kina.
Rating: R for very minimal sex
Prompt: Dakin considers his past and his present and comes to a decision.
Prequel to You Did This.
There is no barring accidents.
It was true. Even now. Even years after leaving the comforts of a structured society and going out into the real world the words were still true. Sometimes he found himself writing them mindlessly in his doodles.
There is no barring accidents.
But what is an accident? He remembered a pretty girl he’d met at a bar once who had told him with a sad smile that we are the sum of our experiences. She had said something similar. There is no barring accidents. All things happen and all things change us. And nothing is an accident. It all has reason. We are the sum of our experiences.
“Are we also the sum of the experiences we have not had?” he had asked her.
“Silence is still noise,” she said, “A lack of experience is still an experience.”
He didn’t believe her. But at least he asked. And barring accidents. It would have happened. And he would be the sum of one more experience. But there is no barring accidents. And no experience does not add to the sum of one’s self.
That was when he made the decision.
He found a quiet bar. One filled with the intellectuals of the area. Where hot headed boys would come and have heated, drunken arguments about string theory. And Chaucer. And tabula rasa. It was perfect. He sat there for hours, for days. But he never came. Not until two weeks after he began coming and sitting in the corner eyeing every person who walked in. He was younger then he would have liked. But he had the right walk. The right confidence to cover the insecurity. Not perfect. Close enough.
They went home together that night. One man uncomfortable and with a slight sway from alcohol while the other determined and burning with his experiences.
“There is no barring accidents,” he said when they were finished.
“What?”
“Nothing. Get out.”
The experience just made him angry. One more experience. What was the sum. What would it take. What accident would have to be barred.
It wasn’t hard to catch the news. Every other day.
This is my accident, he would tell himself when he sat there watching the tv with a drink. And after the story concluded he would drink himself into a stupor and lay on the floor staring at the ceiling. Until he once again came to a decision.
He answered after the third knock. Opened the door without the slightest hesitation with a smile on his face. Which disappeared. And it became clear that he hadn’t checked who it was before answering. What wasn’t clear was how he felt about it.
“Dakin,” he said. Then smiled, “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“Are you alright? Is something wrong?”
“We are the sum of our experiences.” There was no response, “Have a drink with me.”
“Dakin.”
“Stuart.”
“Stuart.”
It was then that the small boy ran through the hall. A dark haired woman appeared running behind him as the child barreled into the blonde’s legs.
“I’m sorry, honey,” she laughed and kissed him on the cheek, “we have a visitor?”
“No,” Dakin said before anyone else could say anything.
“Come in,” Irwin said and opened the door wider.
“No,” he said again, “I just came to tell you that Wittgenstein was right. No euphemism.”
And he walked away.
There is no barring accidents.