[Qubit turns to face him and their eyes lock for a second to two, only for Carlisle to pull his gaze elsewhere, his features tightening as his focus lands on some unknown piece of hardware sitting on one of the shelves. He tries to cling to the fabric of his coat, as though it'd help steady him, but his fingers refuse to close all the way, making it that much harder to cater to his nervous habits.
He still doesn't want to talk about this, even if he's the one who called Qubit to begin with, but he knows good and well it's not a matter of wanting so much as a matter of needing. He needs to talk about this, and he needs help, and he needs to make sure it cannot happen again. Not to his patients, not to his friends, not to complete and utter strangers, not even to someone as foul as Kabal—
Okay, well that last one might almost deserve it. A man of the church or not, Carlisle isn't that forgiving.]
I was called to heal a man whose eyes had been gouged out. It was more than I was able to handle, and I lost control over my energies.
[He pushed himself too far is more accurate. He nearly— no, he chastises internally. It needs to be said, confessed, no matter how horrible the truth is. It paints him as the monster he is, as a problem to be solved. Carlisle knows how he would do it, but he's afraid he'll just make things even worse if he even tries. That's how he got here, isn't it? Movements made with the best intentions, only for everything to turn out so, so wrong. It's equal parts frustrating and frightening, and Carlisle isn't sure how much longer he can cope with it on his own.
Qubit seems to be a problem-solver; better to let him, at the very least, try. He has been patient and understanding, and deserves that much.]
I nearly— [He pauses again, pulling in a breath to steady his voice.] I put them all at risk. I nearly killed everyone. Horribly.
cw: vague suicidal ideation
He still doesn't want to talk about this, even if he's the one who called Qubit to begin with, but he knows good and well it's not a matter of wanting so much as a matter of needing. He needs to talk about this, and he needs help, and he needs to make sure it cannot happen again. Not to his patients, not to his friends, not to complete and utter strangers, not even to someone as foul as Kabal—
Okay, well that last one might almost deserve it. A man of the church or not, Carlisle isn't that forgiving.]
I was called to heal a man whose eyes had been gouged out. It was more than I was able to handle, and I lost control over my energies.
[He pushed himself too far is more accurate. He nearly— no, he chastises internally. It needs to be said, confessed, no matter how horrible the truth is. It paints him as the monster he is, as a problem to be solved. Carlisle knows how he would do it, but he's afraid he'll just make things even worse if he even tries. That's how he got here, isn't it? Movements made with the best intentions, only for everything to turn out so, so wrong. It's equal parts frustrating and frightening, and Carlisle isn't sure how much longer he can cope with it on his own.
Qubit seems to be a problem-solver; better to let him, at the very least, try. He has been patient and understanding, and deserves that much.]
I nearly— [He pauses again, pulling in a breath to steady his voice.] I put them all at risk. I nearly killed everyone. Horribly.