Who

Linny, F'in

What

F'in goes to see Linny the day after Sofia's disappearance.

When

It is morning of the seventeenth day of the sixth month of the third turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Igen Weyr

OOC Date 04 Dec 2014 08:00

 

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The Playboy Mansion

Not particularly one of the more ostentatious weyrs, though certainly of a larger size than most, this weyr immediately comes off as quaint and cozy with a distinctively warm and homey feel mostly because of the numerous glowbaskets tucked here and there throughout. Upon the floors are plush rugs, all the same creamy color, and every single piece of furniture found within the weyr is built out of a dark wood, with fabrics of varying shades of off-white. Tucked in corners and random spaces throughout the weyr are touches of green, various plants and flowers, all native to Ista, a homage to her home, which add a definite pop of color to the decor. Found hung on the walls are pictures that vary from sketches of different Weyrs to maps of Pern.

The weyr is broken up into two distinct areas. Upon entering, the first area is a small sitting area off to the right and a sizable bar area off to the left. In the sitting area, there's a large couch and three comfortable chairs all surrounding a large square, low table. Against the far wall in the bar area is a large wine rack, taking up the whole wall, filled with various bottles of wine from throughout Pern, and in front of the rack is a large bar set against the right wall to allow passage behind it to access its wealth via the left. In the shelves underneath the bar are fine liquors and various glasses in many shapes and sizes for drinking.

The second area of the weyr, in addition to being the most important, is an immense bedroom area, set apart by a breezy, white linen curtain after going down a small corridor. The bed is, obviously, the most dominant piece of furniture within the room, dressed in white sheets and pillowcases with a fluffy white comforter, placed in almost the direct center of the room, nightstands set on either side. Directly across from the foot of the bed is a sizable hearth to keep the weyr heated when necessary, and throughout the bedroom area are different sized dressers and chests pressed against walls meant for clothes and other belongings. To the right of the bed, off in a little alcove is a considerable bathing pool with a few benches and shelves for supplies such as towels, soapsands, and oils. Then to the left of the bedroom, in another nook, is a designated office, with a bulky desk and plush chair, along with many bookshelves, packed full of books on a number of differing topics.


A full day. It’s how long Sofia’s been missing, and in that time, Linny’s hope has considerably dwindled. They have had no clues, no leads, no idea whatsoever where to start looking for the kidnapper and the baby, and what started out with endless enthusiasm has turned into complete despair. After spending the day searching for Sofia off and on, when darkness finally took over, Kaelidyth and Aikuonath both blocked off the weyr to keep anyone and everyone out and away, allowing D’ren to comfort Linny in private as she crumbled to pieces.

Now, the ledge contains just a dozing Kaelidyth, after the pair spent the morning in the skies, desperately looking for any signs that will lead them in the right direction. After a restless night of not sleeping, Linny is laying on her bed horizontally, facing the entrance of her weyr, dark, empty, unblinking eyes gazing out, contained within a face that’s drawn and worn, everything about her exhausted, both physically and emotionally. Laying on top of all of her blankets, she’s still dressed in her riding leathers, hair mussed and unwashed, looking exactly how she feels inside. Broken.

Kaelidyth’s distress had gripped Igen’s dragons in the early hours of the day before. Without a Fall for expected for some time, F’in had put riders on light duty, meant to rest, recharge and recuperate for the next painful stretch of brutal Falls. No one was to leave the Weyr proper without going through the channels, but only the most diligent were at drills and lessons. Drills led by F’in and his crew. Lessons attended by F’in. Or… that had been the plan. When the gold’s cry had gone up, F’in, Jaelynn and Th’bek had scrambled Khamsin to do partnered Search & Rescue drills. Manhunt drills. But… not a drill. Not today.

They’d searched high and low, full riders paired with weyrlings, fanning out over the roads, the desert, holds, cots, plains, along the river, reaching out to family connections amongst traders and bazaar folk. He’d crashed when he and Rhakanth had returned to the weyr and, first thing in the morning, headed to see how Linny was doing. It was, ultimately, one woman and one child against all the other tragedies befalling the Weyr, but for F’in, this particular woman and her offspring… he knows how wrecked she’ll be. And how uncertain the support she might have (or want) would be as well. And so, as he had in times past, the young rider finds himself approaching Linny’s weyr.

Though, he’d never approached on his own adragonback. Kaelidyth is larger even than normal, belly swelling with eggs. Head tucked under a wing, the garden of her mind in twilight, the fragrant flowers closed, nodding, petals fallen to the ground as wind howls a sad lament through rattling branches.

Rhakanth’s hedges extend up to the edge of the garden, growing in twisting paths to encircle it, green-briar walls stretching high to the darkening sky a bulwark and a buffer against the howling wind. F’in has Rhakanth set down beyond the ledge, not daring to bring the young bronze to the Queen’s ledge, however indulgent she was. Rhakanth grumbles, but is silent, choosing to keep the harsh power of his voice respectfully muted. Clambering down from the high straps, F’in hangs from the breast strap a moment, thinking, before dropping the distance to the ground, (storms were later THIS day), feet kicking up plumes of fine dust. He trots up the stairs to Linny’s weyr pausing to greet Kaelidyth, though he knows she sleeps, the familiarity and strangeness tugging strange chords in his chest. They’d not spoken for months. Not even when Rhakanth had chased Kaelidyth, though talking hadn’t been on anyone’s mind. F’in’s footfalls are muffled on a thick layer of sand, gritting as he approaches, knocking there at the jamb, unannounced. “Linny?” He calls, “You there?” Hard to say. It’s dark. And Rukbat hasn’t risen enough to dispel the shadows in the normally bright weyr.

