Daniel gets as far as the health and behavior records before his careful mask of neutrality cracks, noticeably, as he blanches and swallows hard in an effort to contain it. Going through the extra information on Seth's background feels invasive. Daniel wishes to god he hadn't obtained it this way, intruding and reading those secrets laid bare without consent.
He reaches the end of the form and has to take a surreptitious, steadying breath.
God.
He doesn't know what to do with any of this. He just wishes - god, he wishes he could unlearn all of it; he's just trespassed on something incredibly private, more or less tripped and fell into Seth's personal backyard cemetery of all the things he probably never wanted Daniel to know, least of all like this.
With meticulous care, he hands the sheet back to the supervisor. Some of the words, most prominently the ones delineating Seth as suicidal and self-destructive and a drug dealer, stick fast behind his eyelids as he shuts his eyes, rubs a thumb against the bridge of his nose, and works to regain his composure.
They can call it what they like: forced cooperation, enhanced interrogation, pressured collaborative efforts, whatever deceptive lexicon of euphemisms they choose. It's torture, and Seth's had to endure it for months without even the basic right to his own name.
Daniel swallows again, working against the reverse gravitational weight of the knot that's somehow formed in his esophagus.
"What are you going to do with him?" he asks quietly, desperately trying not to let any of that tamped down emotion leak through. "You're not going to keep him here indefinitely." The question mark hovers just past the range of the statement, low-pitched with disbelief.
no subject
He reaches the end of the form and has to take a surreptitious, steadying breath.
God.
He doesn't know what to do with any of this. He just wishes - god, he wishes he could unlearn all of it; he's just trespassed on something incredibly private, more or less tripped and fell into Seth's personal backyard cemetery of all the things he probably never wanted Daniel to know, least of all like this.
With meticulous care, he hands the sheet back to the supervisor. Some of the words, most prominently the ones delineating Seth as suicidal and self-destructive and a drug dealer, stick fast behind his eyelids as he shuts his eyes, rubs a thumb against the bridge of his nose, and works to regain his composure.
They can call it what they like: forced cooperation, enhanced interrogation, pressured collaborative efforts, whatever deceptive lexicon of euphemisms they choose. It's torture, and Seth's had to endure it for months without even the basic right to his own name.
Daniel swallows again, working against the reverse gravitational weight of the knot that's somehow formed in his esophagus.
"What are you going to do with him?" he asks quietly, desperately trying not to let any of that tamped down emotion leak through. "You're not going to keep him here indefinitely." The question mark hovers just past the range of the statement, low-pitched with disbelief.