il--dottore - Tumblr blog

[il--dottore]

silvasboys‌:

some-bloody-saint‌:

“Oh fuck off.” The venom tasted good in his mouth. Matthew began to cross the room to Marcos, Giovanni a vibrating, fiery beacon in the peripheral of his awareness (always), an anxious pit in his stomach, but belated fury sizzled around it. He positioned himself between the Exterminator and Marcos. His back felt naked.

Matthew’s fingers fumbled numbly with the clasp of his satchel. He could feel Giovanni’s eyes on him, though no retort was forthcoming; he was no doubt deliberating between embarrassing himself further and some other unknowable plot. Don’t always have a comeback, now, do you.

“Let me see it,” Matthew muttered, this time to Marcos, though the wound danced red-hot in front of his eyes. He blinked, frowned down into the contents of his kit.

“Matthew-” Marcos reached up and grabbed the man’s wrist as he tore open an alcohol wipe and raised it towards Marcos’ face. At first his grip was light, but when Giovanni shifted slightly in the background and Marcos refocused on him, his hand clenched around Matthew’s wrist and then abruptly released him. The utter disregard and disrespect Matthew exhibited was only matched in discomfort with the strangely convoluted anger now radiating off the Exterminator. Knowing he was repeating himself and already positive that it would make no difference, he whispered urgently, “Matthew please, just wait in the hall? I’ll be out in like five minutes, please-” 

The urge to grab at Matthew was nearly overpowering. But Giovanni didn’t do that; he didn’t touch Matthew first. He never did that. But how much could he say here? What could he say to diffuse this situation? Matthew’s temper was unpredictable and capricious; at least it seemed so to Giovanni.

But he must be careful to avoid appearing soft.

“If you would like to discuss some dissatisfaction you may have,” Giovanni said in a tone that was carefully enunciated, warning, “then see me privately about it. In the meantime--”

Matthew rounded on him in a sudden movement which sent medical supplies showering to the cement floor in a deafening clatter. 

"DON'T--" Matthew's hands froze, poised in the air as if in mid-reach for a strangle. “Start. Okay.”

“No, don’t you start with me.” Giovanni’s gaze flashed to Marcos’ wide eyes momentarily--they couldn’t do this here, right now, but-- “I can’t read your fucking mind, Matthew, whatever miscommunication is happening here is your fault. How many times have I--”

Giovanni found himself looming over the shorter man--not too close, the phantom impressions of Matthew’s teeth stinging in his face--and the subtle expression of a cornered animal darkened Matthew’s pupils and quickened his breath. But he did not back off because he never did, in Giovanni’s memory. He had the look of a dog itching for a throat between its teeth. Regret and caution flooded Giovanni’s haphazard thoughts, but at the edges, there was a dark satisfaction, too. The moment hung suspended.

Three’s A Crowd

[il--dottore]

silvasboys‌:

some-bloody-saint‌:

Matthew did not flinch outwardly, aside from a blink which seemed casual enough. He nodded at Marcos.

“I’d like to treat his head wound before I leave. Sir.”

Indeed, a stream of blood had caked over the side of Marcos’ face from a minor cut; minor, but still made by a dirty blade. It was true that Matthew wanted to treat it as soon as possible; true, even, that he felt somewhat defensive of Marcos, having spent the day working well with him despite Giovanni’s best efforts to keep them separated. But the real truth, the uglier one, was that he didn’t want to leave them alone; didn’t trust th–Giovanni. Didn’t trust Giovanni.

Marcos’ eyes flicked over to Matthew, though he barely turned his head. He’d stayed seated when the others were dismissed, but was beginning to wish he’d been standing. It was true that the mission had gone well, and he’d enjoyed - if you could use that word in the context of a mission under BLI orders - the chance to work with Matthew. It was rare for Marcos to see Matthew in a professional setting, which was perhaps explained in part by the way the Exterminator had repeatedly assigned them to opposite locations in the party’s radius. It was nice to have a friend on the job. 

Now, though, he was reminded of the last time he and Matthew had spoken of Giovanni, and he was not at all confident in how, exactly, Matthew would behave. Trying to catch the medic’s eye, he said, “I think I’m okay. It barely stings. I can meet you out in the hall in a few.” He just seems tired. I’ll be fine, whatever he wants to tell me shouldn’t take long. Let’s just get out of here as soon as possible and go get food.

