He's been hoping that her support network has come through for her. He doesn't know, and deliberately doesn't try to find out, who she's close to outside of their mutual circles, but Rey is a woman who earns deep respect and deeper affection. So really, she should be fine. Really.
But he ends up coming to her cabin after dinner anyway with a box tucked under one arm. He knocks and then, because it's Lark, scratches as well.
Before she came to the barge, her support network consisted of her and no one else and it was something Rey was happy with. She didn't have to worry about anyone else, about a community. It was easy to take what Jakku threw at her, to just keep going, pushing forward, because there was no time for anything else
But there's nothing but time here, and she has learned to let people in. The problem is that the people she might have called her support network, they've all slowly filtered out, returned home whether of their own choice or vanished just like Tommy.
So she's mostly been alone, since he left. She hides the way she misses him, mourns the loss of him, because she doesn't want to talk about it. If she does she'll cry, be trapped in those feelings, and she can't stand the idea of anyone seeing her be that weak.
When she opens the door for Lark, her eyes are dry, not red or swollen. The scent of Tommy still lingers, stronger because of how much time he'd been spending there lately, though, so there's no escaping what has probably brought Lark to her doorstep.
"I brought something." He has to fight not to try to find Tommy; this is the only place left on the Barge that smells of his tobacco, his liquor, his wool suits and his sweat. He wonders how much of it she smells, how much she's grown too used to and no longer notices. If she's still aware of it, this must be a certain hell.
Then again, if Alec left, Lark would bury himself in as many reminders as he could.
"Tea time." His smile is melancholy, hurting, and sympathetic.
Her nose isn't as developed as Lark's, but she can still smell Tommy in her pillows, in the sheets. It's fading and a part of her is glad for that, sometimes she picks a different bunk entirely to sleep in, but there's also a part of her that dreads the day when she gets in bed and finds that his scent has disappeared, like he was never here at all.
That's the thing that gets to her, when she lets herself feel it. Tommy, Alfie, Rohan and Jolyne, Poe, so many people have gone with so little to leave behind that sometimes, it overwhelms her.
It's another reason she hasn't reached out the way she probably should. There's less chance of losing people if she doesn't have anyone to lose.
And then there's Lark, with tea, and something so vulnerable and open passes over her face. Her eyes go a little shiny, her throat closes up and she has to look down, but she pushes those feelings back.
"You didn't have to do this," she says once she feels like she can speak without her voice wavering.
"I know," he says softly. There was nothing compelling him to do it. He and Rey are independent in ways that make it difficult to work together, so this isn't even a strategic move. It's one of those brand new impulses he still has trouble identifying.
"Get comfortable. I'll pour." It will give her a moment of some solitude, because his attention will be absorbed in preparing tea just the way he was taught.
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But he ends up coming to her cabin after dinner anyway with a box tucked under one arm. He knocks and then, because it's Lark, scratches as well.
no subject
But there's nothing but time here, and she has learned to let people in. The problem is that the people she might have called her support network, they've all slowly filtered out, returned home whether of their own choice or vanished just like Tommy.
So she's mostly been alone, since he left. She hides the way she misses him, mourns the loss of him, because she doesn't want to talk about it. If she does she'll cry, be trapped in those feelings, and she can't stand the idea of anyone seeing her be that weak.
When she opens the door for Lark, her eyes are dry, not red or swollen. The scent of Tommy still lingers, stronger because of how much time he'd been spending there lately, though, so there's no escaping what has probably brought Lark to her doorstep.
"Come in," she says, standing back so he can.
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Then again, if Alec left, Lark would bury himself in as many reminders as he could.
"Tea time." His smile is melancholy, hurting, and sympathetic.
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That's the thing that gets to her, when she lets herself feel it. Tommy, Alfie, Rohan and Jolyne, Poe, so many people have gone with so little to leave behind that sometimes, it overwhelms her.
It's another reason she hasn't reached out the way she probably should. There's less chance of losing people if she doesn't have anyone to lose.
And then there's Lark, with tea, and something so vulnerable and open passes over her face. Her eyes go a little shiny, her throat closes up and she has to look down, but she pushes those feelings back.
"You didn't have to do this," she says once she feels like she can speak without her voice wavering.
no subject
"Get comfortable. I'll pour." It will give her a moment of some solitude, because his attention will be absorbed in preparing tea just the way he was taught.