[She goes before she can change her mind, Apparating there instead of flying. There's a box of obscenely sweet, sparkling cupcakes in her hands and she knocks with her foot. It's cold and that's about the only thing that tells her that she forgot a jacket and the wind makes her eyes burn because it has to be the wind, she's not on the verge of tears for stupid, stupid reasons. She's just here to bring him cupcakes. That's all.]
[He's used to the fact that telling Ginny to meet him somewhere doesn't include the usual waiting period while they walk. Even so, he's barely hit the bottom step before he hears her knock, and it's another few seconds before the door opens to let her in out of the cold.
He doesn't really want a box of sugar laden disco cupcakes. But he'd like to find out what's really gotten her overwhelmed.]
That was fast. You should go into the pizza trade - you'd never have to give out freebies.
I like food, but not enough to deliver it for a living. You're just special. I did mean that earlier today.
[Ginny holds out the box to him, her smile flickering and she has to bite down on her lip to keep it from dying altogether and she should just go. She thought that it'd be good to see the most familiar face she knows in the City and maybe it would be easy to just talk, but the old habit of locking that all up kicks in; that, and the less-familiar instinct to retreat.
Yeah, the City's gotten her shaken up. Something feels wrong in her bones, like magic, and the dreams for days on end have left her exhausted and stretched thin.]
[Sharks and bears live in the doctor's lounge at the hospital. It's the only explanation for how quickly food disappears. But he leans across to balance the cupcake box on the counter, and then he's caught her arm before she can think about turning away, and he's digging in his pocket for something.
It's a CD. He's just that retro.]
I meant this earlier today, too. You've just saved me buying you dinner, first.
[Music's good when you're not sure what to say. No awkward silences.]
[She tenses a fraction under his touch and an excuse or something like it jumps to her lips and then he holds out the CD. It's the most inexplicable thing, she doesn't even remember why he's giving her that at first, and then it doesn't even matter because she just takes a breath and suddenly she's crying—it's silent but her shoulders are shaking over this stupid little act of kindness, because she's been happy all day, painfully so, and now the rest is catching up, everything built up over the day and the past few weeks.]
[The door's still open, letting in the chill, and he doesn't pull her into him when the tremors he feels chase through her turn into tears. He moves to her, instead, wrapping his arms easily round her shoulders. And he might go in with a joke like, I promise, my taste's not that bad but she's young and she's mostly alone here and maybe it's not what she needs.]
[This is the first time she's cried in front of him in all the time she's known him because she's had to keep it together, even when she was stabbed, and she'd been close then but not quite there. Ginny buries her face in his shoulder and crumples in his arms, hands curling into his back and just getting it all out.This time of year is always hard for her, harder this time around than the rest—Octobers are horrible, she can't calm the (almost) irrational worry that everyone will leave her before Christmas as they always do, and she'll hit five years in the City.
But now, it's the fact that it's been over a year since the war and it's still wrecking her on the inside and she hasn't told anyone about how bad it's gotten, not really. (She can't tell Remus, he's just sixteen.) Then today happened and she feels raw and turned inside-out and it's stupid, she's better than this, but she's still clinging to Chase and sobbing because she's so tired.]
[Everyone's crying on him today, he's almost getting used to it.]
Nope, not accepting that.
[He does lean her back enough to bat at the door and swing it closed to keep the cold from biting at her in the places where he's not keeping her close, but otherwise? Not moving until she's ready to. Movement might give her the chance to take a breath and reign it back in and this - this feels necessary. He can only hope it's cathartic.
He smooths a hand in gentle circles over her back and he waits.]
[Moving jolts her out of it enough to suck in a breath, it's true, and it shudders through her and her hands relax on him but she doesn't straighten until she can catch her breath. It comes in quick pants, but one hand snakes around to scrub furiously at her face, but she's still shaking.]
No, I don't know what— [She draws away from him now, both hands swiping over her eyes and pushing through her hair, exhaling, throat tight.] Long day.
[Or twenty, or ninety, and if she'd missed him red eyes and trying to drink the misery out of his head in the early days of his coming back here then she'd been one of the lucky few. He keeps an arm around her shoulder even though she's pulled back from using his shirt for tissue paper.]
Come on, there's a spot just your size on the couch.
[No, she didn't miss him, then. She knew, of course, but it was when he'd been pushing everyone away and she'd tried to stick it out, hoped that he'd remember her because in a lot of ways, he was all she had left. It's probably why
She follows him without protest because it's not like she can hide what just happened and maybe it's better that it's here and not with Remus or alone—again—because Chase knows her best, it's not like she has to explain everything to him. Maybe just this, if he asks or if she's forthcoming in the first place. And she should be, it's gone on long enough. So she goes with him, leaning into him, and when he settles her down on the couch, she draws her wand and quietly cleans off his shirt with a little flick.
