[ She shouldn't sink so far back into her manners and deflective talking again, but so often it comes to this. These lacking words, confused as they are. ]
Only if they can spare you and it is of no great trouble to your day.
[ The hospital will manage, as long as it needs to. Nothing could have kept him from her side when he knew she needed him there, and that sense grows stronger the closer he gets to home.
The front door opens, closes softly, and his footfalls fill the front hall as he casts his gaze about for the sight of her. ]
[ It seems to swim, up her throat, as she got the news. The loneliness. No more, now than ever, she wishes for her people. For the security. That someone would take the weight off her shoulders, remove her from having to know what to do. How far away everything swam from her vision.
Jack was gone. Jack was gone, Jack was gone.
She never had the gift for idleness. Always something she ought to do. So she does the same now. A meal in parts that she cuts apart in sharp swipes. Again, again, again. Thinks maybe, she knicked her knuckles, but red blood against red meat, who was to say? Anymore than the steam of the cooking meant what of the wet on her face. Work, work until it made sense again. Thry have the luxury, let them, let them flourish in it, take solace in theirs for you never can. Not without the songs, not without the grace it gives to grieve. So work the hands, tend the flock, child, that is your peace. ]
Kitchen.
[She calls it, best as she can, even when it cracks. Better. Anduin home. She could feed him, tend him. Better. Something to fix upon. He would be hungry from healing so long, he always was. His shoulders would be sore, she could ease that pain too. Then they could walk Duke. Call on Jacob. Then maybe, exhaustion would come in blissful depths. ]
[ He can hear the distress she tries to hide in her voice, moving all the more quickly towards the doorway. His gaze moves over her tense frame, the jerky movements of her hands as she works--
Something cold clenches at his chest. A sense of dread. ]
...I came as quickly as I could.
[ Murmured, as he steps towards her, a hand falling to her shoulder with a comforting squeeze. Will she even look at him? Or has she fallen into that trap, focusing so intently on whatever busywork might distract her from her thoughts that she cannot pull free? ]
[ Just as he fears, just as she often does when things ache, when something might get the better of her - she stays with her eyes down. The heavy thud of the blade against fresh vegetables that fall apart to soft cores.
Who knew she could envy the use of a knife? ]
Oh did not have to do that, my love, you know I...
[ The hand touches her, and she stiffens. The rejection and wanting. Both of which she swallows down on, as she turns with his approach. Eyes down, eyes always down. ]
There's silence and still for a moment to absorb the news, before he gently draws her in close. His head lowers, lips pressed to the top of her head, and for a time he says nothing.
[ She cannot do this here, she knows she cannot. It is not safe. Not like it is for another. They have beautiful things, delicate things, in this home of theirs. Duke, too, worried as he is, was, for whatever had made her not play all afternoon with him.
She cannot cry her fill now, it isn't seemly or gracious when he already worked so hard and so long and dealt with so much every day. He needed her to help him with his own pain that way. It was a task she took pride in, no less.
But the second he draws her in, that warm dark sense of being held, the scent of him so comforting, all the will in the world could not stop it. No matter how she shook her against his shoulder, curled her fingers in, all of it futile to the effort of keeping down that one wretched sob that cracks out of the back of her throat. One, then another, as she shudders in each wracking sob until she's hanging onto him as tightly as she can.
Until they're not the sobs of a woman, no, something that begins to change, become so far away. Drowning, drowned, and therein was the problem - the sea crept in. Echoing tides that crash, her voice that turns soft to its despair, and the pressure bursts, the taps on the sink flaring on. The water in the pot beginning to ripple and shudder, sloshing around in its container. ]
[ Those tremors build in her, sweeping outward around them, but there's no fear in him. Objects can be replaced, and he knows she will never hurt him.
Instead he lifts a hand, runs it warm and comforting along her back, allowing that pressure to find an exit point. He won't go anywhere, not while she needs him. Again he kisses the soft curls atop her head, and again, rocking her slow and soothing. ]
[ The gentler he is, the harder she cries. Each sob wracks through her until her whole body shakes. Harder the water rattles, groaning in the pipes, louder and louder. Barely contained in the trappings of these fragile things that hold them. ]
Why did he have to go?
