[DRP] Lines

[chiickadee]

Crisp

Ami folded her hands-
-collar pressed
-shoes tied
-pencils placed

-carefully over the mahogany desk she'd had imported to the island with the extent of her savings. There was a nice little plaque too.

Research Specialist.

Nose in the books, always.

The doctor had smiled, the failure was there; she knew she hadn't fulfilled her requirements of digitization. She has iron in her teeth and she does what is best which is read
read
read
read
read
read
read
read
read
---------

Help others? Maybe. No- probably an excuse to keep her precious libraries locked under metal bars and folded hands.  

[chiickadee]

Them

They don't know how frustrating it is.

She doesn't know who they are.

Everyone. The world.

All it says is w▓r▓in▓. It's one simple word. She's kept a habit of squinting her eyes at it; intimidation was key. The corner of her mouth curls up in the snarl she gives the shadows. A snarl that says <******** you I'm not to be trifled with. It's no wonder she's in sun when she can access her anger so easily.

war▓in▓. She made sense of one letter and its a triumph. It's been five minutes and she got one letter. It's a particularly bad day.

She can't make out this one simple word. She can't do it. She doesn't even have something to blame like being high or a hangover anymore. She just ******** can't do it. All she has is the frustration of knowing her brain will never make sense of those letters. All it takes is one successful letter to remind her that the rest aren't coming and they'll never come.

w▓r▓in▓ and nineteen years come back so fast. Nineteen year she loses in guitar riffs that you don't have to look up the lyrics for and video games that you can skip past the text in-

w▓r▓in▓ and there's every essay she's had to write for school-

w▓r▓in▓ and there's Chris having to read her the instructions, pros, cons and limitations of birth control. She's mortified and embarrassed and she asks him to stop. She always wanted kids right? He doesn't think it's funny. He keeps reading and she wants to cry again. This shouldn't be something he has to do- she should be able to do this in the privacy of her own mind, but now Chris is saying it's too expensive Chel, there's no way we can afford this and she's relieved. She's relieved she can risk pregnancy if Chris stops reading it to her-

w▓r▓in▓ and there's Jack's Christmas present that she pretended to figure out but never really did and it's sitting in her drawer because she's afraid to take it out and still see squiggles when she wants to see the time and work he poured into every scripted letter instead of some tangled blur-

w▓r▓in▓ but dyslexia doesn't have to keep a kid down. With some help and a lot of hard work, a kid who has dyslexia can learn to read and spell.

Water doesn't reveal the word to her anymore than it did before she started trying to read w▓r▓in▓ but her body insists that crying must be the way to do it. It's just that nobody understands how hard it is to read. That's the bottom line. Nobody knows what it's like to go through their life without reading signs and labels and logos and cards and boxes like it's second nature. They don't don't have to pause to flip letters over, push them out of the way (get out of my way) just to get one of them. A book in a few days is an accomplishment for them; one word is frightening relief for her.

It gets hard to breathe.

They don't know what it's like.

She still doesn't know who they are, but she knows they deserve a kick in the teeth.  

[chiickadee]

Rasis

Feel like explaining the AK thing to me then?

Chel leaned back in the control panel chair, letting the rooms quiet whirs and beeps fill the silences left by her indecision. Where did she even start? That they'd been talking about her sincerity and intentions? That they'd been discussing committment and longevity.

Bare bones, basic facts. Don't burden him with more problems. Don't burden yourself with more problems. Keep it like it is now. It works like it is now.

Someone who makes you laugh-

A lot of people make me laugh.

She she give that a thought? What would be his response? Probably laughter. Discomfort. Utter shutdown, and an end to everything they'd built up in the short few months. Guarded responses that hid behind avoiding meeting her gaze. Gaze- Finn's gaze- cruel eyes as she sobs that leave her cut open inside and out-

Nah! I had forgotten this bottle of kick a** vodka so I thought it would be fun, sorry to worry you.

