Gunnar + Theresa // Secondary

[deselfing]

Who: Gunnar and Theresa
When: Thursday, 16/6
Where: Theresa's place
Before/After: n/a
Warnings: n/a


Things had changed since Reilanin's arrival, and Gunnar had not prepared himself for any of it. He should have. He knew of Reilanin's existence, of players and their alts, and of how important Reilanin was to Theresa. But not once did Gunnar imagine that Reilanin would come here, and what it would mean. Rhys had cared for Reilanin temporarily, but it was not his place. And likewise Theresa... she cared for Gunnar, but...

He had already lost the couch. Reilanin did not use it. He checked in the dark hours of the night, knowing it was not his place to care, but relieved all the same to see she had occupied a different chair, or stood somewhere else. Instead, he had been moved to Theresa's room to sleep on the floor. It was not a terrible arrangement, but... his couch... He could not pragmatically claim the same ownership of the floor.

The two of them spoke often in quiet conversations he knew better than to try and wedge himself in. Different, but so very alike, with a connection that was evident. Each day, Gunnar grew more withdrawn. Already quiet, he said virtually nothing, terrified to interrupt or overstep his boundaries and when he was not relearning to use a sword from Nadir, he was pressed in the corner and reading. Or pretending to read while trying to tame his fuzzy focus. It was worry, he thought. There had been a chill around the house since Reilanin came, so he thought little of the cold that gripped his chest.

It was once he felt the spike in his throat that he became worried. A cough would be burdensome and distracting. As an assassin, he already had practice suppressing himself, but honey in his tea would help. Antidotes used to be his cover, and sickness was strange-- almost foreign. He had a remedy for everything and should not have needed help, but Earth ingredients were different. Earth diseases were different. In a moment of weakness, he set his head down on the breakfast table and fell asleep there, his good hand loosely gripping his tea cup and his food untouched.

It had been nerve-wracking with Reilanin present, uncertain of her circumstances or even her feelings concerning her former player, but Theresa had the strangest feeling she was- dare she say it- lonely, and thus could not think to turn her away when she had returned to the apartment, claiming the Asha dealt with, but with new problems in his stead. Tight-lipped that night, she requested- demanded, but Theresa understood the intent- she be taught to use the computer, and with a small hesitation urged Gunnar to focus on his reading, and- foolishly, unobservantly- left him to his own devices in order to focus on Reilanin.

What she had learned was this: Reilanin was listening to instructions from Alexander not to return so long as the war in Everea persisted, to avoid possible conflict with those she had acquainted herself with, such as Ravindra and Rhys. Also, the Asha who had come from Zenderael was now dead, leaving another from Earth in his place, and her connection to the Asha's power was now permanently severed. Lastly, that Reilanin was fiercely homesick, and uncaring or not of the young man whose territory she had invaded, spent the whole night staring out the window in an attempt to come up with some means of practically occupying herself.

Not that she could help with her sense of purpose, Theresa did what she could to ease her way about the city, bringing up maps and places of interest (if they were open), warning her of things like Sandsea's rain of crabs, and a suggestion to perhaps not try to hurt Duncan. She thought briefly on Jordan as well, realized she had heard very little of her, and upon returning to the apartment after walking Reilanin to the corner to indicate which direction she should move in, considered writing Jordan a dragon mail.

This was forgotten in favour of finding Gunnar asleep at the table. Highly unusual, and she approached quietly once her shoes and coat were off. "Gunnar?" she asked, surprised, and all the more when there was no quick response. She reached out to his shoulder, noting he felt warm. Hesitating, she pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. Much, much too warm. He was sick? "Gunnar," she repeated, pulling another chair over so that she could sit beside him. "Are you not feeling well?..."

The touch stirred him. Gunnar's eyes opened, only halfway, and with a slow start, he lifted to look back at Theresa. A beat had to pass before he put together where they were-- where he was-- and guilt followed. "Ah," was all he could say at first, contemplating his answer. He could not claim to be well, but... "It is... it is not significant." That was more honest, in one sense or another.

"Not-" she started, confused. She pressed her hand to his forehead again. He was very definitely too warm. "You've got a fever," she murmured, stroking his hair back. He sounded terrible, too. Hadn't eaten anything- lack of appetite or did he fall asleep before he'd gotten the chance?- and his tea was cold. Well, everything was cold...

