Rowan + Lucia - eventually
Who: Rowan and Lucia
When: The 8th or sometime around there? my inbox turned into green's
Where: The Hour
Rating & Warnings: PG. Lucia is a horrible friend.
It was getting easier to go to the Hour. Not by a lot; Rowan's stomach still felt like there was a stone lodged in it, his hands still shook, he still couldn't sleep or even spend more than a few hours at a time in the building without the desperate desire to get away and escape back to safety.
He hoped it would come in time. For now, as he slowly walked up the stairwell with his walking stick in hand in order to move at a rate slightly faster than molasses, it was enough to allow him time to make sure his friends that were still in the Hour were safe, to help where he could, and to make sure no one ran off with his research when everyone's attention was elsewhere.
It also gave him a few hours to get away from constant 'Are you sure you want to remain an Adept?' conversations. He was sure. Eventually, he'd be as comfortable in his home as he was before.
Eventually.
For Lucia, she spent her time being worried and feeling guilty. She was worried for all her friends and guilty she couldn't do much to help them and the Hour as a whole. While she didn't protest recovering at Dea's new home much, she did mind that she had to sneak out if she wanted to go out. She just broke a couple of her ribs! And had some trouble breathing because of it! And it hurt to move her torso much.That was all. There were so many more who had it worst than her. She had been so much luckier this time.
Sneaking out had been an easier job than she thought, and it wasn't like the servants had any real reason to try and stop her. Getting to the Hour took longer than she thought, though, since she took a lot of care not to run into anyone or knock into anything. She didn't need anything to aggravate her injury. Slipping around all the rubble of what was left of the Citadel took some time, too.
Taking the stairs that would take her to Marijke, she saw her friend. "Rowan," she called. "Do you need help?" ... Not that she could offer that much help without being in pain herself.
Lucia. He looked down the stairwell and narrowed his eyes a bit. Once he had heard of her injury, he wished he had a way to get her to stay in one place without, in response, being forced to stay in one place himself. She could break her ribs further and puncture a lung - he could get an infection in his leg and have it quickly spread through his body thanks to where the stab wound was.
The entire Hour was infected with stupid. "I'm fine," he called back, moving his leg and getting up another stair. Why did the bloody building need so many stairs? "Slow. Why aren't you resting?"
"Are you really? Is that why you need a walking stick?" He was as fine as she was, and she felt a small stab of pain with each step she walked up. She would survive. She would survive. If there was any lesson she learned from the Hour lately, it was that she would survive.
"Why aren't you?" Her tone was pointed but held no vitriol. "I'm here to check on Marijke. See if she's doing better..." Her brows furrowed with worry. "And you? How are you? How have you been holding up?" So far it hadn't seemed like he'd fallen into a depression... but he'd only said one thing so far.
"Yes, I am really." Rowan managed another stair. "I don't need to use it, but it helps." His words lacked bite almost entirely; he'd been too tired, emotionally and physically, to bother with being cranky or bitchy. He couldn't even really manage it to someone who deserved it, although writing in a ledger was hardly a place to fight. They were words on paper.
"I am too. I think she is, but I have no real knowledge to be sure." She was awake, she was talking. It was better than being in a coma. It was better than being dead.
It was also likely better than being aware of what had happened. If When she came back entirely, there would be enough recovered to support her better.
Lucia's other questions were left unanswered - Rowan said he was fine, and that was all that was needed.
She made a face and walked until she was above him and turned around. Placing her hands on her hips, she stared him down. "You don't sound it."
He sounded tired, which made sense, but who was he trying to fool? Lenore had died as well as other people. More people. No one would come out of this completely unscathed. A staircase was a horrible place to confront him about his feelings, but she didn't have enough forethought or tact to think about it that much. "How are you feeling?"
Rowan sighed and managed another step, almost near the top now. "Can we discuss it somewhere else?" Can we discuss it never was his preferred stance, but maybe she'll have been distracted by the time they get to somewhere else that she would drop it. That whole one percent chance.
He managed another stair and, with the willpower of champions, cleared the last one in about the same breath. There were many offices currently standing empty nearby Marijke's, so it wouldn't be too difficult to find privacy. If she insisted on talking still.
"Sure..." As long as this wasn't Rowan trying to weasel out of it. "Nearest office?"