Too many things to worry about. Abbi was lying. She was so lying- it was ******** insulting how she thought she'd get away with something like that. Chel typed out a response, her head already rocking from too many voices, too many letters. She had to work fifty times as hard just to get the words out. She wished they would just talk to her.

But then what if Jack was okay with it? What if it followed the natural progression these things were supposed to take?

(Dating, Marriage, Children, Retirement, Death. ******** no ******** no <******** no).

Ah.

I am THE BEST AT LYING R U KIDDING ME.

Stop talking, stop talking I CAN'T READ THAT FAST.

She sets her phone down for a minute. Two minutes. Soon a half hour's gone by and she still feels like she needs to vomit. Push it down. Abbi still needs to talk. Jack needs explanations. They need they need they need-


Well. I won't discuss that with her ********- <********> no, you need to discuss it. Have that conversation with her- she trusts you- I trust you- you're smart (you ******** genius) and you know what to say; Abbi more than anyone needs someone adverse to romance to talk to her about romance to show her how much it matters and how much we all mean it. But she can't say that, then Jack will ask why and she has a thousand reasons why but I can't type it out my head hurts ******** she end up talking to you?

No of course not, you ******** idiot. Abbi wouldn't talk to anyone about this. She couldn't even get a sentence out without running away. She's scared and she thinks she's alone, but she's not. Everyone (well most people, Chel excludes herself of course because she is certain) are afraid of not finding love. It's a very simple conversation that she could easily fill out with a hug and some reassurance-

-But wait that's down the road, you have to do that first and-

-Okay, look at your phone.

Keep it all in line. Consider Abbi, but balance Jack. Let Jack know the problem without making him fix it. Give him something to fix without letting that thing be Abbi. Let Abbi change the subject to something happier (a joke about a princess running? No, wait, alcohol. Let her know she's not alone). If she doesn't get a happier subject, she won't ever talk-

Good thing you and I are completely well adjusted people huh?

She thinks about bringing it up there. "Actually I have a problem I need help with. Why don't ya swing by the pod room so we can talk?" If he denies, she can make that into an innuendo. Wait, but ******** then he might overthink. She might overthink it. Backspace- backspace.

Him, think about him. Maybe he has a problem? It's his way of bridging into it? She'll try that angle.

You don't even know what its like... To not have... To be like this... I just...

I DON'T KNOW? I DON'T KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE ABBI? ******** YOU. No don't roll your eyes- she'll know, she'll know- Stop- think about her again-

No I'm good right now but thanks.

I ******** up.

I ******** up.

I ******** up.

Now he's the one who's on defensive- he's not going to let her approach him about it. She could try- what if she tried? No, then she becomes the clingy girlfriend.

JOKE.

Obvi not but you're DOUBLY invited now.

This is getting off subject- she's made Abbi comfortable, now she has to rework it. How do you approach Abbi when she wants to run? Make a joke- no ********, she's not Jack- be forward. That's the best she can do with water through her fingers, be forward. Cup her palms and try to hold it for as long as she has.

Jack I can't read what you're writing please just-

PICTURES. She's never been so grateful for pictures in her entire life. She spams hearts because that's how she really feels, but she makes it a joke so he doesn't think so. So she doesn't think so. ******** this is-

One

breathe

Two

breathe.

You're not going to vomit. Make something up. A real reason, don't be a burden..

gtg pods hot

..................................................................................

Her stomach's turning and she feels like she's run a marathon. With the way her chest heaves she might as well have. She wishes they knew the hoops she jumped through. She couldn't even venture into the land of formulating a thought about Jack when all she could think about was how it might affect them and what they needed right now and how she could best stretch herself until she was taffy, until she was a sheet of gold stretched out the size of a football field.

A pod really does go off then. She tries to stand, but she has to lean on the edge of her chair for a moment or two; she really hasn't slept for two days (but that's not the reason why anyways); it takes so much work just to read and to solve and to be.

Her bracelet beeps, as if to remind her: at least you're not dead.  