Ah- was it because- her concern visible, she took up his teacup and went into the kitchen, putting it in the microwave to heat it up again. "Did you have anything to do today?" What day was it? "I'll phone and let them know you won't be going out today. Is the floor- of course," she murmured to herself. She considered moving him to the couch, but she didn't want to move him around too much if he wasn't well, and it wouldn't be a good idea to have him there when Reilanin came back. "Why don't you go into the bedroom, Gunnar. I'll bring your tea in."

His head shot up a little more as Theresa began to move around. He reached to stop her, but stopped himself, and might have missed regardless. "No-- I... I can... get it," he said, trying to find the volume of his voice. His throat was rough and he cleared it before trying again, "You do not need--" Now it was worse, pieces of his words failing to escape at all.

Gunnar was standing up now, leaning on the table with his good hand as he watched after Theresa uneasily, eye pleading. He was not sure for what, just... that this should not be. He should be stronger than this, especially now.

"No, no," she said, taking the teacup out of the microwave and setting it quickly on the counter, too hot to hold by the mug portion. "It's my fault," she said, shaking her hand out to take off the sting, pressing her finger to her mouth momentarily. "I shouldn't have you sleeping on the floor."

Picking up the mug by the handle this time, she came back up to him. "Go on, get in the bed." Ah, he had that worried look on his face... "It's all right. Are you still hungry? I'll make you something else..." Ah, she should have noticed... but she couldn't remember if he looked this bad when they'd gotten up...?

He flinched when she grabbed the hot cup, but withdrew, swallowing. That hurt, too. He glanced to his food and shook his head. "I am not hungry," he said, then regret it as soon as he did. It was not a lie, but a weak appetite was not something else for her to concern herself with.

The bed... It was clean. Already made. And where would Theresa sleep? Gunnar was sick. Nothing good would come of it. "I-- I will be fine," he said, trying to muster his conviction. "The floor-- the floor is fine. You need... you have a lot to do..."

"Ah- that's all right, then. If you get some sleep now, maybe, when you wake up..."

She moved ahead of him, into the bedroom. More blankets... ah, if she took the ones off of the floor, that would work, wouldn't it? She put the mug down on the night table, turning on the bedside lamp rather than the overhead light, turning down the sheets and heading back out.

"...?" A lot to do? "No... not at all. What made you think that?" she asked, her eyebrows drawing in with confusion as she came back up to him. "Come on. I'll turn the heater on for a bit, too. I didn't even think- I'm sorry, Gunnar. If anyone should have gotten sick, it should have been me." She touched his elbow, a light touch willing him to come with her. Why was he so hesitant? It was almost as though he were about to run away from her.

"But--" He let his protest fade at her touch, going silent and following after her helplessly. Gunnar stopped at the door, holding the frame for balance as he watched Theresa, noting that kind of confusion. A small barrier between them he was always unsure how to breech, and unsure he was meant to.

"Reilanin is here now," he said. "So I... it is all right. I can... I will be all right." He was not sure of it, only sure of its necessity.

She'd gone back to the bed, a sort of nervous fluffing of the pillows before she turned back to where he stood in the doorframe.

She'd seen him look miserable before, but not for a long time. Had she missed something? He hadn't mentioned anything as of late... in fact, he'd been very quiet the last few days. She could hardly remember anything passing between them at all the past few days...

Straightening, she looked at him, still patting lightly at one of the pillows. "...yes... she is," she said, though there was no real commitment to the words. "For now. There is a lot going on in Zenderael that will keep her here for a little while." She shook her head and looked down to the pillows again. "I never considered this apartment so small until now. I'm sorry if you feel she's intruded. She hopes she won't be here for very long. The only other place she could... conceivably stay is at the university, but the room is across from Duncan, and that just..." She pressed her lips together. "Well, there's a lot tied up in that."

She gave the bed another pat, mistaking his words for a more shallow interpretation. "Come lie down. Sleep is best for illnesses like this."

He listened, but he did not understand, frowning. Gunnar tried to speak, but stopped, not sure what he was trying to word. When he approached, it was not for the bed, but for Theresa, and his fever did not make his concerns any easier for him to thread together.

"But she is yours," he said, and he found he lacked balance, feebly taking hold of Theresa's arm. "I... I am not." The words came out thick, heavy, his fingers gripping in tighter. He felt that explained everything. He was not hers. He wished he was.

