recolle | [Closed] At the end of it all...

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[Closed] At the end of it all...

WHO: Penelopes and Freya
WHERE: Penelope's apartment
WHEN: Post Event
WHAT: A reunion, dinner, comparing notes from the last three weeks and other things
WARNINGS: Language, likely mention of violence, death, body horror, and other unpleasant topics.

The battle had left Penelope drained in a way that only a fight could, even more than three weeks of near constant anxiety and terror. When Retrospec's announcement had gone up and everything returned to normal, it'd all come crashing down at once and as loathe as she was to suggest splitting up...it had to happen for a time. Freya needed to get clothes and stuff from home, and probably needed to follow up with Minako, and Pen desperately needed not only a shower but also to calm the damn cat down.

And put in the order for food. Food was required. And not just any food. The best damn stuff she could get off Grubhub on short notice. So, she'd lent her girlfriend the car and set about these tasks, waiting for Freya's return. The delivery came quickly enough, and she'd stuck it in the oven to keep it warm. Steaks, potatoes, greens, a jug of water and a nice bottle of red wine Yuff had left before she'd frittered off for the weekend like nothing weird had happened. At least they'd not have to deal with that particular distraction.

Glancing up at the clock from her perch on the seat nearest the door, Pen rocks back and forth, an uncomfortable knot forming in her stomach. It'd only been a day. Plenty of time for reality to shift again. She hopes that's just anxiety talking, and she wants to hope that she'll hear the keys turning in the lock soon...but can she really expect it?

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The nips egg her on, her mouth parting even wider, her tongue playfully poking and prodding at Freya's. Just letting go for a night sounded amazing, and if the taller woman was content with it, Pen would go with everything she could muster. Exhaustion may keep her from going at her usual pace, but the thought of even a little and then curling up in bed is just as appealing.

Her fingers gently flex, the normally well tended nails now blunted from anxious chewing, scritching along Freya's spine as the rest of her pushes closer. She molds herself to Freya, content to be a barnacle for the moment, even at the risk of tipping the chair. She'd hardly notice if it did.

(She better not tip that chair, because wouldn't giving Freya a concussion be such a great cherry on top of this whole August shitshow?)

Since when was there ever a time that Penelope didn't go at it with all she could muster? Freya certainly didn't mind Pen pressing up flush against her, either, if pressing back a little in return was any indication.

The hand at Pen's hip inches up just under the hem of her shirt, thumb and forefinger running lazily tracing along the soft skin. Freya couldn't hold this kiss for terribly much longer, but damned if she didn't go as long as she could, drinking in her partner's affection as she chased the events of the last 24 hours farther and farther from Freya's mind.

Pen keeps it up only a little longer before she absolutely has to break the kiss, let out a breath, and suck in a couple of fresh ones. It helps push the last few weeks as far away as they'll possibly go.

"I missed that," she says with a breathless laugh. "So, so much."

Freya smiles, the hand on the back of Pen's neck sliding down to her upper back.

"Mm," she gasps in turn. "It's something. Not bad, considering I'm a hot mess, yeah?"

Her fingers continue gliding over the skin at Pen's waist, drawing idle patterns under the hem of her shirt.

"The hottest mess," Pen answers with a laugh, letting her own hands slide up beneath the fabric at Freya's back. Nails scritch and scratch and play in little circles against the small of her back.

"Not that I'm any less messy. Ain't we a pair?"

It's tempting to bury her face against this young woman's shoulder and pass the night with gentle touches and long kisses. She ought to be more riled up than this, Freya knew, after something so intense with a warm, familiar, welcome body pressed against hers. She was certainly enjoying it, no question about that.

Freya can't stop herself from just staring at her partner's face for a long moment, her pleased smile turning into something more adoring. Her eyes were still beautiful, silver like that, but she missed the bright color were when the two first met. The hand sitting on Pen's back comes forward again, fingers brushing against her partner's hair on the way; it always felt like a privilege, being the one Penelope would wear her hair down for. Freya's hand came up in another caress, roughened fingertips lovingly stroking along her partner's cheek and jaw.

"Damn near matching set."