She didn't wait for a reply before she walked to the nearest empty office. Carefully setting out a chair for Rowan, she sat down in another one herself. Would he stay tight-lipped or would she have to be annoying and pry it out of him?
Damn that one percent chance. It wasn't like Rowan could run away from her or anything. If he didn't follow her, she'd find him in about ten seconds and drag him back.
"Nearest office" turned out to be a familiar one. He glanced at a stain on the floor - someone had tried to clean it, but dried blood did not clean easily - and swallowed. He could do this. He was fine.
That didn't stop him from pausing at the door and noticing the pile of ripped and slightly blood chemises near the door, inexpertly slashed and ripped apart. If they were still on the floor and the door was still unlocked, days after, there was a good chance whichever Adept had this office was dead. It was an even better chance she had been the woman on the ground that had died before he got back with the bandages.
Rowan tore his eyes away from the torn chemises and sat down on the chair Lucia had pulled out. "I think your ribs are more of a cause for concern than my leg. I'm even able to walk fine. Slow, but fine."
Lucia did her best to not notice all the remaining signs of battle and death. Her focus was on her friends right now, and she would not waver from it. She would mourn for the others later.
"My ribs will heal. Your leg will heal. That's not what I'm talking about. You know." Halfway through crossing her arms, she realized that was a horrible idea and winced, dropping her arms at her side. Did she have to pry it out of him? "I heard Lenore died," she said tentatively.
Rowan did not want this conversation now, or ever, or with anyone. He did not look at Lucia, but he didn't really want to look at the mess on the floor anymore either.
He eventually settled for the window and nodding in response. Saying anything flippant would be going to a level he refused to go in her memory, in the memory of anyone who died, but Rowan didn't know if he'd be able to stop talking if he actually started to discuss it.
Lucia had been there, she didn't need to go back to it again.
So Rowan was staying silent. Lucia couldn't say she was completely surprised. It was difficult to talk about and sometimes even more difficult to want to talk about things like this.
Reaching over, she gently placed a hand on his uninjured leg. "Will you talk to me when you feel like it?"
The last time, she had broken down on him in a burst of emotions; it was only right that she would listen to him, too. She feared that he'd bottle the wrong emotions and break in another way.
If Rowan said yes, he could be lying. If he said no, she'd continue to bother him.
Instead, he turned to look at her and sighed. "How much of it did you see before you were injured?" he asked, instead of answering her question, and lifted her hand so he could thread their fingers together.
Oh, he was obviously avoiding. Did she let him get away with it? For now, she decided.
"Not too much. I got knocked out for a little bit after--" She gestured to her ribs. "And then Dea found me soon after, so..." It was better for her mentally that she got knocked out but worse that so many more people got dragged into this mess.
That was good. Her sister was useful for something, at least.
"I was so angry at myself for not making you go back to the medical wing," Rowan said, quietly. "Every time I saw someone laying on the ground, or someone fighting one of them, I thought it was you or Marijke. After ... it was bad enough to see colleagues, people I saw in the hallways."
"We were bo-..." No, that wasn't the right thing to say right now. "I was stupid. It's not your fault. I was just stubborn. I'm sorry." She squeezed his hand.
What else could she say? "We're all alive. Remember that." She watched him closely, ready to hug him if the moment called for it.
They were. This time. The fact there was now a 'this time' was a disturbing trend. It was likely there would be a next time, now. How were they going to prepare? It was too late for many of them to learn how to fight, even if they were inclined towards it.
"I saw her die." Rowan's voice was quieter than before. He stared at their hands, wishing that he could talk about it without remembering it, to think about it without shaking. "He cut her stomach open, and turned when I came into the room. She slit the vein in his neck with a scalpel when he moved towards me, holding her stomach with her other arm. I couldn't. No one could."
Lucia placed her other hand over his. "I'm so sorry, Rowan. I'm so sorry. I... I know that won't make up for it or bring her back, but she went down the way she lived." Fiercely. It wasn't a death to be pitied but respected even if the circumstances should have never happened.
Taking her hands back, she stood and wrapped her arms around him gently, making sure she didn't press her chest against him much.
It had been the first moment he realized that the Citadel hadn't been fucking around and that they truly intended to kill everyone, regardless if they were human, Other, old or young, male or female.
