[Got it in one. She doesn't say it, though; looks up at him, opens her mouth, and it sticks in her throat. It's a stupid thing to want, one more thing in a long list and just about the least likely. She wants Takeshi back, nestled between them - and how much easier it would be if he was here, assuring her that a "robot leg" would make her the coolest. She wants Russia and his slow, sly smile, filling that gap in what Netherlands needs that is too big, too Nation-shaped for Heather to fill no matter how much she stretches. In the scale of it, I want my leg is as childish and as futile as I want my daddy.
She shakes her head briskly, blinking hard. She knows he knows what that indicates by now, but signaling that she's about to cry isn't as unproductive as actually crying so she presses her face against him, drags in deep breaths until the urge passes.]
[Turns out he's not as prepared for this conversation as he thought. In planning it, he'd forgotten one very crucial thing: that talking about any sort of loss sets them off, lately. Sends her crying or doing something stupid and him either brooding or working it off, which, if they're around one another, sometimes means that they both get caught up in it and have to ride it out.
Like now.
She uses him to stem the tide of her tears and he doesn't have to ask to know that she's not just crying over the leg - when she says as much aloud, though, it carries over and hits him, too. Twists up his gut and presses his spine down to wrap his other arm around her and bury his face in her hair, throat too tight to speak.]
[It's less than ideal, sure. But it's a hell of a lot nicer than what she's been doing recently, saving up all the hurt and the tears until she's alone and curling into a small, shuddering ball under her bedclothes until she sobs herself to sleep. It's not just shame over her lopsided frame that has her evicting him from her room most nights. When he curls down around her she presses into it, needy and clingy, slim fingers grasping hard at the fabric of his clothing while she tries to pull it all together.
And then Hoi Hoi, fond of hugs as he is, rises to join them and her tears turn into a strangled kind of half-laugh. Hey, buddy. She moves so one of the arms wrapped around Netherlands twines around the bear, takes a steadying breath and lifts her face.]
[Hoi Hoi pls. Netherlands has never taken to the bear like Takeshi or Heather - doesn't dislike him, just. Kind of accepts that he's around. So Hoi Hoi announces himself and it's that sort of sense of being around company, rather than feeling much in control himself, that keeps Netherlands from sinking away from the present.
Still. When she pulls up dude is doing the overcorrect into severe glaring at something in the middle distance thing that he does, eyes bright while he momentarily tightens his arm to tell her that he heard. One huge heave of a breath and his full attention shifts back to her, slowly nodding while searching her face, quiet approval in his own.]
Which - [pause, to clear his throat and hopefully get that gravelly note out] - which one.
[Quieter, that, as his expression slides into something more curious.]
[Pause. Breathe in, breathe out. Saying it makes it real; makes it fixed in a way it hasn't been before and she tightens her arm around him for the extra support.]
Prosthetic. A cloned one - it'd take longer. And I don't know if I could deal with something they grew, you know? It's just creepy. And...
Takeshi said I should get a robot leg. He thought it'd be cool.
[It's not that she thinks he's coming back, that she can impress him if he does. She just likes the idea that he'd approve.]
[He thought it'd be cool rings in his head (he can hear exactly how Takeshi would've said it) and Netherlands has to swallow and glance to the side, take a breath. Feels guilty over it - not being able to do what she's expecting, having to take a break even if it's just a few seconds - and when he turns back it's with an apologetic slump to his shoulders before he nods and pulls himself together again. Chews on his lip.]
[It's okay, really. It's fine. He's been good, so good about everything, he deserves a few seconds for himself. He deserves so much more than that. One hand moves to his leg, squeezes just above his knee.]
Robot leg? That's what we're calling it now? I guess I can get used to that.
[It's an attempt to move forward, push on, because that's what he wants, right? But it's weighing on her, and he knows enough to know she's not great at keeping this kind of thing to herself. He won't mind. Maybe.]
Hey. Listen. Everything you've done for me, dropping everything when I need you. I couldn't have coped without you. And I haven't - I haven't been there for you.
[;ldk;lk he splutters and flushes, ducks his head just slightly and scrubs at his cheek with his fingers, not sure whether to apologize for calling it a robot leg or not - that was kind of an asshole thing to call it, and he's reminded of his conversation with Bran for a second - but at the same time he kind of wants to, now that she's told him that Takeshi both called it that and endorsed it.
Not that he has time to decide on a course of conversation before she steers them elsewhere. And then he really has no clue what to say or how he even feels about it (a lot of things) so he blinks there with his brows knit only the tiniest bit and his mouth slightly parted, then starts chewing on his lip again.
