(no subject)
Charlie's not naturally the tidiest person in the world; she sort of thrives on clutter. She knows that it drives Ianto mad so she's learned to pick up after herself and, today, she's padding around in shorts and one of his t-shirts, gathering up armfuls of art supplies and textbooks, putting them back where they go. It's hot today and she's a little queasy, and it's like Bill knows, because he hasn't left her alone for one moment all day, sniffing and whining. She sets a pile of books on a shelf in the library and bends to pick up another pile and her head spins and that's when she sees it.
A brown folder, simple as anything. CHARLIE ANDREWS printed on a label.
She's seen folders like that before. Back home, there was a whole drawer with her name on them. She doesn't even need to open it.
The headaches. The nausea. She's been trying not to think about it, but it's been right there in front of her face.
She ends up sitting cross legged on the floor, not crying but quiet.
She can't even bring herself to check the dates on the scan.
A brown folder, simple as anything. CHARLIE ANDREWS printed on a label.
She's seen folders like that before. Back home, there was a whole drawer with her name on them. She doesn't even need to open it.
The headaches. The nausea. She's been trying not to think about it, but it's been right there in front of her face.
She ends up sitting cross legged on the floor, not crying but quiet.
She can't even bring herself to check the dates on the scan.