thisavrou_log | Of all the things you never explained

[ Her time in medbay following the attack hadn't lasted long, thankfully. Until they figured out what to do about the glass eye, relatively painless now compared to when it had happened, she wore a simple white eye patch over it. Being stared at while the one eye was a foggy blue hue, she'd take the eye patch over having it out in the open any day. Not that some didn't stare anyway, what with the tiny patches of glass on her forehead that had replaced her shrapnel scarring, and the entire glass arm.

She'd gone through her scare thinking he hadn't returned with the others when the negotiations had failed. She thought she had lost him, again. God, what the hell were they doing here? Why was everything in their lives so twisted? Treasure, zombie things, the whole Shambhala ordeal, Harry Fucking Flynn, and then Iram, Francis Drake, and then this— Caducans, space battles. It certainly was something to tell the children.

There was just one other thing, however. One little detail that had arrived way back before the battle, forgotten in the chaos. A white journal with the initials C.M. engraved in script on the front. The contents were questionable, revealing, confusing most of all. Along with an old Polaroid portrait of two young boys. What did it mean? Why had this come to her? Nate had more ties to Drake than she ever did.

Elena's optimism wasn't so high up like Nate's was about where they stood, now that she was in possession of this book, but as the knock on her door came, she bottled up what negative thoughts came to mind, leaving the journal open on her bed, half tucked under the pillow as she went to answer. ]

Hi. [ An unconscious habit, she tucks some hair behind her ear, smiling up at him. It's a little startling still to see him wearing a ring around his neck, but it's her ring this time, given to him for safekeeping so it wouldn't slip off her glassed finger.

Automatically she moves aside to let him in. ] What's up? Everything all right?

Hey.

[He smiles down at her, glad to see her no matter what's going on. She brightens up his day any day, and given the progress they've made getting back on track, he doesn't feel as though he's walking on eggshells anymore—especially after their argument turned romantic night in his bunk. The head injury had been worth it.]

Everything's fine, I just wanted to see you.

[He leans down to give her a casual kiss as he comes in, still not entirely over the novelty of being able to just do that because he wants to. It's kind of depressing that being able to kiss his wife is anything but completely normal and expected, but he's not going to think that way.]

Everything still feel okay, with the...?

[He gestures at his eye level with two fingers. It's probably not necessary for him to ask, since he can clearly see that the other glass patches haven't changed, but it's her eye. A speck of dirt in there hurts; a full conversion to glass seems like it should at least be uncomfortable.

Not that he wants her to be uncomfortable. He wants her back to herself, whole, even if he'll think she's beautiful no matter what. He wants to slide her ring back on her flesh and blood finger, but until then, he'll keep it safe. He's not so far from Yemen that it feels strange to wear a ring on a cord around his neck again, but this is different from Drake's ring. Rather than clinging to it as the key to his identity, he's been entrusted with something precious. That's humbling.]

[ She smiles into the kiss, leaning up so he doesn't have to lean all the way down to reach her mouth. In spite of the unsettling feeling lingering in her stomach, the fact that he's come to check on her leaves her feeling happy. Same goes with the kiss; not having to hesitate, meeting him half way— it's nice. Almost like things are getting back on the right track. ]

The whole eye thing? It's... [ Her hand tilts from side to side, bottom lip pushed up as she makes a thinking face. ] ...so-so.

The pain comes and goes, mostly behind the eye? Kind of like a dull migraine in the back of the eye socket.

[ While she's still trying to get used to the whole yaaarrrrrr pirate feel, the damn strap of the eye patch around her head bothers her more than the fact that it's completely dark in her left side. Trying to see in that direction causes her to turn her head fully, it's frustrating. ]

What about you? How's the glass?

[He grimaces a little, not wanting her to think she's upset him and should have been less honest about it hurting—they don't need a repeat of the shrapnel discovery—but not willing to pretend he's unaffected. It's more sympathetic more than anything, though.]

I almost wish I could say otherwise, but it doesn't hurt. It just feels weird.

[He pokes at the glassed bullet scar in his abdomen through his shirt, which probably isn't the best idea, but eh. He can't help himself.]

Banged the glass pinkie toe against my desk chair earlier and it hurt like a bitch smushed against the rest of my foot, but I just won't do that again.