Begins to shake his head - he doesn't think she has to apologize - stops and twists his mouth because brushing it off is an asshole move too.]
Don't... hafta be sorry, [is what he finally goes with, reaching for her hand again without looking because he's busy studying her reaction.]
Maybe not. But I am. Calling you every time I want help and then kicking you out when I can't deal with it, it's a shitty way to treat you. It's just hard when I feel - [broken] - like this.
[It's kind of a speech. It's important to her, though - something she needs to say. Her fingers tighten against him and she sucks air, shakes her head.]
I'm gonna make it up to you. Get a leg, get back on track. Start work again. I'll be better.
[While he gets that it's important for her to say this (the why, not so much), it's hard for him to keep a straight face when she says she's going to make it up to him and all he can think is no, that's dumb, and is slightly offended to boot. Why the hell would she owe him for trying to do what he's supposed to be doing anyway? So he opens his mouth and a sulky huff comes out instead of what he'd rather.]
Nothing to make up. [Offended!! >:c] Said we weren't a deal.
[She reaches up, one hand to his face, and it's meant to be gentle and coaxing but there's a quiet note of panic in there. Hoi Hoi decides that shit is getting too real and ambles away to be very interested in nothing somewhere else, and Heather doesn't even notice.]
I just want to be able to help you too.
[It might not be a deal, but it's not right for it to be one-sided and Netherlands might have all his limbs but it's still a lot of loss. And that's part of loving someone, right? Wanting to help when they're hurting, wanting to make everything okay. Not being able to fix the problem is bad enough; being part of it needles at her.]
[As usual, it's the touching more than anything that unruffles his feathers, even more than feeling guilty about making her fret. There's a pout before he tilts his head into her touch and mumbles "I'm not mad" against her hand - because to him offended does not mean angry - and he closes his eyes with a sigh, nods.
That, he can understand. There's only one thing that immediately comes to mind that she can help with, though, and he's not sure how to say it without making her feel bad about it. Ssso. When he opens his eyes he reaches up and gently takes her hand, holds it in both of his and looks down at them as he plays with hers. Hides his face while he puts thoughts into sentences.]
It'd... help. [Ahem. Right. He looks up at her again and launches on, though his expression is closed off.] Help if there was a schedule, or whatever. Instead of getting kicked out.
[Oh indeed. That should have been obvious, and she drops her face, chin heading chestward while she thinks. Of course that would make it easier. But she can't schedule the times when she can feel misery and shame pressing in on her like stormclouds, can't schedule the nights when the thought of laying in the dark outs her back on a hard, dirty floor with the smell of spoiling meat and the screams of other captives. Curls her hand against the press of his and swallows hard, still looking away as she speaks.]
Sometimes I cry. A lot. And sometimes I have to have the light on. I can't tell when it's going to be like that yet.
[It's not that he thinks that she can control how she feels, but - he doesn't want to keep getting kicked out and he doesn't want to intrude when he's not welcome, either. There's not really a way to have both, but some sort of schedule is the only thing he can think of to get close to an ideal solution. Only stay a certain amount of time, leave before she makes him, that's what he's thinking. (Not that he wants to leave. Repeated rejection hurts too much for him to keep subjecting himself to it right now, though.) It's still what he has in mind when she speaks, and...
Of course this emotional bonehead doesn't get what she means. Like. At all. There's a beat or three where he frowns at her with open consternation before he gets that it's all she has to say, and chews on his lip while he attempts to figure that out on his own.]
So uh. Y'don't want me to be there when you're crying...
It's not that. [Well.] I mean, mostly not. Most nights I think I'd feel better if you were there. But you hate crying, and it's not like it's restful. We're way too short-staffed for you to be missing sleep because I'm having a screaming fit under the bed.
[That is a perfectly legitimate reason. It's also not the whole truth, and she chews at her lip. She owes him that, at least.]
And sometimes I just feel... wrong. That's the only time I really don't want you there. Shit, if I could kick myself out those nights I would. But everything's so fucked now and it just-
[Well that's easy, if it's just that she's fretting about him (though it's also dumb as hell), and he's about to huff out some indignant response or another when she continues and that. Is not so easy. He sucks in his lower lip and bites down, openly frets, fingers barely tapping against the back of her hand.
It only lasts a couple of taps before he notices and settles them, attempts to rub instead in the vain hope of soothing. Fuck, what to tackle first. There are too many questions to ask before they can even try to figure out what to do about it.]
