Going Down (The Captain / Julian)

Chapter 2

Julian sauntered downstairs at midday, after a tumultuous night. His sleep had been broken throughout, every few minutes startling himself awake when he thought felt he might have been losing contact with the surface of the bed. He didn't feel tired - if he came to think of it, he wasn't sure whether he ever felt tired anymore - but his mind was unsettled and swimming with questions he couldn't answer. But even though he wasn't firing on all cylinders, it was hardly an effort to cover any deviation from the norm with a safe and trusted number one grin. After all, he had filibustered for five hours without anyone being aware at all that he had woken that morning in-between half of the GB Olympic rowing hopefuls and a three-day binge hangover.

"Afternoon all," Julian crowed, stepping confidently into the parlour.

Everyone was assembled for something, some standing and some seated on the large sofa, surrounding the wheelie-television with that expectant air and holding light conversation. Julian supposed they were gathered for a club which hadn't been worth his remembering - one that required him to remain silent, most likely.

Barely anyone acknowledged his entrance - the one exception being the Captain, who stretched out his neck and bounced on the toes of his boots in his peculiar way. Julian didn't give him a second glance, very well acquainted as he was with the procedure of not immediately locking eyes with the one chap in the room you did the dirty with the night before from more than a few Question Time appearances.

"Ah, just the bloke!" Pat chirped, jumping to his feet from his seat on the sofa. "We don't need to decide who goes to get Alison if Julian's here."

Julian noticed the remote on the small table, pointedly positioned at the silent television. He rolled his eyes and huffed, thickly lathering fabricated resentment. It wouldn't do to let everyone in on the secret that, actually, he quite enjoyed being the only one in the house with any real use.

"Honestly, it's only about what I can do for you lot, isn't it? I am more than some - admittedly nimble - fingers."

Julian started flexing his right hand, then used his left to crack his knuckles. He did this as close to Thomas as possible, as it always tended to make the man wince. Still not satisfied, Julian walked around the table and positioned himself so that, when he bent over to prod the television remote, the Captain would be the one to get an eyeful. Unfortunately, the Captain noticed what he was doing instantly, and quick-stepped away.

"Suit yourself," Julian muttered under his breath, then strained out an indiscriminate collection of consonants as he tried to push his finger into the physical world and collide with the 'on' button.

"Hnghtfkt-!"

It was always a battle, a bit like trying to thread a needle both drunk and on a waltzer, however on this occasion Julian noticed that he was having significantly more trouble than usual. Finding the connection point was usually the easiest part - the hard bit being trying to push all your strength against such a small target - but the initial connection was nowhere to be found; his finger and hand passed through the remote and the table.

Julian pulled his finger back, re-set it into position with the help of his left hand steadying his right, and grit his teeth against the effort.

"Anskifikgtjt -!"

Again, it slipped without resistance through the remote.

Changing position, Julian planted his feet more certainly on the ground, tightened his grip on his wrist, hissed through his teeth and tried for a third time.

"Tnghifickr -!"

Once again, there was no connection.

"Oh, I does believe he has performance issues," Mary said, her voice soft with condolence.