thisavrou_log | ( open ) there's a road that follows to a home

Entry tags:

( open ) there's a road that follows to a home

Who: Angela & you!
When: The month of February and onward
Where: Region 2 farmlands, at her cottage
What: A permanent downtime log for house shenanigans!
Warnings: None, but I will update if anything comes along!

[ Angela's work schedule is a fairly clear-cut thing on the best of days. Three days working in Kauto's hospital, three days up on Chioni, and then two days off. Around the time of planet discovery and the initial burst of travels, she hovers around the Ingress Complex to assist any who may return injured, and she's otherwise on call across all three if emergencies required her skills. To say she isn't home terribly often is a fair enough assessment, but she still had plenty of downtime every evening, considering the longer days.

There's a key in the base of the lantern beside her front door, but not everyone knows about it— not even a handful from her own world. Those who do, however, know they have a free pass to her home whether she's there or no. A spare bed to crawl into, a couch to wait on, access to her stash of medical supplies (but seriously just call her for help). A kitchen to rummage through, now often with fresh-baked bread and a steady offering of apples off her trees on hand, as well as any leftovers in the fridge.

Eiger still accompanies her to work as a resident therapy dog, but he could be found around the property when she works her shifts on Chioni, access out the back door through the flap when he no longer feels like awaiting her return at the front. The cottage itself is on a hill and the back extends out on a bridge as an elongated sunroom, stretching out over the creek running through her property. The back door itself leads one to a winding path down through the copse of trees preceding her quaint little orchard of apple and walnut trees, surrounding a gazebo set up with a fire pit and the basics for cooking in warmer weather, hammock piled high in furs leftover from the Midway Hub's game— if anyone chose to visit and didn't have access to her house, this would be the ideal place to camp. (Just make sure to message her so she knows you're there! She'll come around once she's home to let you in.)

If she's home and not in the house, one would undoubtedly find her in that hammock with her work, fire crackling at hand and her cup of coffee long-since cold, Eiger curled up behind her legs. It's not the largest of places, but it's home, and there's blankets on near every surface— even the chairs in the kitchen. The creek is a relaxing babble, the creak of the water wheel partially powering her home, and if she's home, there's always a fire going if it's cold out and coffee going. ]

( ooc: This will be a permanent post for house stuff! I'll be posting monthly headers and any prompts relating to events or going-ons within to link from my toplevels, but I am 100% open to casual plotting or visits; just hit me up at

clegane or on discord (gauche#5968) and we can work something out! ♥ )

february ● march ● april ● may ● june ● july ● august

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Angela's out walking with Eiger when Shiro arrives, bundled up to stay warm and breath curling up from behind her scarf as the (significantly larger, now) dog trots about his property and ensures everything still smells as it should, a gentle presence that returns to her side when he hears someone else's approach.

Her cottage itself isn't terribly visible from the main road, so she wanted to make sure she wandered down the winding tree-framed path to meet him up front.

It wasn't like Shiro to come off as anything but collected, and so soon after his hospital stay—? Yeah, she worries. So she'd sent him her address and she'll be offering the travel mug in her hands, keeping her fingers warm. ]

Hey, Shiro. Come on in.

[ It's a little bit of a walk, but she'll fall right into step at his side. ]

[A risk.]

[He can still hear her saying it. Still feel how much it stings. How much it feels like she'd lied to him. Because she'd been afraid. She'd been afraid he'd lose focus, lose himself, just... afraid of him. Like everyone else had been, initially.]

[Right?]

[It still feels like the world got pulled out from under him. And part of him hadn't even realized he'd made it to Angela's vicinity. Just too absorbed in his own thoughts. Stupidly. It's not until she speaks that he actually looks up.]

[A little too haggard around the edges for someone who's supposed to be resting.]

Hey. Thank you -- for meeting me.

[ It's not stupid at all, and that's something she'll have the opportunity to reassure for him— people are allowed to be upset when those important to them have revealed untoward opinion, when they've hidden dire secrets from others. She knows that pain all too well, and it's all too fresh. And worrying over Shiro comes all too easily.

The doctor has a fair handle on the way he works by now; they have a fair amount in common themselves, but he shares even more with Jack. Perhaps, in this, she can find solidarity and help him work through whatever may be plaguing him, roughening his edges until he's left haggard and dazed.

A little too familiar for her tastes. She wastes no time reaching for his hands to wrap around her cup, even if he doesn't drink from it— it's her touch, grounding, and its warmth, seeping through to his joints. Her hands slip up to brace his wrists once she's sure he has a good grip on it and she smiles up at him; a lopsided and fretting little thing he should know just as well by now. ]

What have I told you about thanking me? We're friends. It's what we do. Now if you don't mind— it's bone-chilling out and you're always warm.

