"You mean you've been thinking about all of that for however many years and never brought it up with anybody? That's enough to drive a guy crazy. Not that I'm calling you crazy, that's not what I mean, it's just... I don't actually know if talking about this kinda stuff makes anyone feel better, but I hope you don't feel worse now that you said it."
There's a not-so-comfortable part of himself that realizes that he's a horrible hypocrite for encouraging Ned to talk about all of this upsetting, emotional, heart-wrenching stuff -- if not explicitly, then at least implicitly -- when he himself rarely gets into the really deep, dark recesses of his own traumatic memories. Sure, it's easy enough to casually toss out a comment about being irritated with his father for his overprotective nature, or even to divulge that his mother died when he was very young, because none of that goes into great depth. For someone who's so open and frank, most of the time, he's learned the hard way that, for the most part, people don't really want to hear about his past, don't know what to do with it. The only person he'd talked to about it at work had been Peggy, and her response had been understandably confused, understandably shaken.
It's hard to justify sitting here and telling Ned that not talking about things can drive a guy crazy, when he himself doesn't talk about a lot of stuff, but then, maybe that's the reason he knows, firsthand, all about how isolated and adrift stuff like that can make you feel. Because Ned's in his space, wordlessly indicating that he's comfortable with some kind of physical contact, he's more than happy to wrap his arms around him again, squeezing him tightly; he's a hell of a lot better at that than he is at comforting words, which Ned's probably noticed by now.
"You can tell me stuff, if you want. Other stuff, in the future, I mean. If there is other stuff. I'm not saying you have to tell me stuff or that I'll be offended if you don't tell me stuff. But if you want to, you can. Open offer."
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There's a not-so-comfortable part of himself that realizes that he's a horrible hypocrite for encouraging Ned to talk about all of this upsetting, emotional, heart-wrenching stuff -- if not explicitly, then at least implicitly -- when he himself rarely gets into the really deep, dark recesses of his own traumatic memories. Sure, it's easy enough to casually toss out a comment about being irritated with his father for his overprotective nature, or even to divulge that his mother died when he was very young, because none of that goes into great depth. For someone who's so open and frank, most of the time, he's learned the hard way that, for the most part, people don't really want to hear about his past, don't know what to do with it. The only person he'd talked to about it at work had been Peggy, and her response had been understandably confused, understandably shaken.
It's hard to justify sitting here and telling Ned that not talking about things can drive a guy crazy, when he himself doesn't talk about a lot of stuff, but then, maybe that's the reason he knows, firsthand, all about how isolated and adrift stuff like that can make you feel. Because Ned's in his space, wordlessly indicating that he's comfortable with some kind of physical contact, he's more than happy to wrap his arms around him again, squeezing him tightly; he's a hell of a lot better at that than he is at comforting words, which Ned's probably noticed by now.
"You can tell me stuff, if you want. Other stuff, in the future, I mean. If there is other stuff. I'm not saying you have to tell me stuff or that I'll be offended if you don't tell me stuff. But if you want to, you can. Open offer."