revivalproject | (Network & Log) somebody to lean on

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(Network & Log) somebody to lean on - forward-dated

[the video feed cuts in to show Clarice, freshly showered, wet hair pulled back, dressed in the silk pajamas she arrived in - because she needed a little comfort, a little piece of home. she's got a cup of tea cradled in her hands, and while she still looks a little tired, her eyes are clear and present]

Hey, everybody. I think I've met most of you by now, if only by seein' you at the community meeting a month or so ago, but if you don't recall, my name's Clarice Starling. I know we've all been through a lot the last few weeks, and this isn't a place to point fingers or blow off steam... I just want to let you all know that I used to work with victims of violent crime, so I now a thing or two about lending an ear after people've been through trauma. If you feel comfortable with coming to talk, my door's open. I'm two floors down from the Deep End, the one with the metal star hangin' on the door. I'll be happy to take the time.

☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆

WHO: Clarice Starling & You
WHERE: Clarice's room (or anywhere else you might want to meet up)
WHAT: Talking out the aftermath of Bill-E-tropolis
WHEN: The week after they all return to Temba
WARNINGS: Discussion of trauma, flavors vary! Please label your top levels for folks.

A: Clarice's Room
The metal star on the door Clarice mentioned is a decoration she picked up on Coruscant - made of some sort of light, fine alloy that shines green like light underwater at the right angle. She hasn't done much else to make the little run-down hotel room hers yet, save for set up a bundle of blankets and pillows in one corner to sleep on, and put in hooks to hang her clothing on the wall. A few pads of paper sit next to the bundle, and there are a few extra pillows for company to sit on. She's already sketched a few things: vistas from Coruscant, a few rough portraits of familiar faces from home, before they're too lost to memory. She's no Da Vinci, but they're passable enough.

When the door opens, she's sitting on her makeshift bed, one of the pads in her lap, making herself a list of the tasks she wants to catch up on. At the sight of a familiar face, she smiles.

"Hey, come on in."

B: Dealer's Choice
(Start your own TL if you want, she's flexible.)

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Ah, there was something. He'd pressed his own button, she hadn't even had to look hard for a thread to pull on.

"I always wanted my daddy to be proud of me, too," she said gently, leveling with him. "Still do. Nothing wrong with it. ... You don't think she'd also be proud that you're helping to rebuild an entire city?"

Kyle shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe." He doubted it, actually, but he didn't want to make his mother look bad.

"It's just not the same as having a good job and being married and having kids. Not that I had the latter two, but, you know. Probably eventually. Oh well. Fucking stupid, anyway."

He pushed his hair back. "But what about you? Isn't it so weird to be back, not in charge of stuff anymore?"

"It's not stupid," she reassured him. He'd changed the subject, but she made a note to gently circle back to the topic of other people's expectations versus what you, yourself wanted, and how you were perfectly fine following your own compass.

"No, it's a bit of a relief." She smiled at him. "I mean, part of me liked being a total badass, I'm not gonna lie? But I don't think I could handle that much control and pressure and responsibility long-term. I'd burn out hard because of how much I care about people... and I'd probably burn a lot of bridges because I don't play the political game."

"It's pretty stupid, dude," he muttered.

Clarice had a very nice smile, and it put him a bit more at ease. "You were already a badass," he pointed out. "But yeah, I can see how it'd get old, having to be responsible and honestly a little manipulative all the time."

He looked at her, eyes curious but also guarded. "Do you think people are gonna stay pissed at Billy for manipulating them? It's not like it was his fault. But some people think what he did was like... forcing us to be people we're not."

"You're pretty stupid, dude," she tossed back with a teasing grin and a raise of her eyebrows, radiating Cool Aunt energy at him. "Thanks, though. The manipulation was the ickiest part, really. I don't like doin' that to people."

She knew that curious, guarded look: it was the look of someone who had a heart but was concerned they'd get flack for letting it show. "I hope not," she said earnestly. "I want to believe most people here will understand, since they've had to deal with storms. But if they do try to make trouble for him, they'll have to answer to Lauri-Ell, which should be a deterrent all its own."

That gets him to crack a smile. "Yeah, you're like... super honest and earnest. I like that."

He snickers. "Yeah, nobody wants to piss her off... I guess I just hope people don't like... If they did something over there, it's pretty easy to blame Billy, right? He made you something you're not. But I guess I'm not entirely sure about that, like what if he just amped up a potential? I guess that's victim blaming or something, though."

"S'why I didn't make it in DC," she quipped, glad that he took the joke as it was intended.

His comment about victim blaming made Clarice think, though, and she picked up her tea, staring down into the dregs as though it could give her answers. You ain't no kitchen witch, kiddo, just give it to him straight, like he just said you do, she thought to herself.

"The thing about that is, it's impossible to prove one way or the other. No matter which way someone wants to point a finger, it's wrong. There's no room for blame, here: the only thing we can do is be self-aware and support each other as we get through it."

"I believe it. Good thing you're FBI and not CIA."

He nodded, somewhat glumly. "Yeah. Yeah, no way of knowing, so you just get to... I guess pick what you wanna believe is true. Subjective reality or whatever."