Giovanni watched as Matthew’s eyes flicked briefly to Marcos, with an almost detached sort of interest, as if he’d walked into a room with something unexciting playing on television. Then they were back on Giovanni, and they burned suddenly like acid.

“Shut up, Silvas. Callaghan, Leave.” Giovanni was immediately aware of how petulant it was, how Matthew would see through it, and he scowled at the involuntary redness which bloomed at the tips of his ears. How dare Matthew. How dare he pull this in front of Marcos, of all people, whose use to Giovanni hinged entirely on Giovanni’s ability to intimidate from a high, untouchable place.

But now he was angry that Matthew was doing this, angry that Matthew had been playing him all day, angry that Matthew had clearly decided to punish him for some imagined slight which Giovanni hadn’t the foggiest idea of. He’d had the nerve to be worried, enough to put Matthew on this team when he had no such qualifications, just to see him and be close to him.

“Go wait in the hall, if you’re so impatient. That’s an order.” It was almost worth it, seeing the angry flush spread over Matthew’s face.

Three’s A Crowd

[il--dottore]

Three’s A Crowd

“Overall… good work.”

The Exterminator’s delivery was indistinguishable from a reaction of displeasure or neutrality, but several sets of shoulders sagged minutely. The small debriefing room was silent despite the dozen or so huddled people inside it, every pair of eyes trained on the clear authority figure. Giovanni sighed silently, post-mission exhaustion creeping into his limbs and eyes, though invisible in his posture.

“Dismissed. Except you,” he pointed to Marcos Silvas, who concealed his disappointment well enough. The room burst into motion as the remainder of the team shuffled all too readily out the door, waiting until they were well down the hall to begin talking amongst themselves. Their voices faded quickly and Giovanni was glad to have shed his audience--well. 

He felt no surprise when he turned to see that Matthew Callaghan, the team medic for this particular outing, had not moved from his spot against a wall. No surprise, only a heavier exhaustion. Irritation, perhaps. Matthew had dodged all of Giovanni’s attempts at meeting outside of work for the last week and some, and over the course of the day had been blandly (pointedly) professional. He stared at Giovanni now with the same mild look which belied a challenge.

“Dismissed.” Giovanni repeated, sharper.

[il--dottore]

[il--dottore]

silvasboys‌:

“That’s…” A creepy way to put it, Marcos thought but didn’t voice. He just nodded again, a short motion. “Okay.” With his concerns answered to a frankly surprising degree, he hesitated in the doorway a moment longer, and then said, “I’m going to take the dogs out in a few. So I’ll be out for a while.”

Giovanni waved dismissively and picked up his book again, as if he’d had any real interest in it to begin with. Marcos seemed to take the excuse readily, and soon Giovanni was totally alone again. It was an instant balm to his mood, which of late had been tinged always with some small degree of unease. Perhaps he would call Matthew. In the haze of medication, he’d perhaps allowed himself to call Matthew entirely too frequently over the last few days. But he would take Matthew’s good graces while he could.

Explanation

[il--dottore]

silvasboys‌:

“…sir.” Unsure how to respond to what seemed like a strangely encouraging statement, Marcos returned only an acknowledgement. “Is there a way for me to… practice, I guess? So I’m not taken off guard if something - when, something goes really wrong again?”

Another shrug. “There are the simulators, but I don’t think they’ll work very well for you in particular. Rest assured I have plans to boost your progress naturally.”

Explanation

[il--dottore]

silvasboys‌:

Marcos didn’t notice his gaze; his own eyes were on the carpet, and unfocused. After a moment he gave a small nod. “I… think so.” An upward glance, and a startled blink as he realized Giovanni was already watching him. “If I focus on my… reactions, on handling what’s happening, the other stuff will come along with it. Or it won’t, but… either way, the most important thing is just responding as well as I can to what’s in front of me.”

“Reaction,” Giovanni’s left arm came up and his thumb jutted out in a counting gesture. “And purpose.” Index finger. “The universe works in no one’s favor, so you must be adaptable and deliberate. You are smart, Marcos.” A pause. “And whether I agree with them or not, you're uncompromising in your ideals. Those are two qualities which grant you an advantage many others don’t have. They can be honed and sharpened like any tool.”