Then it finally clicks, like a spark struggling to catch on an old lighter. Finally clean, fed, sheltered, and safe, the nature of the danger they'd both survived settles in, and the resulting relief, overwhelming and clear, strikes through Freya like lightning. They're alive and it's all suddenly so vivid, from her partner's scent to the lingering taste of meat and wine to the antagonizing touches under her shirt. It all mixes with the adoration in a sudden need, and Freya dips her head to drive right at that spot right under Pen's jaw that she knows will make her gasp, moving with the fire that's been missing from the taller woman all evening.

She missed this part, too.

The evening passed quickly, a blaze of barely remembered images and sensations, all of them pleasant and none of them particularly clear to Pen. Morning came, dim light in the pre-dawn hours just beginning to creep into the room.

Rubbing her eyes, Pen sighs, already hearing the flump of the cat leaping up onto the bed. He knew when she was awake, always, and he was probably going to be grabbier than usual today. The heavy cat settles in on her chest, and she shakes her head, turning to look at the warm, sleeping mass of Freya beside her.

"Keep it down, cat. Don't wake her. She's had it rough, these last few weeks," she mumbles, curling up a little and letting herself drift back to sleep with a diesel engine of a purring cat nestled against her front.

Rough was an understatement. A deep sleep like this was the peace Freya needed after all of this, and the normally lighter sleeper of the pair goes undisturbed by the furry little third party. Freya needed to heal, in many different ways.

Deliver us that which we have too long been denied!

The peace shatters some fifteen minutes later when an agonized scream rips out of Freya's throat and she suddenly thrashes, twisting in pain.

That sound, that undeniably tormented scream, tears Pen awake. She bolts upright, the cat leaping clear and bounding out of the room with a terrified snarl, taking some of Pen's skin with it.

"Freya?! Freya!"

Feeling her thrashing, flailing there, Pen shifts and comes down on her partner, grabbing her arm and pulling her closer in an effort to get her still. Wake her. This is wrong, something is horribly, terrifyingly wrong...and this is just in her sleep

"Hey! Wake up! It's just a nightmare! Baby, it's just a nightmare!"

She flinches initially before she realizes that the sensation isn't pain. The haze of sleep and the lucidity of the memory interact terribly, and Freya turns wild and confused eyes to her partner. Her muddled mind can make sense of the two realities she's seeing, or the two extremes of the overwhelming, all-consuming pain being chased away by something soothing and warm, only for the process to repeat itself.

So she hoarsely utters the first word that comes to mind in both realities, the two people present blurring together.

"Run." From the terrible being right there; the one coming for her, next.

"Hey! I'm not running anywhere!"

Pen shifts her grip, becoming more insistent and focused, on that, on bringing Freya out of whatever it was that was tripping her up. This was...new. Frighteningly new...

"It's just a dream, Freya! Wake up!"

It does pass quickly. Those visions always did, leaving the worst of it event in its wake. Freya stares uncomprehendingly at Pen for moments more, before one of her hands desperately seeks out her partner's. She's shaking and sweating, chest heaving as her heart pounds.

Freya's trying to say something, but fear and shock were making it difficult to get her thoughts in order.

"Hey, hey..." Pen says softly as Freya seems to come down a little, putting her hand's on Freya's shoulders and gently holding on.

"You don't have to speak yet, it's okay. I'm here. Whatever happened...it's not here." she continues, pulling the taller woman to her breast, stroking the back of her head slowly.

"Just relax...I'm here..."

Freya doesn't fight it, closing her eyes and hiding her face against Pen's skin. It takes her sluggish mind several minutes to process what happened—or what didn't.

But Penelope is there, solid and soothing, grounding her. Yes, Freya's in pain—just about everything hurt, from deep bruises to her stitched wounds to her abused joints to the other various abrasions she's picked up over the last few days—but it wasn't... that. Whatever it was. Whatever the wave of the hand of the thing did to light every nerve in her body on fire and make her muscles convulse in agony.

No matter how hard Freya tried to focus on her partner's touches and murmured sounds and her familiar scent, she couldn't keep her mind from wandering back to that horrific experience, and couldn't still her hands.

"It. Wasn't a dream." Freya utters eventually, quietly.

"Memory, dream. It's not here, baby..."

