inhell | text . open spam . 2nd attack

Free stuff outside level 7 cabin 2. I don't want it.

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[She's still feeling the lingering aches from being ill, but she doesn't pay any attention to it. She has a few good meals in her and too much energy to just sit there. She wants to know what happened. Did any of them make it? Are they all dead? How did Colonel Finley feel about it?

And the sight of her own bedroom appalls her.

So she drags out big plastic bins from her closet and starts tossing stuff inside.

Snow globes and fancy headbands. Old clothes. Who needs that many tops? A lamp that doesn't work. A collection of smooth stones; a glass bottle fused shut.

Beaded bracelets. (Except for one that reads BEST, because she knows who had the other one, who had the half that read FRIENDS and for a few minutes she stares at it, unable to move.) Cheap stuffed animals. A whole series of trophies from hockey. A plastic unicorn filled with layers of colored sand. Old ugly sweaters and figurines and half-used collections of colored pencils. Hand-dipped candles, irregular and bulging and leaning noticeably to the side.

She keeps all her books.

She throws away baskets of souvenir paperweights and keychains and cheap jewelry.

And she drags it all out into the hallway, leaving it there in piles.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[James doesn't try to stop her, and he doesn't flinch back. He stays out of the way of her arm, lets her have her tantrum.

He understands, in part. It's not the same, he wasn't a child when he went to war - but he knows what losing a home is like.

There's a reason he's never been back to Skyfall.

When she calms, when there's glass and soapy water staining the wall, he speaks. Calmly, not overly sympathetic, not too tolerant. He doesn't have the patience for tantrums.]

How long have you been fighting them?

[ She's shaking like a leaf. Like she's cold, like she's freezing to death. She can't hold her hands steady. She crunches a it of glass under her foot, viciously, and that's the last of it. It's all drained out of her, like someone pulled a plug in her feet and let all the anger, all of the energy wash right out.

She grabs at the quilt, the quilt her mum made, off of the bed, and balls it up on her lap as she folds up against the unstained wall. Ends up on the floor. ]

A long time. Six or seven months, and then the Kiwis rescued us, and then - then we went back. They asked us. [ This part in a soft, terrified whisper. Going back was the most frightening thing she had ever done. ]

It's more than a year, by now.

[His eyes narrow. It's not in him to coo, or shout about the injustice. He knows the uses children have, he can know that without using them himself. That doesn't mean he supports it.]

How many of you? [How many has she lost, he means.]

There were - eight of us.

[ Chris, he was the first they lost. Corrie. Robyn. Robyn, who died right in front of her. Who just disappeared. ]

Last I knew, we were five. [ Four without her. Maybe if Kevin's collapse continued, he wouldn't count anymore. Maybe he would just fade away, suicide by his mind abandoning his body. Suicide by fear alone. ]

[He nods once, respectful. Says the only thing you can say at a moment like this.]

I'm sorry.

[He knows it isn't enough. That doesn't matter. You still say it, especially when you so rarely apologize for anything.]

Why did you go back?

[ She shrugs. Like she doesn't know - but she does. There's only one real answer. ]

It's my home.

[Another nod, and after a moment, he moves to sit against the adjacent wall, not in arm's reach and easier to watch her.]

You're not ready to give it up.

[He means the way she's holding the quilt just as much as her choice to return.]

And no Admiral will make me.

[ She means the fight. The war. ]

Doubt that's the point.

Look. [He's not good with kids. He doesn't know how to be gentle with them.] I came here as an inmate. Thought this whole bloody thing was a set up. Then I thought my warden would have to convince me to quit my job, live a peaceful life. He didn't.

Doubt yours is going to ask you to stop fighting.

My friends aren't here. I'm not where I want to be.

So I don't really care what a warden wants me to do.

How do you think you're going to get back to where you want to be?

You think I'm going to do what he wants just because he's got me trapped?

I think you're angry enough to block yourself off from viable options. [Blinded by inconsolable rage. He hears it in M's voice and doesn't throw it at her.]

You're not my shrink or my mum.

No, I'm just a pain in your ass until you're ready to stop throwing tantrums.

Leave me alone.

[He stares at her, and the quilt she's clutching, for just a moment before rising, straightening his clothes on the way. Stepping around the signs of her temper, he reaches for the door knob and pauses.]

I went to war. And there was a time when I hated everyone who wasn't there, too.

[Then he's out the door, because he didn't owe her that, and he doesn't want to have it thrown back in his face.]

text . open spam . 2nd attack

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