[ The long, long question, over and over. Why did they always have to go? ]
[ Because they didn't belong here. Because they'd have to return home, eventually. But she knows that, she'd known that all along. Logic doesn't matter to an aching heart. ]
I know. I know it hurts.
[ Were that there were anything he could do to stem the tide, but as much as Gilia bottles up her own feelings inside, he can do this much. The house rattles with her sorrow and distress, but he holds her still, stroking soothing lines against her back. ]
[ The kinder his words, the harder she sobs, and deeper, deeper it flows. A dark ebb that seems to answer an unanswered question.
That pushes back, curious and watchful, in that shimmer of power not forced all the way below the surface. Answering the pain. Why do you weep, child? is the rattle of pipes, the thunder of waves.
That in the silence between, seems to push at Anduin, just as much as it protects her. The words that are not words, the being that is not a being, a half of one soul to protect another, and which parts of Gilia are responsible for that sheer presence curl like stingers around a fresh kill, yet left everything else untouched. Growing in her like a coral reef. Somewhere deep in the curls of her hair and the shuddering something distinctly looks back at Anduin. Waiting, waiting, waiting. Are you harm or help?
No more than a drip, drip, drip of water against stone. As loud as the waves tearing a ship down in a hundred souls screams. That great maw that is the soul of darkness that is before, before life, that was old when mountains rose. That is new as each and every one of its teeth grows in, rows upon rows of jagged glass pieces to rend flesh. A light so painfully impossible it is to be beautiful and terrifying at once. A prince for my daughter? Or a shadow of false pearls? ]
[ Anduin's grip doesn't falter as he feels that ripple pass through her and into him. He is a priest, after all, and spirits are no unknown thing to him. Bright and beautiful and terrifying as that presence within her is, he doesn't flinch for a moment.
Her pain is his, and for all that his heart aches for her that familiar ache grounds him too. Loss is something he knows intimately, knowing loss longer than he's known any single person in his life.
But Gilia isn't broken in the same ways. Those wounds still weep, and it's all he can do to provide that anchor to her when she is so terribly adrift, as she once did for him. He hears the rush of waves, the echo of something primal, and presses back against it like a hand against a pane of glass.
Only a man. One who loves her, and shares her pain. No more, no less. ]
[ Long that silence stretches, long that silence stares. Loud that silence beats into a place between worlds, between life. Whether it is Gilia's heart or another could not be said, it is her voice, it is a thousand other voices, and it is always, always, that silence. Where she, herself, begins to almost dissolve in his arms in that strange another form, ephemerally slip to the place where even his hands did not touch, if he held a little tighter, it threatened, he would plunge straight through that shallow depth of woman to dark waters.
That finds the correctness in that response and settles, and at last - the rattling of the water, where the sink overruns, and pools water to the floor in a thin sheen, the aching groans of the internal pipework of the house rushing with such force, the bubbling over stove - all settle. All silence themselves.
Until there is nothing left, but those quiet sobs she takes on his shoulder, sagging exhausted into him. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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And I you. With all that I am.
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But I wish I could keep it. I know it is selfish. But I wish I could.
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I'll come home early tonight. Would that please you?
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Only if they can spare you and it is of no great trouble to your day.
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He says it's alright by him.
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I shall be there shortly.
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The front door opens, closes softly, and his footfalls fill the front hall as he casts his gaze about for the sight of her. ]
Gilia?
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Jack was gone. Jack was gone, Jack was gone.
She never had the gift for idleness. Always something she ought to do. So she does the same now. A meal in parts that she cuts apart in sharp swipes. Again, again, again. Thinks maybe, she knicked her knuckles, but red blood against red meat, who was to say? Anymore than the steam of the cooking meant what of the wet on her face. Work, work until it made sense again. Thry have the luxury, let them, let them flourish in it, take solace in theirs for you never can. Not without the songs, not without the grace it gives to grieve. So work the hands, tend the flock, child, that is your peace. ]
Kitchen.