[He's lucky it hadn't shattered, honestly. At least a pinkie toe is a non-vital part. Imagine if he had a glass dick.]

For once, I guess I got off lucky. With the room, too—some people's dorms are just gone, did you know? But here we are. [He steps further into the room, gesturing at the apparently untouched space.] Never thought I'd say there's no place like home about this place, but...

We survived an alien ship take over, came out a little glassed, and our rooms are intact— yeaaaahhhh, I think I'd take Shambhala all over again over this.

[ As grateful as she is that they still have a 'home' they can come back to, their rooms, the Moira, Elena's really wishing they could be back on Earth. Familiar soil. America. At least they still have each other, and she's managed to get a hold of Chloe; knowing that her people, a total of two, are safe and sound, that's luck.

The death toll of both crewmates and Caducan— unbelievable. ]

I'm actually surprised it didn't shatter. Must be a durable glass toe. A lucky toe.

[ She lifts her left arm, slowly tries to make a fist with stiff, glass joints. Nope. It only goes so far before the pain is fresh and lancing up into her shoulder. She sighs and lets the arm drop. ]

Want to sit down? I promise you won't smash your toes on the chairs here. You have two perfectly good eyes to see with.

You know me, I'm hard-headed and now hard-toed, apparently.

[He grins, half expecting her to make a dirty joke about what else is hard—hey, he gave her the opening. But this is fairly serious stuff they're talking about, so maybe not.

The smile slips when she tests her arm, and he's there beside her in an instant, rubbing her non-glass shoulder, even though that's not the side in pain. Too bad he can't give glass a massage.]

Sure. If you need help, though, I can be your seeing-eye Nate.

[He starts to stroll across the room, already thinking of how he can try to ease her discomfort, and barely notices the half-hidden journal—at first. Something catches the corner of his eye as he passes her bed, though, and he glances down at it—then slows, and stops.

What the...no. No, it can't be. But he knows that handwriting, had read through it a hundred times in years past. It can't be, but it is. Nate stares for a long moment, then turns to Elena—speechless.]

Edited 2016-07-07 01:41 (UTC)

[ The thought makes her smile; he could be her seeing-eye Nate, always on her left to guide her and make sure she doesn't misstep. It's a nice thought, Elena's lost count of how many times she's bumped into a table edge or taken a corner too sharp or too soon. Imagine how silly she looks.

Following after him, ready to sit and possibly get a one-shoulder massage out of this visit, she slows to a stop just steps behind him when she realises he's stopped. What is he looking at? Her bed? Maybe he was getting a little too hopeful, but then he turns and she sees the look on his face. ]

What is it...? [ That's a careful question, her one eye searching his expression. Something's not right... ] What's wrong?

[All prospects of shoulder massages now forgotten, Nate's looking at her with an expression that's mainly stunned disbelief, with a hint of betrayal. No, that's stupid, it's Elena, she would never do anything to hurt him.

But here the journal is, on her bed. Open, like she'd been in the middle of reading it. He glances back at it once more, to be sure, but there's no doubt. That is his mother's handwriting, those are her words. He points at it without looking, searching her face now.]

Why do you have that?

[His voice sounds like it's coming from somewhere far away. Or maybe that's just him, because he feels like this isn't real. Or shouldn't be.]

[ She's trying real hard— real hard— to get a good read on his emotions through the look he's wearing. It's too mixed for her to pick him apart. Her one eye darts over to where he's pointed. Elena hesitates on looking back up at him, but when she does... ]

It appeared in my mailbox earlier...

[ Her words are slow, cautious. A knit begins to form between her brows. What is his deal...? Does he know what it is? He has to, if he looks like he is now, like he's staring a ghost in the face. ]

Do...you know what it is...?

[ Of course he does— the beginning of the journal is all about Francis Drake. But it's information the both of them already know. With the amount of times she's listened to him talk about the man in the past, Elena could very well write her own damn journal.

Little warning bells are going off in the back of her head.

Drake. ]

Yes, I know what it is!

[There's heat in his voice now. He tries to push it back, he really does, but this is something he hasn't even been able to look at for years now, and she has it and is acting clueless.

Why would to go to her mailbox? Why wouldn't she bring it to his?]

