[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.
[The only reason he can think of that would get him to leave is if she decided to force him out. And it's not like she'd be able to shove him out of her room, whether with one leg or two legs. Everything else they might come up against, he's reasonably confident that he could tough out. So, gun.]
Damn it.
[Muttered into her hair as he curls around her in return.]
It was a joke, oh my God. I wanna at least try to avoid either.
[It's quiet, said on a laugh. Maybe it won't be so bad. This is nice, anyway, and his confidence in his ability to deal with any potential meltdowns is comforting. It'd be easier if she could explain it to him, maybe, but the thought of trying to put it into words sticks her throat closed, makes her wonder if this is such a good idea after all. She's determined not to back out, so that can lay where it is.]
But I'm definitely not gonna tase you. What if you pee on my floor? I don't wanna clean it up, and making you do it would just be mean.
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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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Damn it.
[Muttered into her hair as he curls around her in return.]
Rather y'tased me.
[Just. Saying.]
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[It's quiet, said on a laugh. Maybe it won't be so bad. This is nice, anyway, and his confidence in his ability to deal with any potential meltdowns is comforting. It'd be easier if she could explain it to him, maybe, but the thought of trying to put it into words sticks her throat closed, makes her wonder if this is such a good idea after all. She's determined not to back out, so that can lay where it is.]
But I'm definitely not gonna tase you. What if you pee on my floor? I don't wanna clean it up, and making you do it would just be mean.