[video] once there was a way to get back homeward

[nascensibility]

[It wasn't enough, she thinks, to lose so much back home that she had to return here to another loss she was only just rebuilding. It wasn't enough to take away, it wasn't enough to really hurt, no, to quietly return to a familiar room, empty with its vast walls and dark corners. Slowly she filled it again, odds and ends of furniture and the trappings of a home to which she can never return.

She has a reputation to uphold even in spite of the circumstances, better to nurse the greatest wound out of the public eye, a garish scar across her stomach. Evelyn could swear the blade reached her heart.

The exhaustion nestles deep into her bones, a palpable chill that reminds her what she is.

What she isn't.]

I've been informed I was away for a little while, [she addresses the network, unable to muster more than a tired smile.] Perhaps someone might catch me up. I'll be-

[For a moment Evelyn appears distracted, hand gravitating toward her waist.]

I'll be in the library. I've also got several, erm, dogs that need homes. Please let me know if you're interested.



Private to Philip, 11:31 AM
I’m back. May I come and see you? It's important.
-E

Comments

[action]

[assembles]

[ Evelyn's absence had been noted, of course, but Steve had also found her room still littered with belongings, including her phone. That had left him near-to-certain that she'd be coming back, although it's not something that he can feel all that good about.

Sure, he would have missed Evelyn if she'd left for good, but it would have also been the best thing for her. She would have escaped Wonderland's clutches, no longer prey to it taking things and people and memories from her. She has a family back home, after all.

And to return to her husband and child, only to find herself in Wonderland all over again? Well, it must be heartbreaking, despite the brave face that she puts forward.

Steve's reluctant to meet her in the library given how their last conversation there went, but he's also reluctant to admit to that, so he makes his way over there all the same. He finds her scanning a bookshelf as if she'd never been gone.

He stops a few feet away, crosses his arms and sends her a crooked smile. Tries to be casual. ] How long has it been?

[nascensibility]

[Of the opinion that suffering in silence might not be the best course of action for her, but desirous of time alone to compartmentalise how she feels, Evelyn took to the library for privacy supplemented by the occasional visitor. It is easier to handle questions that way, a controlled environment affording her one-on-one interaction.

She didn't hear Steve coming.]

OhmyGod,

[Evelyn exclaims, hand fluttering to her chest as she starts, turning to see a familiar face. Shock gives ways to anxious laughter, a defence mechanism as she leans up against the nearest shelf and wills her heart to stop racing.]

You frightened me, ah, i-it's been, erm - it was only several hours. For me.

[assembles]

[ Steve hadn't even realized how quiet his steps had been as he approached Evelyn. It's something that's almost second nature by now, a skill instilled into him by none other than Natasha Romanoff. Sneaking up on the enemy often allows one to lessen the number of casualties.

Not that Evelyn is an enemy that he should be taking by surprise, and yet that's what's happened. Her reaction startles him in turn, and Steve stares at her like a deer in headlights for a few seconds before huffing out a laugh.

Only several hours had passed for her, while a week had gone by here. It's a stark contrast to Steve's own trip home, when he'd been gone a year.

Steve leans his shoulder up against the bookshelf and watches her reaction as he says: ] Must have been a pretty action-packed few hours.

[nascensibility]

[He's gauging how much she's changed and she knows it, is abundantly aware of how tired she must look, unable to sit idle in Dean's room thinking about the yawning canyon threatening to split her open. Evelyn dried her tears, has felt the exhaustion drain her of them, and sets a book back into its place on the shelf.]

It was.

[She turns to him then, remembering the sore subjects they've both shared with each other, wounds that haven't healed and never will. Swallowing the lump in her throat Evelyn gives him a tight smile.]

I don't...I don't think I can go home again, Steve.

[assembles]

[ Despite all those sore subjects shared, Steve hadn't braced himself for something like this.

It's not difficult to hear the meaning of her words, even if she doesn't say it outright. It hits him like a knee to the solar plexus and both of his hands curl into fists with rage that he can't direct anywhere, at whoever is responsible for taking Evelyn's life.

It could be something less drastic, but nothing else is coming to mind and there's this defeated look on Evelyn's face that makes Steve certain that his first instinct was right.

There's nothing fair about this. She has a husband, a child. People who were relying on her. Instead she's going cold back home and trapped here, somewhere in between life and death. ]

I'm so sorry, Evelyn. [ Steve pushes off from the bookshelf and steps toward her. Right now, all he can do for her is provide comfort, and so he wraps his arms around her, tugs her close toward his chest and rests his chin on the top of her head. Squeezes her tight, a reminder that here she's still breathing, even though he knows it's not enough. ]

[nascensibility]

[Steve is clever and sharp and picks up on things much more quickly than people probably give him credit for, which is why Evelyn doesn't feel as though she is capable of saying the words out loud again. He knows, and he won't ask further without her permission, and within seconds has pulled her into a tight, warm embrace. Arms instinctively moving around his waist, grateful for the solidity Steve provides, Evelyn feels a weak sigh escape her.

She breathes here and it seems real, but Wonderland's illusions are persuasive things and since her return she has seen ice. The persistent chill follows her under blankets and into sunspots in the library, it reminds her of the true nature of this world: how very fragile it all is, how tenuous their connexions are.]

