cactusy | IC contact for lastvoyages

"If I'm here for four years, I really am going to go insane."

"Like I said, I'm really unusual," B says, shaking his head. "You won't be like me. Most folks who stay here as long as me stay here cuz they want to. Hell, I'm really here because I want to be. This is the closest thing I got to a home."

"You sound certain about me," she says, raising an eyebrow. "But you really can't be."

"Not you, in particular. Just. That's how it almost always goes. Either a warden's paired up within a year, or usually they vanish without making a deal. Anything outside of that is-- pretty rare," B shrugs. "Now, getting paired don't necessarily mean you get your deal. Inmates vanish, too. Or take a long time. But the pairing usually happens a lot quicker than with me."

She likes that answer. It's factual, backed up with evidence, and it's overall a lot better than the namby-pamby I'm certain because I believe in you response she'd been both half-expecting and fully dreading. It sends a sudden wave of gratitude washing over her, and she sits up a little more in bed, looking at him.

"I'm here because someone died," she says. "At home."

D, laying across her chest, flops to one side, laying next to her, so she's boxed in by dogs. Libby looks up and thumps her tail against Shaw's leg a couple times, but doesn't move otherwise unless Shaw nudges her to.

B nods. "Here to get them back?" he guesses. That's what she'd immediately jumped to with him and the Steve in his universe, and it's... a fairly common deal, really.

"Yeah. The friend I told you about." The friend she's mentioned a couple times to him, now that she thinks about it, though she'd never made it clear that it was all the same person. She scratches Libby's ears as she continues, her voice flat. "The one who searched for me after I was captured and got me that Morse Code message. The one who wears the leather jackets."

"Sounds like the kinda person you definitely want to get back," B agrees solemnly. "It's a good deal. That was my warden's deal, you know. Getting back her favorite person." And B got to give that to her.

"Yeah? Did it work?"

"I think so. Ellie didn't go home to check, at first, because she thought she wouldn't come back here again," B says. "But I think if she went home and found Joel wasn't there, she'd have been right back here screaming bloody murder. As far as I can tell, if the Admiral agreed to a deal, he will always make it happen."

It's not as if Shaw really had any other reason to believe otherwise. She's met enough wardens who've already gotten one deal that she's pretty sure she would have been given a head's up if the Admiral sometimes reneged. But it's a relief to hear anyway, and she leans back against the headboard, closing her eyes.

"I haven't told anybody what I told you, either," she says. Trevor and Quill got the barest of facts, but that barely counts.

B nods, looking serious. He knows it's a big thing. "And you don't have to," he says. "A lot of people don't, to be honest. It's personal for a lot of people. People probably won't even ask until they feel like they know you pretty well, if then." He quirks a little smile. "Hell, nobody's asked me. Not even Steve. Though he's pretty careful not to push, too."

"I didn't tell you because I felt pressured." And she wouldn't have caved if she had felt pressured. But she's already told B more than she's told anyone else, and he's never gotten weird at her over it, and maybe it's kind of nice to have just one person who she doesn't play the My personal life isn't anyone's business game with. It's not an approach she's regretting in the least, but having an exception - one exception - is maybe okay.

"Her name's Root," she says, curling her fingers around the empty space on her wrist. "My friend."

Maybe he'll make the connection between that and her babbling about root directories keeping computer files safe and organized and sane, and maybe he won't. But right now, this is the closest she can get to telling him that she loved her.

"Root," he repeats, and smiles a bit. "Like the tattoo." That's the more important connection he makes, really, and he can read the importance of her. Whether the relationship was romantic or not, love is still love, and he's glad she had that.

Huh. The tattoo she's going to have to redo, after dying, but he thinks that'll be good for her. A nice grounding exercise after the breach.

Speaking of. "You want me to bring you your tattoo gun, while you're stuck in bed? Or you wanna wait until you feel better?" Hopefully she sees the connection rather than thinking it's a subject change. "I can get you some food while I'm at it."

"Yeah," she says, brushing her fingers over her empty wrist again. "Like the tattoo."

It's nice to let herself talk about her, but it's also exhausting, and she pulls the blankets more securely around herself, suddenly cold and shivering. Her throat is dry, the spaces behind her eyes burn, and her stomach feels like an empty pit, which she tends to interpret in only one way.

"I'm starving," she croaks. "Too nauseous to do any tattooing right now, though."

The dogs shuffle closer at the shiver. Both of them have been at least casually trained as therapy dogs, and know cues like that. B gives her ankle a pat under the blankets. "I'll get you some lunch then. And tea. Don't know that coffee'll feel great right now. Wanna keep an eye on the dogs for me while I do that?"

"Sure."

D gets a little scratch behind the ear, but otherwise, she doesn't move; she's ready to stay ensconced in her blanket cocoon for a bit.

B pushes up to his feet. "Be back in a little bit, then."

He'll go put together whatever he can find in the kitchen that's easy on the stomach, and he might wind up bringing the tattoo gun back just for whenever she's ready for it. Then he'll leave her to eat and wash up a little in Steve's bathroom, in peace, unless she seems to want more company.

IC contact for lastvoyages

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