tentacruelest | 8th Wave

8th Wave

Th' next time this Barge feels like poking around in my head, I'll be keeping to my quarters. The lot of yeh - useless dregs not fit to scrub a floor. It's bad enough I'm locked in here with you, I don't need to call any of yeh friends.

[Private to Bush]

Was dealing with me yerself so difficult that you sought to work through less offensive channels, Captain?

[Private to Arthas]

A word, my king.

[Can you feel that heavy sarcasm, Arthas?]

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I wish you would not bait'm, Iris. I understand how it is to like him despite yourself and to want to draw him out, but he is as hurt as any of us, and an inmate besides.

Aye. I'm sorry, Captain. I started out just teasing, like. Then I got away from meself some'ow.

I'm writing 'im an apology.

He will be surly over it, but I think some part of him'll be glad for it.

You have been... you've not quite been yourself since you got back, and - what happened, in that nightmare -- was not much help. Is there something-

[He's uncertain how to quite approach the simple question. He is used to brilliant, dashing people who are very touchy, and Iris is not one of those, but he hesitates anyway.]

[She scrubs a hand tiredly over her forehead.]

No. No, I really 'aven't. I 'ave days I think I'm all right and then the next thing I know I'm in a knock-down drag-out fight I didn't spot meself starting. I need to get a grip on meself before I talk meself into a demotion.

Did you notice that big empty space in me room?

I-- yes, I do, now you mention it.

[And the tears are starting up again. Iris isn't normally someone that cries this easily; since Jupiter it seems she hasn't stopped.]

That's where my ship used to be. A living timeship. Part of me, that I've not been without since Lilith's day.

I don't know what to do with meself.

[He cannot understand, not really, not even having seen poor old Hotspur sink--oh Hotspur, he did love her. But time-ship? Alive, in more than the spiritual way ships are?

He does not have to.]

Oh darling. Oh Iris. What can I do?

[All the fight's gone out of Iris. She's not even in her own room - she can hardly bear being where she can see that huge gap, and Dean crashing in there was a welcome excuse to stay away - but the dead space in her mind, where the bus' affectionate purr has been as long as she can remember, is impossible to ignore.]

You're so sweet. Everyone's been so kind.

[She hates that she needs it so much. She's never felt this old before.]

There's nowt anyone can do. Not really. I just 'ave to 'old me 'ead together long enough to graduate Victor. And you're already 'elping with that.

I've got it in mind to invite you and Miss Gordon to dinner in my cabin, and a few other people you should like to attend, and perhaps it would help a bit?

...That would be lovely, Captain. I'll be on best behaviour.

[She will, too; she doesn't drink around Barbara much, and she's always a steadying influence.]

Promise.

I don't ask that of you. There'll be nobody needs impressing--this is all between friends.

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8th Wave

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