[ A thought enters his mind then, springing up out of nowhere. Is it just a thought, or is he reacting to something unspoken from her? He can't quite tell, but there's something inside him that's trying to wake up: old memories, ones he never wanted to forget but have become buried beneath the waves... It's not just memories either; it's feelings he had once, emotions that he wants to bring to life again.
Is it even worth trying to bring those back up? Look at her. She looks upset; maybe she's regretting ever coming here and finding me like this. I don't think this is how she imagined us meeting again, and that's probably my fault too.
When he sees her gaze fall away from his, part of him wants to step back... maybe even ask to be put somewhere else. Somewhere she doesn't have to see him. Maybe she thinks this was a mistake. ]
Why's that?
[ He gives her a careful looking over, as if taking in her appearance for the first time, noting details about her that might have escaped anyone else's notice. He's a writer, and he can't help but notice those small details.
He doesn't see anything about her that would mean she can't handle herself in the thick of the action. Wanting to be on the front lines makes sense to him somehow.
His eyebrows raise when she reaches for the clipboard containing the papers, and then his gaze instantly zeroes in on them. He knows those papers. How?
She holds them out to him, and he takes them with a suddenly unsteady hand. Gray eyes scan the writing on them, noting the scribbled out parts and the words written down in the margins or over the words themselves. ]
This is my writing. Obviously, you probably figured that out. But-
[ He scans the pages again, picking out Anderson's name and other names besides. His fingers curl around the pages suddenly, causing a crinkling noise as the paper wrinkles in his hold.
She doesn't understand, because how could she? It's not like I've told her anything yet. I'm trying to remember; trying to get it back... get us back. I know we were important to each other. We ARE important to each other, but something's not letting me remember specifics.
His grip on the paper tightens more. More pages crinkle. Estevez probably won't like that, but Alan's not thinking about her right now. ]
"Maybe I don't"? [ Suddenly, Alan's voice sounds quieter and a little sadder than before. ]
Why would I have tried to reach you if I didn't need your help? These pages... you're not in them, but I think I wanted you to be in them. I think I tried to put you in them, but it didn't work. You can't just put anything in a story and expect it to work out, but that doesn't mean I didn't try.
[ That's right. I must have tried to write us into it, but maybe I didn't do it correctly. It has to be believable for it to work, right? Yeah... that sounds right. It feels right. I don't like it, but that's how the story works. ]
... I still need your help. [ I don't think I can do this without her. ]
no subject
Is it even worth trying to bring those back up? Look at her. She looks upset; maybe she's regretting ever coming here and finding me like this. I don't think this is how she imagined us meeting again, and that's probably my fault too.
When he sees her gaze fall away from his, part of him wants to step back... maybe even ask to be put somewhere else. Somewhere she doesn't have to see him. Maybe she thinks this was a mistake. ]
Why's that?
[ He gives her a careful looking over, as if taking in her appearance for the first time, noting details about her that might have escaped anyone else's notice. He's a writer, and he can't help but notice those small details.
He doesn't see anything about her that would mean she can't handle herself in the thick of the action. Wanting to be on the front lines makes sense to him somehow.
His eyebrows raise when she reaches for the clipboard containing the papers, and then his gaze instantly zeroes in on them. He knows those papers. How?
She holds them out to him, and he takes them with a suddenly unsteady hand. Gray eyes scan the writing on them, noting the scribbled out parts and the words written down in the margins or over the words themselves. ]
This is my writing. Obviously, you probably figured that out. But-
[ He scans the pages again, picking out Anderson's name and other names besides. His fingers curl around the pages suddenly, causing a crinkling noise as the paper wrinkles in his hold.
She doesn't understand, because how could she? It's not like I've told her anything yet. I'm trying to remember; trying to get it back... get us back. I know we were important to each other. We ARE important to each other, but something's not letting me remember specifics.
His grip on the paper tightens more. More pages crinkle. Estevez probably won't like that, but Alan's not thinking about her right now. ]
"Maybe I don't"? [ Suddenly, Alan's voice sounds quieter and a little sadder than before. ]
Why would I have tried to reach you if I didn't need your help? These pages... you're not in them, but I think I wanted you to be in them. I think I tried to put you in them, but it didn't work. You can't just put anything in a story and expect it to work out, but that doesn't mean I didn't try.
[ That's right. I must have tried to write us into it, but maybe I didn't do it correctly. It has to be believable for it to work, right? Yeah... that sounds right. It feels right. I don't like it, but that's how the story works. ]
... I still need your help. [ I don't think I can do this without her. ]