[ That would be Angela linking her arm through his, hugging him to her side as they begin to walk back down the path between the trees, Eiger flanking. She's never hesitated to reach for him, biotic or flesh. ]

What's on your mind?

Careful...

[But that's the only admonishment he has for her grabbing his hands. He's still favoring the metal one, the shoulder still hurts, for the weight of it. But there's no resistance when she takes the human one. Nothing at all. His expression barely shifts at the contact, too pulled inward to react strongly right now.]

[Too focused on keeping it all locked down. While someone else could see.]

[Always remain in control, she'd told him. And what if that hadn't been --]

Right, sorry. It's habit.

[It probably looks ridiculous, this small doctor tugging along the big, dorito-shaped individual. Who just lets himself be pulled along. Like he's following orders. A command. Old routine he can let his body follow even if his mind isn't totally here.]

Aside from my life starting to feel like a soap opera? That ever happen to you?

Ah, are you still hurting?

[ She won't rest any weight on his arm but she traces the line of it up to his shoulder, gentle where she quests— feeling for heat, mostly, with the gentlest press to see if it's swollen. Yet he isn't reacting to any of it, where usually, even with her, he'd tense if just for a moment before he eases back down. His expression is far away as he concentrates on... his thoughts? His reactions? She couldn't say.

And what a flimsy apology. She's so used to his little smiles to deter her attention, play off something bigger— Angela doesn't know what's wrong but all she can do for now is fit herself beside him and lead him down the packed dirt winding through the trees, edged in rocks built up in low curbs. It's an easy enough path to traverse without paying attention, minding him instead as their feet crunch along the way.

It may look ridiculous, but who's here to see? She didn't have neighbors for at least half a mile, and that's only counting to the edge of her property, much less the nearest homes. Those are even further. It's chilly, peaceful, and the warm lighting from her porch is welcoming at the very least when it comes into sight. ]

One day I'll have to tell you a little more about Overwatch. I understand the feeling quite clearly, I assure you. Now, why don't you start from the beginning?

[ Her steps fall into sync with his own, solidarity in the soles of their boots grinding through the sandy dirt, the quieter padding of Eiger a staccato to their rhythm. It's only a couple of minutes from the road to her porch, but she taps the toes of her boots against the stone bottom step before ascending, separating from him just long enough to avoid tripping one another, then she's reaching for the door. It wasn't even locked. ]

Come on in; we'll get you warmed up.

Sore. Just sore.

[It's true, if nothing else. At least that, he can be honest about. Maybe there's swelling, but he'd been careful. Pidge running diagnostics was about as much as he'd tried using it. The one thing he'd been good about.]

[Apparently.]

[Walking is good. Walking is fine. He can do those things without thinking. Without taking focus off what's going through his head. Hell, the cold hasn't even clicked with him yet. That's... how far gone his thoughts are at the moment.]

It's... it's complicated. I haven't -- told you about home. Have I?

[Come on man, get your brain back together. Talk to her like a normal person. Because that's all you are. Aren't you?]

[... why did you think a monster like you ...]

[His step falters up to her porch, and without thinking about it, he's reaching out with metal fingers to grab the railing, and wincing when the soreness drags him back out of the memory.]

I'll have a look in a bit.

[ Spoken gently, an offer for the nebulous future. At least the sling kept most of the weight of his arm supported, and he doesn't feel especially swollen; it should be all right. But it is cold out, and he's been outside long enough that his hand is like ice. A little paler than usual, no matter how the cold has tinged his cheeks and nose.

So she minds the things he doesn't. Nearly throws the blanket about her shoulders over his instead, but she knows he'd fight that and insist otherwise. —Well, perhaps like this with so much weighing on his mind, he won't. It's difficult to say.

"It's complicated", he says, as if life is ever anything but. It makes her smile, wistful though it may be. ]

Not terribly much. You're a defender of the universe and you don't know how you ended up with your arm; memory issues from a related trauma, I imagine. Green goo was a thing. You're a pilot for spacecrafts with a military background. [ Then her brows draw up, because she won't mention all the other little things she's noticed about him, spawning off of those memory issues. His nightmares, the times he goes away and has to ask someone to repeat themselves, the way he tenses as odd memories flash by and set him on edge. How easily he's avoided her questions up to this point, answering as vaguely as he can get away with to her face. In the end, it doesn't sound like much at all. Yet she's painted a far more detailed portrait of him from all the little droplets of color he's shed, filling her palette. It leaves her looking a little apologetic for not knowing more. She should have asked. ] Take your time, Shiro. You can tell me whatever you need to convey what you wish, and think about it before you begin. I don't mind waiting. We have all night.