What hurts. Or uh - how often does that... [He almost switches tracks, there - flicks his gaze to the side - changes his mind and keeps going with what he'd started.] ... happen.
[She pulls in on herself with a shiver. Before, this would have been when she'd curl in, pull her knees up to her chest. She can't, now. Doesn't have the balance. But even now, when his presence is a comfort, the thought of having him there is those moments makes her anxious, sick. His eyes on her, no room to hide her deficiency. His body next to hers to remind her of the imbalance, the way she doesn't fit against him anymore.]
[There are little bits and pieces of things that he knows - the way she curls in on herself now, the first time they spoke after and she said she was broken (though he mostly figured it was trauma speaking there), the fact that she still hides her leg as much as she can - but it's not enough for him to understand the scale of it and definitely not enough for him to know that it's at the core of why she doesn't want him around. She wants her leg back, yeah. She's really goddamn stuck on having her leg back, and not some other leg that would do the job just as well, and he truly doesn't understand why it is - just knows that it is.
He lifts a hand up to scrub at his face and heaves a sigh into his palm.]
I could... Could stay one night, anyway. See what happens.
[She wants him there. She does, she does. She just wants to be strong, wants to be herself, wants to know she won't have to deal with him looking helpless and uncomfortable when she starts sobbing and can't stop. And though it's only one reason among a few that she feels as bad as she does, she can't help thinking the only cure for that is a leg.
But she can't keep pushing him away. Anyone would use patience with that, eventually.]
[Silly question. But it's so simple, so easy, that it helps to put her at ease. She leans towards him, tucks her head in against his shoulder and loops her arms around his waist. Whatever night they set this up is that night; it's in the future, it's not now. Now is him, close as warm, asking her stupid fucking questions.]
I dunno, you gave me that phaser. Might put it on stun.
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She shakes her head briskly, blinking hard. She knows he knows what that indicates by now, but signaling that she's about to cry isn't as unproductive as actually crying so she presses her face against him, drags in deep breaths until the urge passes.]
Gotta focus on what can happen, right?
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Like now.
She uses him to stem the tide of her tears and he doesn't have to ask to know that she's not just crying over the leg - when she says as much aloud, though, it carries over and hits him, too. Twists up his gut and presses his spine down to wrap his other arm around her and bury his face in her hair, throat too tight to speak.]
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And then Hoi Hoi, fond of hugs as he is, rises to join them and her tears turn into a strangled kind of half-laugh. Hey, buddy. She moves so one of the arms wrapped around Netherlands twines around the bear, takes a steadying breath and lifts her face.]
I'm ready. I'm scared as hell, but I'm ready.
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Still. When she pulls up dude is doing the overcorrect into severe glaring at something in the middle distance thing that he does, eyes bright while he momentarily tightens his arm to tell her that he heard. One huge heave of a breath and his full attention shifts back to her, slowly nodding while searching her face, quiet approval in his own.]
Which - [pause, to clear his throat and hopefully get that gravelly note out] - which one.
[Quieter, that, as his expression slides into something more curious.]
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Prosthetic. A cloned one - it'd take longer. And I don't know if I could deal with something they grew, you know? It's just creepy. And...
Takeshi said I should get a robot leg. He thought it'd be cool.
[It's not that she thinks he's coming back, that she can impress him if he does. She just likes the idea that he'd approve.]
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[He thought it'd be cool rings in his head (he can hear exactly how Takeshi would've said it) and Netherlands has to swallow and glance to the side, take a breath. Feels guilty over it - not being able to do what she's expecting, having to take a break even if it's just a few seconds - and when he turns back it's with an apologetic slump to his shoulders before he nods and pulls himself together again. Chews on his lip.]
Think Dr. Tam knows more about - robot legs. Too.
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Robot leg? That's what we're calling it now? I guess I can get used to that.
[It's an attempt to move forward, push on, because that's what he wants, right? But it's weighing on her, and he knows enough to know she's not great at keeping this kind of thing to herself. He won't mind. Maybe.]
Hey. Listen. Everything you've done for me, dropping everything when I need you. I couldn't have coped without you. And I haven't - I haven't been there for you.
I'm sorry.
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Not that he has time to decide on a course of conversation before she steers them elsewhere. And then he really has no clue what to say or how he even feels about it (a lot of things) so he blinks there with his brows knit only the tiniest bit and his mouth slightly parted, then starts chewing on his lip again.
Begins to shake his head - he doesn't think she has to apologize - stops and twists his mouth because brushing it off is an asshole move too.]
Don't... hafta be sorry, [is what he finally goes with, reaching for her hand again without looking because he's busy studying her reaction.]
