[ In the quiet of nature, cold breeze through sparse leaves, Stephen listens to the brief nothing on the other end of the mental connection and steadies his breathing, calms himself down on the surface. The rest of him churns, waiting for Jim to speak again.
When he does, his eyes press shut. What can he say? What does he dare? So much of it is still an untouched mess, tangled and knotted, threads loose and scratching. If he'd spent any measure of time trying to pick apart the strands of another life before he tangled them with the reality of this one they might never have found themselves in quite this position. But he didn't. And now here they are. And what he has to say is as much as he can. ]
I've never been with anyone that long.
[ The first and predicating truth. Stephen may have loved one woman for the vast majority of his adult life, but they were barely together for a fraction of it. He's not lived with another person in a long time. Not shared space, much less a life. No marriage, no kids. ]
You'd have expected it to be perfect. If I was going to dream up a life, you'd think I'd stretch to wedded bliss, no? [ He lapses. Quiet for a moment. Spurs himself on again. ] I think that was point. That it wasn't perfect, that I wasn't perfect, and you still -
[ Stayed. Gave up a life to carry him through the hardest moments of his, in spite of everything he was. Because of it. ]
We were other people in another place that didn't exist. I know. But I've spent plenty of time with you - every time I do I recognise you more. I just don't think I made that much of you up.
[ The surrounds, maybe. The city and the time, the context of the life, the easier attitudes, the technology, the disaster that tied it all together. But the man? No. Stephen could never have written Jim Hopper like that. He would never have conceived of him to begin with. So with his inhibitions lifted, fear and reason turned to weaponized tatters only primed for specific use (none of which reserved for protecting himself from the things he's been running from for months)...
The answer is long, and its lack of being an actual answer to the question asked is extremely loud. But he doesn't have the words. It's as close as he can get. ]
why have exclusively outer turmoil when you can have outer AND inner turmoil for the same price
When he does, his eyes press shut. What can he say? What does he dare? So much of it is still an untouched mess, tangled and knotted, threads loose and scratching. If he'd spent any measure of time trying to pick apart the strands of another life before he tangled them with the reality of this one they might never have found themselves in quite this position. But he didn't. And now here they are. And what he has to say is as much as he can. ]
I've never been with anyone that long.
[ The first and predicating truth. Stephen may have loved one woman for the vast majority of his adult life, but they were barely together for a fraction of it. He's not lived with another person in a long time. Not shared space, much less a life. No marriage, no kids. ]
You'd have expected it to be perfect. If I was going to dream up a life, you'd think I'd stretch to wedded bliss, no? [ He lapses. Quiet for a moment. Spurs himself on again. ] I think that was point. That it wasn't perfect, that I wasn't perfect, and you still -
[ Stayed. Gave up a life to carry him through the hardest moments of his, in spite of everything he was. Because of it. ]
We were other people in another place that didn't exist. I know. But I've spent plenty of time with you - every time I do I recognise you more. I just don't think I made that much of you up.
[ The surrounds, maybe. The city and the time, the context of the life, the easier attitudes, the technology, the disaster that tied it all together. But the man? No. Stephen could never have written Jim Hopper like that. He would never have conceived of him to begin with. So with his inhibitions lifted, fear and reason turned to weaponized tatters only primed for specific use (none of which reserved for protecting himself from the things he's been running from for months)...
The answer is long, and its lack of being an actual answer to the question asked is extremely loud. But he doesn't have the words. It's as close as he can get. ]