[ They reach the porch and he falters, not quite stumbling but his arm slips from the sling to grab the railing and she sees him wince, already trying to steady him with the arm she had ahold of. ]

Easy now; the first step's a little tricky. [ It's not, but she'll say it regardless, as if there were a lip on the stone to catch his toes. ] Mind your arm, dear.

[ Come on you; in the house where it's warm. ]

Right.

[Right, watch the arm. Right, get inside. Talk then. He has how many steps to think it over? How many steps to decide what words need to be said? How many before they're seated somewhere and he's talking.]

[She doesn't know much. And he's not surprised. He should have told her things -- more mundane things. Maybe everything wouldn't seem so overwhelming if that were the case. If he'd just opened his mouth and said something.]

[There's... a lot of ifs.]

[But he can't back out of this now. Despite everything conflicting thrown in his face, he knows he can't sort this out in his head. She was offering. She'd promised he was never a bother. He's got to believe her.]

[He steps inside, glancing around like he's finally seeing the place for the first time. Finally realizing where he is. And looking to her for a cue again.]

Where do you want me?

[ There's no rush, not really— he has been out in the cold but it's not "risk of hypothermia" levels of cold, nothing sitting by the fire and a blanket won't take care of given half an hour and the chance to take his boots off for something a little softer. Her summary is lacking but she doesn't seem to mind, because what she doesn't say is also that she knows he's a good man. That his heart is in the right place, well and truly, and he has sacrificed all he has and more to take care of those around him. That he doesn't hold a lick of ire in that. He's the type that does what he can because it's a positive force exerted on the world and he can, and he doesn't expect recognition. Would even shy away from the limelight given the chance.

Angela doesn't know what's made him into the man he is today, but she knows that man well. The rest is inconsequential.

He's up the steps and through the door, and once she closes it she's removing her shoes to opt for a pair of slippers, fur-lined, with a few other pairs waiting. She'll gesture for him to do the same and pick a pair that will (mostly) fit. A single pair large enough for Reinhardt, a couple daintier ones for women, and a couple for (the typical-sized) men. Then she flips her blanket off her shoulders and up about his, Eiger at the end of the entry and tail wagging hesitantly. For now, she bids him back to the living room in her own tongue and he obeys, waiting for Shiro to decide whether or not he'd remove his shoes before she draws him further in. The fireplace sits within the dividing wall before them, living room to the right and kitchen to the left, and she'll let him head in while she heads to the kitchen, plucking her travel mug from his hand. ]

I'm going to get us some coffee; go ahead and warm up by the fire. Your hands are freezing. [ Ah, but with a little smile before her fingertips leave his arm to part ways: ] And pet Eiger a little, will you? He'll worry.

[ It will give him a little while longer to gather his thoughts, but he'll be able to see her through the fireplace and continue to speak to her if he wishes. ]

Edited 2017-02-28 06:21 (UTC)

[He ends up copying her example. A little mechanically. But it's something to do. Something to focus on -- orders are good. Even if they aren't actual orders. He'd lost his original boots a long time ago, when he first found his way onboard the Moira. These were close enough. And he leaves them by hers.]

[Wearing real shoes in a house is weird, anyway.]

[The change is almost immediate, when he feels the blanket around him. Wow, he really wasn't focused, if that could catch him off guard so easily. If he could get so absorbed in his own head he forgot to watch the temperature.]

All right.

[Eventually, he gets in there. Eventually he sits.]

[--pet Eiger a little, will you?]

[Take care of the dog. Good -- good, he's got this. So he holds out his hand -- the human one, offering it up in greeting.]

[ Shiro copies her more than makes his own decision about it one way or the other, but the small touch of comfort is one she's glad to see him accept. Then the blanket, and he almost seems to snap out of his daze. She pulled it close about broad shoulders and brings two corners down together to wrap metal fingers about, then they go their separate ways for the few short minutes it will take her to pull two fresh cups.

With brown sugar, in his, and cream in hers.

Eiger minds his given patient gently and approaches when Shiro turns his hand over in invitation, sat on the little couch closest to the fire. Uncharacteristic of a dog, he doesn't even spare a sniff at his fingers. He knows Shiro by now, even in passing, and instead he presses his face into his fingers to let them comb into thick white fur, fingertips brushing into slate. He gets as close as he can between Shiro's knees and sits, bright gold eyes watching him intently. He's trained his whole life for this, short though that may have been thus far.

