A glance up at Evander's face told him that he believed him, which was good. It meant, at least, that Alfred wouldn't have to repeat himself, which would have been unbearable. He shifted his eyes away so that he could look elsewhere while he waited for Evander to speak again. He wasn't sure why. He didn't know what he expected from his brother, in terms of a reaction — anger, sorrow, frustration? Whatever it was, it was possible that Evander was going to have a moment, and since Alfred was only barely keeping himself from having one as well, he didn't want to watch it happen.

He let out a long breath at Evander's remark. "I know," he admitted flatly. "I didn't... think about what would've happened if..." he drifted off and finally finished the phrase with a lame shrug. If the worst had happened, though he didn't even know what the worst was.

"They only told me on Friday," he added quietly. "I'm not used to thinking about it, yet."

Would he ever be used to thinking he was going to die? Well, yes; he'd be resigned to the idea at several periods in his life, while he'd been a castaway in South America. There was a difference, though, between thinking something was almost certain to happen and actually acting on that knowledge and making preparations for it. He'd done some of that on Friday, and he could have brought the same mindset to this afternoon's interlude as well, but the truth was that after a weekend of sitting in sullen despair in his flat he hadn't wanted to take precautions. He'd wanted, for a few hours, to pretend he wasn't dying, and so that was exactly what he'd done. Selfishly, as he now realized.

The following 1 user Likes J. Alfred Darrow's post:1 user Likes J. Alfred Darrow's post
   Evander Darrow

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

It was his brother’s quietness that did it, he thought, swept the anger right out of him. Even the fear at what could have happened if things had gone wrong at the worst moment paled beside the phrase I'm not used to thinking about it, yet.

He gave a soft hum in answer to say that he understood, that maybe he forgave him that, but the longer he stood there and stared at his brother, knowing what he now knew, the more his throat dried up. The room felt claustrophobically small.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Alfred,” he got out finally, gnawing down hard on his lip. Anything other than that would have been something, at least, but he didn’t know how to verbalise any of it. What he needed was time to process. Or - if not process - to think about this and feign a state of calm, tidy it into a mental box in his mind, pretend that he had processed it, and refuse to think about it any longer.

He had a sinking feeling that this was not going to be quite so easy to stop thinking about this, because his brother was going to die. (How was he going to tell Charity about this?)

Though perhaps Evander would drop dead from all the lost sleep and internal stress before Johnny had the chance to.

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   J. Alfred Darrow

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Alfred let out a sigh. "I don't want you to say anything," he said wearily. It was not as though he had come out and confessed this because he had been hoping Evander would comfort him. Of the two of them, Alfred was indisputably better prepared to deal with the prospect of death. He hadn't been seeking sympathy or understanding, either, because he knew it was impossible for Evander — for anyone — to really empathize with something like this after having just had it unceremoniously dumped on them only a few moments prior.

"I wasn't even planning on telling you," he admitted. "I suppose maybe I should've, just — in case — but —" Would Evander be upset that Alfred hadn't written him sooner, to put him in the loop? Or would he have preferred to have stayed in the dark, in the hopes that this was handily resolved and he never need fret over the possibility of Alfred's death? It hardly mattered now, of course, because Alfred had told him, and he couldn't take the knowledge back.

  

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

A hollow hope, that Alfred had wanted him to say something particular, to do something specific: Evander would not have hesitated, would not have argued with him, would not have resisted it. But there was no obvious course of action to take. Nothing he could do.

He could say thank you for telling me, because as deathly terrible as the knowledge was, at least it felt like they were brothers. That they were still family; because family wanted - or if not wanted, at least felt bound to - share these things. Even the worst things.

Though family was not something either of them would possess for much longer, if Alfred was going to die soon.

“Do you want a drink?” Evander said instead, abruptly. He found he did - for his dry throat, or because he was merely grateful for the excuse to duck over to a cabinet for a moment instead of stare, wan and uncomprehending, at Alfred.

Besides, he had always imagined his brother would drive him to drink eventually, if not quite like this.

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   Ophelia Devine

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Alfred let out a long breath that was half relief and half disbelief. The two of them drinking together was not, exactly, a normal occurrence. It wasn't as though he thought Evander was a teetotaler, because of course they'd had wine over dinner or champagne at parties or that sort of thing, but they didn't spend a good deal of leisure time together. They particularly didn't spend time drinking together, and Alfred thought that was probably generally for the best. Sailors had a reputation, after all, and while Alfred wasn't the wildest drunk on the seven seas he certainly wasn't a very suitable companion for Evander, with his fully buttoned coats and impeccable grooming and all.

That being said, a drink was exactly what he wanted at the moment, no matter what the source was. He chuckled a bit at the absurdity of this situation — of Evander offering him alcohol as a consolation for the fact that he might die soon. It was ridiculous, but he wasn't going to complain. "Yeah," he admitted with a shrug. "I do. Thanks."

  

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER