lindsohalloran

[lindsohalloran]

❝ ach, well, tha's braw wi' me, ❞ the scotsman concedes when the man confesses that he thinks he knows how to play chess. good enough. to his credit, lindsay hasn't actually played a match in something like years ( there was a board set up back on the coffee table of the flat he'd shared back with his partner in belize with games that would stretch out weeks as moves were made casually whenever either would happen past the pieces ) and though he could still recall the rules and mechanics of the game with complete clarity, he was arguably rusty when it came to strategy. ❝ yer still a fine shot at winnin', like ― i can swear tae ye that. ❞

the younger man's blank stare was matched in earnest as lindsay tried to process his words. he was familiar with each of them, but never in conjunction with one another, and certainly never in that order. ❝ isnae tha' redundant? casa house? lt's like sayin' atm machine. ❞ it's clear he doesn't get the reference. ( had he taken maisie to see the barbie movie? yes. had he fallen asleep in the theater part-way through? also yes. not a fault of the movie, he's sure it was lovely, but something about the dark, cool air of the theaters... ) he lets the subject drop after that, if only because there are more important matters to address.

❝ i'm nae on any feckin' drugs, ❞ he retorts, though there's no offense in his tone. instead, he's more amused than anything. he can thank the liquor for that. ❝ and ― christ alive, i'm nae talkin' abou' real horses! feckin' chess pieces, mate ― the pawns an' the knights, like. ❞ the remark that punctuates the other man's statement gives him pause though, and he thinks on it a moment. it is a strange place, even if he does appreciate the kindness of its' residents. he's never seen a safehold with a casual, open door policy, even if it did work to his and maisie's benefit. ❝ aye, well i reckon i cannae argue wi' ye there. ❞

judah had tried to teach jonah all the rules to chess but he never could quite get a grasp on it. the horse moves in an 'L' shape, which he could say with about eighty two percent confidence. checkers was his jam in the world of board games. that and pictionary but he never could get anyone to play that with him. currently he had a set board in front of him, though, hoping to look smart while he watched people play dance dance revolution. the thick accent caught him off guard. "uh, chess? kind of, i think." he motioned to the seat across from him while the other man was already sitting down. "barbieland? think you need to find a mojo dojo casa house and live your best ken life." jo snickered at his own reference. he'd taken a date to that movie, he thought it was going to be lame but it ended up being truly amazing.

jonah stared blankly when the last words rolled out of the older man's mouth. "okay dude, i don't know what you're on, but it's fuckin' downright rude not to share." maybe it was the accent but jonah had no fucking clue what the man had just said to him minus a few picked out words like matc, plastic handbag, and horses. "but uh, i don't think there's any horses here. maybe though, it's kind of a weird place so far."

[lindsohalloran]

lindsay reaches out to rest a hand atop his niece's head only to find that maisie has already rushed a fair few meters ahead of him ; a blink of the eye and she's standing directly in front of the easel, bouncing on the balls of her feet as hannah addresses her directly. and there's something in the gentle, maternal warmth of her tone that has his heart swelling in his chest. he is immensely grateful to the women of the wexley, well-aware of all they provide to maisie that her occasionally clueless and frequently out of his depth uncle cannot.

( there's a sick sort of irony to it, the way that when he's struggling, when he needs help because he doesn't know how to raise a little girl, the first person he wants to call for is niamh ― but it's exactly her absence that is the reason he needs her. )

❝ ah, but dinnae let her accent fool ye! it's half my fault ― ❞ she'd had a touch of an accent from her mother, after all, but nearly a year spent in lindsay's company ( and several months only in his company ) has thickened her wee scottish brogue, ❝ ―but this wee lass is a new yorker through an' through. born and raised. ❞ maisie, to her credit, lit up at the woman's praise, a wide smile illuminating her wide, doe-like eyes. in the dress she'd borrowed from june, with her hair braided and her face decorated with glitter for the occasion, she did feel like a super model.

she bounds over to the chair set up in front of the easel, her hand hooking on her uncle's along the way to drag him along with her. lindsay is pushed down into the chair with tiny hands before maisie is climbing up onto his lap, and he helps her smooth out the tulle skirt of her dress before turning his gaze back to hannah. any chance he has at answering is immediately cut off by maisie, however, as she delightedly cheers, ❝ silly! silly! ❞ and, as always, he's not inclined to refuse her. ❝ ach, we're no' but a bunch o' silly geese, are we then, mais? ❞ he teases and the girl erupts into peals of bright, giggling laughter. ❝ aye, ye heard the lass, then! a silly portrait it is! ...please. ❞ he nudges maisie as he remembers his own manners and she echoes the last word, her eyes still hopeful and locked on hannah as her giggles die down.

it had been her hope that before the night was over she would have lindsay ohalloran sitting in front of her, captive at least until she'd finished his drawing. june and maisie had grown close in the few weeks that they'd been able to know each other. their friendship was both beautiful & terrifying; protecting a child in this world had been difficult enough before there was one more thing they stood to lose.

she peeks first at linds and then at the small girl beside him, her smile is safe && warm, an offering from a mother to a daughter even if maisie is not her own. "well it's about time i've gotten some real talent in front of me this evening," hannah shifted in her seat and let out an exaggerated sigh. "i thought new york was supposed to be supermodel capital but maybe we had the wrong continent." she didn't know much about scotland but if lindsay and maisie were anything to go by scotts were dangerously adorable.

hannah motions to the couch before picking up a pastel in her dirty hand, blackened from smudging the oil all evening. "are we doing serious or silly?" her question was directed to maisie, though she figured linds would prefer the former.

[lindsohalloran]

❝ ach, i ken ye dinnae do it fer me, ❞ lindsay immediately concedes. and it's true. everything birdie has done for maisie since the pair of them arrived at the wexley has been just that ― for maisie. as much as lindsay can appreciate the brief moments of solitude he finds when his niece is under birdie's watch so that he might be able to think, to process without concern of question from her curious young mind ( and christ, but does he feel guilty thinking that he might be grateful for even a second without her, that he should even allow himself the thought―! ) he knows it's never been for him. if anything, that knowledge only serves to make his gratitude that much more sincere. maisie was his entire world and she'd protected that. protected her. ❝ but tha' disnae diminish my thanks fer it all the same, like. ❞ he punctuates the subject with a tip of his glass and a swig of his drink at the cheers.

a half-full drink finds the bar top as he lifts a brow in her direction, but there's a smile twitching at the corners of his lips. ❝ ach, well, fair is fair, aye? summat says tae me yer no' lyin', but i do mean it. ❞ there's a levity to his tone that belies the serious nature of his promise. he owes her. and quite frankly, given the extent of the emotional debt he carries, there's hardly a request she could cook up that he thinks he might refuse. he doesn't say as much ― it's implied. ❝ ye jus' say the word, birdie. ❞

much like when hannah had tried to offer her thanks for getting june to the wexley, linds attempt to offer some kind of speech about her actions in the hall were not appreciated. she didn't make the choices she did to try and appease whatever irrational choice a parent made. she was the stopguard. "i did it for maisie." she corrects with raised eyebrows, though she's not about to defend her position any more than that— because it's a party. so instead, she raises her soda up to help him cheers, adding her own favorite version: "vashe zdorov'ye"

"i know how to call in a favor." the kind of debt he was talking about were saving lives and preventing death. which was not her idea of a great time. there were plenty of other creative ways to implement an iou, and that was the thing to sit on. besides a promise was a promise, and he'd loosened up plenty given the drinks on offer. which made him kind of likable when all was said and done. "so make sure you mean that."

[lindsohalloran]

❝ oh, aye, go on then! gae a feckin' giggle at my expense, like! ❞ though there's a tone to the exclamation that would suggest an undercurrent of offense at the younger man's barely-contained amusement, there's a grin twitching at the corners of lindsay's lips that implies otherwise. as a matter of fact, he'd expected exactly this sort of reaction out of the blond and still ( perhaps a bit foolishly ) thought to tell him all the same. ❝ yer still a pure feckin' shite, y'ken? absolutely wicked sense o' humor, jus' like yer da, tae. ❞ he continues over the sounds of ryder's laughter as if he's not also chuckling. ❝ swear tae christ, some things never change. ❞

lindsay drains the last of the liquor from his glass before returning it to the coaster on the bar with a thud, his brows lifting almost comically at the question. ❝ how did i―? she came righ' along back not but five minutes later lookin' fer it! and completely feckin' gobsmacked,she were as well, startin' tae panic when she cannae find it. apparently they were playin' princesses wi' the barbies and t'were cinderella's missin' glass slipper what went down my gullet, just mixed right in wi' her snacks, like. and then there she is, lookin' at me fer all the world like i'm the biggest feckin' numpty she's ever seen because i had tae tell her i feckin' ate it. ❞

Ash knows that being a bartender you hear some of the craziest stories from where you work, even as a young man working the bar, he was told stories he still has a hard time believing. But he didn't expect anymore to crop up at the end of the world as they know it. Ash simply gave his mentor a long confused stare back as he went off on a long explanation for the predicament he was in - very unlike Linds to not go straight to the point. But damn it was a rollercoaster ride as he blinked at Lindsay listening to the entirety of the story before it ended with the conclusion - a missing barbie shoe, location? Down his esophagus. It took an additional moment or two of silence for it to actually sink in before Ashton broke, "pfft.." He tried holding back his laughter but it instead came out in full force the more he tried to hold it back, with pure unadulterated joy and amusement, a light to distract from the dull ache from tonight.

"Oh my god," Ashton sucked in a breath he hasn't taken since he started laughing, feeling as young as the time he was a recruit standing in front of this man. He was only comfortable to laugh knowing that Lindsay wasn't in any apparent danger from choking on a barbie shoe, seemingly okay with the lodge of plastic, "wait how did you even know it was a barbie shoe that you ate??"

[lindsohalloran]

who ashton @ashton-ryder when mr. wexley's birthday bash where the w

❝ ―look, it wasnae my fault, ryder, ❞ lindsay defends himself, leaning against the bar of the w as he fixes his long-time friend ― and the event's makeshift bartender ― with a pointed and unwavering stare. ❝ she came up tae me with a feckin' fistful of 'em, talkin' all ❛ can ye hold 'em for me please, uncle lindsay? ❜ as she's dumpin' jelly beans in me palm. and i was jus' gonnae hold 'em fer her 'til she was done playin', but i've a heavy feckin' sweet tooth― ❞ ashton knows this about him, certainly ; street food sweets were one of very few vices for the ex-scotsguard back in belize, and he could frequently be found with pockets full of of fresh wangla from one of the vendor carts near the base. ❝ ―and i couldnae resist, figured just a few couldn't hurt. and jaysus were they stale, like ― probably from last feckin' easter, so they are ― wee, hard lumps o' sugar. how was i s'posed tae know there was a feckin' barbie shoe mixed in with the lot? t'weren't no more or less toothsome than the candy. i couldnae tell a feckin' difference. ❞

there's a shake of his head and a chuckle in spite of himself as lindsay lifts his glass to his lips. ❝ christ alive, i cannae believe i ate it. ❞

[lindsohalloran]

who jonah @jonahfisher when mr. wexley's birthday bash where the games room

❝ d'yae play? ❞ the question is thrown out at the first body to walk past the small table where lindsay has found himself sat in the games room ― it's far enough away from the epicenter of action that lindsay does not feel overwhelmed by the mirth of the festivities surrounding him ( what a surreal thing, to be celebrating in such a fashion in times like these, even if he does see the benefit of improving morale ) but still within the party enough that he doesn't appear avoidant. it isn't as if he's trying to be. he clears his throat, offering a half-smile and gestures toward the chess board in front of him before taking a swig of his beer. ❝ t'would appear i've been banished from barbieland, ❞ he confesses with a nod toward the media room. ❝ dinnae ken how tae proper match a pair o' heels wi' a plastic handbag like, so i've been relegated tae the stables an' the wooden horses. ❞

[lindsohalloran]

who hannah @hannahxinterrupted when mr. wexley's birthday bash where the atrium

❝ can we please? please, uncle lindy? ❞ and oh, but he can never refuse such a polite request like that, can he? it would be a lie to claim that lindsay has been anything other than distant and on edge with nearly everyone but his niece for the past few weeks ― after such a foolishly self-sustained injury, he found it difficult to do anything other than retreat and ( figuratively ) lick his wounds ― but the promise of some excitement and enrichment for maisie has coaxed him out of his shell and into the festivities of the atrium. he follows along behind his niece as she bounds through the decorated space, a rare smile twitching at his own lips at the sight of her unbridled delight, before he slows to a stop in front of what appears to be a make-shift craft station. caricatures?

❝ somebody heard tell tha' ye do portraits over here? ❞ it's posed as a question on his niece's behalf, but even lindsay himself can't deny the sentimentality of such an offering. he possesses but a single photo of the pair of them, a wrinkled old thing preserving a snapshot of the moment he first met her. maisie bounces eagerly ahead of him, already rushing up to the woman sat behind an easel. ❝ were wonderin' if ye had an openin' in yer books, as it were. somebody is an eager model. ❞

[lindsohalloran]

who birdie @birdiedrake when mr. wexley's birthday bash where the w

❝ d'ye ken, i dinnae believe i ever took a moment tae thank ye. ❞ don't ask him why he's deciding to do it now, of all times. maybe it's the liquor ― he's not had a stiff drink in ages, and even back in his prime, lindsay was a piss poor example of a sturdy scottish liver. a lightweight, admittedly ; it was rare he gave into his inhibitions enough to truly get drunk ( he was always the type to nurse a single beer for hours ) but when he did, it only ever took a couple of rounds to get him there. either way, his lips are a little looser than usual, and with maisie's attention wholly occupied on the dance floor with june, he finds he's got a few free moments to oblige the liquor and speak what's on his mind. ❝ nae need fer goin' intae detail about why i'm a feckin' eejit, but ye managed t'keep me stupidity from affectin' anyone but meself, and ... well, i appreciate ye for it, birdie. ❞ he lifts his glass in her direction, ❝ slàinte mhath! i owe ye, truly. ❞

[lindsohalloran]

who ember @emberwexley when mr. wexley's birthday bash where the media room

❝ i truly cannae recall the las' time she seemed so happy. ❞ the confession is offered, candid and unprompted, as lindsay spots ember ― whether she's enjoying the ability to bear direct witness to the smiles that could be directly attributed to her generosity or simply keeping an eye on old belongings that might still harbor sentimental value is both unclear and, as far as lindsay is concerned in this moment, irrelevant. it doesn't matter why she's there, only that she is, and feeling emboldened by the booze and the jovial atmosphere of the celebration taking place, lindsay takes the opportunity to approach her. to thank her. it's a selfless gesture, after all.

( he'd call it small in the sense of a casual display of kindness, but he can see the size of that barbie mansion from across the room, and such a descriptor feels wholly inaccurate in light of the luxury plastic real estate ember has rented out. )

he smiles behind the lip of a glass as he watches his niece squeal with delighted laughter in the midst of her game with june. ❝ it means a lot, y'ken, ye doin' this fer them. this world is well an' truly fecked fer the weans, i worry. but what ye did here ... yer makin' a good memory for them. she's gonnae remember this fer a long time. a lifetime, like. ❞ lindsay turns his gaze to look at ember then, offering her a rare smile. ❝ ye got a good heart. ❞

[lindsohalloran]

christ, but by this point, he'd almost spent more time in quarantine since arriving at the wexley than outside of it ; between the time he and maisie had first spent under dutiful observation upon first entry to the building ― when maisie had been so ill that the thought of forty-eight hours where he need do little more than fuss and worry over her came as a blessing and not the curse such a quarantine otherwise would've felt ― and the time he'd spent after his ( arguably self-inflicted ) injury, lindsay o'halloran had an abundance of empty hours on his hands.

in an attempt to keep from spending them in any state of a spiral, he'd inadvertently thrust himself straight into the midst of one. old letters from his sister are thumbed through with something caught between reverence and desperation, her faded handwriting both a warm comfort and a deep, bottomless ache. he pores over them ― mostly after maisie's gone to bed, or when birdie or mal have taken her for a few hours ― and tries to wrack his brain for memories ; details about the way her voice sounded, the bright, melodic tones of her laughter. he can almost hear it when he reads her sign off, always the same ― love you always, niamh.

he finds other details amidst these, though, fragments he'd forgotten. a familiar name. the first time he reads it, he does a double-take ; tears are thumbed from a steely blue gaze to better read the blurry ink and his stomach turns to lead. jeremiah rose. and he's left with nothing to do but sit on this information while he waits to see what will become of his mangled hand, to stew and fester on it. but the man was no good, was he? and lindsay's sister knew it, wanted him kept away from maisie. he'd never once doubted her judgment of character.

so when he emerges from his check-up with val and spots his niece sat next to the very man himself, it's hard for him not to react instinctively. hard, what with the way his heart stops in his chest at the sight of them together, but not impossible. ❝ maisie, ❞ he says, and but his gaze is locked on the man's, his expression unreadable, ❝ why dinnae ye come o'er here, luv? ❞ his good hand lifts in a beckoning gesture, even as maisie protests, clearly invested in whatever activity she's taken up with this man. has he said anything to her? does he know who she is? ❝ but uncle linds, we gotta find a roof― ❞