It belongs to me.

[Passed down in the family. He'd tucked it away with a few mementos he couldn't bear to dispose of and never looked back. His stomach lurches as he remembers what else he'd kept inside the journal's pages.]

[ The outburst has her stepping back, the furrow deepening as she stares at him, stunned. Of course he would know what it is, what's inside. It's because of that that Elena's gaze drops to the ring— her ring— hanging around his neck.

Memories of countless, endless arguments rise up. The skeletons that hadn't quite settled to lie yet in their closets coming back to life, dance mockingly. ]

...of course it does. Why wouldn't it...?

[ Quietly spoken words, the unsteadiness behind them forced to stay calm.

Steeling herself, Elena moves to walk past him, moving to her bed to pull the journal out from under where she'd tucked it. ]

[Nate practically recoils, and that's what allows her to step past him and take the journal before he can grab it first. She doesn't sound surprised, she must have known it was his, so why...?

He moves right beside her, fingers itching to pull the journal from her hands, but he resists.]

How long have you had it?

[How long has she been keeping it from him?]

[ He looms in fast at her side and she feels the need to take a step back, suddenly so unsure about why her husband is acting the way he is. His reactions are legitimately scaring her.

Elena ignores the question, answers it with one of her own. ]

Nate, what the hell is going on? What are you not telling me?

[ Didn't he say when they had first arrived that he would never lie to her again? That he didn't want to do that? ]

What am I not—

[He cuts himself off, takes a breath. Tries to settle himself. If it just showed up, if the stupid Ingress spat it out and somehow it came into her hands, if it's just the journal and nothing else—she still should have given it to him, at least mentioned it, but it's not like she had context. She can't know what it means to him. Right?]

I'm not...there's nothing to tell. [He closes his eyes for a moment and tries to look apologetic when he opens them. It's only sort of effective.] Sorry, I just—you didn't know it was mine, right?

[Please say no.]

I...couldn't be too sure. [ Then she frowns and quickly cuts in— which probably makes this ten times worse— ] I figured there was some kind of relation considering it talks about nothing but Francis Drake for the first half...

[ At least her fingers are careful in beginning to turn the pages back to the beginning. And then Elena pauses, slowly looking up at him again, wearing the same look on her face as she had outside of the airport, her tone the same. ]

That's what this is about... Isn't it.

[Nate grimaces, because that's not what he wanted to hear, but she's not stupid. Even if it had been a boring, by-the-numbers biography of Drake with nothing about the real history, she would have spotted the connection. And dammit, she should have said something, she should have, but—

He wants to stop her from touching it, flipping through the pages, but what's the point if she's already read it? And then her words catch him off guard, the familiar tone taking him back.]

What? What are you talking about?

Edited 2016-07-07 03:52 (UTC)

You know exactly what I'm talking about. Playing dumb is probably one of the worst things you could do right now.

[ The journal is snapped shut, held in her right hand, thumb touching along the 'M' of the front initials.

Elena can't believe this— does he really think she wouldn't catch on? It's been Drake from day one. It always has. And here she was, so stupid to think she could let him back in. Believe everything he'd been saying since they got here. ]

I can't believe this.

I'm not playing dumb. Believe me, I'm exactly as dumb as I look right now.

[Any other time and he'd be smiling, expecting her to follow up on the self-deprecating comment with more teasing, but there's no humor in this moment.]

Believe what? That I'm unhappy the stupid space teleporter decided to randomly send you something I don't share with people? Shockingly, it's not fun to have your private property stolen.

I didn't steal this— is that what you think I did?

[ The shock in her expression and in her tone is now out there, her turn to stare in disbelief. If she wasn't so focused on Drake, she might realise that he's referring to the Ingress, not her. Or maybe he is. ]

Why didn't you want to share this? It's just another journal.

[ Another journal that's written in feminine script... ]

Jesus, of course not!

[It's not like she could. Last he checked, it was tucked away in the very secure storage locker where he kept all the precious things he had that needed to be safe but not in a place where he could trip over them on a daily basis. This just happened to be one of the few items with no monetary value.

He turns away slightly, a little hunched in on himself.]

I've had it for a long time. It helped me start to figure some things out—you read it all, right? You know what's in it.

