14 - Text

[bodilesswarrior]

[Her first thought, when she wakes up, is that she feels like one of her old dolls; torn to hell and stitched up by small, awkward fingers.

Then she remembers to breathe, sucking down air in ragged, painful breathes. She counts the cracks on the ceiling, and tries not to lose herself.

She remembers, of course. She remembers it as clearly as the Joker's smile. It's not so different, really; again, she was brutalised to hurt someone else.

Except this time it's worse, because she saw the Emperor crumple and fall.

She refuses to close her eyes, because she knows what she'll find in the darkness. She focuses on the warmth of the sheets, the glare of the lights, the beating of her heart.

When she's able to lift an arm with convulsions of pain, she grabs her comm.]

Check in if you can.

[Private to Iris]

Are you okay?

[Private to the Emperor]

I'm sorry.

[Private to Creed]

You owe me glasses.

Comments

[routemistress]

[It's like a watched pot, Iris thinks; she's been right there, but even timelords need to pee sometimes and of course that's when the message comes through.

She doesn't answer. She just washes her hands and goes back to the infirmary.]

Not really, no. I will be.

[bodilesswarrior]

[Barbara lets the comm fall to the sheets, and raises a hand to grasp Iris'. It hurts, but it's worth it.]

[routemistress]

[There's usually a wealth of emotions apparent, touching Iris; especially with her closest intimates, people whose wavelength she's attuned to, people she loves. It was noticeably muted in port, but it's not muted now, it's just empty: a sad flute solo where there ought to be a full orchestra. She clings to Barbara's hand like a child.]

M'sorry.

[bodilesswarrior]

[Barbara immediately shakes her head, then winces as she realises what a horrible idea that was.

Still, the message is clear: It's not your fault.]

[routemistress]

[Iris is small, but she generally takes up a lot of space; so it's very noticeable when she crumples in on herself abruptly, just utterly defeated. She moves slowly, folding herself with aching care around Barbara's edges, and just stops, her breathing shallow and so slow that without the thin thread of mental contact it might be mistaken for death.

It's not even the flute solo now; it's more like the white-noise hum of an intermission, vaguely palpable as a glad-scented awareness of Barbara's life. No more.]

[bodilesswarrior]

[This hurts more than anything Creed did to her. Maybe that's wrong, or strange, but she doesn't care. She lifts her arms with aching slowness and lets them fall around Iris, concentrating fiercely on her love for her.]

[routemistress]

[She's silent for a long time; eventually, it's not her body that moves. She doesn't even open her eyes. But the emotions start to leak back into perception, slow and inexorable as swelling groundwater: first the throbbing bass notes of gladness and gratitude, the building cellos and violins of loving tenderness and finally, a long time later, the thready bugling of defiant affirmation, building slowly into trumpeting glory in life and love and undefeatedness in spite of everything.

Iris opens her eyes.]

[bodilesswarrior]

[Barbara can feel the echoes of it, of Iris coming back to her, and when Iris looks at her, her smile is real.

Slowly, carefully, she mouths "I love you".]</small

[routemistress]

[This. This is only one reason among many she loves Barbara, but it's significant: she's stable without ever being dull, a sheet-anchor when Iris' wildly-flapping emotions need grounding. The thought doesn't form in words, but the analytical part of Iris' mind that reflects so well off Barbara's own is observing it plainly behind the returned smile.]

Don't try and talk, love. We knew 'e'd try this sometime, didn't we? Don't talk. Just remember it for me. I know it doesn't make it all right.

[She just needs something to counterbalance the weight of failure and frustrated protectiveness. And she refuses on principle to apologise again, but she's having to bite it back hard.]

[bodilesswarrior]

[She squeezes Iris arm and it's barely anything, hardly any pressure at all, but she knows Iris will feel it and know what it means.

And then she thinks of the last time they saw each other, worried but determined, brimming with hope and love and brilliance.

She thinks of clasped hands and rasping tongues, delighted laughter and cracking whips.

She thinks of their first kiss.]