"I'm fine. Just- uh. Disoriented? I remember...all that." He gestures to the walk up, the note he'd left himself just in case. "Like a neat little slice between when I was and where I go afterward in my own damn timeline."
It's odd. It's- not the strangest thing to happen to him here, but still. Pretty damn strange. He massages his temples for a moment before sipping his coffee, settled back in his own skin. "Glad you got Sergeant Murray, though. Any younger and I'm kind of a tragedy. Any older and I'm an asshole."
Obvious shying away from cursing is obvious, though it doesn't appear to impact his sense of conviction as he shifts forward on the couch seat. "What do you mean, a 'tragedy'?" he finally continues, a wrinkle appearing in his brow.
"I am a jackass. I've just mellowed, trust me." Still it's kind of Sam to say and god, thinking of his Basic, Uni, or Teenaged years? Has him snorting with laughter into his mug. "Man- Delta can you bring up some holograms or something?"
Soothing green code flickers along the bottom corner of a nearbye screen before a full color hologram blinks into life. Skinny, gangly would be the right word, eyes too big for his face, mouth too big for anything, awkward in his skin, hair just long enough to be a bitch to style. "Behold: my larval state."
Sam stares, and yes. The edges of Taylor are there. A few years or five, a ton of muscle and scars, and like a pup with paws too big, he'd grow into it all.
We could have been friends, if we'd met back then. It wouldn't have been so bad. Teeth worry his lower lip before he glances back at the real thing.
"We all kind of look that way at some point, you realize."
"They are awkward teenage years for a reason. Pretty sure I tried to have a mowhawk at some point and that was just. Sad." So damn sad. Delta kindly does not provide any evidence of that stage in his trying too damn hard to fit in with the cool kids life. "But you can't really get the whole tragic mess from a photo. I was awkward, man. Too smart for school and had no real social skills to make it less obvious."
A problem with being the only kid of two brilliant people.
"Didn't feel like it at the time. Now? Yeah. There are worse ways to be." Oblivious, in over his head, inadvertently evil. Manipulative or cruel or- yeah. He puts those thoughts aside, shrugging. "But, yeah. Older me? A real jackass. Lets hope you don't meet him. I got both eyes but am so goddamn blind it's stupid."
"...should I take some kind of precaution if I meet this Mr Hyde of yours?"
Hey look. Jokes. Although Taylor has him mildly concerned now, leaning forward slightly where he's perched on the couch's edge. He finally ventures another sip of coffee, however. Better to get to it before it cools.
"Keep me away from liquor and green eyes." He snorts a soft laugh, leaning forward enough to bump their knees together. Poking fun at his past self is...easy. All the sharper edges sanded down by time. Back then? They were as raw and ragged as the hole blown through him when he lost...everything. "I uh- it's after my time in the marines. I lose my squad and don't really take it well so. I hide it."
And he is. He isn't hardened yet, hasn't felt that loss so keenly just yet. He can allow himself to feel that twinge of regret for Taylor, regardless of when the loss occurred.
He shouldn't have had to feel that. Shouldn't have had to try and hide it. He can understand why he would, but even so.
"I grew up hearing Spanish and picked it up around school- but I really learned it and scraps of French and German and Russian to talk to my boys." The mug's set on the table as he massages the bridge of his nose, shoulders slumped. "...They'd like you. Now you and grown you, I think."
He watches this fold over Taylor, the heaviness of it, unsure of how to reach out. How to let him know that it was alright, sharing this. He'd take up however much of it he wanted him to. Finally, his tongue darted briefly over his lips.
"My father."
Both brows lifted faintly. "I know it's not the same, but...I remember what it was like for my mother and grandmother when he died. I think I was too young to feel it myself, but my mother, she was never the same after. Losing people like that changes you."
He's quiet for a moment, as he lets those old wounds ache for awhile. He pushes them away more often than not and has only just now been forced to look back at that chapter of his life and reevaluate. Locus never did much when he had moments like this other than sit, lean, offer the reassurance that this is in fact real-
And occasionally reach out to hold his shoulder. But this is...empathy. Sharing his understanding of grief and how it can twist a body around. "Yeah. I kinda- you saw how I was. By the book, do the job, do it right, do it well and everyone gets to go home. Random fucking chance proved me wrong so...I figured why bother?"