Pen held on, slowly stroking her girlfriend's hair, burying her face against that sweaty mop, kissing her head over and over in a desperate attempt to soothe her.

"If it was here, if anything tries to hurt you, I'll kill it. I won't let it hurt you...I'm here, okay?"

Still kissing, she reaches over and plucks the auracite necklace from the nightstand, setting the three crystals on Freya's lap so she can see. By now she'd have to recognize them, and the newest one pulses with an amber light at the touch, almost like it's eager to go. It is, she can tell. He's always spoiling for a fight.

"I have a new one, and he'll make sure nothing ever gets near you. I promise. Just breathe and come back to me. Focus on me."

Freya tries; she really does. Every time, her thoughts keep flickering back involuntarily. The fear begins to make way for the indignation boiling up in her, but it's still strongly present, humming at the edges of her perception. Freya's face twitches slowly into a scowl.

"I'm sick of this," she growls into her partner's skin, though there's a desperate edge to it. "Why? What does this have to do with me?"

One of her hands curls in the bedsheets, twisting until her knuckles go white. "Like this shit wasn't bad enough. Like it's got to prove some fucking point."

"Freya...baby..." Pen hums, slowly rocking back and forth, holding on in a sense of solidarity.

"I wish I knew why, I do. But I don't. What I do know is that whatever these memories are...past selves or alternate selves or whatever? They're not us."

It makes Surina's word's all the more cryptic, of course, but at the same time...how could she be this other girl with these experiences and these friends?

"Do you want to tell me what you saw? You don't have to, but if it'll help...I'm here."

"What's that matter if I've got to go through everything she does!?" She snaps suddenly. Anger was easier. Anger hurt less. But... anger needed an outlet. More sharp words gather on her tongue—stop rocking me like a child—but fortunately die there as Freya goes tense and snaps her jaw shut with an audible click. They're born of pain and confusion, and Freya knows she needs to direct it before she lashes out at Pen. Pen didn't deserve any of that, especially not after everything she's done. Not after being here.

The taller woman breaks the embrace and almost urgently rolls face-down over her pillow, both hands rising to tangle in the hair behind her temple; she screams. This time, it's far more frustration than pain, and twinged with desperation. What else could she do?

Then... Freya goes bonelessly limp against the bed. No more fighting. No more bravery. Freya'd already been holding on by her fingernails after Ryoji died. The demon hovering over her, berating Freya for failing before tormenting her firmly pushed everything into the realm of Too Much.

To her credit, Penelope doesn't flinch at the biting words, having half expected something worse. She knew her partner's temper now, knew she'd been coming apart at the seams since she'd gotten back, and whatever last night had done was mere duct tape over a crack in the dam. She lets go, shifting herself so she's sitting near enough to touch if Freya needs, but pointedly keeps her hands to herself for the moment.

It's painful, watching this, seeing someone she cares for coming undone by a memory. Keeping her eyes low, hands in easy reach, she's quiet for several long moments. It's worse when Freya goes limp, the fight going out of her, her mouth working in voiceless concern. When she does speak, her voice is thick and heady with emotion, concern and fear and confusion and so many other feelings bubbling up inside.

"It matters because no matter what she did, what she went through, you...have an extra layer of experiences. You have this life. With the people here. We're here to help you, baby," she says, leaning lower. "I'm here for you. Just...let me support you, like you've supported me."

After a still moment, Freya doesn't move as much as she just shifts towards her partner, the edge of her body lightly pressed against Pen. It's an invitation for contact again. She doesn't say anything and her face is still pressed against the pillows, but the ragged breath and curl of her shoulders clearly convey that she's crying.

She's not some survivor that's had a lifetime to learn to handle an unnecessarily cruel world, or some hero monsterslayer whose lifeblood is strife and danger. Freya's just a young woman, barely more than a kid, from some happy sub-urban middle-class family. The starvation and injury and stress and death and pain was too much.

She's... Freya. Wild and determined and independent, who always gets up to throw herself at the problem again and again until something works. She's never been the one to break first. She's had her low points and failures, but this... was something else entirely, a new kind of defeat. She's not used to feeling so small and powerless—no, she thinks bitterly, powerless was nothing new, judging by the last day.

