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fandomweekly2025-09-22 08:56 pm
a_little_apocalypse) wrote in fandomweekly2025-09-22 08:56 pm
Entry tags:
[#274] Silenced (Control)
Theme Prompt: #274 - Near-Death Experience
Title: Silenced
Fandom: Control
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, spoilers
Bonus: No
Word Count: 945
Summary: It's been a week since the expedition, and Trench still isn't talking.
The only sound in the room was that of the light scratch of pen against paper as Trench signed off on the latest batch of paperwork. He looked up for a moment, meeting Darling's gaze - a gaze that had been fixed on him, intent and focused, for about as long as Trench had the ability to tolerate. They had sat in that office together many times previously, each retreating to the comfortable silence of individual concentration; this, they both knew, was not that.
"What? Stop looking at me like that."
Darling hesitated. He was being obvious, he knew, and had no real argument against any query Trench could throw at him about behaviour that seemed unusual. The way he was watching Trench, like studying him. Observing him. Making sure. There was little point in being surreptitious, and no answers given by being overt. A dead end. He sighed, looking down at the paperwork in his hands for a few moments, as if mutely obeying the given command would prevent any sort of follow-up; even as he was doing so, he knew that that was too much to ask for.
"Casper."
For Trench to speak his name like that was not, in itself, a reprimand, but it was a firm request for further elucidation. Darling glanced up without moving his head, do you want me to look at you or don't you?!
"Hm?"
"Tell me what you're thinking."
A simple request that Darling couldn't fulfil. Too many thoughts had been racing through his mind - today, yesterday, since that time--. It had been just over a week, now, since the expedition - long enough that, Darling supposed, any immediate physical issues should have had made themselves known. Nonetheless, the thoughts kept hounding at him: the memories of being within the slidescape, of the all-encompassing silence, and the terror he'd felt to see Trench drop to his knees, knowing that he couldn't be heard. The difficulty he'd had to even signal to the others that something was, suddenly, very wrong.
It was easy to romanticise the notion of being prepared. They'd had their own scrapes and incidents, back in the days when they were out on the field - times past where the danger passed, allowing Darling to lie conflicted between the personal frustration at whatever action he'd taken (or failed to take) that had led to that outcome, and the selfish pleasure that came, in the moment, from having Trench show concern for him - to be doted on, just a little. Trench had seemed most in his element, back then, when he was taking charge, taking care of things, doing something. And there had been times back then, too, where Trench had been injured - they'd always lived to tell the tale, but every risky situation left a whispered reminder at the back of Darling's mind, things could very easily have turned out differently. We were lucky, this time.
(Back then, Trench would light up a cigarette in response, "There's no such thing as luck." Darling would remind him that the Research sector had a whole department dedicated to looking into that, who might be somewhat affronted at Trench's casual dismissal of their efforts; "Then that's clearly your area of expertise more than mine, then, isn't it? Okay, sure. We made it. Tell them they're doing a great job.")
There were a number of reasons why a person might suddenly bleed from the ears, and none of them gave Darling any reassurance on considering them in any depth. A stark reminder that it was easy to look back on those old days out on the field with nostalgia, the near-misses and the close shaves, but that any expedition could easily go wrong in an instant, leaving them wrong-footed and at a disadvantage.
You heard something, out there.
You couldn't hear me, but you heard something.
Trench had historically been the kind of person who seemed to find it difficult to allow himself to be looked after regardless, but to think of those times, Darling found himself almost desiring the simplicity of physical injury. Like there was an innocence in a problem that could be bandaged up and medicated, understood and dealt with.
The tests had brought up nothing. Trench said he'd heard something, but words failed him to try to describe whatever it was he thought he'd heard. Even in the week that had passed since, he'd become closed-off on the subject - behaviour that Darling felt quite used to, but was never quite able to prevent himself from feeling frustrated by. There were things that Zachariah Trench couldn't talk about and things that he wouldn't talk about and Darling liked to think that, after so many years in each other's company, he'd learnt to tell the difference. Darling knew that he could respond to Trench's statement in a straightforward manner, but also knew that doing so wouldn't get him anywhere. However, Trench still held his line of sight, and he knew that Trench would see through any attempt to downplay his behaviour.
"I--... want you to tell me the truth, Zach. If you're--... not feeling well, or you're--... hiding something, or--"
That response only served to confuse Trench further. "When did I give any indication of feeling unwell?"
"During the slidescape expedition--"
Trench held up a hand and then a finger almost immediately as Darling spoke. "We've been through this. There's nothing to say."
There's so much to say, and only you can say it. "I'm sorry to have to say this, but I don't believe you."