I never thought it would feel this cold,

[she mumbles into his shirt, half-observation, half-statement of fact.]

It's like the sea. It never stops.

[assembles]

[ She never thought it would feel this cold.

It's something that Steve can relate to more than Evelyn could ever know, and if anything the words only make him hold on tighter. Cold is still something he shies away from if he can, vague memories of a long sleep encased in ice locked away somewhere in the back of his mind. Bucky had been frozen too, even named for winter, and so Steve seeks out warmth whenever he can find it.

But this sort of cold that Evelyn's talking about, it's something that goes deep into your bones. It's something that can't necessarily be chased away by a roaring fire or a few layers of blankets. Steve's not even sure the hug will do the trick, but he's going to give it a shot anyway.

One of his hands slides slowly up and down her back. Anyone could happen upon them here, so he keeps his super-hearing trained for the sound of footsteps, but for now they're alone. ]

No matter what's going on back home, you're here. You have to give that meaning.

[ It's something he'd had to tell himself, after waking up in 2012. ]

[nascensibility]

[Blankets and a warm hearth can only do so much when the light inside of you is the one that feels as though it is slowly dying.

The contact helps, something significant and grounding that reminds her she is still human, if only just. What Evelyn now fears is drifting away from who she is - was? - and the loss of memories, personality, hope. Hope, already a dangerous thing in its own right, claws the walls of the well into which it has fallen. The woods around it are dark, and deep, and lonely.]

Easier said than done,

[she responds, not with malice, but out of practicality. Unwilling to part from the embrace but realising it is futile to cling Evelyn eases back, finding it difficult to make eye contact.]

I can't even- I can't go back, I won't see them again. Not at home. Not here.

[Just another fixture in Wonderland's library. Nothing more.]

[assembles]

[ Steve isn't really ready to let go, but when he feels Evelyn trying to withdraw he pulls his arms back. He doesn't back away from her, though, still well within her personal space, still giving off heat.

Evelyn doesn't have to specify who she means by them. Her family must mean the world to her, though Steve doesn't know very much about them. Still, just the fact that they exist and she's painfully aware that she'll never get to see them again is bad enough.

It's not quite the same, but Steve knows the feeling. Finding out that everyone he'd ever known was either dead or dying... it hadn't been pretty. But he'd survived it. Is this something Evelyn can survive, when the whole problem is that back home she hasn't? ]

They could end up here. I don't know if you'd consider that good or bad, but this isn't necessarily goodbye forever.

[ Probably not much of a consolation, but it's the only one he can find. ]

There are... [ He trails off for a second, then pushes onward. ] There are people here, others who don't have anywhere to go back to. Where this is it. [ The end of the line. ] Maybe you could try talking to them.

[nascensibility]

[Steve doesn't know about her family because Evelyn doesn't talk about them all that much, a problem in itself that stems from a fear of driving people away by allowing them to know too much. She isn't allowed to be that person anymore and Wonderland doesn't offer enough time for grief. There's never enough time, but now-

Now it's all she has.

Not wanting to dismiss gentler attempts at consoling her Evelyn nods again, taking in the advice to fully process later. They won't come here because they never do, not anymore, she isn't so lucky. Unsure about whether or not talking on the subject with others in similar positions might make things better, how could it possibly be worse?]

You're right.

[Truly, words that few people get to hear from her while her gaze flounders somewhere around his shoulder.]

I'll try that.

[assembles]

[ Getting her to agree at all is a step in the right direction, Steve thinks. Evelyn strikes him as the stubborn type. Not so different from him, in that she doesn't want to inconvenience anyone else with her feelings.

Maybe he'll need to lean on her at some point and she can return the favor, though Steve would rather it never come to that. ]

Good. [ Steve nods and gives her shoulder a squeeze. It's still quiet in here, but Steve doesn't think that the isolation is the best thing for Evelyn. ]

Did you want to grab a bite to eat, maybe?

[ Whatever her physical state back home, here she's still alive. She does still need to eat to keep functioning. Maybe a reminder of that would do some good. ]

[nascensibility]

[Stubborn is a gentle way of putting it. Hard-headed, reckless, reactionary, and hot-tempered all run shallow under her skin, waiting for the cut that will set them free. Steve isn't wrong, however, in assuming that isolation is not her first choice for whiling away the hours, but he shouldn't have to feel responsible for her.

With the way that things are, she's the only one who can help herself.]

...I'd like that, thank you.

[It doesn't mean Evelyn can't accept a helping hand when it is offered, even if eating is far from her mind.]

[assembles]

[ Steve, on the other hand, hardly ever loses his appetite (except, maybe, when he's discussing a certain cannibal). Even if Evelyn doesn't eat that much, he'll be able to wolf down enough for both of them.

Besides, it has a lot more to do with getting her out of this dusty library. Even if it is her safe space, it isn't healthy to be cooped up in here all the time.

Steve manages a small smile and then holds out his arm so that she can loop hers with it, a habit he hasn't maintained but that he's all too happy to bring back for her. ]

Let's go.