But right now, she just wants to duck and hide and let Penelope shelter her, and the feeling's so alien that it almost scares her as much as everything else.

The invitation is taken, with Pen draping an arm over her partner, rolling her closer with a gentle tug. Leaning her face in, she presses several kisses to the taller woman's shoulder, hugging and caressing her side to show that she is there. That she's not going anywhere.

It hurts, a cold knife against her spine, to watch this. She feels helpless, useless, weak and defenseless most of the time but that's okay because Freya's here. Or, it was. Things change, roles reverse sometimes. The last few weeks have changed that, made her a little harder, a little more able, and a lot more willing to take on Freya's burdens. She can, she will, be the rock that her partner needs as much as she needs Freya. It's a frightening thought, knowing that something out there, in another reality, had shaken her this badly but it wasn't insurmountable.

Holding firm, quiet settles over her, hand curling beneath the dark haired woman to deepen the hug. She doesn't know what else she can do, or what else she can say...but she has this feeling that words aren't what Freya needs. She just needs someone, and frighteningly enough, Penelope wants to be that someone. Needs to be that someone.

It's a fleeting thought, that there's something more than just attraction and friendship and camaraderie between them. It's a notion she's run from often enough, but it's there...just outside of her conscious thought, and it's not going away.

Edited 2017-08-30 17:37 (UTC)

Pen's right; words aren't what Freya needs. Words would have their role later. For now, this is it. It's warm, gentle, soft—everything the hallucinomemory wasn't. Pen wasn't demanding anything from her. Just... quiet, vigilant acceptance.

Freya has no idea how long she's like that. Her shaking stills, at some point, and her breathing gradually evens. Freya lies there in the embrace for a while longer, exhausted and doing her damnest not think, or exist in general.

The tall woman sucks in a long breath, eventually, turning on her side in order to rest her face against Pen's shoulder and slip an arm around her waist. Her mind's still foggy, almost numb, but her thoughts feel... steadier, Freya guessed.

It takes several moments of staring in the brightening light to realize what she's seeing. "...you're bleeding." Or Pen was, at some point; it's long dried, those claw marks from the cat's panicked launching point.

It doesn't matter how long it takes, Pen is patient, and this is the least she can do. She snuggles up closer when Freya does slip an arm around her, giving her that resting place. It's alright, she thinks, everything's going to be okay. Just willing those positive thoughts into the taller woman, over and over, obstinently throwing her belief that it would towards her partner.

When Freya speaks, Pen looks down and huffs a soft laugh, bringing her free hand up to rub at the dried smears of blood.

"Oh. The cat scratched me when you woke up. Not deep. It's fine."

Shifting her still grey gaze, patient and warm, she flashes a smile.

"Don't you worry about me."

The cat. Good; Freya'd wondered if she did that, while she was stuck in the throes of the memory.

Even though she's stopped crying, parts of her face are still damp. It kind of itches. Her heart swells at that smile, affirming that she'd rather be no where else other than under her girlfriend's arm. No; it was more like nowhere else existed than here.

A grateful smile tiredly flickers over Freya's face before it fades and she closes her eyes. Pen had asked what she'd seen. That felt like ages ago.

"The vision," Freya murmurs. "'Nother big, metal monster. Big fuckin' surprise." It takes a couple tries and a steadying breath to utter her next words. "Was torturing me."

Notably 'me,' not 'her.' Freya was too worn out to maintain that kind of separation right now. She felt ever bit of it; it might as well been her.

Pen's fingers pick at the blanket, moving it to dab away some of the still damp parts of Freya's cheeks, careful of the black eye. She was glad for that smile, enough so that she kept hers up, pressing her lips to the top of her partner's head.

"Big metal monster," she repeats, shuddering at the thought. The thoughts, the subtle difference in how Freya spoke, referring to the other self as 'me' now. That was not lost on her, and it gave her pause.

Closing her eyes, she shook her head, fist balling up around the sheet.

"It won't torture you anymore, Freya. If some metal fucker shows up and so much as looks at you funny, I'll kill it. Don't you worry. It won't live long enough to lay a finger on you. I promise, you're safe with me."

[Closed] At the end of it all...

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