Angela smiles when she comes back in with both mugs steaming, couch cushion sinking with her weight and Eiger not even taking his eyes from Shiro as she approaches. His mug is sat on the table before them, on a granite coaster, awaiting his leisure while she sips her own.

She's content to sit and wait for him to speak first. She'd told him to take his time and she meant it, but for now, she's an easy presence at his (right) side and she draws one leg up under her, reaching over to ruffle Eiger's ears. Silent acknowledgment that, yes, he's been good. ]

... hey buddy.

[It's weird how easy it is just to pet a dog. Any kind of dog. Even out in the middle of an alien world, where the careful world you'd built up for yourself felt like it was crumbling. Petting a dog felt right. Felt easy. He's... still only using his human hand. If only because that's probably less frightening to an animal.]

[He knows Angela is back. Feels the couch shift. The presence of another person nearby. He doesn't want to do this. Like talking about it all will make it more real. Make it something more tangible.]

[But ... he owes the others. They're going through a lot, themselves. And they're kids. Ripped away from their whole lives. He's got to do this -- if not for himself, for them. Maybe that way of thinking will change, someday. But for now, it's what he needs to get his mouth in gear.]

I haven't seen a real dog in two years. Give or take... [Start slow. Go easy.] It was months, my first mission out. Just me and my crew -- furthest humans had ever been from Earth.

Explorers. First team that deep into space -- first pilot, too.

[He's starting at the beginning. And though he doesn't look at her yet, he's talking. That's something. Talking like he's addressing Eiger is easier, for now.]

And... then another year... after we were... [His fingers bury in fur.] After we were taken by aliens we didn't know existed. All of us. I don't remember that year. I just remember ... pieces of it.

Sounds like a science fiction movie, doesn't it?

[ Eiger's ears perk at 'buddy'; really, he'll listen to anything if someone's looking at him, and he responds to multiple languages as well. He's met quite a lot of people and has already soothed his fair share of souls. Angela nods, and the dog shifts just enough to lick the heel of Shiro's palm, an exposed bit of wrist— whatever he gets access to, just the once. (Okay, maybe it was twice. Don't tell mom.) He's patient and gentle, just like she is, and he's seen all sorts of aliens and his fair share of robotics. The presence of a sling has him nudging a little closer to nose at Shiro's metal hand and offer that a lick as well, and Angela listens.

It's all right if he talks to Eiger instead of her. The fact that he's talking at all is already a step in the right direction. Shiro begins to paint a picture and, just like someone else she knew, she closes her eyes to focus, imagine it for herself. A deep space mission is impressive on its own, much less for Shiro to be so young as a part of it. Her assumption of his intelligence was right on the money. He's a smart man— clever and skilled. Yes; that she knew.

Of course there's other life beyond their universe. They've been co-existing amongst that proof. Their universe is far, far from the only one. Organisms found a way. Life was always amazing and surprising, in what it could adapt to. Finally, when prompted: ]

Sounds like it, perhaps, but it was far from fiction for you. For all of us here, as it turns out.

[ The touch of her hand at his shoulder is all the encouragement he needed. Go on. She'll just settle into a gentle rub, feeling out sore muscle and thumb smoothing along the joint where flesh turned to metal before she settles into a soft knead. Affirmation of her presence and reassurance, something to focus on. His fingers in thick, soft fur, and someone taking care of him even in the littlest of ways. He's with a friend. ]

You know, I... I wish it was.

[There's a disparaging laugh. Something without humor.]

[But the dog is there. The dog is a welcome distraction. He's shaking his head, nudging him gently away from it. No, buddy, it'll static shock you or something come on pup.]

I don't even remember getting away. The... last clear thing I remember is -- when I saw my friend, the last time. [Once more he has to stop. Tangle human fingers in real fur. Rub at an ear.] They -- they're... called Galra. They were going to put him in a combat arena. For sport.

... He was going to die. [He says it flatly. Mechanically. Because he remembers knowing it then. He remembers Matt knew it too. As much as he'd tried to reassure him. Tried to be there for him, protect him. They both knew it. So...] I hit him. Knocked him down. So they took me instead.

[If it were possible for a person to sound less proud of what they did, it would be a miracle. Even as Pidge's words are still in his head, of how she understood. She understood and she forgave him. He still has to wonder if it was right.]

Next thing I know... I'm back on Earth. Surrounded by my old commanders. And... I didn't have an arm anymore.