It's still shaking in her grip so she sets it aside quickly after, breath still hitched as she tries to get her breathing under control, eyes and cheeks hot. Quietly, through hiccups,]
Had that curse three times now... Was never this bad.
[There's still plenty he doesn't share - when did she find out he'd been married? And there was a curse then, too. Chase keeps more to himself than he shares, but he at least recognises the problems that can cause.
He turns away when she's settled, only to grab a couple of glasses from the side - and the open bottle of merlot with them. then he sits, knees angled toward her, and pours both out, double measures.]
[That, she doesn't know. But when did he ever find out she'd been tortured? That isn't something she shares, either. So she bottles the memories buried in the nightmares, drowns them out with potions she lies about brewing and taking, throws herself into the sky and into work. And she doesn't say a damn thing; all smiles, but today pushed that to the extreme and when midnight hit, it all punched her in the gut.
So he's right. She wasn't feeling this bad before because she'd had her birthday and new friends. Then Remus arrived, young and oblivious to the future he's going to lead, and she can't tell him any of it. Ginny takes the offered wine and tucks herself as small as possible into the corner of the sofa and blinks tears from her lashes as she takes a deep drink and grimaces but keeps going. She swipes her thumb at her eyes again.]
No. [Then, with weak teasing,] But thanks for not kicking me out.
Hey, I'd never do that. [He nudges her, lightly, with his leg.] Not after you brought cake.
[No deflecting with humour though, that's his trick. And then he'll deflect with meanness and whatever he can find to attack. He knows every part of this game, and he's not playing it when he leans forward - close but not pushing into her space, one arm resting on his leg.]
[Once upon a time, she would have lied to him. But that was when she was a teenager who thought the war made her an adult, that she could handle everything alone. And then it all happened and it all drove home that she was a child—still is, in a lot of ways, it doesn't matter how many birthdays she's had in the City.
As it is, she doesn't answer him at first. She thinks of how she could have admitted any of this to Chakotay, but the conversation had veered elsewhere and she was grateful for it because it meant she could pretend for a bit longer. She thinks of how she did this with Bucky a summer ago then never let it happen again despite promises to come to him if anything happened.
Chase may not remember all of it, but she does. He's known her the best.]
Can't sleep. [It sounds innocuous, but her voice breaks on it.] I know it's the City, but even before that, I haven't... [Saying it makes it real, but—] I thought, since it's been a year since the—since I've— [since Fred and Remus and Tonks and Mad-Eye and the DA and Bellatrix's killing curse and Harry's dead body and] I'm just tired.
[It's been a year since the war. Which she's talked about but, in his hearing, only as a badge of honour, a way of proving she's got the calibre to risk her life in whichever way the city's suggested this time. And, in the city, there are so many opportunities for that. For reckless, suicidal bravery.
That kind of thing can feed a need, too.
Can't sleep. He doesn't even pause to run it through the symptom checker in his head. War doesn't make her a big girl now. It makes her one who saw too much too young.]
[Reckless, suicidal bravery. It's true. The revolution here filled a hole she didn't know she had, was afraid to delve into because it spoke of something wrong. She threw herself into the thick of it, everyone knows that, and it felt right. Because the war was all she knew. His question has ice settling in her stomach and she drinks to put it out but it doesn't help.
Bucky asked her once if she thought about speaking to someone, getting some proper help. She challenged him with the exact same question, knowing the answer; they're both too proud, too stubborn, too alike. And the subject was dropped.
She gives a jerky little movement, though, something of cross between a nod and a shrug.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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enforced happiness not all it's cracked up to be?
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[Exhausted. Upset. Everything she couldn't feel until five minutes ago so now it's too much.]
tired.
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so i guess i shouldn't make you deliver.
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this was easier when we were neighbours. i'd just go up and knock.
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He doesn't really want a box of sugar laden disco cupcakes. But he'd like to find out what's really gotten her overwhelmed.]
That was fast. You should go into the pizza trade - you'd never have to give out freebies.
→ action
I like food, but not enough to deliver it for a living. You're just special. I did mean that earlier today.
[Ginny holds out the box to him, her smile flickering and she has to bite down on her lip to keep it from dying altogether and she should just go. She thought that it'd be good to see the most familiar face she knows in the City and maybe it would be easy to just talk, but the old habit of locking that all up kicks in; that, and the less-familiar instinct to retreat.
