ellectrical | (no subject)

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At first, she'd said she needed the night. She was tired, she'd been running across the country to get a ferry, (she really hates ferries), it had been early in the morning in her world when she left and she'd spent the night before hiding in a train station in Fukuoka until she could get that ferry out of the country. Whatever was in the folders her father had so carefully hidden away, she could deal with it after getting at least one night to rest.

It wasn't the worst idea Elle's ever had, anyway.

She had meant to do it when X was around. There was no real reason why she changed her mind other than that, after getting maybe three real hours of sleep, she had woken on X's couch to find the apartment empty except for Steve, Farrah, and the ever present fish. She'd thought about waiting, but then, well – then she didn't.

Now, a few hours later, the apartment doesn't look that different from how it did earlier, at least when it comes to being empty. Steve is curled up on the kitchen counter, fur still on end and tail flapping every so often in a perturbed sort of way, as though he had recently been the victim of some affront. Farrah, on the other hand, is contentedly snoozing on the couch, lying flat across a couple of what appear to be MRI scans, though this hardly looks comfortable.

The floor in front of the couch is what stands out. A few manila file folders are set in a neat stack to the side, some with multicolored tabs and paperclips attached. There are some various travel documents set on top of them, including different forms of fake ID, blonde hair glinting on the photo of a New Mexico driver's license.

The neatness of it contrasts with what's been strewn openly across the floor: polaroids and other photographs with the brown tint of age, sheets of paper, some of which have been marked in red, multicolored construction paper. Things that in other households might be fixed to the refrigerator with magnets. All of the photos, in some form, show a small girl, two at the youngest and seven at the oldest, with thin blonde hair that falls to her shoulders. One also features a woman who looks markedly similar to Elle, though her nose is slightly larger, and her eyes are hazel; others show a man with round glasses and thinning brown hair. But most are only of the girl, with a coloring book or a beach ball or a cake with candles. Sometimes just wearing a dress of some sort, or doing nothing other than staring or smiling.

(One involving a red tricycle being ridden through a fluorescent-lit hallway, not unlike the ones X would have seen at the Hartsdale Facility, is crumpled, though still open, on the floor.)

The papers range from spelling tests and handwritten notes to even one report card. Some have the large, blocky penmanship of a child who's just learning to write something besides her own name. The construction paper features rudimentary drawings of houses, animals, stick-figure-like people. She was partial to birds and horses, smiles so wide they make the figures look goofy, and –

One piece of bright pink construction paper has been torn into four shreds, the edges burnt. Bits of hooves, bunchy clouds that hold up an inaccurately rendered yet earnest rainbow,and a horse's head with a horn, the yellow marker used for it bleeding so much into the pink paper that its color appears closer to red, are clearly visible on the scraps that litter X's apartment.

You were a normal girl.

Elle got what she wanted.

At the moment, she's nowhere to be seen. But the door to the bathroom is closed.

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The running water is left on for a short time, accompanied by some shuffling and footsteps against the floor tiles inside.

Then, it cuts off a little abruptly, and the footsteps are in the direction of the door.

When Elle emerges, she doesn't look much like she did in the Bar a few days ago: Her hair is down, worn loose and somewhat tangled over her shoulders. She's taken off her shoes and socks, but she's still in the loose jeans and long-sleeve shirt she'd been wearing when she came in - far from trying to look nice anymore, she'd had to put on something to deal with the fact that ferries, especially in the morning, can be freezing regardless of the season.

She's holding a hand towel, using it to scrub slightly at the back of her neck. The only thing apparent from her face is that she'd likely been scrubbing it with the towel a moment ago.

Her steps into the main room falter slightly when she sees X. She blinks from the other woman to the floor, and then back again.

"Hi," she murmurs.

"Hello," X says in return.

"You are -- "

Maybe the timing is bad, but she cannot really tell.

" -- okay?"

Rather than answer that, Elle brings the towel to her face again, scrubbing at her forehead.

She doesn't mean to ignore X. But at the moment, she can't really bring herself to answer either way.

X doesn't say anything else.

She is not good at this.

And words are always problematic.

So she waits, instead. Because maybe if she thinks about it a little more --

Maybe then she will know what to do.

When Elle lowers the towel again, her eyes are on the floor.

"I'll - clean it up." Her voice is at a murmur again.

"I will help," X says.

Quietly.

"Disposal is required?"

It --

She is not sure if Elle wants to keep it all.

Or any of it.

At this point, Elle had been slipping back onto the floor.

She's settled on her knees when X asks -

Well, Elle doesn't say anything. Her eyes are on the crumpled photo, and for an instant, she wonders if this means she'd lied to Castiel.

"No."

It's not quite sharp, but it is a little distant.

"Okay," X says.

She shifts to a position a little away from Elle, but within touching distance if either of them reaches out.

Then she reaches out for one of the charred pieces of paper, keeping her attention on Elle as she does so.

