Diya's dead
Issa and Reyce lie much the same as they were when they collapsed after placing the sleeping baby in the crib just outside the curtain, after fooling around a bit, after murmuring back and forth in the hushed tones that have become commonplace now. Issa is curled to face him, her face half-buried in the pillow, one leg splayed over onto his side of the bed. There's little ripples in her dozing stillness, but when it tears for good, it tears suddenly, her head springing up as if starting from a nightmare that surely hasn't had time to grip her yet. Her gaze passes him right by, flying to the curtain as she struggles to untwist herself from the sheets. With a harsh kick or two she manages it, then slaps her feet onto the floor, rushing to put on clothes just as hastily as they were shed. Her distress is merely an undercurrent, popping through with stiff mutters too low and fast to be comprehensible and too distracted to be an reply to anything Reyce is saying. Out she brushes into the main weyr and it's not a beat later that the shrill keen of a dragon's death reverberates through the very walls. Oshisyth's own voice joins even louder, higher, from out on the ledge. Issa freezes. Slowly one hand drifts shakily up to catch at the back of the chair and she stands, unresponsive even to the confused wailing of Asha in her crib.
Reyce fell asleep quickly after the murmuring stopped, rolling onto his back but leaving one hand stretched out where it lay, near her stomach. The second she jerks awake, however, that hand flips around and grips the bed tightly, his eyes focusing straight above him while he waits for whatever understanding woke up Issa to reach him as well. It doesn't, but there's no sitting still through her struggles with the bedclothes, and she's not even clothed by the time he rolls out after her, in less of a frantic hurry and so less badly impeded by the sheets. "What?" he wants to know, but when the muttering non-reply is cut off by a keen, he knows enough to guess. He locks his arms over his head, elbows pinned to his ears to dampen the sound of keens, and by the time he turns to look for Issa again she's gone into the main weyr. He grabs his robe from the wardrobe as he walks by, leaving the door to smack against the foot of the bed behind him while he goes outside, so hurried that he's not even entirely covered by the time he gets through the curtain. His robe ties get a vicious tug, as if they had somehow erred in letting him walk into the baby room half-naked, but Issa's left to herself as he directs his steps straight towards the (un)-offended baby, muffling her ears against his chest and jouncing her nervously, quite unsure how he's supposed to handle her in a situation like this.
The keening dies slowly, tapering down to a mere echo, Oshisyth's whine one of the last to fade. Issa remains where she is, though, as the last note leaves a deeper, emptier silence in its wake. Her fingers clench over the top of the chair, white with tension, but with her back still turned to him and the baby, it's the only clue as to the effect that this rider's death has taken on her.
Even with the keening gone, there is no silence in the weyr. Asha is still screaming, her cries more than sharp enough to make up for the silence from Oshisyth. Reyce's brow is nearly as wrinkled as hers, his focus mainly on her but lifting for a moment or two to watch her mother's tense back. She calls his attention back almost instantly with a particularly loud scream, and he loosens his chest-tightened hold of her as he walks her over to the chair Issa's gripping, his head so close that some of those curls she keeps cutting longer than he likes brush against her knuckles.
Those brushes bring Issa back from her distraction, though it takes several stunned blinks to bring her eyes down to look at him. Her hand pulls back, making it to her side as she hesitates in place, looking back toward the bedroom, around the weyr almost as if she had never seen it before. With a deep breath that shudders out of her again, and then her breathing is steady again, too steady. She doesn't so much decide on a direction as just let her feet wander, and they wander heavily toward the couch first, pausing aimlessly there before they take her to the sideboard. Her posture is rigidly straight, but the initial shock of it seems to have worn, resignation squinting her eyes and turning down the corners of her mouth. By bare routine alone, she reaches at random for a bottle of wine, and pulls up a glass with it. But once they're settled softly in place, Issa can't go any further. The ground under her feet has been shaken and now it gives way; she slides slowly to her knees, crumpling as her breaths come to her in half-gasps. One hand is left along the edge of the counter, clutching desperately as if to a failing life raft, but the rest of her has fallen all but limp, her forehead falling foreward to hit the wood with dull thump. Her sobbing is soft, restrained, almost unnoticeable from the distance between them.
Reyce's mouth opens in a protest when she goes for that wine, but he pulls it back uncertainly. His lips draw into his mouth, the muscles around his eyes tightening up with worry that doesn't ease much even when she puts the glass back. Without taking his eyes from Issa, he calls out suddenly, "Oshisyth," voice twisted with all the concern that shows up in his face but not in his actions. It's a plea, although he doesn't hang around to specify what for; anxious for movement, even with Asha still untouched by his efforts to comfort her, he heaves himself off the chair and starts pacing restlessly before hearth, his steps too quick to comfort Asha and seeming to do nothing to release his own, considerably lesser stress. He can't stop glancing up - at Issa, at the weyr ledge Oshisyth took herself out to - but what he sees only throws him further off his balance, and his steps speed up accordingly. Soon he has to give up and sink down on the corner of the trunk, his eyes fixing on Issa even while he keeps trying to quiet Asha with little bounces and comforting strokes.
Oshisyth reappears soon after Reyce calls, soon enough to throw some doubt on the fact that it was his summon that brought her. She picks her way mincingly over to where Issa is kneeling, her eyes greyed to a sick-looking yellow, butting her muzzle firmly against her rider's bent back when she reaches her. Issa gives up her grasp on the counter finger by finger and turns, falling to a sit from her knees as she limply shoves herself up against the green hide, which somehow seems duller as well. Reyce might get a glimpse of her pained grimace, streaked with tears, as she turns toward him when she moves, but then she flattens her nose against Oshisyth, her hair falling across the side of her face. Her shoulders tremble as she releases stronger sobs against her dragon, and between them can be heard snippets of garbled words, the most comprehensible of which is an almost unbelieving and wheezed, "She's gone."
Whether his summon recalled Oshisyth or not, Reyce seems relieved to see her, though he's still watching closely as the green edges up to Issa and offers comfort in the form of a big, grabbable green nose. Although he doesn't look up to see the pained grimace, turned at him for an instant, he must see it peripherally, or be able to guess, because he winces anyway. Asha, meanwhile, has either picked the worst night to be at her most troublesome, or has picked up on the apparent catastrophe in the draconic cries. Nothing Reyce has tried has made the slightest dent in her upset, and finally in desperation he leans to the couch - nearly unbalancing and certainly exposing himself, both nuisances to be discarded in his current straits - and snags one of Issa's old ragdolls that has become one of Asha's new ones; the baby wails as it's pressed up next to her, and her chubby arm swats it thoughtlessly away when it's held above her, but Reyce continues to hang it there determinedly, making little swoops and dips to try and get her interest. If it doesn't seem to be work immediately, at least he's no worse off than he was with any of his other methods.
Issa sucks in a breath and coughs out an, "I can't," as she suddenly struggles to stand, hands planted one on either side of Oshisyth's big green muzzle to help push her up. Her hair is flipped out of her eyes once she finds her feet, smoothed back hastily while she forcefully swipes away remnants of tears that still haven't quite stopped. But still, she doesn't look at him, eyes tracing the floor as she repeats, thickly, "I... can't..." Her face is more under control, but the change seems fragile, so easy to tip back into the grieving mask of moments before. She picks her way around Oshisyth, her goal uncertain even to her. "I need," she begins on the edge of a heaved breath, looking back at Oshisyth as she stumbles around behind the couch, "I need to go." Then the search for shoes begins, and there's an almost frantic air to the way she casts around the floor for them.
