paradisalogs | the falcon cannot hear the falconer; [OPEN]

who; anne & you!
what; escape from the clinic
where; clinic & castle gardens
when; today
rating; pg-13 (mention of hell and torture and skirts stuck in wheelchairs)

Anne had been to Hell and back, and what did she have to show for it? Broken pride, perhaps? Even that could not be entirely stifled, but she has made a remarkable show of it since her awakening in the clinic. It helped that she had her clinic room's door shut whenever she could, not wishing for anyone to see her in such gruesome shape. She certainly had injuries to show for it, but so did everybody. Even a week later, Anne is unable to walk on her own more than a step or two. Though her gown, dark for mourning, shields the worst of it from prying eyes, it's impossible to hide that her left arm is in a sling (or at least it should be), the right side of her face is bandaged, and she is most certainly in a wheelchair! But that doesn't stop her from trying to look her best with accessories, simply using a long silk scarf to wrap up her skirt so that it doesn't get tangled in the wheels. ~~She may have already had to learn that lesson the hard way.~~

Adjusting to these chairs on wheels took some adjustment, especially considering the upper arm strength they required. This, of course, meant that Anne had to pull her arm from her sling whenever she wanted to go anywhere. And you know what, that's exactly what she does, because ~~fuq the popo~~ she's Queen and she does what she wants. The painkillers help, for sure, although she still requires many breaks and pauses in her venture.

Anyone might spot her on her way out of the clinic, as she is not the most subtle scene to bear witness to, but eventually Anne will try to find her way to the castle's gardens, wanting to see the roses, and perhaps find shade in the maze. Wherever she may rest, Anne will end up seated in the grass with the flowers, weaving them along the armrests of the wheelchair. Though her mind still feels numb at times, unable to cope with even thinking of what she should do now, the sun always helps, and menial tasks like these help occupy her scattered mind.

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Spike sighs inwardly, just to keep himself centered when she collapses on him. It's rare for him to be put in his place so completely, to see his carelessness completely wreck every part of someone -- but not the first. The memories it stirs, of the ones he still has, set his jaw and keep him from offering any words of comfort.

That's not even the worst thing he's done. Far from it.

Hesitantly, he brings a hand up to rest on her shoulder and listens to her breathing. He debates speaking for several moments, knowing he's only made things worse with every opportunity, but he still has the need to clarify something while he has the chance.

"I'm sorry I lost you."

It might be difficult to decipher the difference between a laugh and a sob with her right now, but it is mingled in there among her tears. She just shakes her head but doesn't otherwise respond, not for awhile at least. Once her breaths have calmed and her scattered prayers have abated, Anne reaches to wipe her fingertips beneath her eyes, looking to see the hat that had been carefully pinned to her hair now on the grass.

"Your first job was to keep watch over Elizabeth. Did you look for her?"

The look she gets in return for her question spells his guilt in a way he's hidden until now. There's only one thing he managed to do back there, and he's not even sure exactly how it happened beyond a few crucial errors. His intentions started out so differently.

"On the ship... I tried." Which is a gentle way of saying he didn't succeed. As shaken as she is now, he's beginning to choose his words more carefully. "...After that, I had to go away for a while."

"...She remained perfectly injury free and unaware of what occurred, so you need not add that to your list of failures."

Unlike him, she takes no care to soften her words, though they are not necessarily said out of malice. She has no reason to sugar coat like he does; feels no obligation. But she rarely does, not unless politics are in play.

Another swipe beneath her eyes, and she struggles to sit up properly, though quickly finds it difficult. Her hurt arm had been the one beneath her, and now the pain that flashes through it like fire makes her small grasp on patience waver.

"But what do you mean, go away? Were you locked away for true? If that is the case, give me the name of the foe that defeated you, and I will hire them in your stead."

Edited 2013-05-22 02:37 (UTC)

Absently, Spike wonders about the times he's been injured and accepted what he could only call magic to speed his recovery. That kind of help has to still be offered at the clinic, and Anne clearly refused it. Spike had too, at first, but the strength (or stubbornness) it took to resist when she's in this much pain is more than most would have shown.

He attempts to make things easier by assisting her in rising, not caring if she fights him more for it. "...I was injured. Someone made off with me instead of taking me to the castle. That's all it was."

She doesn't struggle against being helped, at least until she can get enough leverage for herself to sit up properly, in which case Anne will promptly push at his hands. There is concern softening her features, but suspicion never entirely abandons her gaze.

"Injured, how? Where? I say again, tell me who this was so that I might replace your appointment."

Spike lets her go, only offering what she's willing to accept; even though his eyes linger on her.

"That's not a lot of incentive to tell you." Spoken lightly, as depressing as that idea is. He's not sure why he brought up something so close to the truth to begin with. Guilt or embarrassment may have clouded his judgment after all the effort that went into the coverup. At least, he's hoping that's all it is.

"I'll introduce you sometime."

After settling her arm carefully back into it's sling, Anne offers an angry flick of her wrist in his direction, promptly looking away to hide the hurt that tries to alter her already terse features, mostly borne of rage and pain. At everything, at him for still behaving this way. Still. It's true that none here respect her, and constantly being reminded of it nearly makes her choke over her words.

"If you refuse to answer my questions, then leave. You have learned nothing; refuse to to learn nothing, and care not at all how your behavior affects your so-claimed queen even as you sputter out lies upon lies of apologies and excuses. You are not loyal to me at all, not in any manner that we spoke of. It is clear you would have nothing to do with me or my desires, and are unfit for the danger you so desired. In which case, you are indeed relieved of your obligations towards me and my daughter."

Is it worth it? The lengths he goes to are starting to stretch a little thin. Spike knew there was only so long he's get away with it; then events on the ship just sped things up. He stands, slowly, and offers his hand that he fully expects her to reject after she tore him apart.

"I cared enough to come back." Which may mean nothing, when he won't say where he came back from. At some point he's simply sabotaging himself by antagonizing the one woman who could lift him out of the fog, all for some perverse means of self-torture. But there's no telling half of the story, and he's spent years avoiding the questions it brings. So it must be worth it, right?

Apparently his thoughts are too convoluted to be fit for any kind of conversation on the topic. He's put her through enough. "I'll be around if you change your mind."

Her expression only hardens at his claim not that it would show at this angle, regardless. It is true that everything he had said to her was a lie, down to the pathetic apologies, and she doesn't know if she's relieved or hurt that he doesn't at least try to deny it.

"Yes, cared enough to come and taunt me with your mockery." There's a near hiss in her voice as she jerks her chin to the side. "I said leave!"

The hand he offered disappears into his pocket and he stays silent. Making her angry isn't what he sought out to do, but if depression is the alternative, it could arguably be the better option.

In any case, he's always been lousy at apologies, as infrequent as he gives them, and always after he's done something that can't be fixed with one. So it makes sense that she'd take it as mockery. Nothing unexpected. It feels like something he dreamt up; a prophecy he imagined and made true.

Without another word, he walks past her, steps just slow enough to hear her if she calls for help. Something tells him she wouldn't. As strong as she is, she never needed him.

[ Unfortunately depression is rarely far behind anger. Anger is much more difficult to hold onto consistently, though it's strong enough now to keep her sobs quiet until he seems to have left. No matter how strong her emotions are, she herself feels just the opposite in every way, and reminded of how completely alone she has to be to succeed here. If she can bear her thoughts without losing her mind, anyway. ]

the falcon cannot hear the falconer; [OPEN]

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