"Someone died outside this office." Rowan's voice was as quiet as before, but now his face was half buried into her shoulder. "Slashed her leg clean open. So much blood. I thought, if I had enough, I could stop it and maybe we'd be rescued before someone else came back and killed her off for real. Tore through here for clothing or anything to find what I could use and she was dead when I came back."
He was quiet again, then whispered, "I don't know if I helped anyone."
"Of course you did," she said. "Of course you have, and you will in the future." Lucia turned her head and kissed the top of his head before gently running her fingers through his hair.
"You helped. You tried, and you helped. You stayed and helped instead of running. That did some good." If he had died, that would've done no one any good. She was glad he was alive.
"Trying doesn't mean helping." Lucia was always convinced that things were better than they are, just because she said them. Rowan wanted to believe her, as he always did, but. There was always that but. "What help is there when the most you can do is hold a hand as they die and you are still alive?" He sighed. "At least, until I nearly died myself and only sheer dumb luck and timing meant that I didn't bleed out of my leg as well."
That was another nightmare. There were so many nightmares now.
Lucia pulled away slowly, gently, carefully and then smacked him upside the head. "You moron," she snapped. "What good are you to anyone dead. If you weren't there, how many more people would've been trapped? If you weren't there, how many more people wouldn't have been able to run away? You IDIOT." She huffed, glaring.
She understood his negativity, she could see where his thoughts were coming from, but that didn't mean she couldn't think it stupid. Maybe she was being insensitive, maybe she was being a horrible friend, but honestly, what more could Rowan hope to do? "If all you can do is just hold their hand because they're too far gone, at least they know there's someone there who will still care for them and they didn't die alone. Did you think of that?" She flicked him lightly on the forehead and sighed, "You're being stupid. Sorry."
Rowan just stared at her through her entire tirade, torn between being annoyed, being amused, and just being apathetic.
Although that flick on the forehead was a bit much, and he retaliated by flicking her back on the stomach. "I have thought of that. It doesn't make it any less of a nightmare."
... That was a little too close to her ribs for comfort that she almost winced in phantom pain. Her nose wrinkled in annoyance. "So are you just going to stay miserable forever? And that's going to help people now?"
She wasn't being being the best friend, she knew, but it was one thing to be depressed because there was a tragic tragedy and another to completely drown in self-defeatist attitude. It was a poor way to pay back when he comforted her last, but she could see Rowan sinking deeper if no one opposed his thinking. "It's a nightmare," she agreed. "It's a nightmare, but at least you survived." Be happy to be alive.
"I've been miserable a week and, if you would remember, I wasn't the one that wanted to discuss this in the first place." Lucia, he realized in retrospect, hadn't known him well when he was still a Neophyte and spent actual time in the medical wing. The only thing he hadn't been doing as normal when a patient he helped with died was researching like a fiend.
Even so and against all better judgment, Rowan felt better. It was less being yelled at, he decided as he struggled to stand up without overbalancing and landing on his side, and more that if Lucia was being so definitely Lucia ... maybe he could hold onto that memory the next time he turned in a dream hallway and saw her lying there in a pool of her own blood.
"Thanks, though." He managed to stand up and learned forward and kissed her head lightly.
Lucia at least had the sense to look sheepish. She had sort of forced him to talk and had the nerve to become irritated about what she made him talk about it. Laughing softly, she smiled awkwardly before reaching out to help steady him when he stood. "Sorry? But you're welcome? It was better than keeping it bottled in, right?"
The apology was a little lacking as it wasn't the most heartfelt, but she would make up for it later. Maybe.
"Everyone recovers differently. Will you trust me now when I say I'm fine? Not everyone can recover quickly from facing the death of all around them and their own death and be fine in a week."
Rowan would be fine and discussing what he'd be fine from was only depressing and ripping open scars. He'd already done that once on his leg and it nearly hurt as much as it had initially.
Frowning, she took a few steps. Lucia did not believe Rowan at all when he said he was fine and had so many doubts about just how he'd recover from this. The lack of some kind of ... catharsis could be just as damaging, in her mind. But it was obvious he was stubborn about not accepting any help and there was only so much she could before taking a (metaphorical) bludgeon to his head.
"No, but I guess I'll leave you be." She grumbled some insults like "stubborn jerk" under her breath. "Let's go check on Marijke."