"No." Reyce's negative is interrupted by an angry scream from Asha, so he says it again, more loudly. "No." He pushes the doll between Asha and his chest, wedging it there and creating an infuriating obstacle for her as the movements of her arms are suddenly interrupted by a stuffed thing in the way. She bawls as Reyce stands up with her, her face a rival for her mother's in the amount of tears and snot coursing down it. "You stay here." Reyce still has no idea who they're talking about, or where Issa wants to go, but this he knows: "You're staying." It's hard to look imposing and resolute whilst carrying a squalling, angry child, but he does his level best, ignoring Asha to stare down her mother. He comes around the side of the couch, placing himself between Issa and the doorway, not a large enough obstacle to block the way entirely but a reminder of his and Asha's existence that she'd have to deliberately disregard to get by.
Issa comes up against Reyce and halts as if he were a wall, eyes lifting only so far as to brush his face before she looks down to Asha's wailing face. Her shred of composure trickles away in the face of her baby's tears and she sheds a few more to add to them, a frown building on her forehead. "Reyce, I can't..." she protests, low and almost desperately pleading. She starts to turn back but catches sight of another wall behind her, Oshisyth's head, which she's turned in order to keep a watchful eye on her rider. "I just can’t," she heaves as she simply falls back against Oshisyth's side, “just can’t take this.” With that repetition, her voice falls lower and so does she, inching in a slide down to the ground again. She sits, elbows planted on her upraised knees, her forehead plopped unceremoniously against the heels of her hands as her head shakes slowly back and forth, bowed with a crying that’s quieter. Oshisyth's nose nudges close as it can again, still a few feet off, and there they both stay, despite all Issa's talk, until stirred again.
Even when her eyes move off him, Reyce continues to watch her face, his eyes flicking rapidly back and forth across the many details of her expression. He shifts his weight forward when she says his name, but doesn't complete the step; by the time she sinks to the floor he's moved back again, and when her face drops out of view he looks at Oshisyth. There's a moment of silence, from him; screams from Asha, while Issa weeps on the floor. Then a doll drops in front of her, given a nudge by Reyce's bare foot as he makes room for himself to follow, and settles himself cross-legged again in front of her. His robe requires a quick readjustment, Asha held carefully in one arm while he does it, then he shifts forward so his knees are bracketing her and the doll is pushed between them. "Issa," is all he says; this close, he doesn't bother raising his voice over Asha's continual cries, and his words carry to her softly. When she looks up, she'll find his brow heavily furrowed, his lips quirked strangely inwards with an unsuccessfully suppressed expression of sadness that's carried over from her weeping.
Issa doesn't look up from where her face is hidden behind her hands and tumbled curls when he sits, but his quiet address wins him an almost instantaneous response. "Don't," she tells him stiffly, words clogged with snot. "Don't," she adds, softer. "Just get her..." Like the other sentences before, it goes unfinished, doused in a thick sniff. A beat later her head tilts toward Oshisyth's rapidly whirling gaze, a subtle glance through the curtain of her hair. "Diya," she says for him as her head rocks back down, her voice stripped raw and bare. "Diya's dead."
Reyce tugs back at that first word, closing his arms tightly around Asha. His chin drops so he can watch the little girl, making full use of the extra arm-space she's acquired since he moved that doll out of the way and still screaming at the top of her lungs. He inhales quickly when she reveals what's upset her so, but his silence persists. Freeing an arm from the baby, he reclaims the doll that's squished between them and stuffs it under his elbow, grunting quietly as he pushes back and gets to his feet. "Don't leave," he requests quietly, lingering in front of her for a moment extra before he goes padding back to the bedroom with Asha. She's left with Oshisyth, then, while Asha's cries are softened by the curtain between them. Calming her, after such a long upset, takes Reyce quite a long time, but eventually her wails soften, tail off, and fade. Reyce walks back into the main weyr with her in his arms, a soppy toy-cum-handkerchief hanging over his shoulder where Asha quietly stares at it while mouthing on her fists, and looks around immediately to see where Issa's gone.
But Issa can't be seen immediately. Not even Oshisyth is in sight. The wavering, open edge of the ledge's curtain and the chill that comes from it aren't exactly promising, but a closer inspection will find Oshisyth's green bulk safely hunched out on the far lip of the ledge, a snippet of bundled white indicating that Issa is still glued to her side. A light wind catches her hair an billows it over her shoulders unchecked as she leans against the warmth of her dragon, perched in the bend of Oshisyth's forearm and wrapped in her big white blanket. They both watch the reaction that's rippled through the Weyr after the keening that marked another goldrider dead: bodies shouting voicelessly across the bowl below, the buzz around the weyrleader's quarters, who visits whose ledge. But though her watching eyes are dry now, they're detached, cynically squinted at the scene before them.
And when Issa's not immediately visible, Reyce stops dead in the doorway, his face going blank. Asha senses something wrong, and shifts her attention from the dangling ragdoll to her father with a curious bleat, followed by an empty "aaah." He jolts back into the present with that sound from her, tracking her cheek with a caress from his finger, and moves woodenly back to her crib. She's tucked away with the doll that finally quieted her, its dry side tucked against her, and simply watches quietly while Reyce withdraws from sight and turns towards the ledge. There, finally, he sees the huddled white shape, its huge green guardian; with a choked sound, he picks up a stride that becomes a jog as he leaves Asha to join her. His enthusiasm seems somewhat silly as he approaches the unmoving figure, and so he skids to a halt when he gets there, but embarassment doesn't keep him from kneeling on the other side of Oshisyth's forearm and reaching across to hug Issa from behind.
Issa's icily blank face angles toward the sudden hug that surrounds her, but she turns back to watching dragons wing up and down across the bowl again, unmoved. A beat later her voice cuts through the wind. "I'm not stupid," she notes in a harshly even mutter. "I'm not going there."
"'h don't care," Reyce informs her, still gripping her tight. Let her be as icy as she wants: she'll either have to break it, or hold still while he satisfies himself with her continued presence. Once the hug relents, his hands continue touching her, gripping her shoulders and sliding down, then cupping her cheek and pulling it towards him in what could almost be intentional provocation. It's certainly not very solicitous. His eyes don't meer hers at all, far too busy taking advantage of the pose he's just manhandled her into to skim the rest of her face for some sign of tears or emotion. Finding none, he releases her and sets his palms on Oshisyth, still leaning on the green he's usually so shy of touching for anything more than his ride up and the occasional grooming assist. In silence, he makes himself more comfortable there, easing his knees to the stone floor and leaning forward on the dragon's forearm, his elbows pushed up over it.
Issa doesn't seem to care about his readjustments at all; but then she doesn't seem to care about much of anything at the moment, her face subtly drawn and tense but otherwise blank. She looks at him, but when he doesn't meet her eye she just turns back slowly into the position she had when he came out, head dropped sideways again to rest against Oshisyth. The green is more responsive to Reyce's arrival, tucking her head back towards the pair of them and letting out a labored huff as her chin settles over her leg several feet from Issa's spot.