Her hands came up to steady him. She was always surprised she was able to- she had never felt herself capable of supporting anything or anyone else, not even herself. But Gunnar, even as he held on to her- painfully, even- she remained steady for him, her confusion cutting short her surprise that he would be so upset.

"What do you mean?" she asked, not meaning to be dull on purpose, but it just seemed so... absurd to her. But Gunnar, she knew, worried about many things to that extent, and she had to force herself to stop and think about where he might be coming from, the process not natural to her.

And in doing so, his silence made sudden sense, and his hesitation now. If he'd thought to sink into the shadows, he probably would have. A cool hand to the side of his face, she searched it with a concerned frown. "Oh... oh, Gunnar, no," she said, a spike of anxiety in the pit of her stomach. "No... oh, I am sorry now. I let you think- no, no," she continued, running her hand over his forehead and pushing his bangs back from his face. "And I left you alone, I didn't even think... come on," she said, sitting down on the edge of the bed and taking his hands to bring him to sit with her. "Sit with me."

He felt her anxiety and it spiked his own, breath caught. Gunnar sat with her, keeping close than he meant to because her hands were a relief against his warm skin, and he leaned on her support. If he lied down, if he fell asleep, he was not sure what she would be left thinking, or what he would be left thinking.

"No," he said in general protest, not wishing to see her concerned. He always did this. Always... All he wanted to do was stay out of her concerns, but every effort was clumsy, and each time there was a new variable he did not anticipate. His hand gripped back onto hers, his head bowed and buried in her shoulder. "She is important. I understand. It is all right... I understand." And he did. (He believed he did.) He did not mind-- he did mind. He wanted her presence. Her attention. But he was not entitled to it.

She let him do as he pleased, let him burrow into the crook of her neck, let him cling on to her hand, making sure the bad one rested in his lap before she used her freed one to wrap around his shoulders, her hand flat to his back before she thought to begin rubbing it, a soothing circular motion she recalled from her own childhood.

"Important... yes... yes, she is," she said, slowly. "She is very important to me, but..." And she paused there, falling silent a moment to try and put into words what had changed. Though she knew of Reilanin's troubles, even though she knew of her fears, she would never be able to comfort her as she was doing for Gunnar. It was a different sort of relationship altogether, not totally wanted on Reilanin's part, and, Theresa realized, not necessarily wanted on her part either.

"...I don't need her," she said finally, her voice low, almost too loud in the quiet room where the only noise was her clock, ticking away. "She certainly doesn't need me. At one time... at one time, I did. I don't know about her. She has her own people that are important to her. And that's all right."

She pressed her lips against his burning forehead, sighing softly. "And she knows I have my own people that are important to me. So long as I know she is well- that she is happy, or is working to be- I can let her go. I'm not lonely without her.

"But I would be very lonely without you. Even though I- even though it did not seem so," she said guiltily.

For a moment, his eyes closed, and he only felt her hand on his back. He listened, silent and unsure, even after she had finished. Was this all right? He and Rhys and Theresa and Reilanin, and how the pieces would fit. There was nothing that tied them together. No obligation, no connection. And there was a strange value in that, terrifying as it was.

Gunnar shifted his arm to wrap around her, all of him latched close. She was cool and warm at once, and his head did not feel so heavy here. "I need you," he said, less than a whisper, and his fingers gripped again in a sudden fear as the words left his mouth. He did. He needed her, even if he was not supposed to.

What was she to do? She'd never heard those words before. They were dangerous and frightening words to be spoken aloud. The sentiment had always been there, but solidified in the air, they held the promise of a great responsibility on her end, one that she had already failed to uphold. Oh, she could clothe him and feed him, provide for him in the most basic sense, but she had not been careful enough with his emotional well-being. Could she ever be? All that fear wrapped into those three words, he'd probably made himself sick. And that had been her fault, not to see it.

"I'm sorry," she said, dazed, though her arms wrapped around his shoulders tightly and she buried her face against his. "I'm so sorry. I know. Don't be afraid. I'm so sorry. This is your home. You belong here. I would never push you away. I didn't mean to. I'm so sorry."

No. "No." It was wrong again. She had not pushed. She had provided him with everything. There was nothing to be sorry for. He was sorry.

