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You can. Just breathe.

[ Kate rakes her hand back through her hair and tries to leave her eye alone, just touching gingerly at the edges of the bruise before knitting her fingers together in her lap. She makes no move to touch Johanna, no hand set on back or shoulder, as much as she'd sort of like to. But when she folds her legs up her knee rests against Johanna's calf through the blankets, a buffered but steady presence.

That's really all she does, not counting aloud again unless it seems like Johanna definitely needs it, staying silent to try to let her get herself together without making it more embarrassing. ]

[Bizarrely, it's that quiet assertion that is quickest to clear Johanna's head. It isn't that she can't do it, she can do anything, and her eyes snap open so she can turn a glare on at Kate--eyes a little too wide but mouth dead set in a scowl. It lacks a little of her usual heat, tear-stained and pale under her flushed cheeks--but it's a start, anyways.

Hate is something grounding, something she can hold to. She can, and she'll prove it, and she sucks in another great gulp of air, too much--but she lets it out, steady, steadier than she was before--and the next is better, and the next is better still. Kate's knee is warm and solid and real, not affectionate or cloying but there, just there, enough. Johanna shuts her eyes again, and this breath is even steadier--and then she sags back, a melt back against the pillow and mattress, her eyes still wide open and staring up at the ceiling.

There, she thinks, with finality. Her heart is still beating hard in her chest, and she wills it to stop. There. Done. Her gaze flicks over to Kate, one quick glance, and then away, like she's afraid of what she might see. Except she's never afraid. She burned off all of her fear. That has to be true.]

[ There are plenty of things in Kate's face for Johanna to latch onto and twist and hate if she'd like to; concern, sympathy, but mostly understanding. There's a knowing cast to her expression, a note of recognition that lessens the concern, tempers the sympathy before it can become pity. If she stared at the tears (she did, just a little; it's such a strange sight) it was when Johanna wasn't looking.

She still doesn't say anything right away, as she hasn't while Johanna's caught her breath and calmed down. She lets her flop back down and breathe some more before she joins her, easing down onto her back. She should probably continue to not say anything. She knows that, she knows that trying to talk about it is an excellent way to earn Johanna's scorn or convince her to flee. But somehow she still sort of feels obligated to try. Who else is ever going to? ]

What're yours about?

[Purposefully, she does not look at Kate, in case she does see something worth hating. It's not worth it, not right now. Give her ten minutes, and she'll be snarling and in full denial, but right now, laying on her back, as wrung out as an old flannel face cloth--]

Everything. [It comes out raspy. She coughs, without so much as lifting a hand to cover her mouth. And she laughs after, just as dry.] But it always ends the same.

[And it always will, she thinks, and there are whole years attached to that always, year after year after year. She keeps her eyes shut. The inside of her eyes looks black and velvety. It's almost calming.]

They were torturing me, before I came here. Me and Peeta. Enobaria. Annie Cresta.

[The names feel thick on her tongue. Kate is still quite close to her, close enough that she can hear her breathing. This is very real.]

Shit, [ says Kate. It's not blurted out, for once, but something she chooses, the only word she can find that seems suitable after some consideration. Surprise, horror, sympathy, guilt at having ever compared the things she's gone through to Johanna's, a desire to find some acceptable middle ground between taking it lightly and showing the sort of concern it really merits-- it holds a lot, that little word. It's all she says for a minute.

She's still at Johanna's side, not quite touching though the bed's too narrow to put more than a few inches between them at shoulders and hips even thin as they are. Kate's breathing stays steady, not as quiet as the room, just the faint constant hum of distant engines and closer air vents. ]

Water?

[Her smile jumps up, quick and sharp, but her eyes stay shut.]

And electricity.

[It's easier to say it in the dark. Sweat makes her skin feel chilled. She huffs another laugh before she swallows again, and doesn't move any more than that. The slackness of her face, and her limbs, makes her almost look as if she's asleep, or getting back toward sleep.

If she rolled on her side, just a little, she would be that much closer to Kate. She doesn't move.]

Good guess.

Shit. [ It doesn't seem to have been the wrong thing to say the first time and doesn't feel any less appropriate the second. Kate says it a little bit slower, a shade more seriously.

And she thinks seriously about rolling over, to look at Johanna, maybe hug her. She wishes Johanna were even the tiniest bit the sort of person that would work with. It's a selfish wish, since it'd make this easier on Kate, make her feel less completely useless and floundering in the face of it.