And shortly after Oshisyth, Reyce lets out a huff of his own as he tucks his chin down, pushing his face into the crook of an arm. It's a cold night, and full of noises, otherwise he'd be at risk of falling asleep. The bowl doesn't interest him, so he closes his eyes, and Issa's not moving, so he just stays put. From within the weyr, there are a few little burbles and ahhhs from their daughter, but the sounds are faint, dampened by distance and the winds sweeping them away when they do reach the ledge.
Eventually Issa blinks away from her cursory watch of the Weyr still visible to her, most of which is already drifting back to its sleepy nighttime habits, and notices Reyce's closed eyed position. "You should get back to bed," she tells him dryly, voice drained even of any prodding disapproval or annoyed teasing. A couple of short coughs, expelled into her closed fist, interrupt her train of thought. "You have class in the morning." This reminder comes without a glance, her gaze just skimming past the bit of hide near his elbow before she directs it forward again, at least looking Oshisyth full in the eye.
Night has done its job in keeping Reyce not only awake, but alert: he opens his eyes and lifts them to her as soon as she speaks to him. "Skipped class before," he answers, indifferent. And he'll do it again, if he feels like it. He shifts back from Oshisyth, elbow joints creaking softly as they move against the setting cold. "Should go inside, though," he points out, not moving from his spot. His eyes are on Issa, waiting for her. "Get sick, you sit out here."
"Sat out here before," Issa replies, giving him a dose of his own indifference, while still staring down Oshisyth's wide eye. But seconds later, she's picking herself up, perhaps in response to the little twitch of her green's arm. Still clutching the blanket around her shoulders, she inches past Reyce and slides to the ground, never touching him as she wordlessly strides back to the weyr. Oshisyth is soon to follow and if Reyce doesn't move quick they'll both soon be leaving him behind. And even then, Oshisyth may get in his way, stubborn on her track to take up a position behind the couch, curling tightly around it as if it were the grieving rider. Issa heads for Asha's crib instead, disregarding Reyce just as strongly as she hovers over their daughter, lips pressed tight in the closest she's gotten to an actual expression in the past hour. Her hand ventures outside the boundary of the blanket to brush down to Asha's cheek, her chest, and the girl burbles, kicking her legs in enthusiastic bliss of the circumstances. With a stiff sniff, Issa drags her finger away from Asha's grasping hand and steps over to the couch, curling at what would be her end while Oshisyth beats Reyce to the other end, head dropped down gently so she's breathing over her rider's feet.
Reyce has to move quick just to get off Oshisyth's arm before she knocks him over, and he steps back out of the way while dragon and rider skirt him. His robe has deep pockets, and his hands submerge past the wrists as he pushes them inside. Otherwise, though, he doesn't move until Oshisyth's tail is slinking through the curtain; then he finally breaks his hands free, making fists of them one at a time and warming each in the cup of the opposite palm. While he warms, he moves, pushing silently through the curtain and moving toward the crib until Issa abandons it. Again he's stopped short, turning only his head to follow her path towards the couch. His hands go back in the pockets. He waits.
And so he'll wait. Issa's fascinated with her hand, it seems, for it's that she keeps staring at there in front of her face, gaze distracted with more than just dragonspeak. She shifts idly in an attempt to get comfortable: her back presses further against the cushions, her head lifts to the arm of the couch, her feet slip down beside Oshisyth's muzzle. A couple of minutes later, her eyes jump to him. "I'm staying here," she simply lets him know, voice less stiff but no less drained for it.
"For the night?" His voice has been drained intentionally, no hint of his own emotion allowed to show through it. Reyce stays where he is, his gaze level.
Issa's eyes flick around his face for a few seconds delay, but she doesn't nod until she's looked away again, gaze fallen to benign stone instead. Her hand lifts, swiping the skin beneath her eyes as if taking away tears, imaginary by the looks of it.
This time Reyce drops his gaze when she does. Beats of silence, disturbed by the rustle of Asha still moving wakefully in her crib, then Reyce draws up with a short, sinus-clearing sniff and finds Issa again. "Do you want me with you?" His chin tips a little higher, but he keeps his expression even.
Issa's lips quiver on the edge of that question before she clennches her jaw against it, swallowing before she answers, "No," while staring blankly ahead. Her eyes are drawn vaguely in his direction, but they never make it to his face.
This time there's no period of silence: the negative hits, there's a shuddering whoof as Reyce draws in breath, and he turns around to leave. He doesn't go towards the bedroom, though, not more than a couple of steps. He hasn't even reached the entrance yet before he turns aside, stalks a few steps, reverses direction and stalks back. The bare pads of footsteps rip up the stone, the noise enough to attract Asha's attention and wring gleeful cooing from her: whatever that sound is, it's funny. Her laughter gets through to him and he stops, again. It's Oshisyth his side-cast gaze catches, but there doesn't seem to be any more significance to it than that's where he looked and where she was lying. Soundless again, he vanishes into the bedroom, his arrival there marked by the flap of the covers as he hauls them off the bed. Then silence again: whatever he ripped off the covers for, it wasn't to bring them to Issa.
That pacing has much the same effect on Issa and a swift exhale breaks the tense silence from her. "I'm sorry," is mumbled beneath her breath, rougher to compensate for the tremor running through her voice. Her eyes well with tears again and her face contorts against them, an expression that's not left in the light long for she turns over, her face buried in a shadowed nook of the cushions just before he stalks off to the bedroom.
That silence doesn't last more than a second. A low sound emits from the bedroom, its mood undistinguishable, and bare feet hit the floor again. For the second time tonight, Reyce walks out in his robe, but now he's taken the time to ensure it's tied and settled well on his shoulders before entering the main weyr. Oshisyth is an obstacle, nothing more, as he swings around and steps over her tail, coming up next to the side of the couch Issa's claimed. "Stop." The word comes out as he's already reaching for her, grabbing her arm and pulling her out of her sorrowful huddle on the couch. His fingers are closed like a vise around her arm, brooking no argument while he hauls her to him and on her feet so quickly and powerful that she's like to bump into him as soon as she's up.
Issa’s slow to realize his goal and ends up tangling her feet, first on the edge of the couch and then in the blanket that falls to the floor as he hauls her up. One hand swings up to grasp at his arm for balance, support, even while the one belonging to the arm he’s captured pushes him back on the other side. That half push leans her back as she stares silently up at him, face slick with new tears and splotchy from old ones, a newly dropped frown joining red-rimmed eyes blinking back alarm and surprise. Her head gives a tiny shake, expressing her heavy confusion while she waits for him to explain his order.
Reyce grabs both her shoulders now and pushed downwards, stamping her in place while his hands move brusquely over her face to swipe away the new tears on her skin. "You're pissed, you're sad, the hell you're telling me no for." From the sound of it, he's not too far from pissed himself, but he takes his frustration out by tending to her with those same rough movements, bending after he's wiped off her tears to retrieve the blanket from the floor and wrap her back up in it.
Issa snatches the blanket from his hands when he drags it back up, pulling the ends of it tight over her chest and bunching them there. She takes advantage of the lump she's built and watches the contours of it for a moment. "I can't," she says before she interrupts herself with a snorted sniff and, through some effort drags her chin back up to look at him, finishing quietly but evenly, "talk about her with you." The faint stress on the pronouns is telling enough; she knows his thoughts on Diya and they're not exactly comforting. "Not now," she adds, turning her eyes away as she plops herself back down onto the couch and away from him again, just sitting for now.
