IC CONTACT

[invisibilitea]

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ANNIE CLARE SAWYER

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[humanistic]

A vague statement of purpose. I like it.

[He offers her his hand.]

C'mon. I think I see some whatever down this way--

[invisibilitea]

[She reaches and grips tight]

Did you really just come down to help me poke about?

[humanistic]

Yeah, sure. Why not?

[He swings her hand back and forth a little as they walk, though he's avoiding her eye a little--or, well, not avoiding, just looking forward.]

Though I was thinking t' ask you if you've managed sleep at all.

[invisibilitea]

Well I don't really, you know. Sleep.

[She can sometimes close her eyes and time passes but it's not really sleep]

[humanistic]

Yeah, I remember that from that whole waking-up-and-finding-you-watching-me-sleep revelation, from when you first got here, but-- I don't know. Some things are different on this ship, thought maybe that might be one of them.

[invisibilitea]

No-

[She gives a shrug]

Still dead, still unable to sleep.

[humanistic]

All right, yeah, sorry. Thanks for the update.

[He glances down at their hands, their fingers, twined together. There's that cold prickle at his palm, same as always when he's got her hand.]

It's-- weird. I've been having these... really good dreams.

[invisibilitea]

Oh!

Well, that's not bad is it?

[humanistic]

Yeah, I'm not complaining. I'm just-- saying.

[He shrugs, a bit sharply, like he's trying to shrug it all off.]

Ah, I don't know. D'you know what I hate, I hate when people start goin' on and on about their dreams, like you even care. It's worse small talk than the weather.

[invisibilitea]

[Pause]

I kind of like it.

Do you want to talk about your dreams?

[humanistic]

[He snorts.]

Oh, yeah, of course you'd like it. No, I don't, thanks--after I just said I hate when people talk about their dreams?

[invisibilitea]

What does that mean, of course -

[Mitchell, honestly]

Are you saying I'm boring?

[humanistic]

What?

[oh shit]

No! You're not boring, I meant-- you're genuinely interested in people.

[invisibilitea]

Well, I don't dream anymore, it's been a long time. It's nice to remember, sometimes.

[humanistic]

[oh hell now he can't refuse her--]

They're not all that interesting. Mostly dreams are just-- boring shite, forgetting your keys half a thousand times and then you end up back in a house you haven't lived in for years. Those are the ones everyone has all the time, they're nothing t' write home about.

[invisibilitea]

What about the good ones?

[She wants to know the good dreams, too.]

[humanistic]

Ah, I dunno--

[He swings her hand again, stalling for time, but--]

They're not much better. Really disjointed, just... there was this hill, and everything was really far off. And a fire, just a campfire. And it was really quiet, so you could here some music off, in the distance, like there was a party goin' on, or a carnival, or something.

[Quickly, he shrugs.]

See? Nothing that you're missing.

[invisibilitea]

Do you ever think about your parents?

[Yes she realizes he is over a hundred years old well them's the breaks.]

[humanistic]

[That question sobers him a little; he looks down at their hands again, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles.]

Not really, no. Definitely don't dream about them.

[invisibilitea]

I saw my mother-

[She begins, but then she goes quiet]

[humanistic]

[He glances up at that, surprised.]

When?

[invisibilitea]

[She didn't tell anyone. They weren't all talking, everyone was so caught up in their own problems, it was so complicated.]

Before everything went wrong. She came to this performance. Of a man who could see ghosts. I saw her, and I suppose - I tried to speak to her.

[humanistic]

Through the medium?

[He tightens his grip on her hand a little, a comforting squeeze.]

Had she come looking for you?

[invisibilitea]

[She nods]

She wanted to tell me that she should have been there for me. That she should have known, about Owen.

[So much has been reminding her of him the past few days - conversations with Will and Sherlock not helping]

[humanistic]

Oh, Annie--

[He stops so he can put his arm around her shoulder, first, kissing the top of her head--and that seems inadequate, and so he puts both arms around her instead, pulling her close.]

She couldn't have known, that was-- [And this sort of patter is familiar, he wants to tell her, people say this sort of thing all the time, to those that they loved, who are dead--regrets, there's oceans of it, out there--but none of that will help her now.]

Did you manage to talk t' her?