She reads over Cara's shoulder, frowning at the casual tone. Too chipper. Too many jokes. But... maybe that's what Cara's friends expect from her.

"Fine. Post it." She leans back on her hands, watching Cara work. "And the email to your professor. Get that done too."

She's trying not to think about how normal this feels - sitting on a bed with someone, watching them type on a laptop. Like they're just two students working on homework together.

"Make sure you log out of everything when you're done."

She posts the Q&A to a few different websites, and then opens up her email to write a much less (but nonzero) joking-and-casual version of the same message to Prof Meadows, along with an apology for missing TAing on short notice, again letting Vera see it.

"If I log out of these accounts, we won't be able to log me back in," she says quietly.

She considers that for a moment. Leaving Cara logged in means she could potentially send messages when Vera's not watching. But logging out means losing access entirely, which could be worse if someone needs an urgent response.

"Close the laptop. You don't touch it unless I'm here watching." She rubs her temples. "We'll check for replies tomorrow."

She shifts on the bed, exhausted but wired at the same time. It's past one in the morning now.

"Get changed. We need to sleep."

Fine with her. (Though it wouldn't matter if it wasn't, really,)

She removes Vera's clothes (wincing in pain when they touch her injuries) and pulls on... a pair of basketball shorts and an worn, loose crop top, apparently?

She also pulls out and puts on her sleeping mask, though she doesn't cover her eyes with it yet.

She watches Cara change, noting the wince when fabric touches the bite mark. Good. She should remember what happens when she acts like a person instead of furniture.

She strips down to underwear and a tank top, not bothering with actual pajamas. Too tired. Too done with this day.

"You're sleeping here," she says, getting under the covers. "In the bed. With me."

She doesn't phrase it as a question. They need the contact for guiding, and she's not letting Cara out of arm's reach anyway.

"And take off the sleeping mask. I need to be able to see if you're awake."

She follows those instructions in the order she was given them, climbing under the covers next to Vera and then slipping the mask off her head, dropping it back on top of her backpack.

(She's careful not to initiate any snuggling that might happen, lest she accidentally let slip that she has a preference. Furniture doesn't have preferences, after all.)

She lies there for a moment, stiff and awkward. The bed feels too small with both of them in it. She can feel the heat radiating off Cara's body, even with the careful distance between them.

Fuck it. She needs the guiding.

She rolls onto her side, wrapping an arm around Cara's waist and pulling her back against her chest. Spooning. Like they're a real couple instead of... whatever this is.

"Don't move," she mutters against Cara's shoulder. "Just sleep."

Don't move is sure a thoughtlessly unkind order to give someone who you actually want to sleep! Vera pulled the blanket into her hurt knee, and now it stings as Cara breathes. 

She can't show this her body language (lol) and doesn't want to Be A Problem about it by trying to say something, so she's left to stew in annoyed silence and stillness for a while before she actually passes out.

She can feel Cara's breathing change, tension in her body that shouldn't be there if she was actually falling asleep. But she doesn't ask. Doesn't care. As long as the girl stays still and quiet, that's all that matters.

Her thoughts settle into something manageable, the endless branching possibilities narrowing down to just this: warm body against hers, steady breathing, the faint smell of Cara's shampoo.

She drifts off still holding too tight, fingers pressed against Cara's ribs like she might disappear if Vera lets go.

The tension starts to leave her body as she becomes more convinced that Vera's asleep.

There's a lot of mental troubleshooting she feels like she really should do. Conversational strategies she should be considering, messages to begin drafting, ways to figure out how best to navigate this fascinating prison situation she finds herself in. And there's still that feeling of nagging confusion, something that seems off, but it's so vague and she's exhausted and her brain doesn't work right...

Her thoughts go in unhelpful circles like this for a while, but eventually she falls asleep as well.

She wakes up slowly, disoriented. There's someone in her bed. Someone warm pressed against her front, her arm still wrapped around-

Cara. Right. Yesterday comes flooding back in pieces. The pool. The kidnapping. The baseball bat. Everything after.

She doesn't move yet, taking stock. Her head feels clearer than it has in days - the prolonged contact doing its work overnight. Cara's still asleep, breathing deep and even. Still obeying the order not to move, even unconscious.

Morning light filters through the windows she never closed. What time is it? She can't see the clock from this angle, doesn't want to move and risk waking Cara before she figures out what to do with her today.

This close to the fall equinox, the sun rises at about 7 am here, though this may or may not be something Vera knows offhand.

Cara shuffles in her sleep, curling inwards. Another nightmare, perhaps?

She feels Cara start to curl up and tightens her grip automatically, pulling her back against her chest. Not out of concern - she just doesn't want the movement to wake her properly. A conscious Cara means questions, decisions, having to figure out what comes next.

Saturday. No classes, at least. But that means more people around campus, more chances of someone noticing something's off. She needs to check the messages on Cara's social media, make sure no one's getting suspicious. Need to figure out food. Need to

Too many things. She closes her eyes again, letting herself have just a few more minutes of this strange peace before everything gets complicated again.

Cara makes a noise that might be either confusion or distress (or a secret third thing) when Vera restrains her, but she doesn't otherwise resist.