Reyce gives up the blanket without protest, although a quick shake of his hand afterwards suggests the cloth caught on his finger. It tucks into his robe afterwards, though the other hand stays out in the open. "Don't have to," he replies, his eyes meeting hers when she finally looks at him. When she drops back to the couch, though, he turns his head aside with a short sniff, casting his gaze down at the floor. "Won't say anything. 'N I'm not thinking bad about her." Those emphasized pronouns are apparently enough to give him a good idea what's behind her reluctance.
Issa draws her feet up from the floor and tucks them under the edge of her blanket, turning her body into a white blob that leans up against the curve of Oshisyth's muzzle. Several beats pass after his last word in silence, but then she replies with a mumbled, "Okay." Perhaps it's merely acknowledgement or perhaps permission to stay, she gives no further clue; room enough remains to her right for him to sit, but she certainly makes no invitation. Her face is drawn and her lips, so often turned up, are weighted down at the corners while she stares at the very same floor he does.
Having received her permission, Reyce continues to hang still for a moment. Then he breaks away from the couch, swinging wide around Oshisyth and heading to Asha's crib. There's a murmur - if Issa's listening close, she'll be able to make out his soft voice saying, "Still up, kid?" - followed by the baby's delighted "Ah!" Reyce snorts, but leaves the crib and returns to the bedroom. This time he brings back the covers, slung over his shoulder like a dead beast, and drops them with a whump in front of the couch. They are, as it turns out, still for him: a few sweeping kicks stretch them out in front of the couch, providing an arguably softer surface than the plain floor, then he lowers himself on them, grunting softly when his elbow impacts the ground but otherwise going without a word.
Issa tracks his progress with just a few idle glances brought up from her brooding silence, but otherwise she stays put even after he's settled himself down on the makeshift bed he's arranged. When she cries, she does so quietly, betrayed only by her erratic breathing and wet snorts. More often than not, though, it's just a heavy silence that presses down over them. At one point, Issa rises without a word to tend Asha, minorly stirring, with a feeding, edging over Reyce's legs and ending up in the rocking chair for several minutes before the baby's returned and she steps back over to her same spot. The light of the fire fades and the heat with it, though with spring on the horizon their blankets are enough to keep the chill at bay. The false light of pre-dawn is peeking in around the ledge curtain's edge when Issa moves again. Just a foot sneaks down next to him, then the other follows as she slowly, hesitantly wedges her blanket-wrapped self in between him and the couch. Oshisyth stretches up from the couch not long after, giving her head a short shake before moving it to the floor and resuming her fitful dozing.
Every sound out of place disturbs Reyce's light sleep, from the masked weeping to the footsteps picking deliberately over him. He rarely moves, though, even when he's awake; maybe his eyes roll towards her while she's in the rocking chair, maybe his curls scratch the blankets as he moves his, but it's hard to pin down in the darkness. Morning stretches in to find him still lying on his back, his robe parted wide over his chest but still in place, the covers pushed down to his waist. His eyes are already open, staring blankly at the ceiling while he watches time pass in the progressive slanting of light into the weyr, but when Issa moves they find her immediately. He watches her ease down into the space next to him, making no move - since she's already found room - to accomodate her any further. An audibly exhaled breath lets her know, in case she didn't look, that he's up, and aware of her, but though he keeps staring there's no movement or speaking as yet.
Issa's eyes are half-lidded, more concerned with arranging herself gently beside him than with his stare. Her hands are still buried within the folds of her white blanket when she finally lies next to him, but she butts her forehead against his arm and leaving it firmly pressed there while she speaks, in a thick whisper, "Need you," to serve as apology and thanks both for his vigil. And though she's long done with sobbing, a shuddered breath shakes through her after it, a few silent tears sliding down the sides of her nose.
Reyce's opposite arm lifts, crosses over his chest and falls with its hand in her hair. He digs his fingers through a loose wrap of curls mussed during sleep, letting out another, softer exhalation once each one's been buried. "Love you," he says, pushing his elbow down to clamp over her shoulder. Her tears keep rolling down till they drop on his chest, where the splash provokes a sudden shiver but is otherwise ignored. "Get in the blanket," are his next words, a command but one softened in the face of her tears. Both his hands are too busy to do it for her, the one acting as a pillow for her head and the other keeping that head close while it rests in her hair.
With a sniff, Issa complies. Her legs curl up to let her feet slip in past the edge and then push down again, rubbing her much-wrinkled pants against his bare legs. Her body leans against his and for a moment she just presses her face against him, moving her chin, her mouth, her nose idly against the towelly texture of his robe; the weary looseness of her movements suggests what little sleep she got up there on the couch wasn't any good. "Nothing's going to change," she suddenly says, but instead of being promising, that comment carries a note of despair, the pressure of the mundane day ahead closing in with the sunrise. Diya left her life long before she died, and now there won't even be the traces of her presence left; it's likely she won't even have a body to lend closure. Her tears have dried up now, but her weepiness continues on with her intermittent little sniffs.
Once she's securely under the covers with him, Reyce can release Issa's head, though it takes him a few moments to disentangle his fingers from the curls he wound them in so deeply. As his hand resituates on her shoulder, encircling her in a loose hold, he says, "Don't know." He lacks the despair, but his answer's no more optimistic than hers was: it's a simple admission, unembellished with any promises or reassurance. His hand gentles the uncertainty, somewhat, by stroking lightly down between her shoulder blades, a reflex prompted by proximity.
Issa just draws herself more compact in response to the reflexive caress, arms tucked between them, folded tight to her chest. Her head lies still, too, forehead dropped against him so her words are murmured quietly into a fold of his robe. “I wanted her to meet you,” she continues, voice as heavy and weary as her frame feels beneath his hands. “Asha.” That thought settles for a beat before she adds, resigned and tired beyond tears, “Kind of stupid to think that she’d ever be able to come back at all.” She shakes her head minutely, producing a slight nuzzling motion of her nose against him. “Should’ve known,” she mutters in the middle of an exhaled breath.
"Can't," Reyce responds, pragmatic as ever. And vague as ever: can't what? But his hand makes a more concerted effort to gather her in, since the first idle strokes proved encouraging. His arm hikes its way across her shoulders, elbow bending when it reaches her spine so his forearm can lie over it, covering her. "You good here?" he wonders, hand lifting from her back long enough to make a quick, generalized flick. "Spend the day with you, want you where you'll feel -" but his lips press together over the last word, suppressing it. "Nn," is the inarticulate substitute he replaces it with, indifferently.
Issa takes in a deep breath, hold it for a few seconds as if testing her environs, then lets it out again in one soft rush. "Doesn't matter," she answers, and her head finally comes to rest, bumping heavily down against his chest, her eyes slipping closed. "Here's as good as anywhere," she continues despite her relative relaxation. "Just want a drink," she bemoans in a quiet mutter, though they both know that single drink would easily evolve into bottles.
Reyce breathes quietly back at her, his fingers resuming their idle rub between her shoulders. "Can get you water," he offers. "Or tea." Other kinds of drink are still guarded from her, even though other kinds of drink are precisely what she means. Apologizing for his deliberate obtuseness, perhaps, he pushes his fingers in harder on both sides of her spine, pressing into the tension of her muscles till it turns painful then abruptly releasing to let tingling relief spread through that area of her back. It's not a precisely aimed sequence of pressure points, since he just jabbed his fingers down where they were, but what the maneuever lacked in finesse Reyce compensated for with brute strength that made the effect surprisingly good.
