ways_infirmary | (no subject)

Will doesn't really want to do this but knows it will help hopefully so he's got Atton's arm and is moving him into the infirmary.

Atton probably wants to do this even less, so he's dragging his heels along as Will moves him in.

As soon as they get in, he looks like he wants to leave.

Malcolm looks up, and seeing them both, just barely suppresses an un-doctor-ly smirk.

Whatever this is, it's bound to be interesting.

"Doctor Crowe, wished to speak to ye 'bout some stuff. Aye, Atton?"

Will nudges him in the ribs.

"Oh, yes," Atton says, enthusiastically. "Will wished to speak to you about some stuff."

"Uh hunh," Malcolm says with more than a dollop of skepticism.

"Well, if Will has some things to talk about, we'd better make some time for that."

Malcolm gestures both men toward the quiet corner of the infirmary that he and Peter Venkman set up for counseling. A shelf of books, and some strategically placed plants serve to shield it from the rest of the space. Malcolm moves easily around one of those plants and settles into a chair.

"We both do, Atton."

There maybe some dragging involved but Atton is being moved.

"Aw, Will," Atton digs his heels into the ground and leans himself away from Will, to stop himself from moving at all. Just to make a point to Will, really. "It's cute that you think I care how much you say that. Tell the nice man about your problems, now."

Malcolm takes the opportunity--while all this is going on--to ask the infirmary waitrat to go get him a scotch.

He doesn't normally drink during counseling sessions, but he's going to this time, 1) because he can tell this is going to take a while, and 2) he already has an idea what he's in for tonight.

"So," he starts, pointedly not addressing one man more than the other. "Why don't we start at the beginning?"

When Atton starts leaning Will does his best to turn him and then try and push him into a chair,

"Its me bloody fault ye're un'appy, Atton so least let me 'elp."

Atton remains stubbornly still.

"Will, let go of me and sit down, or I swear I'll carry you to that chair."

Over the top of Will's head, to Malcolm: "He found a reason to be miserable, jumped on it like a sabertoothed lion on a passing traveler, and now wants to insist that he just cares about me." Beat. "Just kidding. He's all a-guilty. Cure him. Cure him good."

"Well, you're both telling me whatever the issues are, we're going to have better luck addressing them together than apart."

With a sigh, Will sits down,

"Tis me fault cause ye got 'urt in Nottingham an dinna get ye out in time an aye brought some old stuff up but ye're the one who's 'urtin' more so na fair for me to 'urt."

"Funny you should say that, for somebody who's apparently hurting less, you're the one doesn't seem to be able to cope. At all." Atton remarks, sitting down. "C'mon, Will, we both know this isn't about you feeling guilty over me, s'all about you being miserable and wanting some noble-sounding, self-suffering excuse for it because you don't think your actual reason is good enough."

Mocking hair-ruffle. "Silly Will." To Malcolm, cheerily: "I shoved him, but it didn't help."

Malcolm looks at them both, and can't help but let some amusement slip through. And he has to admit, it's not exactly clear which man is the more right.

Fortunately, the scotch arrives, and Malcolm takes his time with the first sip, then sets the glass down on the small table beside him.

"I think I know some of this story already. But it's worth going through it again. That'll help me understand where both of you stand." He nods thoughtfully to himself. "And it might help you understand that better too."

"Na tryin' to sound noble, rather ye were feelin' better. Know ye're 'urtin' but ne'er talk 'bout it, makes me worry more."

Will gives him a small shove that could almost be a hug.

Atton just nudges him, slightly.

"I talk about it. I just don't talk about it to you." Hair-ruffle. To Malcolm: "Okay. I got lost in a magical interdimensional maze, lost my powers, ended up in Nottingham and got captured and tortured. Will didn't know I was there, but he knew somebody was - I think? That bit is a mite vague, Will, so say if that's wrong - but he couldn't get in to help because they doubled the guard."

Shrug. "So, I escaped on my own. Found Will in the forest. Now he's sad."

".....ehh, yeah."

Malcolm remembers all that as being slightly more complicated, but Atton's account does seem very Atton.

"Now it's been a while since that happened. How have things been for you both since then? Any problems with bad dreams? Short tempers? Difficulty sleeping?"

Turning back to Atton. "And have your powers returned to any degree?"

"Oh aye, 'ave some nightmares but can sleep just fine. More worried 'bout Atton cause 'e should be angrier than 'e is."

"Will, bless his tiny cotton socks," Atton says dryly, "thinks that I should be angry with him for not being able t'help me. And I was. 'M just not anymore, 'cause I know it's not his fault." Beat. "He is doing a very good job of making me angry now, though. Might have t'punch him."

Shrug. "I always have bad dreams, difficulty sleeping and a short temper. Definitely moreso than usual, lately, but s'nothing unusual for me."

"Yeah," Malcolm says doubtfully. "I'm no expert, but aren't you supposed to be....avoiding strong emotions?"

"Then 'e wouldna be Atton just should be sendin' more o'it me way."

"Different schools of thought," Atton says, dismissively.

Gesturing at Will, to Malcolm: "Y'see? If anyone should be guilty, should be me."

"You know, it's possible we have more guilt in this room than we have people doing the wrong thing."

"Ye've na reason to be, Atton, I'm the one who messed up. Only cause its me fault 'e's 'urtin'."