Winter Storm

[very_sharpe]

Thomas stands at the window, watching the snow falling. It's falling fast and a considerable bit has accumulated already. The television in the background announces that more is expected, and he can only think of Edith. It sounds as though the city will shut down, for the most part. What if she needs something? Automobiles couldn't make it through this mess, and with her crutches, going anywhere on foot simply isn't an option. Fretting enough, he turns from the window and begins to bundle up in warmth clothes, topping off with a scarf, his coat, and a wool hat. He turns off the television and puts on his gloves and new boots, then heads out.

No one has cleared the snow at the front of the building, so he has to shove the door open with some force to actually make it out. The wind is not so terrible yet, but the air is far from still. He has learned much of the city now, and Edith had been kind of enough to offer her address. He keeps it in his coat pocket, checking the paper though he memorized it not long after she gave it. He sets out, careful to keep to the sidewalks though they are no more easily passable than the roads. Along the way he stops at a small grocery he finds open. Perhaps she doesn't need anything, but he picks up tea, some good cocoa, and a fresh half dozen scones.

From there it's a cold trudge to the Bramford Building, but his determination and lingering concern keeps him going. Thomas has no idea how long it actually takes him to get there, but is grateful for his experience with the bitter Cumberland winters.

Thankfully he is able to get into the building when he arrives, and he heads to Edith's floor to her door. Perhaps he should have called ahead, he realizes, a bit embarrassed that he'd just set out without thinking it through even that far. Well, he is here now. So he knocks.

Comments

[very_sharpe]

"Oh, hardly everything," he says with a little laugh. "If I'd thought this through a bit more, perhaps I could have brought you more groceries or thought to call ahead to ask what you might need." He offers a wry smile as he plucks the box of English Breakfast tea from the bag.

The moment feels so terribly domestic, or wonderfully so.

"I-- how are you, Edith? Really?" He finally looks at her again, meeting her gaze this time with a look of... well it was a mix of concern, and a bit of trepidation.

[ghostsarereal]

It would be an easy enough question to brush off. She could say that she's fine, that there's no reason for her not to be, and in a way, it wouldn't be a lie. She's been healing about as well as could be expected, there's no one trying to kill her, and though it's been an odd adjustment, at least she has everything she could need here, a place to stay and enough money to get by. The truth, though, is somewhat more complicated than that, and she has a feeling that Thomas would know it. She's not stuck inside — or wasn't until today, at least — but she might as well be, and it's making her a bit stir crazy. Navigating on crutches isn't the simplest task, more tiring than it has any right to be.

She still dreams of ghosts coming up through the floor, of Lucille wanting revenge.

"I'm alright," she says with a slight nod, expression a little softer. "I'll be much better when I'm properly on my feet again, I think, and I can start to get more of a feel for this place. I have to admit, it is getting to me, being so limited in what I can do."

[very_sharpe]

Thomas looks down at the tea he's holding. "I hope the things that haunted you before feel far away," he says. "I feel-- I'm concerned, sometimes, that my arriving here is a-- a trauma, for you."

Everything he had facilitated, had allowed to happen before he made any attempt to stop... He had interfered with her life in ways no person had a right to. Perhaps she would be safe in a way she is not now.

[ghostsarereal]

"No, of course not," Edith says, the answer coming quickly, instinctively, but no less meant for it. She can't pretend that it's been easy, trying to navigate what they are to each other now or to figure out what she wants them to be, but she hasn't once felt like that about his arrival, and she doesn't want him to, either. "I'm glad you have this, Thomas."

The rest goes unspoken, but she doesn't think it necessary to detail one of the reasons why that's the case. He'd died protecting her, and he deserves this second chance now as much as anyone could. "It might have been a bit of a shock when I first saw you in the train station, but it's not a trauma at all."

[very_sharpe]

"I'm grateful for that, at least." He tries another smile, so hopeful in his demeanor. "Goodness, let me get this tea on at least."

He shakes his head at himself and sets the bags of tea in the chosen mugs, then sets them on the counter near the stove. "Should you be sitting? Should I not be fretting over you?"

[ghostsarereal]

"You don't need to fret," Edith says with a soft laugh, fondly exasperated. "But if you feel like you need to do something, you can carry both of those into the other room when they're ready. That would help a great deal." She's gotten a bit better at trying to carry things than she was when she first started on crutches, but it's still one of the more difficult obstacles to get around. This way she can avoid the risk of spilling hot water on herself. "Is that enough, or do you need me to come up with something else for you to do as well?"

[very_sharpe]

"Of course," he says, smiling shyly after the instruction. "Well, I'm not much for a cook, or a maid, but I would do either if you needed them done."

After he's poured them each a cup of tea, and prepared it the way he remembers Edith liking, he brings them into the next room so Edith could enjoy her drink sitting down, and without hobbling to and fro. Thomas sits himself, relaxing for the first time since coming into the apartment. He exhales a bit heavier than normal, and his smile reappears.

"Are you still writing?"

[ghostsarereal]

"I'm trying to," Edith says once she's taken a seat, angled slightly to face Thomas better, crutches propped up against the couch beside her. "Mostly just toying with some ideas for now, and waiting for something to stick. But it'll get there." The loss of her manuscript had hardly been the worst thing to happen the night before she arrived here, but starting from scratch with something she's already written isn't something she's been able to wrap her head around. One day, maybe, she'll get back to it, but for now, she'll be better off with something new. It's just a matter of determining what that will be. "When I've really gotten started on something, you'd be welcome to read it, if you'd like."