kore_logs | but you were down and out of luck

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but you were down and out of luck

Who: Ned, Meyer, Charlie
What: Meyer tells Ned that Charlie is back, Ned and Charlie talk about what Meyer was like while he was gone.
Where: House 20; the diner
When: Day 102, morning, pre-sea monster

The power is still out, which means that Ned is shivering from an unpleasantly brisk shower and having a disappointing breakfast of plain, untoasted bread. It's not as terrifying or dramatic as some of the other experiments that they've been put through, but he's not really enjoying it all that much, at the moment. He has plans to head over to Meyer's in a few minutes, but he wants to fortify himself, first, to warm up. It's possible his constant presence will grow to be an annoyance, soon, but when it does, he thinks Meyer will tell him. For now, he's more than happy to be as present as Meyer wants him to be.

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Ned's presence hasn't been a nuisance. It's been helpful, to have someone else there, someone who doesn't insist on talking about uncomfortable things, but someone who would talk about those things, if he wanted to. It's an unusual feeling, for him, to make friends (real friends, not business associates, not the kind of people that you call friends simply because you're on the same side temporarily -- he can count two 'real friends' in his life: Charlie and Benny) but Ned seems to be becoming one of them. It's this place, he thinks. It makes everything different.

When he heads over to Ned's house that morning, there's a spring in his step that hasn't been there for quite some time. Walking this enthusiastically isn't exactly comfortable on his ribs, but he can't seem to keep the smile off of his face, and his body language matches it. He knocks, maybe a little too loudly.

Around noon that day, Ned found himself heading to the diner. Why, he wasn't really sure. It wasn't as if he would be able to cook anything, without any power. All the same, he wanted a change of scenery, thought he might see if anyone he knew was out and about. It might not be useful as a diner at the moment, but there were plenty of places to sit, and he thought it seemed a likely place for people to congregate while the power was out - it had windows enough to be light, plenty of seating, etcetera.

When he walks in, at first he thinks he was mistaken, that the place is empty. Then, he spots a familiar face - one that he hasn't seen in a little while.

"Charlie!"

He'd heard from Meyer this morning that he was back, and Ned is glad to see him so soon. It might have only been four days, but they'd been a long four days, and he'd been fairly certain he would never see the man again. All in all, he's very glad to run into him, comes over to where he is sitting quickly and joins him without hesitation. "It's good to see you."

Charlie had has a similar train of thought, about changing the scenery. It was a rather intense homecoming, if you could call it then when he didn't even remember leaving. So he found himself slipping out, just to stretch his legs, and ended up in the diner. He'd dug through its debris a dozen times already, but there was some part of his childhood that he was never able to shake that kept a scavenger gene in him. And who knows, there might be a can of food still over-looked.

He's taking a break to light a cigarette when he hears Ned, head snapping up. He gives him a grin back, a genuine one even because hey, he's a good guy and seems like he kept that promise he'd made back on the beach.

"Yeah, you toos. Though I hear it's been a little longer for yous than for me, ain't it?"

Ned hears the loud knock, and his mind does not leap to happy news. He assumes, with some reason, that something else has gone wrong. That is why he doesn't rush for the door, but crosses the distance to it with steps slowed by dread. When he pulls it open and sees Meyer, his heart initially sinks. Then, he catches the fact that Meyer is beaming - not the wide, polite smile that he sometimes adopts, and not the small, cynical smile that he sometimes has.

"Come in," Ned says, automatically, wondering what can have happened to make Meyer smile like that. He doesn't want to let himself hope, but all the same... "What happened?"

For the first time in several days, he looks well-rested, the dark circles under his eyes less noticeable. He's clean-shaven, his hair is combed back (though still too long for his liking), but perhaps most importantly, the ever-present furrow in his forehead is smoothed out, worry seemingly vanished for the time being at least. For the first time since he's arrived here, he actually looks his age, something that's extremely rare. He nods at Ned's invitation and steps through into the house, grin fading to something a bit smaller, but no less contented.

"Charlie came back," he says. There's no embellishment, no excited exclamation, no fuss, but it's obvious how much it means. "I thought you should know," he continues, "since you were so solicitous when he was gone." He knows he owes Ned a million thanks, but he's not quite sure how to express them. Words aren't exactly emphatic enough.

"A little." Ned rubs a hand along the back of his neck, knowing that it wasn't really longer for him, that in all likelihood Charlie lived through all of those four days, but that he just doesn't remember whatever happened to him, whatever was done. Ned thinks that if it were him, he would be more worried. Charlie seems so easy about the whole thing, so unconcerned. Perhaps he merely doesn't show it, Ned thinks.

