[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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[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.
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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.
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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.
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[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.