They didn't want to hear what I had to say. They just. They just wanted to take the arm apart. They would have.

[More certainty. More flat recital of facts. Somehow leaving out the bitter parts still reeling from knowing the people you'd gone to for help were more willing to use you as a science project than listen to you. But he just keeps talking. Like pausing too long will take the words away.]

[Next comes the others. He tells her about a rescue he slept through -- Because they put me under -- about meeting each of them. Pidge, Hunk, Lance, and Keith. About following them into the desert. Willingly. Because of how they just accepted him. Just rallied around him. When no one was forcing them to.]

[And then?]

... and then the giant lion from space kidnapped us. And the guy who apparently flunked his cargo pilot exams was its chosen Paladin.

[Yeah that's probably the most emotion he's put into anything he's said so far.]

You're not alone in that, either.

[ He isn't alone, full stop. Even if it's nebulous as a concept, there are many things in his life that he struggles with that many others are. He's not damaged, or wrong for feeling the way he does, nor is he an oddity. Amongst peers.

Shiro takes his pauses and buries his touch in Eiger's fur, the dog patiently allowing him no matter how rough or gentle with a wag of his tail swishing along the hardwood. He's dissuaded and he stops seeking out the other hand, ears splaying to the touch and mouth falling open with the loll of a long pink tongue. Every sign of distress from Shiro gets a little lick from Eiger, something that keeps him from sinking too deep.

And Angela's touch continues, massaging, eyes only opening once he mentions his friend. The way he speaks of what had happened as if he hadn't saved his life, as if he's ashamed of his own actions. A moment later, and she realizes it's because it led to his ticket home. It wasn't the action itself but the result. ]

You sacrificed yourself to save your friend, and you ended up freed. Yet you said it yourself; he would have died if you hadn't. You provoked your captors into punishment and you couldn't have known you'd escape. Or be released— whichever had happened.

[ Shiro doesn't put that bitterness to words but she understands; it's in the squeeze of slender fingers over sore muscle, the way she's looking at him if he can tear his eyes away from her furry companion. It says that what had happened to him and how he was treated was wrong— immeasurably so. She's upset at these distant commanders, the people who were meant to lead and protect him, and for what they wanted to do. That they wouldn't listen, and that they sedated him when he was likely already disoriented and scared, with people he was supposed to trust coming at him.

It's a hard pill to swallow, isn't it? She's even getting a little choked up hearing it, though no tears fall. (So many things make sense with that, don't they?) Then he speaks of meeting his team and it lightens him almost imperceptibly, that the simple acceptance and trust had won him over so easily. And then that amused tip of exasperation in his tone leaves her smiling, giving him another little squeeze. ]

They're young, then. And they look up to you. What then?

[ He's doing well; he's getting there. So far she's following along just fine. ]

[He didn't even have to say it. She figured it out all from one short moment. One brief explanation. He shakes his head slightly, like he's trying to brush off the reassurance.]

He... had so much to get back to. His family... I just wanted him to see them again. His mother. Kai-- Pidge...

[Still easy to slip and call her Katie, when the emotions run too high. She'd understand, he's sure. And Angela won't judge. Angela won't run around telling them all Pidge's real name. It's safe enough to slip here.]

[He'd just wanted to help Matt. Not lose him.]

[He can feel her looking his way, and, for a second, glances over at her. Maybe he doesn't really want to see sympathy. He wouldn't know how to handle that. Doesn't know how to handle it. Brushing it aside is easier. That, he can take.]

[That, and another question. A prompt to go on. This part isn't difficult. Even if it leads up to the reason he's here.]

Then... then we ended up with aliens. And asked to save the universe.

[Yeah, there's more to it than that, and he gets into it. Tells her how they'd found the Castle. How they'd stumbled into finding Allura, Coran, the briefest explanation of what they were being drafted into -- a force meant to fight back against the people who'd stolen a year of his life.]

[Who still, for all he knew, had his friend, his teammate's family. Who were slowly crawling their way across all known space, taking it over. Enslaving races left and right.]

[How they were each supposed to assume the role of some long-dead hero. The weight their Princess was putting on all their shoulders.]

I know they can do it. All of them. They've already come so far ... [But then comes the problem. The reason this has all come to a head, and he hesitates. Swallowing, and bowing his head.]

I'm their leader. I'm... the one 'always in control'. The head of the team. [Literally and figuratively.] She told me all of that in the very beginning.

[His jaw works. And his voice comes out very quietly.]

... but she never told me who it was I was supposed to replace.

Do you know that your efforts were in vain, or are you just assuming?