Just in case she is doing something wrong.

Edited 2010-06-08 04:08 (UTC)

That does get a sharp glance from Elle, though she stays silent.

And instead of reaching for anything immediately, she leans back, resting slightly against the couch. Farrah's tail brushes her hair.

"I shouldn't have done that." It's a little louder, but this time, it's unclear whether she really means for X to hear.

X gathers a few scattered pieces on the same color construction paper, stacking them as neatly as possible and setting them aside.

She's still looking at Elle.

"You were -- "

Beat.

"Upset?"

X has done similar things when nothing, not even her own response, makes sense.

Just ask her room in Milliways.

Her eyes stay on the floor.

Eventually, she folds the towel in her hands, and sets it aside.

Kind of like someone took them -

"Yeah," she answers, still distant.

She does not know whether to reach out and touch Elle's shoulder, or sit in silence, or ask a question.

It is --

She does not know.

But dithering is not something she is good at, either.

Which means that a few seconds later, very carefully, X reaches out to rest her hand on Elle's shoulder.

If Elle lets her.

Elle doesn't move away.

But after a moment, she seems to misconstrue the gesture. She leans forward, and begins to gather the photographs into something more like an orderly pile.

"Sorry," she mumbles.

X is not made for sharp comments -- not about this -- so she does not have to bite anything back.

But --

"It is okay to be upset. About -- "

She flicks a glance at the detritus around her apartment.

"What you found."

It's a guess. Somewhat.

The photographs aren't all the same size, meaning edges stick out as she tries to push them into something more like a stack. The crumpled one of the tricycle is even less cooperative.

Flat, "I wanted to find it."

If X were another type of person entirely, maybe she'd bite her lip now.

As it is --

"I know."

Beat.

"It was helpful?"

Elle leans back again, her eyes still on the floor.

"Do you - want me to explain?"

X hesitates for a moment, studying Elle.

"Yes."

It is important.

And X wants to understand.

She nods, but doesn't say anything for a little while. Her eyes stay down, settled on the scattered remains of something she still doesn't really understand. But -

They didn't tell her and sometimes - she doesn't know. But I do.

Then it falls on her to show her. Fucking easier said than done.

She inhales, and looks back to X, though she can't quite meet her eyes.

"You - back when - when they took you back. And that - Kimura. She took you back there."

"I remember," X says. Quietly.

She is frowning a little.

Waiting.

The connection is slow in coming. But she is trying.

Elle still doesn't quite meet X's eyes, though she does, maybe unfortunately, touch her hand.

"And she - she took your arm, because it hurt and she knew you -"

Her voice is quiet, not that much above a whisper, but there's still a kind of steel beneath it, a tone that someone who's never inflicted that kind of pain themselves likely wouldn't have.

And she hesitates, but still says it, anyway.

"You couldn't do anything to her."

"Because she liked it," X says, very seriously.

She does not look away from Elle.

(She does not flinch, either.)

It is not disagreement.

Her hand doesn't move away, though she stays still, not even looking back the floor.

"When I saw that -"

(And it had started long before that, of course, back to Bennet's kitchen and You poor girl, but it was different having something she could touch, and look at, and tear apart.)

"- it's like he - took something from me. Like he cut a piece of me off."

Her voice drops further, into an all-out whisper, like she's sharing a secret.

"And I didn't know. This whole time it wasn't there and I didn't know. That he took it or that it - was supposed to be there."

Dimly, she thinks of walking around with only one arm, and never realizing that she'd once had two.

Edited 2010-06-09 17:57 (UTC)

"It changes things," X says, half-serious and half-question. "Now that you know what is missing."

Beat.

"You will still try to remember? I -- "

She hesitates, watching Elle carefully.

"I think it is relevant."

Elle shakes her head, very slightly. But it's not in answer to X's question.

"I don't know what's missing."

Not entirely, anyway. Nothing in the folders had told her anything about what happened in the Company. The neatly stacked manila folders contain mostly medical files from the day she was born to a couple months after her sixth birthday, which look as if they had been lifted directly from hospitals and a pediatrician's office. One includes the birth certificate she's sure should be in a government archive somewhere, not a safe deposit box in Japan. The MRI scans may be helpful, but she'll need someone else to discern anything from them, and still, all they'll show her is a result, not the events that led to it. If files documenting what happened to her exist, they're likely in Odessa, which Elle knows is out of the question.

"It's just like - now I can see the stump where it used to be."

And after that, she's quiet for a long moment, glancing back to the floor floor, before she shifts in place to lean her right side against the couch, facing X.

"So yeah."

Her voice is a little louder now, and she's - it's not quite a smile. But there's the kind of soft, even a little self-conscience exuberance of someone acting on a dare. Who knows that it may be wrong, or dangerous, but wants to do it, anyway. It fades a little when she speaks again, calming into a reassured certainty.

"I want my fucking arm back."