Instead she says, ] Attacking a bathtub faucet wasn't exactly subtle. [ And tips her head to flash just the briefest hint of her kindest teasing smile before she sets her head back down. ]

There used to be this one dream I had over and over. So every night before I went to sleep I'd make myself play it out in my head start to finish, but I'd change something so in my version I broke his nose and ran. Every night I'd picture it like that instead until finally I started dreaming it that way. Might be worth a try. Give yourself an axe.

[She gives Kate half a glance, and half a smile--grim and quiet and darkly amused. If there's one thing Johanna isn't, it's subtle, and that carries over across the board.

She rolls her head back, turns her face up toward the ceiling, her eyes so narrow they're nearly closed. And she doesn't say anything, only listens for the moment. What's the use in explaining how completely she had been captured by the Capitol? How she can't even imagine a way that she would get free--by rescue, or her own hand. It's all so fucking impossible.

Instead, after a moment of heavy silence:]

What's yours.

[ Kate had sort of just assumed there wouldn't be follow-up; usually Johanna doesn't care enough about her life to ask questions.

She lies there for a minute and debates her answer, tests out words on her tongue until she finds some her brain and whatever hold the ship has on it will allow. It doesn't seem fair to lie, even if she could. Barely fair to dodge, and she has limited options for how to do that. But telling isn't really an equal trade; Johanna's only telling her while she's telling...Johanna. ]

All sorts of things, lately. This ship is a great place to acquire new nightmares. I still wake up choking thinking my own hands are around my throat. [ She rolls her eyes at herself as soon as she's said it. It's true and it's been genuinely disturbing but right now it's so transparently an attempt to avoid telling her the actual answer to her question that it's even worse than just refusing. She sighs, and lifts a hand to scratch at her forehead. Whatever. Who cares. This shouldn't still be this hard anyway, right? ]

When I was fourteen I was attacked and raped, it was about that. [ And then she begins a countdown to Johanna earning a matching black eye. ]

[The long silence means that she's probably going to lie. That's okay: Johanna would have lied too, if she'd been able to. She had just felt so tired. She still feels tired. Another ten minutes, maybe, and she'll be back out of it.

The hand thing that Kate says, that's real. But it's not as real as the second part. Just from the way that Kate says it, she knows that it's true.

Johanna doesn't say anything. She doesn't roll onto her side, move closer to Kate, put an arm around her. She doesn't acknowledge it for a few moments, nearly a full minute. Just the two of them, in the dark of the room. Dark is the closest that the ship can get to natural light.

Blind, with her eyes still closed, she lays her hand between them--not really between, more on their thighs, where their legs are pressed together. Palm up, fingers uncurled. It's not the same as taking Kate's hand, but it's there.]

[ Kate's steeled herself for Johanna's response enough not to flinch at the touch, but this wasn't at all what she'd anticipated, even further from what she'd feared.

She doesn't move right away, waiting a moment the way Johanna did. Not quite as long, but she wouldn't want to seem too eager. (That isn't all it is, this isn't a time or an offering that deserves that level of skeptical gamesmanship, but it crosses her mind.) It's such an unexpected gesture, beyond rare, that she wants to give it the weight it deserves even if it's something they're probably never going to acknowledge happening now or later.

So it's a heartbeat or two of stillness, and then Kate sets her palm atop Johanna's and curls her fingers between hers, grip firm. ]

[She curls her fingers up in response, pressing their palms together--still without acknowledging any of it, or saying anything to Kate. Because there's no point in saying sorry, or asking about it, or anything. It happened. That's it. She gets it.

She settles back against the pillow, her eyes still closed, fully content to leave their conversation right there. It will take a long time for sleep to come back to her--if it ever does, tonight. But she also doesn't want to talk anymore.]

[ They've said everything they need to say, and Kate's likewise content to leave it at that, even though it means lying in silence staring at the ceiling or the inside of her own head for the next few hours. That's what she often does anyway, so this is an improvement.

She's not going to try to force it, but she'll keep hold of Johanna's hand as long as it's offered, even when she eventually dozes off an hour or two before 'morning'. ]

[Johanna doesn't sleep. At best, she dozes, but she's always quick to jerk awake soon after. And she doesn't unknit her fingers from Kate's, but leaves her hand where it is, palm pressed close.

Hours go by like this, until at last Johanna is done with it. She shakes free of Kate's had and pushes herself to sit up, so she can start to crawl over Kate and get out.]

[ Kate's hand is easily pried off but she wakes as soon as Johanna starts crawling, startling half up onto an elbow and looking around. But she's quick to figure out where she is and what's happening and she eases back, eyes already half-shut again. She reaches up to brush knuckles a little clumsily against Johanna's ribs as she passes. ]

y'okay? [ It's a sleepy mumble but she cracks one eye open a little wider to try to check. Just leaving, or is something wrong? ]

Yeah.