[ Angela won't let him brush that off; not unless he's certain his friend had died, or somehow not gambled upon the opportunity Shiro had given him. She's never been in such a position but she knows what it means to take calculated risks, to weigh the pros and cons and self-sacrifice for what was right, and what you felt was worth it. Shiro had taken a huge risk for his life and didn't get the chance to see how it worked out. That's a cruel fate, for someone tackling such a selfless cause.

She catches his eyes even if only for a moment, but there's a difference between empathy and sympathy. Understanding versus pitying one's losses and pain. There's no pity to be found here.

The explanation that follows is at length, perhaps, and a bit beyond her understanding, but she follows along regardless. Puts context to what he's told her before, his actions, their consequences. What it would mean for him. And then she has a proper picture of just what had happened, she thinks.

No one gave him much of a say in the matter, in the end. And he was still missing pieces of himself, trying to patch over the holes. ]

But what about you, Shiro? It's wonderful that you believe in them, well and truly— but did you ever find your answers? Shake out any memories of what happened?

[ She gives one of those shoulders a little squeeze to prompt him on, half-knead and half-reassurance for him to go on, leaning a little closer against his side to stabilize her presence. ]

Who would that be...? It isn't fair to thrust someone into such a position of control without giving them all the information they'll need. Sending forces in and telling them misinformation can get a lot of good people killed instead of being honest about what they don't know. Giving someone false confidence to tackle what lies ahead means they won't be wary of their surroundings and approach cautiously. They're less likely to adapt, improvise on the spot. It's... inadvisable, on a purely objective viewpoint.

[ What this all says is that it isn't fair. He shouldn't have been treated the way he had, or even given leadership if they wished to ignore his basic needs to meet his job. It's giving a delivery driver food and no car. Telling men to build a home with no lumber or plaster, no blueprints. ]

I don't know. Either way.

[Which is the problem. That's the issue entirely. How little he knows about what happened to Matt, or Commander Holt. If they were alive, if they were still imprisoned... Pidge is all there is. All he knows for sure. And she deserves an answer to all her questions.]

[Did he ever find his answers?]

[He thought he would. When faced with a captive in stasis. When staring down an unconscious foe they'd all defeated together. He'd been close. So close. And then?]

No.

[And then the world turned on its side, telling him things he didn't want to hear. Words he couldn't stop listening to, over and over again. Taunting, mocking. Words he didn't even know were real, or imagined.] No, I didn't. Nothing ever came back.

[He should tell her about Sendak. But he's not sure if he can. If he wants her to know what he'd done in a panic. How badly he'd lost composure. So he doesn't. Maybe another time.]

She... [Allura] wasn't going to tell me the original Black Paladin was the one we've been fighting since day one.

The Galra leader. Their emperor.

She knew. She knew. And she wasn't going to tell me. Or any of us.

[He doesn't even try to keep the hurt out of the words. Maybe it's childish to be so upset over an omission. Maybe he should be better about this. More accepting, more understanding. Acknowledge her reasoning and just move on.]

[But he can't.]

[He's pulling his hands from the dog to drag them over his face.]

She told me it was too big of a risk. Like I was something that couldn't be trusted. [Something -- not someone.] Like I was going to charge after him the second I knew...

Then until you do have some indication either way, you have to know that what you did? Was very, incredibly selfless. And brave. And it was all you could do. How they choose to use the opening you'd made is out of your hands, and worrying about it will only grind you further into the ground.

[ She wants to tell him she's proud of him, that she's so glad to have met him— maybe she still will. For now, she's trying to listen more than speak, direct him with the right questions. Angela can't even be sure she has them, but she still tries. It's her door he'd ended up at, after all, so he must think she can help. ]

Amnesia is such a difficult thing to suffer through; I wish I could help. It will all come back to you, even if it's in scattered pieces. The mind has so many ways to process emotional turmoil and upset, we can't predict how we'll handle heavier issues.

[ And then it comes out. Just like that. It made sense to her why he's so bothered, the magnitude of the truth that had been kept from him and just how deep this ran, what it truly meant to have withheld such information— that tightness in her chest is a quiet fury, burning like old coals. With everything that Shiro had going on, even with the origin of his arm— he wasn't untrustworthy. Everything about him, his every word and action, has been one of loyalty. Of trying to corral his team for the greater good. Even missing years of his life, he presses forward on the good will of complete strangers who have placed their trust in him, even with an alien hand he's still learning to accept.