[chiickadee]

Rental

Chel felt lightheaded holding the thing. Dull silver with a hazy blue glow stamping the sides, a taught string and several arrows. It felt unwieldy- it was too heavy and too short for her figure. She hadn't realized just how much Tenebrae compensated for exact person.

< You're welcome. >  

[chiickadee]

Attempts

She missed.

She missed. She missed. She missed.  

[chiickadee]

Pause

She couldn't bring herself to fire another one. She was too scared to miss.  

[chiickadee]

Sleep

Have a s**t day at work of course.

Chel smiled knowingly. She’d seen the ways his shoulders were sagging by the time she’d come down to the labs. Actually that was one of the only things she could remember since when she’d arrived she’d been struggling to stay awake. She should have just gone straight to the dorms (he’d chided her as much), but he said he’d wanted her to stop by. Not in so many words, but Chel had communicated with him long enough to know that “stop by if you want” really meant “I want you to stop by.” Otherwise it would have been “go straight home,” or something similar.

It was dark and she didn’t bother turning on her lights. The phone wasn’t even discarded on her nightstand, but instead under her pillow where its light wouldn’t scream at her eyes anymore. She'd noticed the time stamp said 1:55am before it was hidden away; it really was a good thing she'd checked. Hunters sleeping in odd places (the labs, the lounges, the archives) wasn't unheard of, but Chel could hardly picture him being the type to enjoy waking up after working through the night on a hard lab bench with no change of clothing.

He came in the door quietly, but she was excited nevertheless. She popped one eye open to sneakily look at him as he walked through the frame before snapping it shut and pretending to sleep once more. She didn’t know why, he was going to notice that she wasn’t sleeping anyways. It was just more fun that way. There wasn't a goal to the practice, she was just being capricious.

(She wonders if she will ever be able to look at him without feeling a small weight of giddiness in her chest. His arms, his hair, the way he walked, the intelligence brimming behind his eyes- mine, mine, mine).

But instead of pointing it out or making a snide remark, all she heard was his jacket slumped onto the kitchen counter, followed by shoes, socks, pants, shirts, undershirt. She knew something was really wrong when he didn’t even bother going to the bathroom to wash off his foundation or prepare himself for bed for 3000 years like he usually did.

Chel said nothing as his glasses were pushed onto the nightstand. She wasn’t even sure if her facade was up until a hand pressed into her backside. Scoot over. She complied, eyes now open and watching him with uncertainty. Jack’s irregularities set her on edge; she was never sure if they were good or bad or if they needed to be labeled as such. The covers sagged as she pulled them up for him to slide under. All very quiet, observed with a certain kind of sacredness.

(She's thinking now about the irony; lounging on the bed in longing indeed).

His arm slides under her neck and wraps around her until it brushes her shoulder. She wordlessly takes his other hand and pulls it over like a blanket, their puzzle piece shapes fitting together perfectly only after a lot of practice (Jack’s legs will always stick out too far, her head will always bump his chin accidentally on the first try). Her chest is tight with confusion, but she doesn’t feed it. It’s odd that Chel has the most questions when they’ve reached a place of no pretense. He doesn’t bite her neck, he doesn’t bury his nose in her hair, he doesn’t scratch at her thighs; he doesn’t do any number of things that would have given her a signal about what to do.

A tiny smile crosses her face, one that she’s not aware of until it becomes soft, dainty. In love. His breathing grows heavier against her backside and she realizes that he’s actually just ... tired. There’s no hidden meaning or decipherable quality. He’s human and he’s had a long day and he’s ******** tired.

Of all the places, he came to her.

Her thorns recede and she relaxes, closing her eyes once more. It’s warm. All they do is sleep. It sounds highly unromantic, but in reality it’s the most romantic gesture either of them can make. To be vulnerable without needing a knife under his pillow. To sleep with the assurance that she won’t be alone in the morning. Tenebrae loses for the first night in a long time.  

[chiickadee]

Blood Drips

Into the sink. Red porcelain- is it porcelain? What are sinks made out of anyways?

The cuts reopened and there's nothing you can do for a wound on the face except let it bled out, dab it down where you can.