[She calls it, best as she can, even when it cracks. Better. Anduin home. She could feed him, tend him. Better. Something to fix upon. He would be hungry from healing so long, he always was. His shoulders would be sore, she could ease that pain too. Then they could walk Duke. Call on Jacob. Then maybe, exhaustion would come in blissful depths. ]
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Something cold clenches at his chest. A sense of dread. ]
...I came as quickly as I could.
[ Murmured, as he steps towards her, a hand falling to her shoulder with a comforting squeeze. Will she even look at him? Or has she fallen into that trap, focusing so intently on whatever busywork might distract her from her thoughts that she cannot pull free? ]
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Who knew she could envy the use of a knife? ]
Oh did not have to do that, my love, you know I...
[ The hand touches her, and she stiffens. The rejection and wanting. Both of which she swallows down on, as she turns with his approach. Eyes down, eyes always down. ]
... Jack's gone.
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There's silence and still for a moment to absorb the news, before he gently draws her in close. His head lowers, lips pressed to the top of her head, and for a time he says nothing.
Just holds her, in quiet understanding. ]
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She cannot cry her fill now, it isn't seemly or gracious when he already worked so hard and so long and dealt with so much every day. He needed her to help him with his own pain that way. It was a task she took pride in, no less.
But the second he draws her in, that warm dark sense of being held, the scent of him so comforting, all the will in the world could not stop it. No matter how she shook her against his shoulder, curled her fingers in, all of it futile to the effort of keeping down that one wretched sob that cracks out of the back of her throat. One, then another, as she shudders in each wracking sob until she's hanging onto him as tightly as she can.
Until they're not the sobs of a woman, no, something that begins to change, become so far away. Drowning, drowned, and therein was the problem - the sea crept in. Echoing tides that crash, her voice that turns soft to its despair, and the pressure bursts, the taps on the sink flaring on. The water in the pot beginning to ripple and shudder, sloshing around in its container. ]
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Instead he lifts a hand, runs it warm and comforting along her back, allowing that pressure to find an exit point. He won't go anywhere, not while she needs him. Again he kisses the soft curls atop her head, and again, rocking her slow and soothing. ]
It will be alright. I'm here. I'm here...
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Why did he have to go?
[ The long, long question, over and over. Why did they always have to go? ]
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I know. I know it hurts.
[ Were that there were anything he could do to stem the tide, but as much as Gilia bottles up her own feelings inside, he can do this much. The house rattles with her sorrow and distress, but he holds her still, stroking soothing lines against her back. ]
Just breathe.
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That pushes back, curious and watchful, in that shimmer of power not forced all the way below the surface. Answering the pain. Why do you weep, child? is the rattle of pipes, the thunder of waves.
That in the silence between, seems to push at Anduin, just as much as it protects her. The words that are not words, the being that is not a being, a half of one soul to protect another, and which parts of Gilia are responsible for that sheer presence curl like stingers around a fresh kill, yet left everything else untouched. Growing in her like a coral reef. Somewhere deep in the curls of her hair and the shuddering something distinctly looks back at Anduin. Waiting, waiting, waiting. Are you harm or help?
No more than a drip, drip, drip of water against stone. As loud as the waves tearing a ship down in a hundred souls screams. That great maw that is the soul of darkness that is before, before life, that was old when mountains rose. That is new as each and every one of its teeth grows in, rows upon rows of jagged glass pieces to rend flesh. A light so painfully impossible it is to be beautiful and terrifying at once. A prince for my daughter? Or a shadow of false pearls? ]
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Her pain is his, and for all that his heart aches for her that familiar ache grounds him too. Loss is something he knows intimately, knowing loss longer than he's known any single person in his life.
But Gilia isn't broken in the same ways. Those wounds still weep, and it's all he can do to provide that anchor to her when she is so terribly adrift, as she once did for him. He hears the rush of waves, the echo of something primal, and presses back against it like a hand against a pane of glass.
Only a man. One who loves her, and shares her pain. No more, no less. ]
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That finds the correctness in that response and settles, and at last - the rattling of the water, where the sink overruns, and pools water to the floor in a thin sheen, the aching groans of the internal pipework of the house rushing with such force, the bubbling over stove - all settle. All silence themselves.
Until there is nothing left, but those quiet sobs she takes on his shoulder, sagging exhausted into him. ]