"How are you holding up?" he asks, trying not to sound worried and only half managing it.

You're cute, Ned. Like an enthusiastic puppy.

"I ain't dead yet. What else does a guy needs?" Except in this place maybe about fifty cartons of cigarettes and a decent steak dinner.

Ned notices those little changes - though they pale in comparison to the difference that his expression makes to his face. He's not sure he's ever seen Meyer looking so happy. Almost as if he didn't have a care in the world - precisely the opposite to the way Ned is used to thinking of him.

When he says that Charlie is back, Ned claps both hands over his mouth, but that doesn't disguise the fact that he's grinning. He was right. Meyer might not be exclaiming or making a fuss, but Ned isn't going to hold himself back from doing so.

"What?!" he half-shouts, not in disbelief, but in joy. He can't think of anything else to say. Ned had given up all but a sliver of hope that Charlie would return. Most didn't, after all. He'd forecasted days and weeks of Meyer's sadness, of trying to look after him as he grew bitterer and more hopeless. To see him now, looking as if he's been reborn, and to know for Charlie's sake that Charlie is alright. He must be - otherwise Meyer would be coming over here angry and looking for revenge, rather than pleased.

"Is he alright? Does he remember anything? Did he end up back in New York?"

He has to laugh at Ned's reaction, not because it's worthy of mockery, but because it's so similar to what he'd done in his own mind when he'd seen Charlie's confused network post. He might not be a particularly expressive person, but he can appreciate that Ned is. At the questions, he nods first, then shakes his head, trying to figure out which one to answer first.

"He's okay as far as I can tell. He didn't go back to New York -- he doesn't remember what happened." A worried expression furrows his brow for a moment before he continues talking. It's concerning that Charlie doesn't remember anything. He'd obviously been taken by their captors, and what had happened to him was anyone's guess. Though he seemed physically well, that didn't mean that other, more insidious things hadn't happened to him.

"He doesn't remember any of it. He woke up on the beach thinking he'd only been passed out drunk for the night. There's a four day gap in his memory."

It's all worrisome, but it's all manageable. Charlie's back, and he's as safe as he can be, considering the circumstances.

Ned thinks that a guy needs a great deal more than just not being dead, but he isn't going to argue with Charlie about that. It seems to Ned like he doesn't really want to talk about it, and he can respect that. Maybe that's just Charlie's way of coping: to pretend nothing had happened, to put it in the past and ignore it as best he can. Ned can see the appeal in that approach.

"I, um-" he shifts uneasily, not sure how to broach this subject. He doesn't want to sound as if he's congratulating himself: that's not what he wants at all. He just remembers speaking to Charlie, knowing how worried he was about what would happen to Meyer if he vanished. Of course, Meyer might have told Charlie all about his last four days, but Ned has a suspicion that he didn't. The two of them really are far too similar, sometimes, and he knows that if it were him, he would lie, or dodge the subject entirely.

"I kept my promise. Or tried to, anyway."

"Yeah."

Okay, Ned. Sincerity is hard for this one, so he's just going to concentrate really hard on smoking this cigarette for a few moments while he speaks.

"I knew you woulds. Glad to see I weren't a fucking bad judge of character or nothing."

Ned, too, sobers slightly at the thought of those four days. Even if Charlie doesn't remember, that doesn't change the fact that anything could have been happening to him. Knowing Meyer, Ned thinks it will bother him, but he can't bear to think of the bothersome things right now. So he sets those thoughts aside, allows himself to just be happy that Charlie is back, against the odds.

"Thank you for telling me." If he were a different person, Ned thinks that now might be a time when he would reach out and hug Meyer in his sheer exuberance, but that is an impulse that doesn't come naturally to him. Instead, he merely clasps his hands together behind his back and beams. It means a lot to him that Meyer would come and tell him. In the glow of the good news about Charlie's return, everything seems brighter and better than usual. What a good friend Meyer is, he thinks. And Charlie, too, for that matter. Ned is going to have to see him at some point today, to confirm it with his own two eyes.

"I guess 23% isn't that bad of odds, after all."

Ned shakes his head - he wasn't looking for any kind of thanks, and certain not for praise of his character. He just wanted Charlie to know that while he'd been gone, there'd been someone to look out for Meyer. Or, at least, to try to. Ned finds himself oddly eager to talk to Charlie about how the last few days had gone. Perhaps it's because they've been more than a little stressful for Ned, at times, but he hasn't been able to really discuss them with anyone else. After all, to do so would require sharing private information that isn't his own. He could hardly tell other people that he was unhappy because Meyer was so unhappy because he didn't know what to do, when Charlie might be in danger.