❝ ach, what did i say, maisie? no buts. up ye get, leave the man be. now, please.❞

who: @lindsohalloran

where: outside the secret lab or something

when: march 24th

normally, jeremiah would make val chase him down for his blood. it was tradition and he lived to watch the vein in her forehead pop out when she did finally find him. already banged up enough, he wasn't feeling up to his normal antagonistic tactics ( though you wouldn't catch him admitting that aloud ). that's what had him sat outside, waiting for his turn to be poked and cleared to return into the wexley with the rest of the population. at least he had company in the form of a younger resident waiting for her uncle to emerge from his checkup.

she was familiar in a way that she reminded him of when charlie was young and he'd bring her to the free clinic for a check-up. they would build castles out of mismatched blocks or books. "now it just needs a roof, yeah?" he looked around for something that could make a suitable top but ended up noticing another man approaching. "is that your uncle?" he asked her, then gave the man a tight lipped smile and a nod. "what's up, man? everything good?"

[lindsohalloran]

the sounds of maisie humming and singing to herself from the next room over provide a soothing sonic backdrop that seems to keep his thoughts just this side of dismal, brief scraps of choruses pulled from disney songs and radio hits, some of which he recognizes even in her tiny, warbling tones and others that present to him a musical mystery ; she's taken to decorating her new room with an assortment of drawings and crafts, crayon portraits of new friends and colorful, construction-paper chain garland. and what a relief that is! that she'd been able to find some sense of normalcy in the chaos ― he has birdie to thank for that, he knows, how swiftly she'd shielded his kin from the horror of the situation as it unfolded ― is more of a blessing than lindsay would've ever felt he could ask for.

he's sat near the large bay window, his gaze fixated on an indistinct point somewhere out on the skyline ; the throbbing in his hand has been reduced to a dull ( but feckin' persistent ) ache that radiates up his arm and past his elbow, but the kind folks of the wexley have assured him ( and ensured via generous medical attention ) that infection is not a concern. what would've become of the two of them if something like that had happened back at the elementary school? or on the way to the wexley? his attention is derailed from a runaway train of hypotheticals by the sound of a knock on the door, the call of a familiar voice. mal.

lindsay does not pretend to possess more than minimal knowledge of the building's young caretaker. in spite of the kindness extended to him by the folks of this camp, he's hardly made himself social. in fact, if anything, he's made himself more scarce after his lapse in judgment managed little more than costing them supplies ― and costing him nearly half his hand. it was foolish, uncharacteristic. unlike him. he thinks back to the instruction they'd given him, how quickly he'd written it off in favor of a half-formed plan to protect his own. to protect maisie. in the moment, nothing made more sense, and he's still struggling to understand the why of it all. ( he's not used to having his hand forced by emotional reaction. )

he rises to his feet at the sound, admittedly a bit surprised by their presence. ❝ ach, haud on, i'm comin'! ❞ locks are unlatched with a little more struggle than usual but the door is pulled open after only a few seconds. his features are hardened in concern by the time they land on theirs. ❝ is somethin' wrong? ❞ why else would mal be at his door, after all?

⋙ WHEN? march 24th, around noon ⋙WHERE? #501 ⋙WHO? @lindsohalloran

The first place Mal heads to after their own lingering injury is checked out by the Wexley's newly acquired doctor is the O'Halloran studio. Her first actual conversation with Lindsay had been about his niece, Maisie, and the possibility of getting her enrolled in the PE classes Mal saw a need for -- currently just for the kids, but perhaps in the future for other survivors who needed a boost to their... potential. Aside from that, Mal hadn't really given him a second thought. Perhaps mean, but there were already so many people to consider, and he seemed like a big boy who could take care of himself.

The events of a few days ago put him in a new light in Mal's eyes. They worked well together, and in a situation where someone had to take charge, there was not a second of hesitation to fall into step from him, no arguing; if the roles had been reversed, Mal knows they would've done the same. If everyone's standing there with their dick in their hands, there's no point arguing with the person that starts giving direction.

Of course, all up until Beau Clary had come in with news of the 8th floor. Mal understood. She still understands perfectly, she doesn't know a lot about the man, but what she does know is that that little girl is his life. But regardless of the fact that she understands, it doesn't make what he did any less fucking stupid.

And so, Mal bangs the squish part of their fist on the door that reads '501'. "Mr. O'Halloran, open up."