When: The 8th or sometime around there? my inbox turned into green's
Where: The Hour
Rating & Warnings: PG. Lucia is a horrible friend.
It was getting easier to go to the Hour. Not by a lot; Rowan's stomach still felt like there was a stone lodged in it, his hands still shook, he still couldn't sleep or even spend more than a few hours at a time in the building without the desperate desire to get away and escape back to safety.
He hoped it would come in time. For now, as he slowly walked up the stairwell with his walking stick in hand in order to move at a rate slightly faster than molasses, it was enough to allow him time to make sure his friends that were still in the Hour were safe, to help where he could, and to make sure no one ran off with his research when everyone's attention was elsewhere.
It also gave him a few hours to get away from constant 'Are you sure you want to remain an Adept?' conversations. He was sure. Eventually, he'd be as comfortable in his home as he was before.
Eventually.
For Lucia, she spent her time being worried and feeling guilty. She was worried for all her friends and guilty she couldn't do much to help them and the Hour as a whole. While she didn't protest recovering at Dea's new home much, she did mind that she had to sneak out if she wanted to go out. She just broke a couple of her ribs! And had some trouble breathing because of it! And it hurt to move her torso much.That was all. There were so many more who had it worst than her. She had been so much luckier this time.
Sneaking out had been an easier job than she thought, and it wasn't like the servants had any real reason to try and stop her. Getting to the Hour took longer than she thought, though, since she took a lot of care not to run into anyone or knock into anything. She didn't need anything to aggravate her injury. Slipping around all the rubble of what was left of the Citadel took some time, too.
Taking the stairs that would take her to Marijke, she saw her friend. "Rowan," she called. "Do you need help?" ... Not that she could offer that much help without being in pain herself.
Lucia. He looked down the stairwell and narrowed his eyes a bit. Once he had heard of her injury, he wished he had a way to get her to stay in one place without, in response, being forced to stay in one place himself. She could break her ribs further and puncture a lung - he could get an infection in his leg and have it quickly spread through his body thanks to where the stab wound was.
The entire Hour was infected with stupid. "I'm fine," he called back, moving his leg and getting up another stair. Why did the bloody building need so many stairs? "Slow. Why aren't you resting?"
"Are you really? Is that why you need a walking stick?" He was as fine as she was, and she felt a small stab of pain with each step she walked up. She would survive. She would survive. If there was any lesson she learned from the Hour lately, it was that she would survive.
"Why aren't you?" Her tone was pointed but held no vitriol. "I'm here to check on Marijke. See if she's doing better..." Her brows furrowed with worry. "And you? How are you? How have you been holding up?" So far it hadn't seemed like he'd fallen into a depression... but he'd only said one thing so far.
"Yes, I am really." Rowan managed another stair. "I don't need to use it, but it helps." His words lacked bite almost entirely; he'd been too tired, emotionally and physically, to bother with being cranky or bitchy. He couldn't even really manage it to someone who deserved it, although writing in a ledger was hardly a place to fight. They were words on paper.
"I am too. I think she is, but I have no real knowledge to be sure." She was awake, she was talking. It was better than being in a coma. It was better than being dead.
It was also likely better than being aware of what had happened. If When she came back entirely, there would be enough recovered to support her better.
Lucia's other questions were left unanswered - Rowan said he was fine, and that was all that was needed.
She made a face and walked until she was above him and turned around. Placing her hands on her hips, she stared him down. "You don't sound it."
He sounded tired, which made sense, but who was he trying to fool? Lenore had died as well as other people. More people. No one would come out of this completely unscathed. A staircase was a horrible place to confront him about his feelings, but she didn't have enough forethought or tact to think about it that much. "How are you feeling?"
Rowan sighed and managed another step, almost near the top now. "Can we discuss it somewhere else?" Can we discuss it never was his preferred stance, but maybe she'll have been distracted by the time they get to somewhere else that she would drop it. That whole one percent chance.
He managed another stair and, with the willpower of champions, cleared the last one in about the same breath. There were many offices currently standing empty nearby Marijke's, so it wouldn't be too difficult to find privacy. If she insisted on talking still.
"Sure..." As long as this wasn't Rowan trying to weasel out of it. "Nearest office?"