"Believe me or not, that's your choice."
It is my choice, Darling thought to himself. And I don't.
Title: Silenced
Fandom: Control
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, spoilers
Bonus: No
Word Count: 945
Summary: It's been a week since the expedition, and Trench still isn't talking.
The only sound in the room was that of the light scratch of pen against paper as Trench signed off on the latest batch of paperwork. He looked up for a moment, meeting Darling's gaze - a gaze that had been fixed on him, intent and focused, for about as long as Trench had the ability to tolerate. They had sat in that office together many times previously, each retreating to the comfortable silence of individual concentration; this, they both knew, was not that.
"What? Stop looking at me like that."
Darling hesitated. He was being obvious, he knew, and had no real argument against any query Trench could throw at him about behaviour that seemed unusual. The way he was watching Trench, like studying him. Observing him. Making sure. There was little point in being surreptitious, and no answers given by being overt. A dead end. He sighed, looking down at the paperwork in his hands for a few moments, as if mutely obeying the given command would prevent any sort of follow-up; even as he was doing so, he knew that that was too much to ask for.
"Casper."
For Trench to speak his name like that was not, in itself, a reprimand, but it was a firm request for further elucidation. Darling glanced up without moving his head, do you want me to look at you or don't you?!
"Hm?"
"Tell me what you're thinking."
A simple request that Darling couldn't fulfil. Too many thoughts had been racing through his mind - today, yesterday, since that time--. It had been just over a week, now, since the expedition - long enough that, Darling supposed, any immediate physical issues should have had made themselves known. Nonetheless, the thoughts kept hounding at him: the memories of being within the slidescape, of the all-encompassing silence, and the terror he'd felt to see Trench drop to his knees, knowing that he couldn't be heard. The difficulty he'd had to even signal to the others that something was, suddenly, very wrong.
It was easy to romanticise the notion of being prepared. They'd had their own scrapes and incidents, back in the days when they were out on the field - times past where the danger passed, allowing Darling to lie conflicted between the personal frustration at whatever action he'd taken (or failed to take) that had led to that outcome, and the selfish pleasure that came, in the moment, from having Trench show concern for him - to be doted on, just a little. Trench had seemed most in his element, back then, when he was taking charge, taking care of things, doing something. And there had been times back then, too, where Trench had been injured - they'd always lived to tell the tale, but every risky situation left a whispered reminder at the back of Darling's mind, things could very easily have turned out differently. We were lucky, this time.
(Back then, Trench would light up a cigarette in response, "There's no such thing as luck." Darling would remind him that the Research sector had a whole department dedicated to looking into that, who might be somewhat affronted at Trench's casual dismissal of their efforts; "Then that's clearly your area of expertise more than mine, then, isn't it? Okay, sure. We made it. Tell them they're doing a great job.")
There were a number of reasons why a person might suddenly bleed from the ears, and none of them gave Darling any reassurance on considering them in any depth. A stark reminder that it was easy to look back on those old days out on the field with nostalgia, the near-misses and the close shaves, but that any expedition could easily go wrong in an instant, leaving them wrong-footed and at a disadvantage.
You heard something, out there.
You couldn't hear me, but you heard something.
Trench had historically been the kind of person who seemed to find it difficult to allow himself to be looked after regardless, but to think of those times, Darling found himself almost desiring the simplicity of physical injury. Like there was an innocence in a problem that could be bandaged up and medicated, understood and dealt with.
The tests had brought up nothing. Trench said he'd heard something, but words failed him to try to describe whatever it was he thought he'd heard. Even in the week that had passed since, he'd become closed-off on the subject - behaviour that Darling felt quite used to, but was never quite able to prevent himself from feeling frustrated by. There were things that Zachariah Trench couldn't talk about and things that he wouldn't talk about and Darling liked to think that, after so many years in each other's company, he'd learnt to tell the difference. Darling knew that he could respond to Trench's statement in a straightforward manner, but also knew that doing so wouldn't get him anywhere. However, Trench still held his line of sight, and he knew that Trench would see through any attempt to downplay his behaviour.
"I--... want you to tell me the truth, Zach. If you're--... not feeling well, or you're--... hiding something, or--"
That response only served to confuse Trench further. "When did I give any indication of feeling unwell?"
"During the slidescape expedition--"
Trench held up a hand and then a finger almost immediately as Darling spoke. "We've been through this. There's nothing to say."
There's so much to say, and only you can say it. "I'm sorry to have to say this, but I don't believe you."
"Believe me or not, that's your choice."
It is my choice, Darling thought to himself. And I don't.
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