[lindsohalloran]

The Tomorrow People ‘Gag Reel’

[lindsohalloran]

👄do they prefer oral or penetrative sex more?

both certainly have their merits, if you were to ask him. when it comes to oral sex, lindsay is more of a giver, though, and for that reason he would likely rank penetrative sex over oral. not because he doesn't enjoy being down on his knees with his head between another man's thighs giving ― because he does, actually ― but it requires a level of control and thought from him that he does not always have the capacity or desire to give in the bedroom. ( that said, this can easily be bypassed if you just grab him by the hair and make the decisions for him. ) with penetrative sex, though, he'd rather be on the receiving end, where he doesn't have to think or plan or have control. he just has to feel.

[lindsohalloran]

🕒what’s the longest time they went without engaging in sexual activity with a partner? [masturbation doesn’t count]

the way this man knows very little outside of repression and self-control, when i tell you he can go years. and he has gone years. and honestly, he's probably in the middle of yet another years-long stretch as we speak. because of the social environment where he was raised and his parents' devout ( and misguided ) faith, he spent the majority of the first half of his life suppressing any attractions or urges he felt ― that includes masturbation, because he often felt internalized guilt over the fantasies he'd have when he did touch himself. it took a very long time for him to become comfortable with his own sexuality, and by that point, he'd already become well-versed in what it meant to go without. that said, some nights, when he's alone in his bedroom, he can't help but think back to belize ; to humid nights and hot, flushed skin, the taste of belikin and rum and the feeling of strong hands on his hips ... christ, but does he miss it!

[lindsohalloran]

👥 + Lindsay

Send ‘👥‘ for 4 hcs about our muses relationship or about your muse @lindsohalloran

Lindsay humbled down this young recruit by giving him he worst military punishment Ash had ever gotten, seeing his arrogance as something to be tempered down with, the moment Ashton made one mistake during their training that was all the ammunition Lindsay needed to screw with him, while he had the thought of punishing the entire platoon, Ashton felt bad and told Lindsay he'd do it for the entire team. Thus he did. Covering laps, knocking it down, doing cleaning duties multiplied by the entire team for a week but Ashton still completed the punishments with a smirk on his face, as if a defiance in the fact that he fucking did that. What else do you have to throw at me? But deep down, it was enough to shut Ashton up, to keep his arrogance in check for the rest of their training, keeping Ash on his toes and mind sharp.

If there was any kind of sign of weakness, young recruit Ash actually had a teeny tiny fear of heights, Lindsay was the one to help him over come in making him climb up and down the wall thousands of times every day before the break of dawn, knowing that this fear was something Ashton had to overcome if he truly wanted to follow in his father's footsteps to learn to be a jet pilot. When they moved onto the parachute training, Lindsay had to shove him out of the helicopter and Lindsay absolutely found pure joy in that. But Ashton would've forever been thankful for him pushing him past that fear, now not even batting an eye at extreme heights, even remembering the day of helping Charlie face her own fears, bit by bit, sharing the same story now just a funny anecdote in life, though not using as extreme as Lindsay's methods for Charlie, as effective as they were on Ash.

There was always rumors of Lindsay's relationship in Belize, sightings by Ladyville, outside of their training base, recruits noticing a shift in Lindsay's mood everything he came back from time off, Ashton was one of those people, being who he is, that noticed and just let it fly over his head until someone spelt it out to him, and even then it was always kind of a ..so? Never understanding to correlation. But he was also the one brave enough to even ask Lindsay about it one day, never seeing it as much of a taboo or problem for the candor of it all. It surely threw Lindsay off by that question asked so innocently. And perhaps one of those off nights over a few drinks, the two of them once had a genuine conversation about it all, on relationships, sexuality, dreams deeper conversations that go further than just between mentor and recruit.

Lindsay once crossed path with Ashton's father, Ben, exchanging into training and knowledge between the two different areas of military, Ash's dad being a pilot, a force in the sky, while Lindsay, a force on the ground, specifically jungle grounds. They were of similar levels of seniority, Ben being the older more experienced one between the two but he knew what he didn't know, hoping to learn as much as he can offer to teach. It might've only been a few weeks, month tops of the two men interacting, but the moment Ashton heard about it he jumped at the opportunity, desperate to know more about his dad that he wished he had to chance to know better. Annoyingly hounding Lindsay for as much information as he could give about his time in the military, grateful for even a morsel, as those were things his mother didn't even have much answers to his questions. Lindsay often preface that he didn't know much, but to Ashton, that was enough.