"...he tell you anything about the last few days?" Ned asks, tentatively. If Meyer did explain, he doesn't want to repeat old information, but he really thinks Charlie ought to understand just what his absence had done to the other man.

"I would have told you sooner, but with the communicators acting as they are..." He shrugs almost apologetically. For all Ned has done for him in the last couple of days, it only stands to reason that Ned should be kept up to date on the situation. He's also telling Ned, though not explicitly, that he can stop worrying so much, can stop trying to take care of Meyer's distress and deal with other things. He hadn't wanted Ned to worry himself, not had he wanted Ned to go out of his way to help, but it seemed as though, if one of them could be considered a good friend, it was Ned. That was still difficult to wrap his mind around.

"Charlie's always been lucky," he says, and then he shakes his head, because it's really not lucky, is it, to come back here and be stuck? Then again, it's more lucky than being trapped and suffering memory loss at the hands of their captors. It's all relative. "Good at defying the odds, I mean," he clarifies, not particularly wanting to say that Charlie being back here is lucky, because really, the only person it benefits is Meyer, and though he may be deeply selfish, he makes a point of not advertising it.

"Not much. You know Meyer, he ain't big on talk where this sorta things's concerned."

The way Ned phrased that puts him a little on edge. He can feel his shoulders tightening under his jacket as he thinks about what might have happened while he was gone.

Ned nods, unsurprised. Meyer had been... a bigger talker than usual, concerning personal subjects, while Charlie had been away. He feels a little guilty, now, for that. For having learned what he learned, while Meyer was vulnerable and incapable of keeping his guard up to the same degree. Part of him thinks that he should leave it there, shouldn't tell Charlie just how bad it had gotten. But it's too late to stop, now, after his ominous question, so he explains, simply.

"He kind of..." Ned chews on his lower lip, picking his words carefully, "...didn't handle it all that well."

He could have handled it far worse, of course. Compared to most people, his reaction might have seemed about as expected. But Ned is not measuring according to a general scale, but according to Meyer's usual taciturn, unemotional, rational way of responding to the world. "He, uh. Had a bit to drink and broke some stuff, at your place. Threw things around, shouted, punched the wall, that kind of thing." Ned rubs a hand along the back of his neck. He's not saying any of this in a judgmental way: he'd broken something himself, too. "Kept talking about what a disappointment everyone must think he is. And, um-"

Ned hesitates. Even if Charlie and Meyer sell the stuff, he doesn't know how Charlie might react knowing he'd used some of it, "-he may have... done some drugs."

It's nice, to hear Meyer talking about Charlie in the way that he used to - with that tone of familiarity, sometimes exasperation, and (Ned doesn't think it's just his imagination) a kind of quiet affection that doesn't pop up when he's talking about anyone or anything else. There's no longer an echo of worry, a kind of restless loss when he says the other man's name.

Ned has less trouble than Meyer does believing in luck; he's always thought of himself as an unlucky person. He knows that plenty of other people have far worse lives than he does, that there is plenty he should be thankful for. It's not that kind of bad luck, exactly. But in the past, he's found that in situations where it seems statistically unlikely for things to go wrong, they somehow almost always do. And he manages. He's always managed, always gotten through it. But all the same, it's left him with a hint of superstition about his way of thinking.

"Luck's a good thing to have, in this place."

When Meyer half-apologizes for not telling him sooner, Ned has an inkling (perhaps misplaced, but he doubts it) that Meyer and Charlie wanted a little time just to themselves after his return. He wouldn't really blame them if they did, and Meyer does seems uncharacteristically chipper this morning.

Ned might have less of a reason for it, but this one piece of good news amidst everything that has been going wrong recently seems unusually precious to him. He wants to - needs to - make much of it. "I'm so glad he's safe," Ned says again, warmly.

"Well, you know he was trying to get everyone to call him Lucky, when we first showed up here. He's been pushing that nickname for years. It's ridiculous."

There's that old exasperation coming back out, but it's affectionate exasperation, the kind you have for a family member or a very close friend (or perhaps someone you're romantically involved with, but he doesn't -- can't -- think about it that way.) He's not actually sure whether Charlie had introduced himself to Ned as Charlie or as Lucky, but if he'd tried to use the 'ridiculous' nickname, Meyer feels the need to give him hell for it, even indirectly. It's just another facet of their sometimes inexplicable relationship.

"Guess that means you don't have to keep as much of an eye on me anymore," he says, but it's said jokingly, almost warmly (though his version of warm is probably what others might consider lukewarm, at best.) He really does appreciate all that Ned's done for him. It's unusual, and not particularly expected, but welcomed, nevertheless.