[It's almost a challenge. No, it is a challenge. Nate doesn't know how long she's had it, but the fact that she won't tell him how long means it's probably a while. And not a word this whole time.]

I know a lot of it has to do with Drake.

[ Each time she says that name, it's like a fist squeezes around her stomach. Her fingers squeeze at the edge of the journal. She still isn't rising up to his challenge. Elena knows what he wants her to say, to admit to.

Instead, the journal is held out for him to take— because that's what he wants isn't it? He wants the journal. It's his, she had no right going through it. And now, she has no right holding on to it. She's had it already for too long. ]

Here, maybe it will help you figure something else out.

Edited 2016-07-07 05:04 (UTC)

I don't need to figure anything out. I found what I was looking for.

[And then some, in Iram. There are no more puzzles to solve; he'd cracked Drake's last mystery. And like he'd told Chloe, it hadn't been worth it.

He'll take the journal, though, a little too quickly. But he only has a loose grip on the spine, and when it passes from Elena to him, something small flutters out from between the pages and lands at her feet.]

[ She snorts, it's not a pleasant sound. Derisive. Harsh. She's not looking at him when the journal passes from her hands to his, saying nothing.

Oh. What was this? Oh— right. She'd forgotten about that, the small polaroid capturing two young boys in a happier time.

Elena slowly stoops to pick it up; how many times had she looked at it, flipping back to it while rereading the pages on Drake and Avery like it would hold the answer to an unknown question. ]

[Nate makes a small noise when he sees what she's picked up, a tiny, swift intake of breath like someone's just socked him hard in the gut. Or maybe shot him—that's what it feels like. So the Ingress brought this, too.

No no no. He's never been able to get rid of it, the only photo he has of Sam, but couldn't make himself look at it again after Panama and he can't now. He just...can't.

Before he can even think about it, he's reaching out to snatch the Polaroid from Elena's hand.]

Edited 2016-07-07 05:25 (UTC)

[ Elena's seen this picture so many times since she'd found the journal in her mailbox two and a half weeks back. She's studied it, looked it over from front to back, like that alone is the answer to her biggest clue yet. She doesn't protest at first when the Polaroid is snatched from her, blinking as she looks at her empty hand.

But then she frowns, looking at him, annoyed that he would be so quick to rip it away from her. ]

What—? What the hell is your deal, seriously.

First the journal and now this picture?

[ What do two young boys have to do with Drake? With Henry Avery?

Normally she's on the ball in being able to read him, figuring him out before he can process how he's going to explain something, but this is a completely brand new ball park for her. He's being tight-lipped for a reason. ]

[Nate's almost surprised himself when the Polaroid ends up in his hands easily, but he doesn't regret the spontaneous action. This is not a door he wants to open. When he speaks, his voice is low and rough.]

This picture doesn't matter. It's got nothing to do with Drake.

[He still doesn't even glance at the actual photo, not once, but he tucks it away into the pages of the journal with infinite care.]

Edited 2016-07-07 05:40 (UTC)

[ It's second nature to go and fold her arms, her right hand tucked under her left elbow to keep it close, even if it feels awkward. The picture obviously does matter, by the tone of his voice, how he's not looking at it, like he'll turn to stone because it's a Medusa. ]

Unless you went and fathered two kids and you've been hiding it from me this entire time...

[ A mutter, mostly. With a small hint of sarcasm. Already she's growing tired of this dance and jig. ]

There is something that matters about it, you're just not telling me.

Edited 2016-07-07 05:47 (UTC)

[That puts his attention squarely on her, and he gives her an incredulous look. Did he really hear that?]

You've got some goddamn nerve talking about hiding things when you've had this...how long was it, again?

[He grips the journal firmly, making sure nothing will fall out of it again, and faces her fully.]

Were you ever going to tell me you had it if I didn't stumble onto it myself?

[ Her jaw sets and she meets him full on, arms dropping to her sides. ]

Two and a half weeks. And no. No, I wasn't. Are you happy now?

{Two and a half weeks. Jesus. It's surprising and not, somehow, and it sets something heavy and sickening in the pit of his stomach.]

Do I look happy?

[God. He runs a hand down his jaw. All this time and they'd been happy, they've been themselves again, and she had it and hadn't said anything...]