[lindsohalloran]

❛ so, you're immune. ❜

the observation is carried on an upward lilt that suggests an inquiry, but it feels almost damning to lindsay. and why shouldn't it? the scotsman is no stranger to misplaced guilt ; while it may not be a comfort, it is a familiar weight. in his rational mind, he knows he should count it a blessing, if he can believe it at all ― it would be easier to protect maisie moving forward, after all, knowing that he's not at risk of going rabid and leaving her alone and defenseless in such a profoundly dangerous world. or worse, he shudders to even think, should he get infected and then try to harm her ...

these are the thoughts that have kept lindsay up through a long, dark winter. cold and quiet, but for the sound of her laughter echoing through the halls of an empty school. but it's not lindsay who deserves the immunity. not lindsay, who has spent the past twenty-five years training to defend himself in situations if not like these, then at least vaguely comparable in level of risk. vaguely. he knows how to fight. he can survive. it's maisie he's worried about. but she's still up on the fifth floor trying to sleep off a fever and he's here. he does well not to let his thoughts get carried away longer than a moment.

❝ aye, ❞ lindsay concedes, and in spite of the tumult that twists in his chest, he keeps his expression level. he schools his mouth into something akin to a smile, as if he's simply appreciative of the sentiment. ❝ if ye believe such things ― dinnae ken i'd like to test the theory. ❞ he is not a man of science, does not understand the intricacies of pathology and immunity. what cause they had for prodding and pricking at the pair of them ( and what they'd done with those samples ) is unknown to him. were he in less of a desperate situation at the time, he might've protested or at least inquired further. he glances down at his arm, a faint red rash in the distinctive shape of a plaster peeking out of the crease in his elbow, and then looks back toward the young woman from the diner. rosie, he reminds himself. ❝ was no' aware the results of our labs were, er ... public knowledge. ❞

[lindsohalloran]

❝ mmh, ❞ lindsay hums his agreement to a suggestion well-received with a short nod as he continues to hold the door to the apartment open long enough for the older man to exit, following close behind him and taking care to shut the door quietly behind him as he steps into the hall. the longer he can allow maisie uninterrupted rest, the better. once the door is closed, lindsay turns to better face the man, giving him a swift and subtle once-over before his gaze settles on a friendly ( lindsay assumes in an attempt to appear disarming ) visage. ❝ i thank yae for that ― she needs the sleep. ❞

a quiet sigh escapes him at the question and his shoulders lift in a half-shrug. ❝ i cannae say, ❞ lindsay admits. ❝ the antibiotics seem to be helping― ❞ another fact for which he finds himself inexplicably indebted, ❝ ―but i'll be honest wi' ye, sir, i'm ... this is uncharted territory for me. ❞ he's new to guardianship, to parenthood ; only just truly beginning to learn to accommodate her grief. when it comes to her physical health, beyond the realm of immediate injury and first aid, the ex-scotsguard feels out of his depth. ( he's not drowning. he's not drowning. ) he nods at the introduction, files the information away. ❝ yer generosity is more than we ever could've anticipated, tobias. ❞

the question is simple enough, and given all that the older man has provided them, lindsay feels inclined to offer an honest answer. ❝ we are, aye ― i've been here just over a year now, come stateside last february. ❞ he doesn't mention what prompted the transplant of his entire life overseas. honesty does not need equate to total transparency. ❝ but maisie, bless her wee heart, born and raised right here. i'd argue the wean knows the city better'n i do, she does. ❞

"Hi-di-ho neighborino." Grinning nearly ear to ear at his own little pop-culture reference, Tobias thanked the man as he stepped around him, offering a silent but bashful apology at the sight of the sleeping child. "Maybe we should speak out in the hallway." Voice just barely above a loud whisper, he motioned with his head for them to step outside.

"How is she doing? I'll send Val up later to look at her again now that you're quarantine is over." Thankfully they had a small amount of antibiotics left and he wouldn't hesitate to have them given to save a child. "Tobias Wexley Senior. Though most just call me Tobias, or Mr. W, which ever suits your fancy."

Chuckling a little, his chin nodded toward the apartment. "I hope it's suiting you well, I know it's quite a change from what you must have gone through out there. Are you from New York? I mean... obviously not originally," His accent made that obvious. "..At the time of the outbreak?"