She didn't wait for a reply before she walked to the nearest empty office. Carefully setting out a chair for Rowan, she sat down in another one herself. Would he stay tight-lipped or would she have to be annoying and pry it out of him?
Damn that one percent chance. It wasn't like Rowan could run away from her or anything. If he didn't follow her, she'd find him in about ten seconds and drag him back.
"Nearest office" turned out to be a familiar one. He glanced at a stain on the floor - someone had tried to clean it, but dried blood did not clean easily - and swallowed. He could do this. He was fine.
That didn't stop him from pausing at the door and noticing the pile of ripped and slightly blood chemises near the door, inexpertly slashed and ripped apart. If they were still on the floor and the door was still unlocked, days after, there was a good chance whichever Adept had this office was dead. It was an even better chance she had been the woman on the ground that had died before he got back with the bandages.
Rowan tore his eyes away from the torn chemises and sat down on the chair Lucia had pulled out. "I think your ribs are more of a cause for concern than my leg. I'm even able to walk fine. Slow, but fine."
Lucia did her best to not notice all the remaining signs of battle and death. Her focus was on her friends right now, and she would not waver from it. She would mourn for the others later.
"My ribs will heal. Your leg will heal. That's not what I'm talking about. You know." Halfway through crossing her arms, she realized that was a horrible idea and winced, dropping her arms at her side. Did she have to pry it out of him? "I heard Lenore died," she said tentatively.
Rowan did not want this conversation now, or ever, or with anyone. He did not look at Lucia, but he didn't really want to look at the mess on the floor anymore either.
He eventually settled for the window and nodding in response. Saying anything flippant would be going to a level he refused to go in her memory, in the memory of anyone who died, but Rowan didn't know if he'd be able to stop talking if he actually started to discuss it.
Lucia had been there, she didn't need to go back to it again.
So Rowan was staying silent. Lucia couldn't say she was completely surprised. It was difficult to talk about and sometimes even more difficult to want to talk about things like this.
Reaching over, she gently placed a hand on his uninjured leg. "Will you talk to me when you feel like it?"
The last time, she had broken down on him in a burst of emotions; it was only right that she would listen to him, too. She feared that he'd bottle the wrong emotions and break in another way.
If Rowan said yes, he could be lying. If he said no, she'd continue to bother him.
Instead, he turned to look at her and sighed. "How much of it did you see before you were injured?" he asked, instead of answering her question, and lifted her hand so he could thread their fingers together.
Oh, he was obviously avoiding. Did she let him get away with it? For now, she decided.
"Not too much. I got knocked out for a little bit after--" She gestured to her ribs. "And then Dea found me soon after, so..." It was better for her mentally that she got knocked out but worse that so many more people got dragged into this mess.
That was good. Her sister was useful for something, at least.
"I was so angry at myself for not making you go back to the medical wing," Rowan said, quietly. "Every time I saw someone laying on the ground, or someone fighting one of them, I thought it was you or Marijke. After ... it was bad enough to see colleagues, people I saw in the hallways."
"We were bo-..." No, that wasn't the right thing to say right now. "I was stupid. It's not your fault. I was just stubborn. I'm sorry." She squeezed his hand.
What else could she say? "We're all alive. Remember that." She watched him closely, ready to hug him if the moment called for it.
They were. This time. The fact there was now a 'this time' was a disturbing trend. It was likely there would be a next time, now. How were they going to prepare? It was too late for many of them to learn how to fight, even if they were inclined towards it.
"I saw her die." Rowan's voice was quieter than before. He stared at their hands, wishing that he could talk about it without remembering it, to think about it without shaking. "He cut her stomach open, and turned when I came into the room. She slit the vein in his neck with a scalpel when he moved towards me, holding her stomach with her other arm. I couldn't. No one could."
Lucia placed her other hand over his. "I'm so sorry, Rowan. I'm so sorry. I... I know that won't make up for it or bring her back, but she went down the way she lived." Fiercely. It wasn't a death to be pitied but respected even if the circumstances should have never happened.
Taking her hands back, she stood and wrapped her arms around him gently, making sure she didn't press her chest against him much.
It had been the first moment he realized that the Citadel hadn't been fucking around and that they truly intended to kill everyone, regardless if they were human, Other, old or young, male or female.
