ellectrical | (no subject)

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It's taken three days, but after getting to sleep at seven the previous night, Elle has managed to get up at an hour early enough to be in the kitchen before X.

It's still dark outside. She'd pulled herself up off the sofa in X's living room, where she'd been sleeping every night since crossing over to X's world. In bare feet, and as quietly as possible, she had crossed the room to the tile floor of the kitchen, and began to open cupboards and drawers. The cats, no longer wakened easily or rushing up to beg for food, made the whole process easier.

But –

Elle doesn't miss the cats. Not exactly. But X's silence seemed a whole lot louder now that it couldn't be broken by mewing and the shuffling of paws.

She moves to the refrigerator first, pulling out milk, a carton of eggs, and butter. The grocery shopping – she'd done the grocery shopping two days earlier. And X had said thank you.

Quietly.

From a cupboard, she pulls out a small mixing bowl and frying pan. A whisk comes out of a drawer. The pan is left on the top of the stove, while she takes the bowl and whisk to the table, and places them next to the eggs. They're cracked, one at a time, and emptied into the bowl – she doesn't use a smaller bowl to check that they're still good.

She's forgotten the salt, spatula, butter knife, and bread. It's not too bad, for her.

But the thing about keeping quiet, about trying to stay hidden from X-23, is that no matter how quiet you are, you can't do it forever.

Or even for very long.

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Without looking away from X, Elle reaches for one of the forks she'd set out.

She stops moving once she's closed her fingers around it.

X does not reach for her own utensils.

But she does not stiffen when Elle does.

Elle's eyes finally fall.

Her fingers loosen, and flatten over the fork. She moves her hand away without it, and folds it against her left in her lap.

"I don't know -"

"Rose said she couldn't hurt you anymore."

"You said it would stop."

Edited 2010-01-27 02:38 (UTC)

X stares at Elle for a few long moments, silent and still.

Then she, too, looks away --

And, eventually, toward the brightly colored glass bottles in the window.

The silence lingers.

Then she looks back at Elle, face expressionless.

"It will."

This would be someone else's cue to say 'thank you'.

X just picks up her fork and starts eating, quick but careful.

That may mean the same thing.

Now, however, Elle's the one who doesn't move.

Her eyes come up, and she watches X eat. Someone might be able to see it when her expression softens, and her shoulders relax.

But she still doesn't move.

Halfway through her meal -- which does not take very long -- X looks up.

She keeps the fork in her hand, but watches Elle.

Carefully.

It makes Elle reach out toward her fork again. But her hand stops.

"You're not -"

Okay? Sure? Elle has no idea what the hell she wants to say here, but she can't think of anything else.

"Don't say it if you're not -"

"She cannot hurt me."

X can give Elle this.

Now.

And the dreams will stop eventually.

Or X will learn to forget them.

Her fingers curl, and relax again.

"Okay."

(This might be a lie. But Elle really is trying.)

X does not echo that.

She does, however, bring her fork back to her mouth.

After another moment, Elle reaches for a piece of toast, instead.

And does eat it, after tearing it into a few pieces.

Dully, "I hate her."

That's kind of a lie, too. But she definitely hates something right now.

X's gaze remains fixed on her rapidly-emptying plate.

"Yes."

Her voice is dull, too.

"You never -"

She does finally pick up her fork, and starts playing with the eggs on her own plate.

"I didn't know and you never - went back. I didn't know you could."

"I -- "

X stops talking and sets down her fork.

She does not know -

Some things are not relevant.

(She wishes they were not. Or she would, if she were the wishing type.)

"I hate that she took you back."

She doesn't mean any damn building, any Facility.

"You killed her," X says.

It means 'I am okay'.

Or at least she wants it to mean that.

"Should've been you."

It's quick, nearly automatic.

Maybe because it's actually true.

X flinches.

Some things cannot be borne.

X is learning to deal with this.

"No."

This has the sound of something final.

It is how they were made.

How she was made.

(Which she that is -- even X is not sure. She never will be.)

Elle lets it stand.

At least, for the moment.

Her eggs are getting cold. And X is talking again. She doesn't want to -

She stops playing with the eggs, and starts actually eating them.

X actually butters a piece of toast.

It counts as progress.

It doesn't take very long for Elle to finish her eggs. Before long, she stands from the chair again, and moves to take her own and X's empty plates to the sink.

She doesn't ask for help, though her eyes meet X's again.

X does not look away.

But she does not move, either.

There is, at this moment, nothing to say.

Later it will change.

Edited 2010-01-27 04:54 (UTC)

Elle does look away, however, and moves on to the sink.

That she turns on the water, and reaches in (no sleeves to roll up - she's in jeans and one of X's neon bright t-shirts), not once looking back - well, it's something she wouldn't do around anyone else.

"You couldn't."

Elle's scrubbing egg off the frying pan at this point. The burnt flecks are putting up fight against the soap and sponge.

"You really couldn't. That's not -"

Your fault isn't really in Elle's vocabulary. At least, around X.

" - wrong."

Edited 2010-01-27 07:56 (UTC)

X looks down at the table, still and silent.

"It is," she say eventually.

"For me."

It is a deceptively calm surface.

Elle starts scrubbing the pan rather viciously. This does the trick - she's soon rinsing it out, and setting it aside to dry.

"You got me."

Rather than move on to the plates, Elle reaches for a dish towel, and starts drying off her hands. She turns back to X.

"I went to that - guy in my world. Who made me forget. He could stop what I do so I - had to bring something else."

(A gun, in this case - it's back on a table in X's living room.)

"That's what it is."

"Thank you."

She will not say it again.

Nor for this.

(It is too big.)

Elle nearly tells her not to say it.

But she holds herself still, her fingers digging only slightly into the dishtowel.

Silent, she shifts, clutching the towel in her left hand. Elle moves slowly (but not hesitantly) to X's side, and puts her right hand, lightly, on X's shoulder.

It takes a while, but eventually X leans back into that touch.

Even if that lean is felt more than seen.

Elle, for once, is patient.

Eventually, she mumbles, without moving, "I'll go - finish -"

"I will help," X says, and stands.

This is something she can do.

She nods, and moves away, back toward the sink.

Her hand brushes X's as she moves, but Elle doesn't linger.

Neither does X.

She is not built for it.

Cleaning up is easier.

For now.

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