Haller/Lorna, New York City

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After leaving the sewers the first day post mission, Lorna isn't coping well. Haller tries to help but they're both pretty wrapped up in their own guilt.

Backdated. Follows after this log.



Climbing out of the sewers, Lorna gulped down the cold and undeniably fresher air, walking quickly to put distance between herself and the unnerving scene below. Her hands were still shaking in spite of her attempts to make them stop. She gripped the bench at the nearby bus stop, knuckles going white. After a moment, she heard footsteps come up behind her. She turned her head slightly. "I'll have to bring more next time. They seemed to like the fruit salad."

"They liked it all, I think," Jim said, stopping beside her. He studied her pale face for a moment before continuing, "Thank you for doing this. It was an enormous help. Truly."

She shrugged. "Just, you know, part of the job. Feed the hungry, help the suffering. They're all harmless." If she told herself enough, she wouldn't start screaming. If she told him that enough, he might forget that she nearly had started screaming. Lorna glanced up at him, "Can I have a cigarette?"

Jim, who had already been half-reaching for one of his own, paused to blink at her. It was the most overt display of shock he'd shown in days. "Um," he said, forcing his hand away from his pocket, "you don't smoke . . . do you?"

Lorna shook her head, "Never have, no. But they're supposed to be...whatever. Right? Cathartic." A single glance at his face made it abundantly clear that he was pretty much going to be denying her request; she sighed. "You didn't have to do that, you know. Back there. They weren't hurting me."

In spite of the fact touching had been part of the problem, Jim risked laying a hand on her back. "Hurting wasn't really the issue. What was done to them was horrible, and they deserve our compassion for it, but that doesn't give them the right to do anything they want. That kind of thinking is how Masque got to where he is now. We're here to help them. That doesn't mean we're not entitled to being treated like people, too." His lips quirked. "And smoking's not that great. Like a lot of habits, it doesn't actually make you feel any better. It just gives you something to do when you don't."

She tensed briefly then relaxed, bowing her head. "Thanks for looking out for me. I feel like an idiot, you know. That's just something that people do, right? Look for something to make them feel connected. Human touch is a good thing."

Jim rubbed her back gently. "Nothing is good when it makes one party fundamentally uncomfortable. Not really. It's just trading one person's pain for another." His hand moved to squeeze her shoulder. "It wasn't stupid. We've all got our limits. That kind of reaching out -- would have passed anyone's, I think. Mine, too." And if you hadn't been so busy perfecting your Charles impression and paying more attention to your friend like an actual human being it would never even have gotten to that point. They had their hands all over her. Yeah, Haller. You really deserve to have friends.

"Anyway, I'm sorry that it interrupted your work. I...should have taken care of it myself." She smiled at him ruefully and covered his hand with hers. "You've got so much patience. It's a little freaky. There I was next thing to a panic attack because someone touched my hair, like that doesn't happen every day and you're dealing with the bug dude like he was nothing out of the ordinary."

Jim laughed, shaking his head. "I cheat. I've spent years figuring out how to psych myself up to this place where a bomb could go off next to my ear and all I'd do is brush the shrapnel out of my hair. It's kind of a survival mechanism for in my line of work. Anyway, you weren't overreacting. That kind of closeness from a total stranger is . . . disturbing. Especially in a situation like that. I'm sorry. I should have thought about that before I even started."

"I apologise you to, you apologise to me. We've got a nice little circle of guilt going on here." Lorna smiled, a little more genuine this time. "Let's just agree right now that it could have been a better situation and move on, all right? Also, we totally need to go dancing again soon. I'm starting to get that Look when I book training times." That Look that meant imminent tea session and involuntary vacations. Not a good look to be getting while you're trying to find ways to burn off energy.

Jim gave her shoulder a final squeeze and retracted his hand. "Yeah, I could probably use some time away from things, too. I think things are going to be a little hectic this week, um . . ." He rubbed the back of his head thoughtfully. "How about next? It should have calmed down a little by then." Oh, God, he hoped. There were so many people. He had to check his hand from going for his cigarettes again. Jim was honest enough to admit he was handling the stress slightly less well than Lorna seemed to believe. "I'll make time."

A week. Sure, she could last a week. This was survivable. "That sounds good. Both the time away and the timing of it. It'll be a nice treat after being all dutiful and stuff. Just a couple hours when we can forget the mission."

"Yeah. Mental health day. We deserve it." Hopefully before I miss a day of appointments because I've snapped and I'm busy playing with my action figures. He wanted to tell her she didn't have to come back if it made her uncomfortable, but he couldn't figure out how to do so without making her determined to tough it out. A tendency towards guilt wasn't the only thing they had in common.

Lorna wasn't certain there would be time for a whole day off but if he wanted to indulge in wishful thinking, well, she was hardly going to stop him. "Awesome. I'll put it on my calendar or chances are that I'll come back to you in six months having pulled out all my hair and being all 'so, about that mental health break?' And then my stylist will murder you." At her side, her hand curled in on itself, nails gouging into her palms, shaking. Her expression never changed. "Anyway, we should get going, right? Daylight's burning."

Wordlessly, Jim reached out and enfolded her hand in his. Long fingers closed lightly around tightly-clenched fist, easing it open with gentle inexorability. Under his grip her hand was cold and slightly waxen.

"It's a promise," Jim said, fingers tightening briefly as he met her eyes in a smile. "Now, let's go home."

She looked down at their hands, eyes briefly filled a strange sorrow, then back up, giving him a smile in return. "Yeah. Okay. Thanks." She pulled her hand away and walked to the car without looking back.