"Mmm," Issa mumbles, though it's more in the tone of a whimper-- for his obtuseness and his pressing fingers both-- than the one of musing it normally is. "No," she answers his offer humorlessly; that's not what she meant, he knows it, and she has no patience for playing stupid. But the momentary massage had a surprisingly good effect indeed, and with one final, settling squirm against him, she lets her breathing fall into a sleepier, if still stuffy, rhythm and, after just a few minutes, relaxes limply in his arms.
Reyce fell asleep quickly after the murmuring stopped, rolling onto his back but leaving one hand stretched out where it lay, near her stomach. The second she jerks awake, however, that hand flips around and grips the bed tightly, his eyes focusing straight above him while he waits for whatever understanding woke up Issa to reach him as well. It doesn't, but there's no sitting still through her struggles with the bedclothes, and she's not even clothed by the time he rolls out after her, in less of a frantic hurry and so less badly impeded by the sheets. "What?" he wants to know, but when the muttering non-reply is cut off by a keen, he knows enough to guess. He locks his arms over his head, elbows pinned to his ears to dampen the sound of keens, and by the time he turns to look for Issa again she's gone into the main weyr. He grabs his robe from the wardrobe as he walks by, leaving the door to smack against the foot of the bed behind him while he goes outside, so hurried that he's not even entirely covered by the time he gets through the curtain. His robe ties get a vicious tug, as if they had somehow erred in letting him walk into the baby room half-naked, but Issa's left to herself as he directs his steps straight towards the (un)-offended baby, muffling her ears against his chest and jouncing her nervously, quite unsure how he's supposed to handle her in a situation like this.
The keening dies slowly, tapering down to a mere echo, Oshisyth's whine one of the last to fade. Issa remains where she is, though, as the last note leaves a deeper, emptier silence in its wake. Her fingers clench over the top of the chair, white with tension, but with her back still turned to him and the baby, it's the only clue as to the effect that this rider's death has taken on her.
Even with the keening gone, there is no silence in the weyr. Asha is still screaming, her cries more than sharp enough to make up for the silence from Oshisyth. Reyce's brow is nearly as wrinkled as hers, his focus mainly on her but lifting for a moment or two to watch her mother's tense back. She calls his attention back almost instantly with a particularly loud scream, and he loosens his chest-tightened hold of her as he walks her over to the chair Issa's gripping, his head so close that some of those curls she keeps cutting longer than he likes brush against her knuckles.
Those brushes bring Issa back from her distraction, though it takes several stunned blinks to bring her eyes down to look at him. Her hand pulls back, making it to her side as she hesitates in place, looking back toward the bedroom, around the weyr almost as if she had never seen it before. With a deep breath that shudders out of her again, and then her breathing is steady again, too steady. She doesn't so much decide on a direction as just let her feet wander, and they wander heavily toward the couch first, pausing aimlessly there before they take her to the sideboard. Her posture is rigidly straight, but the initial shock of it seems to have worn, resignation squinting her eyes and turning down the corners of her mouth. By bare routine alone, she reaches at random for a bottle of wine, and pulls up a glass with it. But once they're settled softly in place, Issa can't go any further. The ground under her feet has been shaken and now it gives way; she slides slowly to her knees, crumpling as her breaths come to her in half-gasps. One hand is left along the edge of the counter, clutching desperately as if to a failing life raft, but the rest of her has fallen all but limp, her forehead falling foreward to hit the wood with dull thump. Her sobbing is soft, restrained, almost unnoticeable from the distance between them.
Reyce's mouth opens in a protest when she goes for that wine, but he pulls it back uncertainly. His lips draw into his mouth, the muscles around his eyes tightening up with worry that doesn't ease much even when she puts the glass back. Without taking his eyes from Issa, he calls out suddenly, "Oshisyth," voice twisted with all the concern that shows up in his face but not in his actions. It's a plea, although he doesn't hang around to specify what for; anxious for movement, even with Asha still untouched by his efforts to comfort her, he heaves himself off the chair and starts pacing restlessly before hearth, his steps too quick to comfort Asha and seeming to do nothing to release his own, considerably lesser stress. He can't stop glancing up - at Issa, at the weyr ledge Oshisyth took herself out to - but what he sees only throws him further off his balance, and his steps speed up accordingly. Soon he has to give up and sink down on the corner of the trunk, his eyes fixing on Issa even while he keeps trying to quiet Asha with little bounces and comforting strokes.
Oshisyth reappears soon after Reyce calls, soon enough to throw some doubt on the fact that it was his summon that brought her. She picks her way mincingly over to where Issa is kneeling, her eyes greyed to a sick-looking yellow, butting her muzzle firmly against her rider's bent back when she reaches her. Issa gives up her grasp on the counter finger by finger and turns, falling to a sit from her knees as she limply shoves herself up against the green hide, which somehow seems duller as well. Reyce might get a glimpse of her pained grimace, streaked with tears, as she turns toward him when she moves, but then she flattens her nose against Oshisyth, her hair falling across the side of her face. Her shoulders tremble as she releases stronger sobs against her dragon, and between them can be heard snippets of garbled words, the most comprehensible of which is an almost unbelieving and wheezed, "She's gone."
Whether his summon recalled Oshisyth or not, Reyce seems relieved to see her, though he's still watching closely as the green edges up to Issa and offers comfort in the form of a big, grabbable green nose. Although he doesn't look up to see the pained grimace, turned at him for an instant, he must see it peripherally, or be able to guess, because he winces anyway. Asha, meanwhile, has either picked the worst night to be at her most troublesome, or has picked up on the apparent catastrophe in the draconic cries. Nothing Reyce has tried has made the slightest dent in her upset, and finally in desperation he leans to the couch - nearly unbalancing and certainly exposing himself, both nuisances to be discarded in his current straits - and snags one of Issa's old ragdolls that has become one of Asha's new ones; the baby wails as it's pressed up next to her, and her chubby arm swats it thoughtlessly away when it's held above her, but Reyce continues to hang it there determinedly, making little swoops and dips to try and get her interest. If it doesn't seem to be work immediately, at least he's no worse off than he was with any of his other methods.
Issa sucks in a breath and coughs out an, "I can't," as she suddenly struggles to stand, hands planted one on either side of Oshisyth's big green muzzle to help push her up. Her hair is flipped out of her eyes once she finds her feet, smoothed back hastily while she forcefully swipes away remnants of tears that still haven't quite stopped. But still, she doesn't look at him, eyes tracing the floor as she repeats, thickly, "I... can't..." Her face is more under control, but the change seems fragile, so easy to tip back into the grieving mask of moments before. She picks her way around Oshisyth, her goal uncertain even to her. "I need," she begins on the edge of a heaved breath, looking back at Oshisyth as she stumbles around behind the couch, "I need to go." Then the search for shoes begins, and there's an almost frantic air to the way she casts around the floor for them.