"I know," he said, trying to find his words. "Here is enough-- it's enough. I... did not want to get in the way." He lifted himself from her to look to her, and his body made him regret that with a tilt of the room. But he held his gaze, ignoring the urge to look away and hide or melt into the shadows. "All I need is to be near."
She felt helpless, so totally inadequate, never certain of how to reassure him of these fears that kept appearing. Was it because of her? Was it simply the nature of his being?

"You aren't," she said softly, staring at him. How could she ever think he would be in the way? He couldn't be in the way if he tried. "You weren't. When she came to talk, while she's been here, of course I want to pay her some attention. I- this is someone I've... I've known for two years, but... in my head. To meet her as her own person... of course... of course it's wonderful... and of course I want to help her. But her being here doesn't negate the things I've given you." She'd gone back to rubbing his back, the spot between his shoulder blades. "She doesn't supersede you. If I need to talk to her privately, it lasts only so long as we're talking. You're allowed to interrupt. You're allowed to ask for my attention. And you may not get it right away, but that doesn't mean you won't get it at all."

Reaching up she brushed his hair from his forehead, pulling his hair back from his face and off the back of his neck. "And you've certainly got my attention now. She's out for the day, so I'm all yours. I promise."

It was selfish, but relief was washing over him, light and dizzy. (Maybe that was also the fever.) His breath shook a little and his fingers gripped at her. Selfish, yes. He wanted to do so much more for her than he was, even if she had told him it was never necessary. He understood, truly. Reilanin was important.

"Can I help her? You." He had asked before, but she had been afraid. He searched her eyes for that fear again, hoping he did not see it. There may have been other means. But his eyes were half shut with her touch, lulled by her like a child. Or a small dog.

She was silent a moment, considering the question, her expression troubled.

"...there is a lot going on in Zenderael right now," she said finally. "Her friends are involving themselves in a war with Aerveas, and have requested she stay behind so that she won't be involved in it... and there may be some here on this side that might trouble her... but mostly, I think that she's lonely. She built up a whole life for herself there without me..."

She fell silent again, just stroking his hair back like one would a small dog. "So, feel free to talk to her too, if you like. If you have a chance, maybe you can show her around school? She would like that. But-" she said, sternly, arms about his shoulders again. "Only once you get better."

Her expression worried him, but he did not dare contradict himself or take it back. His hand stayed on her lap, gentle, and a meager effort to comfort or show his sincerity.

A war. Aerveas. Gunnar frowned. It did not feel like his world anymore. He was... relieved not to be there. But a suggestion of something he could do, something that matched his life style with Theresa, won a small smile. "All right," he agreed. "Once I get better."

"Okay," she said, smiling. So far removed, it was only Reilanin's presence that alerted her to anything wrong on the other side. Who it was she worried about- Ravindra and Alexander- was also something that worried her, but to see Reilanin concerned- heartbroken, even- to be apart from them, made her keep silent in her assessment of the situation. Reilanin was still a part of Upas, and if it was true Upas was to get involved, it was as she'd been told. It was safer here.

She squeezed Gunnar about his shoulders, kissing his temple briefly. "Come on. Legs up, under the covers," she said briskly, pulling away and standing up. "Drink some of your tea, too." She really didn't have anything to do... well, there were things she could do, but... "Maybe I'll bring my book in here to read..."

Obedient and compliant now, Gunnar shifted to get into bed without further protest. The promise of comfort and warmth was too much, and he needed the hot tea against his throat. His head was too heavy for any more than a dent in his cup before he found himself slumping down. Interacting with Reilanin... it had seemed off limits, but the idea he could, perhaps, be a part of that connection...

That was not too much, was it?

The covers were pleasantly heavy and it was a relief not holding his head up. "Thank you," he said, voice in a murmur, but he hadn't the energy to explain what for. Gratitude. It was simply there.

As he settled in, she left the room a moment, hunting down the book she had been reading and making herself a cup of tea as well, before returning, resting her teacup on the night table on the other side of the bed.

Satisfied that he would sleep now, she made sure the blankets were up. She left one more time to get a cool, wet cloth, folding it and pressing it to his forehead before she went round the other way and sat on the bed herself. Thigh to shoulder, she shifted her pillow carefully so that she could sit up with her back against the headboard next to him. With that all done, she took up her book and flipped it open to find where she had last left off, checking on him with every shift he made.

Gunnar felt the weight shift as Theresa took her place next to him. Little by little, inch by inch, he scooted along the bed until he was up against her and let his eyes shut, no longer resisting sleep.