"Lucky?" Ned hasn't heard Charlie asking anyone to call him that, yet, but it amuses him. It seems very fitting, somehow, and rather catchy as far as nicknames go. "I don't know, I kind of like it," Ned admits, smiling faintly. There's something to be said for even the most ridiculous of nicknames. "D'you have any secret nicknames I don't know about?"

He asks it with humor, just a hint of teasing, glad to have this happier version of Meyer back, glad that the two of them can joke about something as frivolous as nicknames, now.

"Guess it does."

Ned knows that his presence may have grown somewhat onerous, but he also has few doubts in his mind that it was useful, if not exactly comforting. He might not have been able to fix the situation, but he was there for Meyer, looked after him as well as he could - as well as Meyer would let him anyway.

It's hard for Charlie to know how to react to any of this. As much as Ned is a decent enough guy, one he might even go so far to call a friend, Charlie just doesn't talk about any of these things. At least not outside of a very small circle. He's not USED to this, to people knowing things about Meyer that he doesn't. It's strange and confusing and he'd like it to fuck off right about now, please.

So instead of giving a real answer he fiddles his cigarette in his hands and keeps his eyes glued firmly to the floor. "That so?"

"Yeah."

Ned, too, is feeling uncomfortable, shifts his weight from foot to foot, wondering if he's made the right choice, telling Charlie all that. Maybe he should have kept his nose out of what wasn't his business. It just felt like keeping a secret, not to mention the fact that he'd seen Meyer in that state. Ned doesn't want to have secrets from Charlie - at least, not that kind of secret. If it were him that had been gone, he would want to know what happened when he wasn't there. Would want to know, in some kind of selfish way, that he'd been missed.

"Anyway, uh. I thought you should know." He rubs the back of his neck, biting his bottom lip against the awkwardness. Then, in an attempt to lighten the mood (and he's not entirely sure it's a good sign that he thinks of this particular tidbit as a mood-lightener), he adds, "We may or may not have also... sworn a certain amount of bloody vengeance against whoever took you."

"Several, none of which I chose for myself."

He doesn't know whether that's better or worse, really. Despite the fact that no one who actually knows Charlie calls him by his preferred nickname, it's a reasonable nickname, as far as those things go. It's better than being given a flippant nickname you absolutely despise. His own aren't bad, per se, they're simply not something he'd ever choose to call himself.

"Let's see..."

There's an uncharacteristically amused grin as he tries to think of them, knowing that all of them will likely strike Ned as incredibly silly. Maybe he's in the mood for being silly, at the moment, which is unusual. He might as well capitalize on it while he can.

"I've been called 'The Accountant', for obvious reasons, although that doesn't exactly roll off the tongue well. 'Goldenhands', because I like to fix things, but that's not the kind of name I'd call myself. And there's always 'Little Meyer', which is awfully redundant, if you ask me."

It's true -- he hadn't gotten particularly good nicknames. Luckily, most people don't call him any of that, unless they do so out of earshot.

Ned almost cracks a joke about Goldenhands sounding like some kind of rejected Bond villain, but realizes before he does that it would be after Meyer's time, and decides it wouldn't be worth the effort of explaining the franchise. Instead, he simply grins; Meyer's silliness is infectious, and he's more than happy to catch it. The fact that Meyer can laugh off the nickname referencing his height lets Ned know it's alright if he jokes a little, too.

"The Accountant has a certain gravitas if you ask me." He gives a particularly lopsided smile and says, "If 'Little Meyer' is redundant, then 'Tall Ned' certainly would be, too." He laughs, adds, "Not that anyone's ever called me that. Tree, yes. Skyscraper, occasionally. Mainly it's just stuff like ... Pie Guy"

"I think The Accountant really only reinforces the idea that the only thing I care about is numbers."

Although that's not such a bad idea to reinforce, if he really thinks about it. Nobody seems to take the guy in the office with the accounts book seriously, and that's always worked to his advantage. Ned may be aware of how dangerous Meyer can truly be, but most people aren't, and he'd rather keep it that way. To be The Accountant is to be overlooked, and he likes to be overlooked.

He smiles at Ned's comment, partially because he's glad Ned is willing to be lighthearted with him (he hadn't been sure he would be, considering the way he'd behaved around Ned the last few times they'd talked together -- he had certainly been heavy on the melancholy and existential angst), and partially because he's spent quite a good deal of time being impressed by Ned's height. "Pie Guy isn't so bad, either. At least it speaks to one of your talents. Besides, it's kind of catchy."

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but you were down and out of luck

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For Charlie

for me?

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