The Citadel
Sep. 12th, 2013 10:14 amDuchess Gambit unloaded and secured - check.
Equipment and holotapes taken from the St. Aubins facility delivered to the Sword and Quill Scribes - check.
Mission report delivered to Senior Paladin Tristan, Scribe Rothchild, Scribe Jameson, and Elder Lyons - check.
Personal armor turned over to the Shield scribes for post-mission repair and maintenance - check.
Dinner acquired and- well, no, not check, not yet. She's not hungry yet. Maybe later. After she's gone back to the B ring barracks and peeled herself out of the under-armor suit. After she's gotten clean, properly clean, for the first time in days, and changed into her greens. After she's looked in the mirror and then looked away very quickly from the healing but still uncomfortably livid mark on her forehead. After she's found a room, a converted closet really, but it has a door she can close and a light she can switch off, one where people won't come looking for her and Milliways won't either, where she can sit down in the dark and pull her knees up close and just tell herself that all of it is over and there are no more knives or bonesaws or lobotomized tribals or disembodied brains, that whatever else happens she probably won't ever have to go back to Point Lookout again, only she probably will, because she's good at surviving that kind of thing and the reward for being good at making it through horrible stuff is having to put down more horrible stuff so that other people don't have to-
-there's knocking on the door. Why is there knocking on the door.
"Ellen?"
... oh.
Stand up, wipe face with one hand, switch the light on; it wouldn't do to look like she's in a bad way. Not in front of-
"Jerald," she says with the most smile she can manage as she opens the door. "Hey."
"Hey," he answers. His eyes are cautious and he's hanging back a bit; she probably shouldn't be surprised. "Um. I- look, I know you probably- I wasn't following you, I was just looking for you, and Dogmeat's right over-" He jerks his thumb towards where the dog is lying nearby with his head on his paws.
"Oh," she says, and she's... not really sure what to say next. Sorry I didn't get to do more than say hi or It's been a long day or I'm not feeling well or any number of things, maybe, but none of them quite work. Not with him looking at her like he's not sure if she's going to explode or something.
"Ellen?" he says. He's bending down a little, like he's trying to get a closer look at- she glances sideways hurriedly, cuts off the thought. "Are you okay?"
That's very possibly the stupidest question she's ever heard in her life. Manners dictate that it gets an answer anyway. She draws a breath. The answer is jammed somewhere that hasn't reached the level of words yet.
"You don't have to say anything if you don't want to," he says very gently, and she closes her eyes. It's not that she doesn't want to, it's that she can't-
There's a hand on her shoulder. Not pulling, not turning, not pushing. Just a silent I'm here, you know.
He closed the door behind him, she realizes.
She's just going to lean against him and hold onto the heavy red Scribe robes he's wearing and not so much cry as sob for a while. As long as he'll let her.
It helps.
Equipment and holotapes taken from the St. Aubins facility delivered to the Sword and Quill Scribes - check.
Mission report delivered to Senior Paladin Tristan, Scribe Rothchild, Scribe Jameson, and Elder Lyons - check.
Personal armor turned over to the Shield scribes for post-mission repair and maintenance - check.
Dinner acquired and- well, no, not check, not yet. She's not hungry yet. Maybe later. After she's gone back to the B ring barracks and peeled herself out of the under-armor suit. After she's gotten clean, properly clean, for the first time in days, and changed into her greens. After she's looked in the mirror and then looked away very quickly from the healing but still uncomfortably livid mark on her forehead. After she's found a room, a converted closet really, but it has a door she can close and a light she can switch off, one where people won't come looking for her and Milliways won't either, where she can sit down in the dark and pull her knees up close and just tell herself that all of it is over and there are no more knives or bonesaws or lobotomized tribals or disembodied brains, that whatever else happens she probably won't ever have to go back to Point Lookout again, only she probably will, because she's good at surviving that kind of thing and the reward for being good at making it through horrible stuff is having to put down more horrible stuff so that other people don't have to-
-there's knocking on the door. Why is there knocking on the door.
"Ellen?"
... oh.
Stand up, wipe face with one hand, switch the light on; it wouldn't do to look like she's in a bad way. Not in front of-
"Jerald," she says with the most smile she can manage as she opens the door. "Hey."
"Hey," he answers. His eyes are cautious and he's hanging back a bit; she probably shouldn't be surprised. "Um. I- look, I know you probably- I wasn't following you, I was just looking for you, and Dogmeat's right over-" He jerks his thumb towards where the dog is lying nearby with his head on his paws.
"Oh," she says, and she's... not really sure what to say next. Sorry I didn't get to do more than say hi or It's been a long day or I'm not feeling well or any number of things, maybe, but none of them quite work. Not with him looking at her like he's not sure if she's going to explode or something.
"Ellen?" he says. He's bending down a little, like he's trying to get a closer look at- she glances sideways hurriedly, cuts off the thought. "Are you okay?"
That's very possibly the stupidest question she's ever heard in her life. Manners dictate that it gets an answer anyway. She draws a breath. The answer is jammed somewhere that hasn't reached the level of words yet.
"You don't have to say anything if you don't want to," he says very gently, and she closes her eyes. It's not that she doesn't want to, it's that she can't-
There's a hand on her shoulder. Not pulling, not turning, not pushing. Just a silent I'm here, you know.
He closed the door behind him, she realizes.
She's just going to lean against him and hold onto the heavy red Scribe robes he's wearing and not so much cry as sob for a while. As long as he'll let her.
It helps.