Can you fix it. Demanding of his being, not a question, not pleading. It isn't necessity; if he can't, she is satiated.

< I have done nothing but try. > Accusatory. Defiled. Imperfect.

< Do not assign words to me that you cannot easily undo. >

It mixes with tears. At this point she's not sure if it's a bodily function or an emotional response. Lately the two are one. Yer a ********' eyeball monster. The water is running again and she cringes under cold water. She yelps and finishes the thought aloud. "This is s'posed t'be yer thing."

< And none other could have saved you when I did. I could have done nothing. >

"Ain't true."

To which part he isn't sure. Tenebrae is a liar by instinct. They share that in common. < It was your face or your eye, peon. >

The imaginary evoked by "peon" isn't pleasant with her face covered in various fluids. "Just fix it."

< Does it matter? > She can hear his cheshire grin.

"No."  

[chiickadee]

Sweat Sticks

It's a cliche to say that nightmares don't go away, but they don't. Chel can't understand why even now, even two years later swathed in good fortune and an optimistic outlook, her brain still conjures images while she sleeps in the most horrible way. She suspects Tenebrae of foul play; most likely something about "keeping her sharp even in times of peace." Piece of s**t, more like it.

In the vague dream way, she can't remember why she's in here, why the stagnant walls have surrounded her once more. They just are. In Chel's gut she has the sinking feeling that they, like the nightmares, will never go away.

He fights for her at first, of course, but as time passes he comes less and less. She understands; he has other duties and other people to attend to. At the very least, she isn't insecure*. He loves her and she is sure he's devoting his time to getting her out. Just like last time. Just like always. Always.

(* That's a lie, but it's a nice thought, isn't it?)

But then in that very dream-like way, the techs begin disappearing one by one as well. Her mind races with the possibilities. First with the tame: they are assigning less techs on duty since she has been good and is not an immediate threat. Then as time goes on, the hostile: there is an attack on the island.

The quarantine isn't scary because of the eyes, the examination. It's scary because of the unknown. She doesn't know when they will next feed her- if they will feed her. Merlin looms in her mind despite her best efforts and her best arguments that he no longer haunts her- I've been good. She doesn't know why the techs are dwindling (there is only one now). Where did Jack go?

It's when there are no techs on duty that she really begins to fret. When Merlin attacked the island there was a great deal of commotion, she knew something was wrong. Now it's quiet. She's left alone with her thoughts, the one thing she doesn't want to be alone with.

But Jack will come. He promised. Always.

Time blurs again and she can't remember the last time she saw anyone. Her senses told her she should have died from starvation long ago, but Tenebrae assures her it's because he's keeping her going. Come to think of it, Tenebrae has grown quieter too. He hasn't talked for a few days now.

Through frayed hair she can see a figure moving towards the door, but her eyesight is too blurry to register it. Her hands are curled around a pillow, one that's been ripped open.

It's Jack, but she's more animal than person now. He approaches and Chel snarls. That's how she knows it's a dream- she can't see his expression, just feel in her gut the revulsion at his approach. Did she throw the pillow or did it just weakly fall to the ground?

He puts his arms around her and begins to lift- whatever is left of Chel knows she should be relieved (he finally came) but instead her cracked fingernails dig into his skin and she bites his neck. Her eyes are green and she hasn't eaten for almost 3 months.

---

Chel shuddered as her own fear woke her up. It was never with a scream or even with a sound- Chel always woke up in a cold sweat with the sensation of being choked.

Breathe, two, three, four.

Eyes adjust, she's home. It took a moment to register this place as home since she was so used to the dorm, but it's got the right smells and the right angles to be their room.

Maybe as a testament to how far she's come, she doesn't lie there alone and afraid. What used to be a fear of even touching (he can't wake up) has become knowledge that sometimes, it's okay to burden him. Sometimes she needs to shake him awake as she's doing now so that he can open his arms and let her talk about it. The same she'd do for him.

(Is this what he meant by the most wonderful way when he'd snidely commented on Dawson's tweet?)