What did you think was going to happen if I saw the name Drake, that I'd vanish into a puff of smoke? Start looking for a new quest, in space? There aren't any mysteries left!

[ He hits the nail on the head and Elena bites down so hard that she feels like her jaw is going to snap, nostrils flaring as she exhales heavily through them. ]

What else am I supposed to think when a journal containing information about Drake lands in my lap?

[ She fires back just as snappily, hands curling into fists at her sides, including her glass one, pain ignored in favor of the anger rushing up. ]

What, did you seriously expect me to rush over to your room with it, excited at the idea you'd take off again? It doesn't matter if it's stuff we already know, it doesn't matter if we're in goddamn space— you turn into a completely different person at the mere mention of him that it's never stopped you before.

Edited 2016-07-07 06:15 (UTC)

[Jesus, that stings. Any other time and he'd be falling all over himself to agree and apologize, because he knows how he was when he got obsessed before. But this isn't the same. It isn't.]

I expect you not to hide things from me. Even if you didn't know it belonged to me, you had to at least suspect.

[He bites back the question of "what are you even doing with me if you don't think I can change?" He's not sure he can handle the answer now.]

Where would I even go? It's space! I'm not going to go chasing after a mystery I already solved because of something I first read twenty years ago!

You have no right to say that, after all the shit you hid from me? The lies?

[ She's incredulous, hissing at him; for him to think it was okay for him to put her through all that shit, but then when some stupid journal about Drake shows up in her hands and she holds onto it, not telling him, it's the end of the world and feels like it's the worst thing she could ever do to him?

Elena really has no other words, but she's upset, she's in quite a bit of pain, she's tired of the same old argument. She just wants this to be over and done with.

She's tired of sharing her marriage with some dead man from four hundred years ago. ]

Why then? Why didn't you tell me about it? You want to stand there and accuse me of hiding things from you— who are the boys in the photograph? What does C.M. stand for?

If this really isn't about Drake, Nate, then what is it about?

Edited 2016-07-07 15:32 (UTC)

So we're keeping score now? Fucking up in the past means I don't get to be upset about anything in the future?

[He wishes she would stop going on about fucking Drake. He gets why she's not fond of the subject, he really does, but Drake's ring is at the bottom of a sinkhole and his corpse is rotting on zombie island and it makes no sense to keep arguing about the man when they clearly have so many other things to argue about.

He winces at the question of the boys and tries to hide it, pacing across the floor, agitated. When he speaks, his lips are tight.]

C.M. is Cassandra Morgan. A historian. No one you'd have heard of.

[Your mother-in-law, if she hadn't killed herself before I hit kindergarten.]

I never told you about her work because it was never relevant. I have a lot of research materials tucked away, you want to go through them too? Maybe they'll come through the Ingress next.

Edited 2016-07-07 16:02 (UTC)

Sure, get upset all you want. I just don't see how that helps your side of the bloody argument.

[ Elena watches him as he moves away to pace the room, his movements like that of a caged animal. She feels just as agitated, but she holds her ground and refuses to budge, only shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

The twist in his expression hadn't gone unnoticed. There was something more he wasn't telling her; his situation with Drake, in the beginning of them showing up, he had tried to explain it. And had failed. He was still working out the answer for himself. For that, Elena could give him time.

But this... ]

For something that's supposedly not all important and holds no relevance to us, you sure are throwing a fit over "nothing". So again I'll ask: if this is not about Francis Drake, then what is this about?

There's nothing else in that journal besides that that gives me some reason to worry.

I don't know who Cassandra Morgan is and I have no idea about Henry Avery other than what's put together in the book.

[ That drops it down to one of two remaining things: the photograph holds some importance to him, or he's still hung up on Drake and is lying to her face. Again. ]

[So he only gets to gain any ground in this if he's perfectly logical, if his emotions don't affect him at all? That's rich. Must be nice to get to set the rules as she apparently does.

This whole argument is sickeningly familiar. He's not as blind and obsessed as he was months ago, but they're falling into old rhythms, old ways of fighting, just like they had before he decided he had to leave. And that's not fair, he hasn't done anything—maybe his fuckups have been a lot worse than hers, turning his back on their marriage is far more catastrophic than hiding a journal should be, but she's not even admitting she's done anything wrong here.]

