Hamis 25, 2719 | Really Late Evening
Laboratory Beta, Brunnhold
Laboratory Beta, Brunnhold
.
The man had fallen asleep, head propped up on his hand and leaning towards his papers.
She rested a knuckle against her lip, smiling fondly at the sight. It didn’t look like a comfortable position in the long-term, the chances of him developing an uncomfortable crick in his neck quite high but Niamh couldn’t bring herself to disturb him. If she woke him now then he’d probably go back to work and end up staying up too late anyway. Evidently, he needed the rest. She closed the lab door quietly between them and went back to where she’d been working, slowly gathering and packing up her belongings, yawning all the while.
The redhead had almost finished up when she heard a light knock on the main door. It was so soft that she actually paused, head cocked to the side as she waited to hear it again, unsure if she’d imagined it or if it was some other sound, something other than a knock. It came again, tentative and careful as if the person knocking didn’t really want to be noticed. She padded over to the door, freezing as she felt the presence on the other side.
Fionn. She could feel his nexus through the portal, which meant that he could feel her field as well. In some ways she felt wearier than she had before and in others, she felt far more alert. She took a deep breath, straightened her spine and raised her chin before she opened the door.
"Fionn," she greeted coolly, gazing at him intently. It was impossible for her to miss the signs of exhaustion on his face — exhaustion and emotional turmoil. It made her heart lurch. In spite of what he’d said to her more than a week ago, he was still her brother and the look on his face…
His expression moulded into something like relief and he reached for her arm, stopping short before he touched her.
“Niamh! Thank the Lady!” he gasped out, sounding so incredibly grateful to see her that she didn’t know what to make of it. She gawked at him, bemused.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d still be here or- I thought maybe- It doesn’t matter, I’m just so glad that I caught you!” the blond gushed.
His sister tried to look down her nose at him — a difficult thing to do given that he was two inches taller — and made a gesture for silence.
“Harper’s asleep so I’d appreciate you keeping your voice down,” she explained coldly. “And I’ve no interest in talking to you in any case.”
The redhead allowed her words to sink in and then spontaneously came to the decision to shut the door in his face; it didn’t work, the youth catching it and using his body to keep it jammed open.
“Wait, please! I know that you don’t- I’d say I’m sorry but th-th-that’s not important right now — I’m not here for that. I- This isn’t about me. Please, it’s Lars!”
The student chewed her lip, eyeing her brother uncertainly. He looked so upset, so distressed and it was taking every fibre of her being to resist wrapping her arms around him and holding him close. She knew that he cared about Lars — cared deeply — and in spite of what had been going on with Aurelie lately, it was clear that his feelings for the Savatier hadn’t gone away. And he seemed really clocking worried.
“Lars? What about Lars?”
“I don’t know- Have you heard anything about him? H-H-Has Professor Moore- Has he brought him away again?”
The young woman frowned, considering this. She hadn’t heard anything about the passive man recently. She’d seen him since their little discussion over a week ago — the very day that she’d argued with Fionn — but aside from that, there hadn’t been anything noteworthy in relation to him. But Fionn was acting as if he was gone and there was such a desperate hope in his voice and his gaze as if he needed her to say yes.
She shook her head and the teenager whimpered. Her hazel eyes widened.
“What- Why-”
“I h-h-haven’t seen him in a f-f-few days, nobody has and I’m- I don’t know- I’m s-s-scared that he-” he stuttered out, the youth seeming to unravel before her eyes. She grasped his shoulders, gentle but firm, trying to steady him.
“Fionn…”
“I’m s-s-scared they’ve m-m-made him disappear — the g-g-gollies — and I-I-I don’t know- I-I-I think that he m-m-might be… that he m-m-might b-b-b-be-”
The passive had started to shake violently, a wildness in his eyes and she pulled him towards her; he basically collapsed in her arms, hugging her tightly about the waist as he started to cry, sobbing and hiccuping and whimpering against her shoulder. She hugged him back, nowhere near as hard — he was holding her so hard that he was hurting her — and made soothing sounds. Niamh went to pet his hair but pulled a face of disgust as she found it damp and almost sticky. Given that the boy reeked of sweat, she guessed that he’d been hard at work and hadn’t bothered to bathe afterwards. It was more than a little unpleasant for her but it was a minor concern compared to whatever was wrong here.
“I-I-I-I’m s-s-scared. He m-m-might b-b-be-”
Once again, he tried to stutter his fear out but he couldn’t seem to finish the sentence.
“He m-might be d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-”
His sobbing increased dramatically, the teenager almost stuffing her uniform into his face in an attempt to stifle it but he couldn’t manage it. He was inconsolable.
Dead. He was scared that Lars was dead and he made it sound as if- No, her own kind were bad in their treatment of passives but they weren’t that bad. They wouldn’t have killed the passive, certainly not! And even if they had... No, they wouldn’t have killed him without having a damn good reason but they wouldn’t have. Whatever her brother thought or feared, it couldn’t be true.
She awkwardly manoeuvred him into the room, basically staggering back under his weight and somehow getting the door shut behind them. She managed to detach him briefly, leading him to the couch where he simply crumpled and Niamh practically dove after him, trying to support him. She had to sit, her brother — a man grown and a large enough one at that — curled into a ball beside her and dumped all of his grief into her lap. Because that’s exactly what it was — grief.
The final year student found herself crying too, a gentle trickle of tears down her cheeks, but it was purely in sympathy; she couldn’t feel whatever he was feeling but she could feel for him.
Whatever she’d thought about her brother and his feelings for the Hessean, she’d obviously underestimated them. He was acting as if he’d lost something integral to him, his heart broken. No, it was as if his heart had been torn out or a hole ripped in his very soul.