This man has tried so hard to pull what few pieces together he had to paint a full picture, had given his all to Allura, and she hadn't reciprocated that trust or loyalty. And Angela, so rarely the type to be riled up, is splenetic on his behalf. He has every right to be upset; there aren't many reasons even someone as patient as Angela would accept for such a slight.

All she can do is murmur his name again, empathetic and sorrowful, an apology of its own for what's happened, even if she's not a part of it. He drags his hands over his face and she reaches to catch them, curling her fingers around his own to draw back away. And, yes, leaning into his space to bump her brow to his, hold his hands together in his lap. When he continues on further, she'll reach up for him to wrap an arm up about his neck, drawing him in if he'll let her. ]

She was wrong. Is wrong, about you and her decision not to tell you. You're a wonderful and intelligent person, Shiro. You've done nothing but earn the trust of those around you. You're loyal, and you're brave, and you care deeply. [ Oop there it is— she'll punctuate with a press of her lips to his hair, a soft and brief thing meant to convey fondness, the honesty of her statement. ] If they've expected you to be the leader, you need to be given all the information and be trusted to apply it as necessary. To be able to sort it out yourself and make your own decisions on how to proceed.

I'm so sorry, Ssüässli. You deserve so much more for all you've given.

I...

[It doesn't feel brave. It just feels like something that had to be done. Like there was no other choice. Either let Matt die, or give him a chance. That wasn't a choice, not in a real sense of the word. A choice meant both options were valid.]

[He shakes his head, instead of answering. Because what comes up next is something he actually has to answer.]

I'm not -- I'm not even sure I want to know. [Metal fingers flex briefly, for emphasis.] Not everything.

[Or if he wants to know how far he'd had to go to survive. How many people he'd... faced... in the arena. They couldn't all have been monsters. Could they? Was what he'd heard, the voice in his head, or the whisper he'd imagined, right? The "monster" being real?]

[Was he, really, one?]

[His brain is running in circles with all of this. With what had gone on between himself and Allura and whether or not he'd deserved to hear it. Whether or not she'd been right. He doesn't realize where his hands have migrated to, until Angela is pulling at them. Until she's tugging at him. He's too wound up to resist.]

[And... then too surprised by her answer to pull away.]

[After Darin of all people sided with Allura, he was expecting to hear he'd been wrong, again. That how he'd reacted had been completely out of line. And part of him believed it.]

You... you don't agree with her? [Yes, she'd just said that. But he still wants confirmation, in away.] Angela, I ... lost my temper with her. That's not what should have ... I shouldn't have done that.

I threw everything back in her face. And left.

You can't -- really think I was right to do that.

[ It's brave when doing so meant going against your every human instinct to survive and taking that death for yourself, and she can see he struggles with it. All she can do is say what she believes and hope it's something he can consider, turning her words over for himself, processing them, deciding if he'll take them as his own or not. She doesn't force her opinions on him expecting him to take them as his own; she simply strives to prompt him to think on his own feelings, form his own opinions. Process things at his own pace. If she can offer him anything, it's patience and understanding. She can be a sounding board at the very least and help direct his thoughts to something productive, focused. ]

I wish life was so easy, dear. Many of us don't get the luxury of forgetting the bad, but I can promise you'll be able to handle whatever it may reveal. It's already in the past and you're still all right. You'll just have to remember those two things and know that no matter what it had been, it's been made irrelevant at least on that front. Anything else is simply context.

[ It doesn't do him any good to focus on it, so she will try to offer a tidy end and allow him to rest on it— there are more important things, after all, but it was a crucial tie-in to how the situation has gone down and why it had been so wrong of her treatment of him. She doesn't know Allura and wishes no harm upon her, nor does she feel she's even a bad person. But she sounded relatively young and has made her mistakes as well. That is something that needs to be recognized by both parties.

Shiro doesn't resist her drawing him into a hug, so she will do just that. His good arm drawn to her waist to reach up and circle his neck, her words all the closer to sink deeper when she speaks. ]

I don't agree with her. [ There's your confirmation, softly-spoken yet with her conviction behind each syllable just as firm. ] We're an impulsive people, Shiro. Mistakes were made on both sides of this, it sounds like, but you're not wrong to be upset and hurt by what has happened. A leader can't do their job without all available information given. What she did may have been out of concern, but it was still not correct. Having a piece like that in her pocket and not sharing it with you could have readily resulted in your death from the sound of it.

Perhaps you shouldn't have lost your temper, but it is still within reason.