It has no relevance to you. I had a life before you, Elena, is it that shocking that I could have a sentimental attachment to something you didn't know about?

[The last thing he has of his mother's. The only photograph of his brother. Maybe he could have told her about them if this hadn't been thrown in his face suddenly, maybe he still should, but he can't. The words lock themselves away when he even thinks about speaking them.]

There's no information in this journal that I didn't already have. That's not the point. You should have said something—how am I supposed to know that you're not keeping things from me in the future, huh?

[What and why? She doesn't understand the point behind this so-called sentimental attachment. An attachment to a goddamn journal? One that's written by some historian she's never heard of?

Elena opens her mouth to argue, so ready to jump on him for how he's evading her questions— again. They're going in circles. It's always about going in circles, and Elena is so tired of it. So very tired. ]

What future? [ Resignation breaks in her words. She gives a half gesture to the book in his hand. ] You have your journal. You have what's so important to you in your hand. Keep your secrets.

Keep your secrets, Nate, and just...

[ The breath she tries to draw in feels heavy, clogs her throat. She can't do this. She's so fucking tired of the secrets. ]

Just go.

[Nate opens his mouth to further argue the point—it's not a secret, dammit, not everything he doesn't talk about is a secret—only for it to hang open, then slowly close, as what she said sinks in.]

What?

[He doesn't want the journal, he wants it to have stayed where it was—locked away out of sight and out of mind—and for them to stay on the track they'd been on. He wants them to not have fought. He wants Elena to have never gotten the journal in the first place.]

Come on, that's not fair. It's different this time. I'm not after Drake or anything he left behind!

Edited 2016-07-07 19:11 (UTC)

Because it's not like I haven't heard that one before.

[ Instinctively her left arm begins to lift so she can rub at her brow; it only gets half way before the pain flickers fresh across her features, body tensing visibly. She drops it on a heavy sigh, frustrated at this stupid handicap, at the fight they're having, frustrated with him. Frustrated with everything and wishing that she'd never gotten the journal in the first place, actually wishing they hadn't gotten close again.

It seemed like a pattern, a terrible one. They make up, they break up. They make up, he makes his promises, she believes him and loves him that much that she's willing to look past his faults. ]

It's always about the treasure with you. You say it's different but it's not. If it was so different, we wouldn't be here right now arguing— we're getting nowhere, and we're just going in circles. And I'm tired, okay. I'm so—

[ Elena cuts herself off before she can start swearing. I'm so fucking tired. And the weariness is beginning to really show, mixed with the discomfort she's in, as she finally looks over to him again. She's wordlessly pleading with him, the broken look in her face that she's managing to keep at bay. ]

Take the journal, take the ring, take it all. Because, if you can't talk to me then what is the point? I can't do this anymore.

[The fire of anger this whole thing has stoked in him dies down some at her obvious pain. He steps forward, instinctively attentive and wanting to ease it for her, but stops. He doesn't think he can handle it if she pushes him away, and she...she shouldn't have to.]

You don't mean that.

[She wore her ring after months of fighting and estrangement, after he left her. Now there's one fight and that's it?]

I can talk to you—I am talking to you, you just don't want to hear what I'm saying.

[He could say more. This was written by my dead mother. This is a picture of my dead brother.

No, he can't.]

There is no treasure. There's no Drake. You're seeing things that aren't there.

But you aren't. You aren't talking to me. You're doing what you're best at doing in these situations— you're dodging.

Why?

[ Her hands come up, right one gesturing between the two of them. One more time, one last try. ]

Don't turn this around, this isn't about me, it's about you. If you're done with Drake, done with all of it, then why hold on to this journal?

[ Why go to all the trouble of getting so upset if it means nothing? ]

Is this...about the photograph?

[ It's a one last shot in the dark; she's grasping at straws right now. And with the way he had been quick to grab that picture... Was that the sentimental attachment he was referring to? ]

[There are a lot of things Nate could do now. He could tell her to forget about the photograph, get back to Drake and how he's not still fixated on the man and his legacy. He could point out that he hadn't even had the opportunity to decide whether to keep or get rid of the journal, since it had been in storage in America and he hadn't even made it back from Yemen after getting his head on straight. He doesn't do any of them.