"Someone died outside this office." Rowan's voice was as quiet as before, but now his face was half buried into her shoulder. "Slashed her leg clean open. So much blood. I thought, if I had enough, I could stop it and maybe we'd be rescued before someone else came back and killed her off for real. Tore through here for clothing or anything to find what I could use and she was dead when I came back."
He was quiet again, then whispered, "I don't know if I helped anyone."
"Of course you did," she said. "Of course you have, and you will in the future." Lucia turned her head and kissed the top of his head before gently running her fingers through his hair.
"You helped. You tried, and you helped. You stayed and helped instead of running. That did some good." If he had died, that would've done no one any good. She was glad he was alive.
"Trying doesn't mean helping." Lucia was always convinced that things were better than they are, just because she said them. Rowan wanted to believe her, as he always did, but. There was always that but. "What help is there when the most you can do is hold a hand as they die and you are still alive?" He sighed. "At least, until I nearly died myself and only sheer dumb luck and timing meant that I didn't bleed out of my leg as well."
That was another nightmare. There were so many nightmares now.
Lucia pulled away slowly, gently, carefully and then smacked him upside the head. "You moron," she snapped. "What good are you to anyone dead. If you weren't there, how many more people would've been trapped? If you weren't there, how many more people wouldn't have been able to run away? You IDIOT." She huffed, glaring.
She understood his negativity, she could see where his thoughts were coming from, but that didn't mean she couldn't think it stupid. Maybe she was being insensitive, maybe she was being a horrible friend, but honestly, what more could Rowan hope to do? "If all you can do is just hold their hand because they're too far gone, at least they know there's someone there who will still care for them and they didn't die alone. Did you think of that?" She flicked him lightly on the forehead and sighed, "You're being stupid. Sorry."
Rowan just stared at her through her entire tirade, torn between being annoyed, being amused, and just being apathetic.
Although that flick on the forehead was a bit much, and he retaliated by flicking her back on the stomach. "I have thought of that. It doesn't make it any less of a nightmare."
... That was a little too close to her ribs for comfort that she almost winced in phantom pain. Her nose wrinkled in annoyance. "So are you just going to stay miserable forever? And that's going to help people now?"
She wasn't being being the best friend, she knew, but it was one thing to be depressed because there was a tragic tragedy and another to completely drown in self-defeatist attitude. It was a poor way to pay back when he comforted her last, but she could see Rowan sinking deeper if no one opposed his thinking. "It's a nightmare," she agreed. "It's a nightmare, but at least you survived." Be happy to be alive.
"I've been miserable a week and, if you would remember, I wasn't the one that wanted to discuss this in the first place." Lucia, he realized in retrospect, hadn't known him well when he was still a Neophyte and spent actual time in the medical wing. The only thing he hadn't been doing as normal when a patient he helped with died was researching like a fiend.
Even so and against all better judgment, Rowan felt better. It was less being yelled at, he decided as he struggled to stand up without overbalancing and landing on his side, and more that if Lucia was being so definitely Lucia ... maybe he could hold onto that memory the next time he turned in a dream hallway and saw her lying there in a pool of her own blood.
"Thanks, though." He managed to stand up and learned forward and kissed her head lightly.
Lucia at least had the sense to look sheepish. She had sort of forced him to talk and had the nerve to become irritated about what she made him talk about it. Laughing softly, she smiled awkwardly before reaching out to help steady him when he stood. "Sorry? But you're welcome? It was better than keeping it bottled in, right?"
The apology was a little lacking as it wasn't the most heartfelt, but she would make up for it later. Maybe.
"Everyone recovers differently. Will you trust me now when I say I'm fine? Not everyone can recover quickly from facing the death of all around them and their own death and be fine in a week."
Rowan would be fine and discussing what he'd be fine from was only depressing and ripping open scars. He'd already done that once on his leg and it nearly hurt as much as it had initially.
Frowning, she took a few steps. Lucia did not believe Rowan at all when he said he was fine and had so many doubts about just how he'd recover from this. The lack of some kind of ... catharsis could be just as damaging, in her mind. But it was obvious he was stubborn about not accepting any help and there was only so much she could before taking a (metaphorical) bludgeon to his head.
"No, but I guess I'll leave you be." She grumbled some insults like "stubborn jerk" under her breath. "Let's go check on Marijke."