[Her voice still sounds rough. She rubs the back of her hand against her throat, briskly, the movement surprisingly crisp and sharp despite whatever hour it is.]

I'll be back. Later.

[She wipes her newly freed hand against the leg of her shorts. And she hasn't shifted off the bed yet, but takes the moment to tug at her shirt, pulling it down. The skim of Kate's fingers left a warm little trail that's not exactly faded.]

Edited 2015-02-01 03:11 (UTC)

Kay. [ Kate's easily assured and seemingly near to drifting back off, cheek rubbed against the pillow and lids sinking lower as she gives Johanna's side another half-conscious rub and lets her arm flop back across her own stomach after. ] See you later.

[She lifts her hands to her hair, making sure to avoid the second brush of Kate's fingers just as much as she can. There's a beat, when she looks back at Kate, already laid sleepily across her pillow.

And then she huffs, once, quietly, something of a laugh.]

That's it?

[This is nearly her regular tone again, hoarse though it is.]

[ Kate fumbles back awake a degree, slow to process, reluctant to keep putting sleep off in case it skitters away again and doesn't come back, but making an attempt to re-engage. She tips her head up a little bit out of the pillow, and blinks eyes wider, pushing her eyebrows up like it's an easier way to lift her eyelids. It works on the one that isn't currently swollen half-shut; the other side she drops as the pull immediately starts aching. ]

What?

Edited 2015-02-01 04:13 (UTC)

Nothing. Shut up.

[She reaches over to push Kate's face--a little gently, a little not--and she's not sorry at all about accidentally prodding at the bruised bit of her face with the edge of her thumb.]

You're just a little stupid.

[Which is goodbye, and she shoves herself to her feet with a sigh, wiping her hand against the leg of her shorts again.]

Oww. [ Kate bats at Johanna's hand and tries frowning but frowning kind of hurts, too. None of it's serious anyway, which should be clear when her comeback is ] Your face is a little stupid.

[ Johanna stands and Kate shifts partly into the space she vacates, tipping onto her side and settling in again. ]

[Wow, Kate, wow. Johanna very briefly rolls her eyes at that response, and it's a pity that Kate is mostly asleep, because it's very nearly a fond sort of eyeroll, a wordless bless yer heart Kate Bishop. This is what she gets instead of a peck on the cheek or a pat on the head.

Well, that, and Johanna doesn't smack her in the face or something--which is a far more practical demonstration of affection, coming from Johanna.

Instead, she just grabs up her axe and leaves. Maybe the all night handholding was just a dream!]

[Later.....

Maybe Kate really can mark this down as a success, because Johanna--perhaps defying expectations, and certainly defying the assumption that all that handholding was, in fact, a dream--does come back, later. 'Much later' is still later. She's calmer, cleaner--and she's back to forceful, in the way that she kisses Kate, in the way that she peels off her clothes and pushes her hands against her. All control and no uncertainty. This is different than holding hands--it's a little too rough to be interpreted with any loving sweetness--but she's careful, too, in her way.

And hours later from that 'later', she's laying, mostly quiet but not still, fingernails tracing an idle pattern against the bare flesh of Kate's stomach. Sometimes that touch is a little too rough, too, little pink impressions left behind by the pricking of her fingernails--but they're quick to fade, and they don't actually hurt. Conversation seems pretty unnecessary now, in this dozy after part. Johanna drags her fingers back down again, and then removes her hand entirely, sets it down on the bed so she can heave herself up. She stretches her arms over her head, her legs dangling over the side of the bed. And then she bends, to find her socks, pull them on to her feet. This is a familiar routine, getting prepared to leave.]

[ Kate's pleased to see Johanna when she returns; she doesn't say it, obviously, but it's there in the tilted curve of her smile and how easily she falls back onto the bed, the eager way she moves under the press of her hands and her mouth. She's still pliant later and quiet too, sprawled out scrolling idly through the network on her comm in an effort to stay awake, occasionally lowering it to give Johanna a look when her fingernails catch or tickle.

When she shifts and starts getting dressed, Kate finishes whatever she's typing and tips onto her side to watch. ]

You don't have to go, you know.

Edited 2015-02-03 17:04 (UTC)

[She doesn't look back at Kate, or smile at her, or stop dressing. Both socks pulled on, she grabs for her t-shirt, balled up on the floor, and tugs it on over her head.

The comment gives her a moment of pause, but it's all turned inward, only represented to Kate by a brief silence.]

Please. I can't cuddle for that long.

[Because clearly, what's happening here is, Kate's asking to cuddle. Which they've been doing (sort of). And now she's done.]

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