Explanation

[il--dottore]

silvasboys‌:

Discomfort flashed across Marcos’ face at the direct mention of the interrogation, but he was pensive as he thought over Giovanni’s words. It made sense. It was downright reasonable, really. He exhaled through his nose, feeling something that was almost discontent. 

The silence stretched, but Giovanni didn’t break it, and eventually Marcos said, “I might have gotten someone killed. I can’t wait until shit goes wrong before I learn how to deal with it.”

“Shit will go wrong,” Giovanni said with the first trace of bitterness. His eyes trailed off to the window, where the path lights of the greenhouse illuminated its inhabitants just enough in the dark. “People will die. You will learn to minimize such effects, but in this climate, generalized priorities such as ‘I will succeed if no one dies’ or ‘I will succeed if everything goes according to plan’ will slow you down in a heated moment like... too much baggage.”

Giovanni’s gaze, still on the plants in the window, turned stern. “Reaction can be learned quite passively. Other things... you must choose to put down. Or they will drag you down with them. Do you understand?” Not a request for an affirmative, but a genuine question. Giovanni turned his eyes again to Marcos.

Explanation

[il--dottore]

silvasboys‌:

“Yes.” Marcos put his hands in his jacket pockets. He watched Giovanni’s face closely for any changes in mood or intent, but felt no danger. “You haven’t talked about it, and you haven’t - there haven’t been any… repercussions. Why not?”

Giovanni shrugged. “No one is born with those instincts. They will have to be honed by experience. And I did not expect that particular mission to go the way that it did, or I wouldn’t have brought you along to endanger it.” He chewed at the inside of his cheek in thought for a moment. “And besides, you did not choose to react poorly, you simply lacked any other option. I told you in detainment that whether you are rewarded or punished will depend upon your choices.”

Explanation

[il--dottore]

silvasboys‌:

The first hurdle cleared - Giovanni hadn’t shut him down immediately. Marcos was nowhere near a panic attack - which was, in and of itself, an achievement - but asking anything of Giovanni still smacked of breaking the rules, and was answered by a thin thread of anxiety. He paused just for a second or two, and found he was able to continue. 

“I want - I’d like to talk about what happened in the desert. When I fucked up.”

With a near-silent sigh, Giovanni flipped the book closed--not a terribly interesting read, frankly, as was typical with company-approved media--set it in his lap, and crossed his arms over his chest. He regarded Marcos, but not too closely. A part of him was curious about what the younger man might say without the influence of fear.

“You froze and stalled during a time-sensitive situation. Is that what you mean?” Though the words were sharp, Giovanni kept his tone carefully neutral.

Explanation

[il--dottore]

It was almost annoying to see Marcos standing near-casually there in the door. But not as annoying as seeing him stand at full attention in the door. After a glance, Giovanni pretended to continue reading.

“What.”

Explanation

“I have a question.” 

Marcos stood in the doorway of Giovanni’s bedroom. The Exterminator sat reading in bed, and didn’t immediately look up when Marcos spoke.

[il--dottore]

silvasboys‌:

Sir yes sir

[/click]

[il--dottore]

silvasboys‌:

Okay. 

//another pause, longer this time//

All right, I should be back with the food in about half an hour. Maybe forty minutes.

Don’t let the food get cold. And don’t scratch that car.

[il--dottore]

silvasboys‌:

//pause//

He’s asking if the third line is en - insalada - //sorry, could you say it again?// Insalata verde.

...Yes.

[il--dottore]

silvasboys‌:

Okay, fine, but I can’t read your note, your handwriting is - I don’t even know what half these letters are,

Right, christo--show them the note, then.

[il--dottore]

You don’t need to know what it is, just get what I put down on the note.

Giovanni, it’s - I’m at the restaurant, I’ve got - I can’t read your writing, I’ve got your note, but it’s like - I’m trying to read the menu but I don’t know what any of these are? Pros - prosci - utto? Is that what you wanted? I don’t know what de…voder, is, but it’s, aged, so that’s probably… good…

[il--dottore]

gilt-cage‌:

Shut up. I’m expecting Marcos at his appointment. Surely you can get on by yourself for a couple of hours.

Fine. Good God. Whatever will get you off my line.