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Rescue in Valinor
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I can be selective. Whatever works for you.

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Okay. She tucks her hair behind her ear nervously as she passes the paper over.

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Instead of writing, she sends her Can you hear me?

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She tenses, but nods.

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Do you want to talk this way?

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Okay.

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This is how we found you earlier, you'd be shouting thoughts by accident.

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Well, crap. Her head snaps up and she examines Rúmil's face for signs of anger.

 

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She doesn't look even the slightest bit angry, just sad and worried. No one will ever blame you for being in pain.

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This doesn't seem to be particularly reassuring, but she does manage to go from panicky to merely stiff.

Okay.

I don't know how to stop.

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If you would like to know I can teach you.

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aaaaaAAAAAAAAAAaaa.

Okay she can play along or she can not do that and one of those options hurts much more than the other, not really a choice.

How?

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I don't understand what I did to upset you. Should I leave? We can do this later.

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She takes a deep breath, raggedly.

What do you mean, 'teach me'. What do you mean, 'if I want'.

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I mean that if you want me to try explaining it, you say 'yes' and I try explaining it. If you don't want me to do that, you say 'no' and I don't try. 

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And then what. There's a bit of an edge to her tone.

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We talk about something else, or if you would like me to leave I leave.

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She stands and starts pacing along the far wall from Rúmil, tense, balancing on the balls of her feet.

This is how it starts, this is always how it starts, they say it's going to be teaching something and it's - they don't explain it, or they explain it so nobody could understand, or they want us to do something impossible, and then when we can't, that's when the hurting starts...

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Nod. I'm very sorry. I'll leave.

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If you need me to learn the thing I can try to learn the thing but you can hurt me or you can have me trust you you can't have both.

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I don't need you to learn it, I don't need you to trust me, and I won't hurt you. And I know what it's like to see the setup for it to start again and I will leave now.

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Pace pace pace. Okay. On the next pass she turns the corner and unlatches the door, then cuts across the room, giving Rúmil a not-quite-comfortable berth, and goes into the adjacent one, without stopping at all.

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She locks the door. She paces. After a while she flops on the bed and curls up in a ball and bites her hand so she can't scream.

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No letters arrive for a day. Then one says I hope you're feeling better.

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