"No." Reyce's negative is interrupted by an angry scream from Asha, so he says it again, more loudly. "No." He pushes the doll between Asha and his chest, wedging it there and creating an infuriating obstacle for her as the movements of her arms are suddenly interrupted by a stuffed thing in the way. She bawls as Reyce stands up with her, her face a rival for her mother's in the amount of tears and snot coursing down it. "You stay here." Reyce still has no idea who they're talking about, or where Issa wants to go, but this he knows: "You're staying." It's hard to look imposing and resolute whilst carrying a squalling, angry child, but he does his level best, ignoring Asha to stare down her mother. He comes around the side of the couch, placing himself between Issa and the doorway, not a large enough obstacle to block the way entirely but a reminder of his and Asha's existence that she'd have to deliberately disregard to get by.
Issa comes up against Reyce and halts as if he were a wall, eyes lifting only so far as to brush his face before she looks down to Asha's wailing face. Her shred of composure trickles away in the face of her baby's tears and she sheds a few more to add to them, a frown building on her forehead. "Reyce, I can't..." she protests, low and almost desperately pleading. She starts to turn back but catches sight of another wall behind her, Oshisyth's head, which she's turned in order to keep a watchful eye on her rider. "I just can’t," she heaves as she simply falls back against Oshisyth's side, “just can’t take this.” With that repetition, her voice falls lower and so does she, inching in a slide down to the ground again. She sits, elbows planted on her upraised knees, her forehead plopped unceremoniously against the heels of her hands as her head shakes slowly back and forth, bowed with a crying that’s quieter. Oshisyth's nose nudges close as it can again, still a few feet off, and there they both stay, despite all Issa's talk, until stirred again.
Even when her eyes move off him, Reyce continues to watch her face, his eyes flicking rapidly back and forth across the many details of her expression. He shifts his weight forward when she says his name, but doesn't complete the step; by the time she sinks to the floor he's moved back again, and when her face drops out of view he looks at Oshisyth. There's a moment of silence, from him; screams from Asha, while Issa weeps on the floor. Then a doll drops in front of her, given a nudge by Reyce's bare foot as he makes room for himself to follow, and settles himself cross-legged again in front of her. His robe requires a quick readjustment, Asha held carefully in one arm while he does it, then he shifts forward so his knees are bracketing her and the doll is pushed between them. "Issa," is all he says; this close, he doesn't bother raising his voice over Asha's continual cries, and his words carry to her softly. When she looks up, she'll find his brow heavily furrowed, his lips quirked strangely inwards with an unsuccessfully suppressed expression of sadness that's carried over from her weeping.
Issa doesn't look up from where her face is hidden behind her hands and tumbled curls when he sits, but his quiet address wins him an almost instantaneous response. "Don't," she tells him stiffly, words clogged with snot. "Don't," she adds, softer. "Just get her..." Like the other sentences before, it goes unfinished, doused in a thick sniff. A beat later her head tilts toward Oshisyth's rapidly whirling gaze, a subtle glance through the curtain of her hair. "Diya," she says for him as her head rocks back down, her voice stripped raw and bare. "Diya's dead."
Reyce tugs back at that first word, closing his arms tightly around Asha. His chin drops so he can watch the little girl, making full use of the extra arm-space she's acquired since he moved that doll out of the way and still screaming at the top of her lungs. He inhales quickly when she reveals what's upset her so, but his silence persists. Freeing an arm from the baby, he reclaims the doll that's squished between them and stuffs it under his elbow, grunting quietly as he pushes back and gets to his feet. "Don't leave," he requests quietly, lingering in front of her for a moment extra before he goes padding back to the bedroom with Asha. She's left with Oshisyth, then, while Asha's cries are softened by the curtain between them. Calming her, after such a long upset, takes Reyce quite a long time, but eventually her wails soften, tail off, and fade. Reyce walks back into the main weyr with her in his arms, a soppy toy-cum-handkerchief hanging over his shoulder where Asha quietly stares at it while mouthing on her fists, and looks around immediately to see where Issa's gone.
But Issa can't be seen immediately. Not even Oshisyth is in sight. The wavering, open edge of the ledge's curtain and the chill that comes from it aren't exactly promising, but a closer inspection will find Oshisyth's green bulk safely hunched out on the far lip of the ledge, a snippet of bundled white indicating that Issa is still glued to her side. A light wind catches her hair an billows it over her shoulders unchecked as she leans against the warmth of her dragon, perched in the bend of Oshisyth's forearm and wrapped in her big white blanket. They both watch the reaction that's rippled through the Weyr after the keening that marked another goldrider dead: bodies shouting voicelessly across the bowl below, the buzz around the weyrleader's quarters, who visits whose ledge. But though her watching eyes are dry now, they're detached, cynically squinted at the scene before them.
And when Issa's not immediately visible, Reyce stops dead in the doorway, his face going blank. Asha senses something wrong, and shifts her attention from the dangling ragdoll to her father with a curious bleat, followed by an empty "aaah." He jolts back into the present with that sound from her, tracking her cheek with a caress from his finger, and moves woodenly back to her crib. She's tucked away with the doll that finally quieted her, its dry side tucked against her, and simply watches quietly while Reyce withdraws from sight and turns towards the ledge. There, finally, he sees the huddled white shape, its huge green guardian; with a choked sound, he picks up a stride that becomes a jog as he leaves Asha to join her. His enthusiasm seems somewhat silly as he approaches the unmoving figure, and so he skids to a halt when he gets there, but embarassment doesn't keep him from kneeling on the other side of Oshisyth's forearm and reaching across to hug Issa from behind.
Issa's icily blank face angles toward the sudden hug that surrounds her, but she turns back to watching dragons wing up and down across the bowl again, unmoved. A beat later her voice cuts through the wind. "I'm not stupid," she notes in a harshly even mutter. "I'm not going there."
"'h don't care," Reyce informs her, still gripping her tight. Let her be as icy as she wants: she'll either have to break it, or hold still while he satisfies himself with her continued presence. Once the hug relents, his hands continue touching her, gripping her shoulders and sliding down, then cupping her cheek and pulling it towards him in what could almost be intentional provocation. It's certainly not very solicitous. His eyes don't meer hers at all, far too busy taking advantage of the pose he's just manhandled her into to skim the rest of her face for some sign of tears or emotion. Finding none, he releases her and sets his palms on Oshisyth, still leaning on the green he's usually so shy of touching for anything more than his ride up and the occasional grooming assist. In silence, he makes himself more comfortable there, easing his knees to the stone floor and leaning forward on the dragon's forearm, his elbows pushed up over it.
Issa doesn't seem to care about his readjustments at all; but then she doesn't seem to care about much of anything at the moment, her face subtly drawn and tense but otherwise blank. She looks at him, but when he doesn't meet her eye she just turns back slowly into the position she had when he came out, head dropped sideways again to rest against Oshisyth. The green is more responsive to Reyce's arrival, tucking her head back towards the pair of them and letting out a labored huff as her chin settles over her leg several feet from Issa's spot.
And shortly after Oshisyth, Reyce lets out a huff of his own as he tucks his chin down, pushing his face into the crook of an arm. It's a cold night, and full of noises, otherwise he'd be at risk of falling asleep. The bowl doesn't interest him, so he closes his eyes, and Issa's not moving, so he just stays put. From within the weyr, there are a few little burbles and ahhhs from their daughter, but the sounds are faint, dampened by distance and the winds sweeping them away when they do reach the ledge.
Eventually Issa blinks away from her cursory watch of the Weyr still visible to her, most of which is already drifting back to its sleepy nighttime habits, and notices Reyce's closed eyed position. "You should get back to bed," she tells him dryly, voice drained even of any prodding disapproval or annoyed teasing. A couple of short coughs, expelled into her closed fist, interrupt her train of thought. "You have class in the morning." This reminder comes without a glance, her gaze just skimming past the bit of hide near his elbow before she directs it forward again, at least looking Oshisyth full in the eye.