[ Having drawn him down to her reach for an embrace, her fingers card into his hair to stroke, recalling how it'd calmed him in the hospital. She lets out a long breath, not quite a sigh even as it dispels some measure of ire in her frame— being upset made her tense, and she can't give him that here. He's already upset himself. So she relaxes in example, and Eiger's curled up on the floor against one of Shiro's ankles, where he'll be cementing himself the rest of Shiro's stay. ]

That storm will pass, dear, and life will settle. Give it a day or two for both of you to rest on it and think things through, then work on your apologies. You can stay here as long as you'd like.

[It's already in the past and you're still all right.]

[But maybe his crew isn't. His old crew. Maybe Pidge's family isn't. There's no way to know. There's no way of knowing, and it's going to slowly drive him crazy if he keeps being so obsessed with it. Even privately. He's shaking his head. But, she's right, in a way. They're not here to dwell on Matt.]

Right.

[He can't break. He can't even bend. He's not supposed to. Not allowed to. He's meant to be calm and collected and in control all the time, but -- there's something in her confirmation. Something in the simple words: I don't agree with her that feels like a shock run through his body. Run through his heart and brain. His hands shake.]

[It's lucky they're out of immediate view. He doesn't even know why it feels like she's shaken the world around him with those simple words, but it does. Maybe he just needed someone to tell him it was okay to crack, even around the edges, under the weight of something so big he couldn't know it all, let alone shoulder it. And it occurs to him, briefly, belatedly, that no one from his team is here. None of them are standing on the sidelines to observe. To watch.]

[He's not a leader, here. He's whatever there is left of Shiro.]

[you're not wrong to crack. you're not wrong to lose control. you're not wrong to be human.]

[And by the time she has her fingers in his hair again, he can't see her around the blurriness of vision. Can't talk around the knot in his chest and throat. God, but he's tried. Tried so hard and so long and not one word to whether or not everything going through his head was allowed. Always just how wrong he was to feel like he had been. How he shouldn't do this or that, how he shouldn't think he'd lost the Princess, shouldn't feel he has to look after everyone and everything.]

[Now here's Angela. Telling him it's okay. Just this once.]

[There's no sound to it. There's not even a change in breathing, or shaking shoulders. He just nods his head, telling her he's heard. Trying to thank her while no words come out.]

[He might as well have been sitting silently and listening while she spoke, except for the damp patches on her shoulder where his face is resting.]

[And it's some time before he can lift his head to even try to meet her eye. His head still bowed, as if, despite the sudden, crackling feeling of relief, he's still ashamed he let himself go like that. His hand slips from her, to move to find the dog's fur again. It's nothing like being linked to the Lion, but... hey. An animal is an animal, right?]

... Thank you. I... believe you. It's going to take a lot to remember it all, but... I believe you.

[His voice is a little too thick for normal promises, but just as earnest as ever.] You think they'll survive? Being on their own for a day or two?

Edited 2017-03-28 08:39 (UTC)

[ There's little and less she can do for him other than offer her opinion and her beliefs, a listening ear. She can feel the fine tremor in him as her words ring through him, the thrum of a struck bell still ringing, vibrating the very air. Sometimes that's all it really took.

To his credit, it's such a clean break by the time he's gathered his pieces back up and arranged them back together, you'd scarcely see so much as a chip let alone the web of cracks now littering him. Head to toe, the curl of his body invoking more where he bends, the flimsy shell of "leader" under duress. There's no quickened or shortness of breath, no sniffles, and he doesn't even really reach to circle her in his arms.

He takes her embrace the way he's taken everything thrust upon him thus far. Quiet and without complaint, to the best of his ability. She feels his tears soak right through the wool to her skin and his words have come to a dead stop.

The little nod he offers only smears his tears further, but for as long as he needs, he doesn't have to worry about impressions or holding himself together for a change.

She gets it. She really does. So for now she just keeps with the steady card of her fingers through his hair, keeping her breathing measured for him to pace his own to, head resting against his as she kneads at his neck gently. Same pacing, slow and easy. It's a while before he finally raises his head and lets her go, hand immediately dropping to find Eiger beneath his palm as she draws back just enough to meet him with a smile.

And then she's cupping his cheeks, thumb brushing beneath one eye. Even if his tears have dried there's still a dampness at his lashes and she'll fan them back out. ]

I'm glad. They're certainly words to evaluate for yourself, but take your time. They're yours if you'll have them. [ Then, smile widening: ] They have other supervision. They'll be just fine, I promise. You're free to sleep wherever you please, and the shower's also all yours. There's a guest room upstairs across from mine, or there's the sofas here and the rollout over there, or there's also the sunroom. If you like listening to the creek.

You're going to be just fine, Shiro.

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