Inbox - Fade Rift

[nonvenomous]

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[tender]

"I wasn't meant to have to do anything about it."

Though when she says it like that, it sounds as if this moment was something Holden could control. And it wasn't. They both know that.

"I'm sorry," she says, tipping slightly back within the circle of his arms. "I'm sorry you had to hear it this way."

Hysterically, so much so that it trapped Richard into comforting her rather than making space for himself in his own rooms. And he'd been having a good night, she thinks.

[nonvenomous]

She tilts back and he tucks his chin to look her over, damp, suffering, and partially-plaited. Looking directly at her as she apologizes proves to be very difficult. It’s fine. Of course. He nods, uneven, dismissing the need.

“Unbecoming for him to have left a job half-finished.” His heart squeezes behind his breastbone on a delay after he’s said so, unexpected enough to pinch at his throat before it reaches his brow.

He misses a beat.

“Shall I summon ser Loxley to whisk you away?”

[tender]

A little, uncertain hitch in her breath.

But of course Richard knows. They're friends. Derrica breathes out, and her hands shift, leaving the cloak pinned between them as she reaches up to loop her arms around him in return.

He hadn't asked. But it must be hurting him, having lost Holden. That missed beat, the minor delay in response, they tell her something when set against what she'd seen in the medical tent not so long ago.

"I'll take the ferry," she says, tone muted and tired. "The next one that comes."

Yes, she will go see Loxley.

[nonvenomous]

A snap from the hearth marks fire licking up through a split in dry wood, cold from the floor still aching up into his bony feet when she wraps her arms around. No snakes this time, only ridges of scar tissue and bone, rangy muscle buckled to his ribs. Hugged.

“Alright.”

Another sigh is easier to feel than it is to detect otherwise. Softer than the first.

“Thank you for telling me.”

[tender]

"Will you be alright?"

On his own. Asked without breaking away; Derrica has to tiptoe up to manage this hug properly, but she maintains the contact.

Richard's lost something. Who does he have to turn towards to ease it?

[nonvenomous]

“Of course.”

Why wouldn’t he be.

He’s looked up again and it’s hard to see his face this close against him, little in the way of inflection to support his assurance one way or the other.

This has been a long hug.

[tender]

Listen, sometimes a hug takes several weeks to complete.

There is faint skepticism in her expression when she does draw back. Her arms are full of his cloak now, and her fingers curl into the fabric.

"Alright."

Because it isn't really her place to contradict. Whatever she suspects, she puts it aside for the moment to tell him, "Thank you."

Richard has been very kind. He could have put her out the door rather than offered any comfort at all.

[nonvenomous]

Weeks, months. Time is a flat circle.

She draws back and he releases the lock on his hold, easy, fabric slithering. He doesn’t seem to clock the skepticism. You can’t address something you have no desire to perceive.

“Don’t mention it.” Quiet, a little wry in the glance he gives her as he turns back for his trunk.

He means it.