Night has done its job in keeping Reyce not only awake, but alert: he opens his eyes and lifts them to her as soon as she speaks to him. "Skipped class before," he answers, indifferent. And he'll do it again, if he feels like it. He shifts back from Oshisyth, elbow joints creaking softly as they move against the setting cold. "Should go inside, though," he points out, not moving from his spot. His eyes are on Issa, waiting for her. "Get sick, you sit out here."
"Sat out here before," Issa replies, giving him a dose of his own indifference, while still staring down Oshisyth's wide eye. But seconds later, she's picking herself up, perhaps in response to the little twitch of her green's arm. Still clutching the blanket around her shoulders, she inches past Reyce and slides to the ground, never touching him as she wordlessly strides back to the weyr. Oshisyth is soon to follow and if Reyce doesn't move quick they'll both soon be leaving him behind. And even then, Oshisyth may get in his way, stubborn on her track to take up a position behind the couch, curling tightly around it as if it were the grieving rider. Issa heads for Asha's crib instead, disregarding Reyce just as strongly as she hovers over their daughter, lips pressed tight in the closest she's gotten to an actual expression in the past hour. Her hand ventures outside the boundary of the blanket to brush down to Asha's cheek, her chest, and the girl burbles, kicking her legs in enthusiastic bliss of the circumstances. With a stiff sniff, Issa drags her finger away from Asha's grasping hand and steps over to the couch, curling at what would be her end while Oshisyth beats Reyce to the other end, head dropped down gently so she's breathing over her rider's feet.
Reyce has to move quick just to get off Oshisyth's arm before she knocks him over, and he steps back out of the way while dragon and rider skirt him. His robe has deep pockets, and his hands submerge past the wrists as he pushes them inside. Otherwise, though, he doesn't move until Oshisyth's tail is slinking through the curtain; then he finally breaks his hands free, making fists of them one at a time and warming each in the cup of the opposite palm. While he warms, he moves, pushing silently through the curtain and moving toward the crib until Issa abandons it. Again he's stopped short, turning only his head to follow her path towards the couch. His hands go back in the pockets. He waits.
And so he'll wait. Issa's fascinated with her hand, it seems, for it's that she keeps staring at there in front of her face, gaze distracted with more than just dragonspeak. She shifts idly in an attempt to get comfortable: her back presses further against the cushions, her head lifts to the arm of the couch, her feet slip down beside Oshisyth's muzzle. A couple of minutes later, her eyes jump to him. "I'm staying here," she simply lets him know, voice less stiff but no less drained for it.
"For the night?" His voice has been drained intentionally, no hint of his own emotion allowed to show through it. Reyce stays where he is, his gaze level.
Issa's eyes flick around his face for a few seconds delay, but she doesn't nod until she's looked away again, gaze fallen to benign stone instead. Her hand lifts, swiping the skin beneath her eyes as if taking away tears, imaginary by the looks of it.
This time Reyce drops his gaze when she does. Beats of silence, disturbed by the rustle of Asha still moving wakefully in her crib, then Reyce draws up with a short, sinus-clearing sniff and finds Issa again. "Do you want me with you?" His chin tips a little higher, but he keeps his expression even.
Issa's lips quiver on the edge of that question before she clennches her jaw against it, swallowing before she answers, "No," while staring blankly ahead. Her eyes are drawn vaguely in his direction, but they never make it to his face.
This time there's no period of silence: the negative hits, there's a shuddering whoof as Reyce draws in breath, and he turns around to leave. He doesn't go towards the bedroom, though, not more than a couple of steps. He hasn't even reached the entrance yet before he turns aside, stalks a few steps, reverses direction and stalks back. The bare pads of footsteps rip up the stone, the noise enough to attract Asha's attention and wring gleeful cooing from her: whatever that sound is, it's funny. Her laughter gets through to him and he stops, again. It's Oshisyth his side-cast gaze catches, but there doesn't seem to be any more significance to it than that's where he looked and where she was lying. Soundless again, he vanishes into the bedroom, his arrival there marked by the flap of the covers as he hauls them off the bed. Then silence again: whatever he ripped off the covers for, it wasn't to bring them to Issa.
That pacing has much the same effect on Issa and a swift exhale breaks the tense silence from her. "I'm sorry," is mumbled beneath her breath, rougher to compensate for the tremor running through her voice. Her eyes well with tears again and her face contorts against them, an expression that's not left in the light long for she turns over, her face buried in a shadowed nook of the cushions just before he stalks off to the bedroom.
That silence doesn't last more than a second. A low sound emits from the bedroom, its mood undistinguishable, and bare feet hit the floor again. For the second time tonight, Reyce walks out in his robe, but now he's taken the time to ensure it's tied and settled well on his shoulders before entering the main weyr. Oshisyth is an obstacle, nothing more, as he swings around and steps over her tail, coming up next to the side of the couch Issa's claimed. "Stop." The word comes out as he's already reaching for her, grabbing her arm and pulling her out of her sorrowful huddle on the couch. His fingers are closed like a vise around her arm, brooking no argument while he hauls her to him and on her feet so quickly and powerful that she's like to bump into him as soon as she's up.
Issa’s slow to realize his goal and ends up tangling her feet, first on the edge of the couch and then in the blanket that falls to the floor as he hauls her up. One hand swings up to grasp at his arm for balance, support, even while the one belonging to the arm he’s captured pushes him back on the other side. That half push leans her back as she stares silently up at him, face slick with new tears and splotchy from old ones, a newly dropped frown joining red-rimmed eyes blinking back alarm and surprise. Her head gives a tiny shake, expressing her heavy confusion while she waits for him to explain his order.
Reyce grabs both her shoulders now and pushed downwards, stamping her in place while his hands move brusquely over her face to swipe away the new tears on her skin. "You're pissed, you're sad, the hell you're telling me no for." From the sound of it, he's not too far from pissed himself, but he takes his frustration out by tending to her with those same rough movements, bending after he's wiped off her tears to retrieve the blanket from the floor and wrap her back up in it.
Issa snatches the blanket from his hands when he drags it back up, pulling the ends of it tight over her chest and bunching them there. She takes advantage of the lump she's built and watches the contours of it for a moment. "I can't," she says before she interrupts herself with a snorted sniff and, through some effort drags her chin back up to look at him, finishing quietly but evenly, "talk about her with you." The faint stress on the pronouns is telling enough; she knows his thoughts on Diya and they're not exactly comforting. "Not now," she adds, turning her eyes away as she plops herself back down onto the couch and away from him again, just sitting for now.
Reyce gives up the blanket without protest, although a quick shake of his hand afterwards suggests the cloth caught on his finger. It tucks into his robe afterwards, though the other hand stays out in the open. "Don't have to," he replies, his eyes meeting hers when she finally looks at him. When she drops back to the couch, though, he turns his head aside with a short sniff, casting his gaze down at the floor. "Won't say anything. 'N I'm not thinking bad about her." Those emphasized pronouns are apparently enough to give him a good idea what's behind her reluctance.
