17. Nebelung

[heisrisen]

[Private to Sylvanas]

You mentioned an exchange.



[Private to Davy Jones]

Do you consider yourself Lady Windrunner's friend?



[Spam for Iris.]

[He can, when occasion calls for it, be very, very sneaky. Not strictly breathing helps. When she wakes the day after her return, she finds a worn abalone button - one of Yavru's inexplicable treasures - on her bedside table and a note on her chart about the effects of bloodloss on a bicardial system.]

Eat iron & hydrate!

[Beyond that, he makes himself scarce. He's still not back on his regular shifts in the infirmary, and he doesn't go to the lab, or the greenhouse, or make himself otherwise publicly available. If she tries his room, there are good odds he's hiding out in Morgana's room, or Sylvanas's, or in the most secluded recesses of the library.]



[Private to Hornblower]

...among other things, Captain Bush has mentioned you excel in mathematics.



[Private to Hannibal]

If we were planting a few herbs, would you have requests?

Comments

[routemistress]

Don't be daft.

[She drapes herself over his back and shoulders, dropping a kiss on the top of his head, and holds him, head against her bosom, in a conscious echo of the way she enfolded his small-boy self into her arms.

She doesn't try to look deeply. She can't entirely miss the unstrung state of him, but it alters Iris' emotions hardly at all, only a metallic tang of concern overlaying the honey-rich warmth of her love.]

I 'ad such a good time. Oh, but I missed you. My loves.

[heisrisen]

[He shudders, very faintly, lets his nervousness and his pride slip away like leaves on a glassy cold river, keeps the rest like a handful of gravel digging into his palm: frustration and confusion and old grief stirred up again, strident and chipped, a grody film of hopelessness, weariness, affection, gratitude, resentment and yearning all clacking together. It's a good thing he can juggle. The thought makes him laugh, a small creaky broken-up sound, and he clutches the back of her shirt and presses his face harder against her, occipital bone digging into the jut of her clavicle, as though he could hide himself there. Only a week and change, half of that his fault. He missed her too.]