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[evocation]

@kyna.medina | ■ ▲ ◌ ▼

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[evocation]

Because. We're friends, right? I don't want you... you know. Bottling it up.

[withmeinparadise]

Why not? S'not like talking about it's gonna make a difference.

[ It already happened--all that's left is picking up the pieces and moving on. ]

[evocation]

You're totally doing the emotional constipation thing.

[withmeinparadise]

Pretty sure that ain't a thing.

[evocation]

What?

[She sounds utterly incredulous.]

It's totally a thing. I do it too.

[withmeinparadise]

All right, tell me about your emotional constipation. You get Ex-Lax for it?

[evocation]

[Kyna lets out a long, over dramatic sigh.]

I'm gonna kick your ass, Sam.

[withmeinparadise]

Let's not and say we did. I got enough of that back in the Aerie.

[evocation]

What do you mean? What happened?

[withmeinparadise]

Eh, got my face rearranged a little. [ He wrinkles his nose gingerly. ] Looked a lot worse when it happened.

[evocation]

Oh my God, Sam. How?

[withmeinparadise]

You, uh, remember the Shrikes? [ at least he kind of looks sheepish. ] Mighta gotten into it with one of them.

[evocation]

[Oh no.]

Which one? Why?

[withmeinparadise]

Didn't know the guy before this. Burton or, uh--something like that. It's fine, everything healed.

[ Sort of. He waves a hand vaguely, like the subject itself needs brushing off. ]

[evocation]

Amos?

[She's quiet for a second, nose wrinkling, and then, awkwardly:]

I, uh... punched him in the face.

[withmeinparadise]

That's the one. How'd he, uh, take it?

[evocation]

Uh... He was mad, but he didn't do anything about it. He was being an asshole, so...

[So she was justified!]

[withmeinparadise]

Sounds like he let us both off easy.

[evocation]

Maybe.

[She offers him her hand, wiggling her fingers. Let her care about you, jerk.]

[withmeinparadise]

[ He doesn't want to take it. All they're doing is opening a can of worms he has no desire to deal with--here, with her, or with anyone else. Some feelings, you just lie down in the dark somewhere and wait for them to pass, or walk it off until you really are fine.

But goddamn if he wants to waste an opportunity to touch Kyna. And some part of him, the part that lives with pain and loss and loneliness, fear and anger, but never loves any of it...maybe he wants this to be a burden shared. Even if he can't admit it to her. Even if he can't admit it to himself.

Before he reaches out, he fixes her with a look. ]

We're not watching that fight.

[ Mostly because he lost, and he lost badly. Even an echo of it, maybe with the echo of what it felt like to have everything in his life jump the rails--that's more than he wants her to know. More than he wants to remember right about now. It's still a fresh wound.

And then, fool that he is, he takes her hand in his. His hand's callused again--he hadn't noticed in the other world, hadn't had reason to, that his palms and fingertips were softer there. Hers is...not delicate, exactly, but smaller and fine-boned and warm, and if anyone walks out here and finds them like this, it'll kill him.

Everything in there, it's still the same, but there's an added sort of guardedness as well--like he's tensed to spring away if he needs to. ]

[evocation]

[And Kyna's feeling all the same things—grief and guilt and hurt, a sort of lingering fear that she hasn't been able to shake since she woke up. The difference is, she's also relieved, and she laces their fingers together, squeezing tight. Even something about the roughness of his hands is a reminder that they're them again, no strange other life, and it's deeply comforting in a way she wouldn't be able to put into words.

Despite her struggles with the empathy bond, she missed it, too. She missed the easy connection, the way it saves her from trying and failing to put her feelings into words. So part of this is for her, yes, but she thinks he needs it, too. Maybe knowing that she's feeling all the same things, that she's not judging or pitying him, will help.]

It's okay. You don't have to show me anything. This is all I wanted.

[Actually asking him to share memories with her from the Aerie when it's all so fresh just feels... invasive.]

[withmeinparadise]

[ So they sit there--in the stupid blue glow of their chests, under plants that spent the last couple of weeks threatening to take over the building--and Sam...he doesn't wonder what she feels, exactly, because he knows, but he wonders what she's thinking. What it's like inside her head, not just her heart, especially when they aren't touching.

He pulls her a little closer, his arm still around her, and looks up at the leaves swaying gently in the breeze. There's something in this he could get used to, even if the idea of it still raises his hackles. Just touching her, the best parts of last call with a pretty girl without having to start from scratch with the next one. Just none of the sex in between.

(Don't think about that. Not when Kyna can feel whatever longing and lust goes along with imagining getting a hand under her shirt, seeing her back arch--Jesus fucking Christ, Sam, think about famine or kicked puppies or something.)

He swallows. ]

How long d'you think before everyone else catches up to us? If they catch up to us. Maybe the city'll just be a wasteland until everyone over there kicks the bucket.

[evocation]

[Of course she feels it, whether he's thinking about famine or not. It's easy to brush off as just lust—he wants to sleep with her, and that's it. Any other possibility is too big, too scary to consider, so she just... doesn't. She likes this, feeling like she can open up to him, feeling like he's starting to trust her enough to do the same, and the idea of ruining it is terrifying.

So, she leans into him, running her thumb absently over his knuckles, and doesn't think about it. That's safer.]

Um... I don't know. I hope they come back soon.

[And she hopes they don't all have to die.]

Is Nate back?

[withmeinparadise]

[ She doesn't say anything about what comes through his hands, and he's grateful (and still trying to remember all the horrible ways pirates tortured captured crews, just in case).

The question's one neither of them can answer, more a silent request for a subject change than anything else, and Kyna's good about it. She tries, anyway. ]

Yeah. We, uh-- [ Talking about his own death doesn't really hit him--he's trying not to think about it as anything but a theoretical, something that kind of happened, kind of didn't--but knowing Nathan was right there with him? That's harder, a little pulse of unhappiness. He starts again, after a second or two. ] He's here.

[evocation]

[It's an odd hesitation, and she squeezes his hand impulsively.]

Is he okay?