Issa draws her feet up from the floor and tucks them under the edge of her blanket, turning her body into a white blob that leans up against the curve of Oshisyth's muzzle. Several beats pass after his last word in silence, but then she replies with a mumbled, "Okay." Perhaps it's merely acknowledgement or perhaps permission to stay, she gives no further clue; room enough remains to her right for him to sit, but she certainly makes no invitation. Her face is drawn and her lips, so often turned up, are weighted down at the corners while she stares at the very same floor he does.
Having received her permission, Reyce continues to hang still for a moment. Then he breaks away from the couch, swinging wide around Oshisyth and heading to Asha's crib. There's a murmur - if Issa's listening close, she'll be able to make out his soft voice saying, "Still up, kid?" - followed by the baby's delighted "Ah!" Reyce snorts, but leaves the crib and returns to the bedroom. This time he brings back the covers, slung over his shoulder like a dead beast, and drops them with a whump in front of the couch. They are, as it turns out, still for him: a few sweeping kicks stretch them out in front of the couch, providing an arguably softer surface than the plain floor, then he lowers himself on them, grunting softly when his elbow impacts the ground but otherwise going without a word.
Issa tracks his progress with just a few idle glances brought up from her brooding silence, but otherwise she stays put even after he's settled himself down on the makeshift bed he's arranged. When she cries, she does so quietly, betrayed only by her erratic breathing and wet snorts. More often than not, though, it's just a heavy silence that presses down over them. At one point, Issa rises without a word to tend Asha, minorly stirring, with a feeding, edging over Reyce's legs and ending up in the rocking chair for several minutes before the baby's returned and she steps back over to her same spot. The light of the fire fades and the heat with it, though with spring on the horizon their blankets are enough to keep the chill at bay. The false light of pre-dawn is peeking in around the ledge curtain's edge when Issa moves again. Just a foot sneaks down next to him, then the other follows as she slowly, hesitantly wedges her blanket-wrapped self in between him and the couch. Oshisyth stretches up from the couch not long after, giving her head a short shake before moving it to the floor and resuming her fitful dozing.
Every sound out of place disturbs Reyce's light sleep, from the masked weeping to the footsteps picking deliberately over him. He rarely moves, though, even when he's awake; maybe his eyes roll towards her while she's in the rocking chair, maybe his curls scratch the blankets as he moves his, but it's hard to pin down in the darkness. Morning stretches in to find him still lying on his back, his robe parted wide over his chest but still in place, the covers pushed down to his waist. His eyes are already open, staring blankly at the ceiling while he watches time pass in the progressive slanting of light into the weyr, but when Issa moves they find her immediately. He watches her ease down into the space next to him, making no move - since she's already found room - to accomodate her any further. An audibly exhaled breath lets her know, in case she didn't look, that he's up, and aware of her, but though he keeps staring there's no movement or speaking as yet.
Issa's eyes are half-lidded, more concerned with arranging herself gently beside him than with his stare. Her hands are still buried within the folds of her white blanket when she finally lies next to him, but she butts her forehead against his arm and leaving it firmly pressed there while she speaks, in a thick whisper, "Need you," to serve as apology and thanks both for his vigil. And though she's long done with sobbing, a shuddered breath shakes through her after it, a few silent tears sliding down the sides of her nose.
Reyce's opposite arm lifts, crosses over his chest and falls with its hand in her hair. He digs his fingers through a loose wrap of curls mussed during sleep, letting out another, softer exhalation once each one's been buried. "Love you," he says, pushing his elbow down to clamp over her shoulder. Her tears keep rolling down till they drop on his chest, where the splash provokes a sudden shiver but is otherwise ignored. "Get in the blanket," are his next words, a command but one softened in the face of her tears. Both his hands are too busy to do it for her, the one acting as a pillow for her head and the other keeping that head close while it rests in her hair.
With a sniff, Issa complies. Her legs curl up to let her feet slip in past the edge and then push down again, rubbing her much-wrinkled pants against his bare legs. Her body leans against his and for a moment she just presses her face against him, moving her chin, her mouth, her nose idly against the towelly texture of his robe; the weary looseness of her movements suggests what little sleep she got up there on the couch wasn't any good. "Nothing's going to change," she suddenly says, but instead of being promising, that comment carries a note of despair, the pressure of the mundane day ahead closing in with the sunrise. Diya left her life long before she died, and now there won't even be the traces of her presence left; it's likely she won't even have a body to lend closure. Her tears have dried up now, but her weepiness continues on with her intermittent little sniffs.
Once she's securely under the covers with him, Reyce can release Issa's head, though it takes him a few moments to disentangle his fingers from the curls he wound them in so deeply. As his hand resituates on her shoulder, encircling her in a loose hold, he says, "Don't know." He lacks the despair, but his answer's no more optimistic than hers was: it's a simple admission, unembellished with any promises or reassurance. His hand gentles the uncertainty, somewhat, by stroking lightly down between her shoulder blades, a reflex prompted by proximity.
Issa just draws herself more compact in response to the reflexive caress, arms tucked between them, folded tight to her chest. Her head lies still, too, forehead dropped against him so her words are murmured quietly into a fold of his robe. “I wanted her to meet you,” she continues, voice as heavy and weary as her frame feels beneath his hands. “Asha.” That thought settles for a beat before she adds, resigned and tired beyond tears, “Kind of stupid to think that she’d ever be able to come back at all.” She shakes her head minutely, producing a slight nuzzling motion of her nose against him. “Should’ve known,” she mutters in the middle of an exhaled breath.
"Can't," Reyce responds, pragmatic as ever. And vague as ever: can't what? But his hand makes a more concerted effort to gather her in, since the first idle strokes proved encouraging. His arm hikes its way across her shoulders, elbow bending when it reaches her spine so his forearm can lie over it, covering her. "You good here?" he wonders, hand lifting from her back long enough to make a quick, generalized flick. "Spend the day with you, want you where you'll feel -" but his lips press together over the last word, suppressing it. "Nn," is the inarticulate substitute he replaces it with, indifferently.
Issa takes in a deep breath, hold it for a few seconds as if testing her environs, then lets it out again in one soft rush. "Doesn't matter," she answers, and her head finally comes to rest, bumping heavily down against his chest, her eyes slipping closed. "Here's as good as anywhere," she continues despite her relative relaxation. "Just want a drink," she bemoans in a quiet mutter, though they both know that single drink would easily evolve into bottles.
Reyce breathes quietly back at her, his fingers resuming their idle rub between her shoulders. "Can get you water," he offers. "Or tea." Other kinds of drink are still guarded from her, even though other kinds of drink are precisely what she means. Apologizing for his deliberate obtuseness, perhaps, he pushes his fingers in harder on both sides of her spine, pressing into the tension of her muscles till it turns painful then abruptly releasing to let tingling relief spread through that area of her back. It's not a precisely aimed sequence of pressure points, since he just jabbed his fingers down where they were, but what the maneuever lacked in finesse Reyce compensated for with brute strength that made the effect surprisingly good.
"Mmm," Issa mumbles, though it's more in the tone of a whimper-- for his obtuseness and his pressing fingers both-- than the one of musing it normally is. "No," she answers his offer humorlessly; that's not what she meant, he knows it, and she has no patience for playing stupid. But the momentary massage had a surprisingly good effect indeed, and with one final, settling squirm against him, she lets her breathing fall into a sleepier, if still stuffy, rhythm and, after just a few minutes, relaxes limply in his arms.