[ There's a moment of blankness where he catches up with Harold's train of thought; he'd forgotten about the breakfast in the moments between them. Hugging Harold, holding his hands, had completely derailed the situation that they're in. There had been far more pressing things than the food gone cold. He looks at it as if seeing it for the first time and then recognizes it for what it is. ]
I'll make new eggs while the food goes back in the oven. Pancakes will probably be cool but the bacon should warm back up. Can you get your tea ready and pour me coffee?
[ He puts both back in the still-warm oven and dumps the cold eggs in the trash. There's an ease to the movement that wasn't there before, as if a great burden has been lifted. Talking with Harold, understanding him at least a little, the promise of returning to the library— he still feels the weight of the past week, the weight of his death, but it's easier to carry now.
When he'd said "all" he'd meant all he wanted from Harold, but it's an all encompassing "all"; he'd wanted to return to the life they had there, the easiness and comfort between them, not just the location. And now he's gotten more than he bargained for, more than he could have imagined. A new closeness, a spoken vow, something defined rather than just seeing the shadow of it. Maybe that really was "all" he wanted, "all" he needed; when it was torn away from him his life fell apart. In the aftermath John can recognize that he needs to continue down the path he started to walk as Riley: living for more than just his purpose, more than just Harold.
John thinks through all of this as he cracks new eggs, scrambles them quickly and with practice. It's a near automatic task that he can execute while his mind wanders. It's not too long before the food is ready again and he plates the eggs and delivers them to the table before going back for the pancakes and bacon; the butter, syrup, and silverware are already on the table, butter soft from being out overnight and syrup warmed up to room temperature. It's not that John went all out on breakfast, but it's more than he usually does. ]
no subject
I'll make new eggs while the food goes back in the oven. Pancakes will probably be cool but the bacon should warm back up. Can you get your tea ready and pour me coffee?
[ He puts both back in the still-warm oven and dumps the cold eggs in the trash. There's an ease to the movement that wasn't there before, as if a great burden has been lifted. Talking with Harold, understanding him at least a little, the promise of returning to the library— he still feels the weight of the past week, the weight of his death, but it's easier to carry now.
When he'd said "all" he'd meant all he wanted from Harold, but it's an all encompassing "all"; he'd wanted to return to the life they had there, the easiness and comfort between them, not just the location. And now he's gotten more than he bargained for, more than he could have imagined. A new closeness, a spoken vow, something defined rather than just seeing the shadow of it. Maybe that really was "all" he wanted, "all" he needed; when it was torn away from him his life fell apart. In the aftermath John can recognize that he needs to continue down the path he started to walk as Riley: living for more than just his purpose, more than just Harold.
John thinks through all of this as he cracks new eggs, scrambles them quickly and with practice. It's a near automatic task that he can execute while his mind wanders. It's not too long before the food is ready again and he plates the eggs and delivers them to the table before going back for the pancakes and bacon; the butter, syrup, and silverware are already on the table, butter soft from being out overnight and syrup warmed up to room temperature. It's not that John went all out on breakfast, but it's more than he usually does. ]