Yeah, the City's gotten her shaken up. Something feels wrong in her bones, like magic, and the dreams for days on end have left her exhausted and stretched thin.]
Here. Maybe you could bring them to work.
→ action
[Sharks and bears live in the doctor's lounge at the hospital. It's the only explanation for how quickly food disappears. But he leans across to balance the cupcake box on the counter, and then he's caught her arm before she can think about turning away, and he's digging in his pocket for something.
It's a CD. He's just that retro.]
I meant this earlier today, too. You've just saved me buying you dinner, first.
[Music's good when you're not sure what to say. No awkward silences.]
→ action
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You're all right. I've got you.
[So that's all that's important.]
→ action
But now, it's the fact that it's been over a year since the war and it's still wrecking her on the inside and she hasn't told anyone about how bad it's gotten, not really. (She can't tell Remus, he's just sixteen.) Then today happened and she feels raw and turned inside-out and it's stupid, she's better than this, but she's still clinging to Chase and sobbing because she's so tired.]
Sorry— [Muffled, ragged.]
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Nope, not accepting that.
[He does lean her back enough to bat at the door and swing it closed to keep the cold from biting at her in the places where he's not keeping her close, but otherwise? Not moving until she's ready to. Movement might give her the chance to take a breath and reign it back in and this - this feels necessary. He can only hope it's cathartic.
He smooths a hand in gentle circles over her back and he waits.]
→ action
No, I don't know what— [She draws away from him now, both hands swiping over her eyes and pushing through her hair, exhaling, throat tight.] Long day.
→ action
[Or twenty, or ninety, and if she'd missed him red eyes and trying to drink the misery out of his head in the early days of his coming back here then she'd been one of the lucky few. He keeps an arm around her shoulder even though she's pulled back from using his shirt for tissue paper.]
Come on, there's a spot just your size on the couch.
→ action
She follows him without protest because it's not like she can hide what just happened and maybe it's better that it's here and not with Remus or alone—again—because Chase knows her best, it's not like she has to explain everything to him. Maybe just this, if he asks or if she's forthcoming in the first place. And she should be, it's gone on long enough. So she goes with him, leaning into him, and when he settles her down on the couch, she draws her wand and quietly cleans off his shirt with a little flick.
It's still shaking in her grip so she sets it aside quickly after, breath still hitched as she tries to get her breathing under control, eyes and cheeks hot. Quietly, through hiccups,]
Had that curse three times now... Was never this bad.
→ action
He turns away when she's settled, only to grab a couple of glasses from the side - and the open bottle of merlot with them. then he sits, knees angled toward her, and pours both out, double measures.]
Maybe you weren't feeling this bad when they hit.
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So he's right. She wasn't feeling this bad before because she'd had her birthday and new friends. Then Remus arrived, young and oblivious to the future he's going to lead, and she can't tell him any of it. Ginny takes the offered wine and tucks herself as small as possible into the corner of the sofa and blinks tears from her lashes as she takes a deep drink and grimaces but keeps going. She swipes her thumb at her eyes again.]
No. [Then, with weak teasing,] But thanks for not kicking me out.
→ action
[No deflecting with humour though, that's his trick. And then he'll deflect with meanness and whatever he can find to attack. He knows every part of this game, and he's not playing it when he leans forward - close but not pushing into her space, one arm resting on his leg.]
So, what's going on?
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As it is, she doesn't answer him at first. She thinks of how she could have admitted any of this to Chakotay, but the conversation had veered elsewhere and she was grateful for it because it meant she could pretend for a bit longer. She thinks of how she did this with Bucky a summer ago then never let it happen again despite promises to come to him if anything happened.
Chase may not remember all of it, but she does. He's known her the best.]
Can't sleep. [It sounds innocuous, but her voice breaks on it.] I know it's the City, but even before that, I haven't... [Saying it makes it real, but—] I thought, since it's been a year since the—since I've— [since Fred and Remus and Tonks and Mad-Eye and the DA and Bellatrix's killing curse and Harry's dead body and] I'm just tired.
[And she is, it's clear in her face.]
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That kind of thing can feed a need, too.
Can't sleep. He doesn't even pause to run it through the symptom checker in his head. War doesn't make her a big girl now. It makes her one who saw too much too young.]
Have you ever heard of shell shock?
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Bucky asked her once if she thought about speaking to someone, getting some proper help. She challenged him with the exact same question, knowing the answer; they're both too proud, too stubborn, too alike. And the subject was dropped.
She gives a jerky little movement, though, something of cross between a nod and a shrug.]
I've always had nightmares, Chase.