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[It's kind of a speech. It's important to her, though - something she needs to say. Her fingers tighten against him and she sucks air, shakes her head.]
I'm gonna make it up to you. Get a leg, get back on track. Start work again. I'll be better.
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Nothing to make up. [Offended!! >:c] Said we weren't a deal.
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[She reaches up, one hand to his face, and it's meant to be gentle and coaxing but there's a quiet note of panic in there. Hoi Hoi decides that shit is getting too real and ambles away to be very interested in nothing somewhere else, and Heather doesn't even notice.]
I just want to be able to help you too.
[It might not be a deal, but it's not right for it to be one-sided and Netherlands might have all his limbs but it's still a lot of loss. And that's part of loving someone, right? Wanting to help when they're hurting, wanting to make everything okay. Not being able to fix the problem is bad enough; being part of it needles at her.]
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That, he can understand. There's only one thing that immediately comes to mind that she can help with, though, and he's not sure how to say it without making her feel bad about it. Ssso. When he opens his eyes he reaches up and gently takes her hand, holds it in both of his and looks down at them as he plays with hers. Hides his face while he puts thoughts into sentences.]
It'd... help. [Ahem. Right. He looks up at her again and launches on, though his expression is closed off.] Help if there was a schedule, or whatever. Instead of getting kicked out.
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[Oh indeed. That should have been obvious, and she drops her face, chin heading chestward while she thinks. Of course that would make it easier. But she can't schedule the times when she can feel misery and shame pressing in on her like stormclouds, can't schedule the nights when the thought of laying in the dark outs her back on a hard, dirty floor with the smell of spoiling meat and the screams of other captives. Curls her hand against the press of his and swallows hard, still looking away as she speaks.]
Sometimes I cry. A lot. And sometimes I have to have the light on. I can't tell when it's going to be like that yet.
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Of course this emotional bonehead doesn't get what she means. Like. At all. There's a beat or three where he frowns at her with open consternation before he gets that it's all she has to say, and chews on his lip while he attempts to figure that out on his own.]
So uh. Y'don't want me to be there when you're crying...
[y/n???]
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[That is a perfectly legitimate reason. It's also not the whole truth, and she chews at her lip. She owes him that, at least.]
And sometimes I just feel... wrong. That's the only time I really don't want you there. Shit, if I could kick myself out those nights I would. But everything's so fucked now and it just-
it hurts.
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It only lasts a couple of taps before he notices and settles them, attempts to rub instead in the vain hope of soothing. Fuck, what to tackle first. There are too many questions to ask before they can even try to figure out what to do about it.]
What hurts. Or uh - how often does that... [He almost switches tracks, there - flicks his gaze to the side - changes his mind and keeps going with what he'd started.] ... happen.
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[She pulls in on herself with a shiver. Before, this would have been when she'd curl in, pull her knees up to her chest. She can't, now. Doesn't have the balance. But even now, when his presence is a comfort, the thought of having him there is those moments makes her anxious, sick. His eyes on her, no room to hide her deficiency. His body next to hers to remind her of the imbalance, the way she doesn't fit against him anymore.]
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He lifts a hand up to scrub at his face and heaves a sigh into his palm.]
I could... Could stay one night, anyway. See what happens.
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But she can't keep pushing him away. Anyone would use patience with that, eventually.]
Yeah. Okay. We can try.
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[There could be a lot of words here, or there could be
THIS ACTUAL FACE.
this actual face though, he wasn't expecting agreement.]
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No shit. It's not like I don't like having you around. And... I don't know, maybe if I'm really lucky it'll help.
[And if it doesn't - if she breaks down, can't cope, sobs all night or screams herself awake - well, then he'll get it.]
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[That's. Supposed to be reassuring!! He thinks. It comes along with a reassuring hand squeeze at least, and an entire tide of determination.]
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Don't make any promises.
[Seriously. The problem here is that she's not thinking I won't leave as in that night. She's got something more long-term in mind.]
I mean. If you change your mind, it's okay. I get it.
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[Noted: no promises. If only because she doesn't seem to want them. But still - ]
Not gonna shoot me, right.
[An actual, serious question, and also the only thing he seems to be overly concerned about.]
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[Silly question. But it's so simple, so easy, that it helps to put her at ease. She leans towards him, tucks her head in against his shoulder and loops her arms around his waist. Whatever night they set this up is that night; it's in the future, it's not now. Now is him, close as warm, asking her stupid fucking questions.]
I dunno, you gave me that phaser. Might put it on stun.
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