Reality-Induced Traumatic Brain Inury

Elijah

After dinner, after conversations, after doing dishes (because Elijah figured he should at least do the dishes after eating someone's steak and drinking their wine- both of which were fantastic on account of the quality) it was off to go talk to Sera. If Sera was up to talking. Or check on her. Or… well, the intent was clear. Elijah, Sera, convergence.

It was up the stairs with him, slow and purposeful and perhaps slow and perhaps purposeful because he wanted to have some time to think. A time to reorganize thoughts and to put things into near, findable boxes only to realize that Elijah would never be organized, at least not in a way that others could readily follow. More spirals and fractals and spider webs than boxes. Categories overlapping, attention ping pong balling all over the place. But there was the question- what do you say?

That was what had him thinking. That was what had his attentions wherever they chose instead of what was in front of him. What do you say to someone who saved your life? What do you do to thank someone when, really, everything feels trite?

He lingered at the door for a second before taking a step in. He knocked gently- always knocked, even if he was just going to walk in anyway.

"You awake?" he asked.

Serafíne

She must be awake. Were she asleep he'd never be able to wake her with a knock on the door of a bedroom in a silent memory-of-a-house, but she's half-way to sleep. Exhausted, groggy, incoherent, head throbbing. The room is rich and quiet and wreathed in shadows. Some light from outside, the moon dwindling from full bright in the otherwise now-dark sky. The enormous bed, the furnishings, hardwoods and Persian rugs underfoot. Curled up beneath the crisp white sheets, she kind of stirs and then turns over as he asks her if she's awake.

"No."

Hahaha, funny joke Sera.

Delayed.

Reaction.

"Wait. Kinda."

Elijah

e would have sat on the edge, but given the sheer size of the thing he kind of suspected he wouldn't actually be able to talk to her if he did since she'd be an eternity away. She says she's not awake and it gets half a laugh out of him, breathless but amused because he does get amused by the tiniest of things some times. There's a pause in the reaction time; she's not quite home. Of course she wouldn't be. Elijah does bridge the gap, though, doesn't close the door, but rather leaves it open and eventually gets a seat on the bed.

Awkwardly scoots himself in closer, tentatively pets her hair because she has a wonderful texture.

"We had caviar and triscuits, it was pretty good." A little smile there.

Serafíne

Dan has cleaned Sera up and stripped her out of her clothes from the bar and located (somewhere) a proper, old-fashioned men's pajama top for her to wear in bed. Probably more covered up now than any other time Elijah has seen her, particularly with the sheets tangled around her long, lean legs. Even half-asleep, sick from that reality-induced traumatic brain injury Elijah assumed earlier, the creature responds to touch. Kind of nuzzles her way towards it, like some small, half-blind baby animal. Rolls over to be closer to the physical warmth of his body, that awkward half-scooched I don't know what I'm doing or how to do this posture.

"Mmph." -- and a few other half-garbled words, his only real reply.

Elijah

His fingertips traced from the short, shorn part of her hair to the longer parts and again and again. There is a quiet moment; he's inexperienced in terms of being supportive when someone's hurt. Uncertain, his bedside manner lacking in technical prowess but not in honestly. This is the most covered he'd ever seen her; even in the winter, she seemed to be half-clothed and content with it. All mini skirts and cavalier fashion sense.

"It…" he looks up, half laughs again but it's nervous, breathless, "shit… It hit me while I was cleaning up that… uh… well, this… this is a big fucking deal. Things got really bad tonight and if you'd not been there I could have died. A lot of people could have gotten really hurt if you hadn't been there to help."

He purses his lips, "and… like… you kind of take it for granted, because you know people who are fully capable of fixing whatever the fuck can happen to you but… I saw you save a guy's life, once, when that dude decided to try and eat that jock dude? Like… you just got there and you fixed it, and you fixed me."

Silence.

"Thank you doesn't cut it. I'm alive because you didn't let me die… and… you're here because… I guess your reasons are on you… but… it really fucking hits me sometimes that you give a shit about me and it's… it's fucking huge." his hand slops, rests in her hair, silence and stillness don't suit him. "Yeah…"

Serafíne

Oh, Elijah.

--

There's this very precise and carefully maintained line of demarcation between her shorn left sidecut and the longer wealth of dyed blond curls. The soft, downy growth is not blond but a brown that would probably verge on the mousey if she let it alone and perhaps shut herself indoors for the whole of the summer. Would probably take to the light, though, quite like the rest of her. This close, well, he can see that she has tattoos everywhere. Ink on the cartilage of her ears, a few more incomprehensible letters or numbers maybe, and another piece - a blackwork triangle - tucked beneath the shell of her ear, half-hidden by her hairline.

He can slide his fingers through her hair all he likes.

And he half-laughs, nervous, breathless, even though his only real audience right now is Elijah himself. He knows that, doesn't he? Intuitively, as he sits there, sliding his fingers through her hair, how far away she really is. And also, how very close. That body after all, which seems all the smaller when she is not wholly animate within it, is absolutely, utterly Sera quite as much as anything else about her.

She's simply hibernating, at the moment.

Inhales, breathing somewhat raggedly, mostly from the mouth because her nose is too full of dried blood for her to get a proper breath in, exhales. Sometimes she murmurs something, sometimes she whimpers. Even in her sleep she wants: perhaps in sleep she wants more than she does, waking, and even if she doesn't really hear him and even if she really won't remember this, well. He will.

And anyway, she likes to cuddle. If nothing else, he can tell that his physical presence, his touch, quiets her a bit. Helps her sink from that shifting restlessness to a deeper, healing sleep.

Elijah

After awhile, he settles into something more comfortable, keeps petting her hair like this was something that they could both find comforting. He knew the truth of the matter, that Sera wasn't going to remember this, most likely. But there she was, something human instead of the beyond-worlds figure he'd grown to know. She's all artwork and color. Elijah was comfortable there.

But, there they were. Sometimes, she murmurs something- sometimes he responds. Sometimes, he just talks, because he needed someone to talk to. It was unfair, really. It was a one-sided conversation, because he knew pretty well that Sera was just hibernating for now. He talked to her about things he saw during his day, the layers of the universe. He tells her about the times that he was interested in seeing the world pass over itself and time flash forward. Little bits. Sometimes poems. Mostly, poems.

Once she's settled, once movement slows and the whispers cease, he kissed her on the forehead and went to go find Dan. He needed to go home, even if all he wanted was to stay.