He picks at a hangnail studiously. "You hate anybody over there?

"Hate's a strong word. It was my job to stop people who caused damage or harm, and I acted accordingly, but I can't say I hated anyone. ... Did someone do something to you, personally, while you were there? While you were a hero?"

She can tell that he's skirting around the edges of something painful, something he might not be sure he either wants to or is ready to share. It hurts to see him like this, but she has to suppress the urge to push him to talk, lest she do more harm than good.

Kyle shook his head. "Nope. I mean, Eddie and I had kind of a scuffle, but it was hardly personal."

He winced as he tore a hangnail off.

"I kinda have the opposite problem? I was with someone, and now it's like... awkward. They definitely think it was all fake, just manipulation."

"Oh, Kyle," she said, wincing, moving to see if she had anything that would pass for a bandage among her belongings. Sure enough, there was a travel medkit from Coruscant, and in the blink of an eye she was bandaging his finger as she listened.

"And you were happy with them, so ... oh, that's gotta hurt like hell. I'm so sorry."

Kyle is too dumbfounded by the bandaging to stop it. He's used to picking or biting at hangnails - a nervous habit he's had for years.

"Yeah," he admits. "Really happy. Like, I finally understood... well. Whatever." A shrug.

"Anyway. They don't think it means shit. So. What are you gonna do, you know?"

"First time I've heard anyone call love 'well, whatever'." She gave him a knowing, sympathetic look as she finished fixing him up.

"It's possible they're just shell-shocked. Give them time to think about it. Who knows, maybe once they think about it a little more they'll realize that there may still be something there."

"It's a pretty apt description all the same, isn't it?" he asked, almost smiling.

But then he shook his head. "No," he said with a tone of familiar resignation. "Sometimes you just gotta accept that you're not who they really want. And that's okay."

He studied his bandaged finger with some amusement. "It's okay. And I can't believe you just did that, heh. You're like a mom."

"In some situations, yeah," she admitted, though her heart broke all over again when he said and that's okay. As much as she wanted to help him not hurt ... she couldn't fix everything as easily as a bandage to the finger. She was so busy wool-gathering about it that when he called her a mom, her eyes widened.

"Wait, what?" She laughed softly, her cheeks coloring. "Oh Lord, no, I'm not mom material. I grew up in an orphanage, so when I got older I was always getting asked to help mind the younger kids. They were always short on staff. It's ... believe me. At no point do you ever have to worry that I'm tryin' to be your mom. Just an older, possibly much less cooler friend."

"Oh, don't worry, you can't out-mom my actual mom. She's like... a force of nature, the mother of all moms." He studied his bandaged finger, aware that he was very close to crying. He wouldn't let himself - he was a grown man who absolutely didn't miss his mother.

"You never got adopted? My little brother is adopted. From Canada."

She put a hand on his shoulder briefly, but didn't comment. Sometimes you just had to let someone be with their emotions, and not make of them.

"Nope, never did. I aged out of the system and they put me up in a cheap little women's home the church ran." She shrugged it off. "I put everything into my schoolwork, got a scholarship to UVA, and once I was there, I lived in the dorms. First place that was ever really mine."

Kyle nodded at that. "I lived the dorm life, too," he said. "Was literally almost done when I woke up here. In the fall I was gonna have to find other accommodations 'cause Boston U doesn't let you live in residence if you're going on to Law."

He fell quiet again, frowning lightly.

"Anyway. So. Whatever, right? We're here now. You're really doing okay?"

"Lets you do a lot of figurin' out, doesn't it," she said knowingly. "And a little more goofin' off, to boot. ... Which I could stand for some of, if I'm bein' honest. Other than listenin' to folks all day and workin' at the diner, I'm about to go out of my skull."

Kyle actually managed a genuine grin. "Petition to change the diner name to the Ginger Grill," he said. "Between you and me... But yeah."

He looked around the room and hauled himself up. "Well. If you're okay, I'm gonna bail. I feel kinda like I just dropped in to whine, and I don't like to do that."

"Only if we've got gingers to grill," she winked, stretching as she, too, got to her feet. "But that's a very acquired taste. I'm not bailin' on you, mind. We're just gonna go do somethin' more fun. ... You wanna see the course I helped Lauri-Ell set up? Or is there anything cool around here you could show me?"

"What course is that?" Immediate interest. If it's a new thing in the city, he wants to know about it.

"Pfft, you've probably seen it all already."

"It's an obstacle course," she grinned. "She helped me find the materials to set it up, but it's a replica of the one we used to have to run at Quantico. Ramps, climbing nets, ropes. I made a couple different paths, a hard one and an easy one."

"She's kinda awesome. I'm always a little worried she'll snap me in half by accident, but she's nice." His eyes light up. "Like at Quantico? Dope! And I could try it?"

At his comment about Lauri-Ell snapping him in half, Clarice laughed. "If she did, I'm sure she'd bend herself over backwards tryin' to put you back together."

His enthusiasm for the course warms her heart, and she can't help but think a little of John Brigham, how he and Crawford might be a little proud of her for it. But that's silly, and selfish, and she waves the thought away.

"You sure can, any time. Just let me know and I'll meet you there, walk you through it."

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