And he doesn't deny that this is very much about the photograph. Nate doesn't confirm it, either; he just looks at her and tries not to let everything he's feeling show, but a broken heart can't be completely masked.]

Elena, please...I can't—

[He sucks in a breath, squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. It's been twelve years. This shouldn't be so hard.]

Please let it go.

[ There's no more fight left in her. Whatever emotions had been running high earlier were now laid bare at his feet. The look on his face, the break in his voice— god, why was he wearing that broken look? And she'd been the one to put it there.

That in itself bothered her more than this whole stupid argument about some damn journal and a picture. Of which he has yet to confirm or deny.

Elena says nothing, she's fallen quiet, watching him from where she stands, never once moving. She wants answers— needs them. However the way he tightly squeezes his eyes shut, how he fights to not let everything show...

She knows him.

This is bigger than she knows or could possibly understand. It only now dawns that she'll only know when he's ready and not before, now that she's got a teeny bit of her emotions under control enough to think for a second. ]

Nate...

[ His name is sighed out, quiet and tired. She won't push it. She won't. Not when he's pleading. ]

Come here.

[Nate's more than half expecting a withering comment, or a quiet, repeated order to just go. And that's not how he wants to leave this, he doesn't want to walk away leaving such hurt and anger between them when he'd come here out of love, but he doesn't know how to stop it.

Maybe he should have more faith in her. Because when he opens his eyes and looks at her again, not sure he'd heard her correctly, she's really there and she's not pushing him away. She just looks tired and sad.

He doesn't want that. But it's at least a little better than rage and rejection.

Nate has no idea what to say, so he doesn't say anything, just takes a few steps closer, unsure where to go from here.]

[ She's too tired to keep this up. To shoot him that scathing comment and order him to get the hell out of her room and leave her the hell alone. Waiting until he's within reach, that's when she tips her face back to look at him, seeing him up close and seeing the emotions right there staring back at her. ]

I said it before, when we got here. [ Hesitating after she speaks, she reaches out to brush his forearm, a fleeting touch of skin on skin. ] Whenever you're ready.

I just...

[ Elena lets her head drop, looking down between them, word trailing. She's said all she needs to say. ]

[It's not the same. When they got here, even if he couldn't articulate his own logic about why he'd left (probably because logic hadn't been involved much), he'd been completely clear about knowing he'd fucked up badly and wanting to make it up to her.

But this isn't him trying to figure himself out. He knows why this has rocked him, why she still has fears, groundless or not. He should be able to ease them, or better yet, kept from giving them to her in the first place.]

I'm sorry.

[His hand follows hers as it withdraws, fingers skimming lightly to rest above her elbow. Not even that day on the beach had things felt so fragile between them, liable to break at the slightest wrong touch. And this time Nate isn't sure they could put the pieces back together.]

I...

I know...

[ Elena feels like they're back in Yemen again, unsteady around one another, so unsure, walking on eggshells. All she can think is 'I know'. It's all she can say. Only this time she doesn't know. She's not so sure anymore of what she knows and what she doesn't.

Again she sighs. One more step forward and she leans in, eye closing as she rests her forehead against his chest. It was either she went to lay in bed, curl up, bury her face into a pillow, or she just let herself lean on him. Even after everything.

How many steps back has this put them? Nothing worth while is ever easy, and it's something she's learned to live by— there's always going to be obstacles that come between them, that test them. ]

Edited 2016-07-08 05:32 (UTC)

[Automatically, his arms go around her, holding her carefully like she's the most delicate thing in the world. She isn't, but maybe their marriage is, if this is all it takes to put it in danger.

They must have been kidding themselves to think that they were well down the road to recovery. Right now it seems like they barely reached the on-ramp. It's been too easy, too simple to fall into the romance and ignore everything that went wrong. It's no surprise that he can't talk about what's in the journal, really—how could he, when they can't even talk about what happened between them?

Nate lets out his breath in a sigh that comes out almost like a sob and holds her tighter, tucking her head under his chin and pressing his face against her hair. He can't lose her. He lived thirty years of his life before he ever met Elena Fisher and now he can't imagine what he would be without her.

He just doesn't know where they go from here.]

Of all the things you never explained

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