[Fred's only now gotten the courage to come back to her room and begin the business of cleaning it up. She still can't shake the sense of violation the destruction made her feel. Wesley'd bundled her up the evening before, taking her away from it -- at least the first night. But that didn't shake the fact that she had to face it.
Caught up in the business of righting furniture -- of righting herself] she hasn't glanced at her journal in nearly a day. She's only begin to consider it when a quiet knock comes at her door.
[He tries again. His lips move. But he just can't. He can't say that he finally let himself have something...that he jumped off the fucking cliff and...once again landed on his face, empty handed and alone.
But his journal can say it. He holds it out to her, flipping open to Hardison's entry from this morning, and hands it to her. He can't say it.]
[She's trying to translate the expression on his face, trying to understand. It takes her a moment to understand that she needs to read, but after a moment she glances down at the pages -- reads over what they say.
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Caught up in the business of righting furniture -- of righting herself] she hasn't glanced at her journal in nearly a day. She's only begin to consider it when a quiet knock comes at her door.
Moving to open it, she finds Larry's face.
And immediately, she knows something in wrong.
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But his journal can say it. He holds it out to her, flipping open to Hardison's entry from this morning, and hands it to her. He can't say it.]
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It hits her]
Larry...
[She pulls him into a hug]
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I'm supposed to come to you more, right?
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