He nodded quietly. It was understandable enough, the reason he'd done what he had. Tried to drown out the pain. He didn't understand fully, of course, but it seemed reasonable.
"It makes me- made me- an avoidant idiot. I'm only now work'n through all that shit." But he's doing okay he thinks. Managing. Getting better bit by bit with the help of his friends.
"But, yeah. I'm in the thick of it up till about...four, five years ago? Before we met."
Sam nods again, parsing through all of that, adjusting the information he has on Taylor in his mind. Does it change much? No, not really. Not in the grand scheme of things.
"...I don't know if there's anything I can do. What I should do. But if there is anything, I'd like to know." Awkward, as offers go, but genuine.
"You're doing it now, honestly." He does shift to sit next to Sam rather than adjacent. A warm, grounding presence. A reminder that it's okay to feel poorly and it doesn't keep him from having anyone new. "Being a friend. Listening. God, you're a kid and I'm still dumping shit on you. Sorry, man."
"How old are you right now?" Because that jawline does not exactly scream twenty something. Maybe eighteen? People are hard to pin down when they're this young. "And we're friends, yeah. This is part of it."
"Eighteen. I just signed up with the UNSC, remember?"
He does relax, somewhat, when York confirms that yes, this is in fact what friends do. It'd be a shame if he was doing a poor job of it. Seemingly satisfied, he takes another sip of his coffee.
"Oh sweet jesus you is a childrens as well. Why is everyone childrens. Why isn't anyone getting old, I am not meant to be the responsible adult. You know this pretty damn well." Or will know it- the grammar of the situation is twiggy.
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It's odd. It's- not the strangest thing to happen to him here, but still. Pretty damn strange. He massages his temples for a moment before sipping his coffee, settled back in his own skin. "Glad you got Sergeant Murray, though. Any younger and I'm kind of a tragedy. Any older and I'm an asshole."
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Obvious shying away from cursing is obvious, though it doesn't appear to impact his sense of conviction as he shifts forward on the couch seat. "What do you mean, a 'tragedy'?" he finally continues, a wrinkle appearing in his brow.
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Soothing green code flickers along the bottom corner of a nearbye screen before a full color hologram blinks into life. Skinny, gangly would be the right word, eyes too big for his face, mouth too big for anything, awkward in his skin, hair just long enough to be a bitch to style. "Behold: my larval state."
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We could have been friends, if we'd met back then. It wouldn't have been so bad. Teeth worry his lower lip before he glances back at the real thing.
"We all kind of look that way at some point, you realize."
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A problem with being the only kid of two brilliant people.
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Sam squints at him. Ever so slightly. He does realize who he's talking to, yes?
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Hey look. Jokes. Although Taylor has him mildly concerned now, leaning forward slightly where he's perched on the couch's edge. He finally ventures another sip of coffee, however. Better to get to it before it cools.
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And he is. He isn't hardened yet, hasn't felt that loss so keenly just yet. He can allow himself to feel that twinge of regret for Taylor, regardless of when the loss occurred.
He shouldn't have had to feel that. Shouldn't have had to try and hide it. He can understand why he would, but even so.
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"My father."
Both brows lifted faintly. "I know it's not the same, but...I remember what it was like for my mother and grandmother when he died. I think I was too young to feel it myself, but my mother, she was never the same after. Losing people like that changes you."
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And occasionally reach out to hold his shoulder. But this is...empathy. Sharing his understanding of grief and how it can twist a body around. "Yeah. I kinda- you saw how I was. By the book, do the job, do it right, do it well and everyone gets to go home. Random fucking chance proved me wrong so...I figured why bother?"
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"That doesn't make you a bad person."
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"But, yeah. I'm in the thick of it up till about...four, five years ago? Before we met."
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"...I don't know if there's anything I can do. What I should do. But if there is anything, I'd like to know." Awkward, as offers go, but genuine.
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It's almost a question, the way he says it, blinking down at him with that faintly perplexed look of his.
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He does relax, somewhat, when York confirms that yes, this is in fact what friends do. It'd be a shame if he was doing a poor job of it. Seemingly satisfied, he takes another sip of his coffee.
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