With Kaelidyth asleep, it leaves anyone arriving at her weyr unannounced, and in a stark comparison to yesterday, someone calling her name doesn’t have her heart leaping in her chest, causing her to run full speed towards her ledge, hopeful that someone is there holding Sofia. Not today. Today, Linny knows that if someone had, in fact, found her daughter, Kaelidyth would be the first to know, and since she stays blissfully asleep, she knows there’s no good news to be delivered to her. Even hearing F’in’s familiar voice doesn’t cause anything to register on her face, dead eyes slowly blinking before going glassy once more. “Come in,” comes a flat, monotone voice, void of any emotion and sounding raspy, a result, no doubt, of an excess of crying and lack of sleep. The goldrider stays almost completely still on the bed, laying on her stomach as she awaits for the bronzerider to properly enter her weyr, not bothering to move at all in preparation of having company, except that her hand tightens around Sofia’s blanket that she holds, unconsciously fearful of someone, anyone, stealing what she has left of her daughter.

Wary of changes to the furniture — women liked to move shit around — F’in makes his way carefully through the weyr, peering into the gloom. There. On the bed. Sprawled out as one dead. And, in truth, that tone and, when he gets close enough to see, that glassy look in Linny’s eyes… she’s near to it. At heart. No words. F’in’s never good with words in situations like this. He takes a deep breath and sits on the bed next to Linny, a hand smoothing down her back. Just… there. He looks at her. What he can see… flight leathers. Tangled hair. Dead, staring eyes. Shallow, nearly motionless breaths. Oh, Linny.

His touch almost seems to warm her out of her frozen coma, her blinking coming in quicker succession than before, but it doesn’t seem to do anything for that void in her eyes, the devastation written in every line on her face. Linny has seen things in her thirty-five Turns, experienced countless tragedies, but nothing has compared to this. For a long period of time, she just looks back at him as he looks at her, but there’s absolutely no window into her soul, into her mind to give F’in any idea whatsoever what she may be thinking. If anything at all, if her eyes are any indication. Finally, knowing that they can’t just sit in silence, and feeling grateful to not be alone in her grieving, a wobbly hand lifts with Sofia’s blanket towards him. “It still smells like her,” Linny tells him, like it’s important in some way, but really, it’s just the first thing that came to her mind.

F’in, still silent, lowers his head to smell the proferred blanket. It rather does smell like her, immediately recalling to mind the happy little baby’s scent from the day he’d met her months ago. He lifts his head, smiling faintly, “It does.” F’in is perfectly happy to sit in silence, no words required. He smoothes a hand down Linny’s hair and his fingers snag. “Eee. Sorry.” He blinks and casts around a moment before popping up and disappearing into the back. There’s a sound of rummaging.

Contented now that she shared her daughter’s scent, for whatever reason, Linny pulls the blanket back in towards her own face, eyes fluttering shut as she inhales the sweet smell herself. Does she even feel him snag her hair? It’s hard to tell, since there’s absolutely no reaction out of her. She doesn’t jump or flinch or yell out; she simply continues to lay there on her stomach, Sofia’s blanket at her nose, eyes closed. If she could cry right now, she would, but exhaustion stops anything from coming to her eyes, the poor woman truly all cried out. Now, F’in standing up gets a reaction, but it only causes Linny to open her eyes and try to follow where he’s going, but without lifting her head her eyes can only track him until he’s off of her bed. The weyrwoman brings the blanket down to clutch against her side, vacant eyes once more looking out towards her ledge.

The rummaging stops and F’in returns. He sits again, still silent, pulling Linny’s hair free as much as he’s able and arranging it along her back. The blanket clutched to her is noted, eyes sad, thoughts flying far away to be with little Sofia. Poor thing. Linny? Or Sofia? …Sofia. Linny was gutted. Distraught. Ended. But she had people who knew and cared for her around. A whole Weyr. Sofia… poor Sofia. F’in blinks, bringing his mind back to the here, the now. He smoothes a hand across dark wind whipped hair and scoops up a handful, dragging the brush in strokes on just the ends until that little bit isn’t tangled. Then another bit of tangled ends. And another.

Linny continues to keep her eyes focused on the ledge, lost in those thoughts about Sofia, and suddenly, F'in is there beside her again, brushing her hair. Eyes slowly trail up his body before landing on his face where they settle, that heart-wrenching, dead expression still there. For a long moment, that's how things go. He brushes her hair, and she just looks at him. And then, finally, in a small voice, "What if we don't find her, F'in?" Though her face remains vacant, there's something that changes in her eyes. Emotions, if but a tiny flicker. Looking to him for hope. As someone she's always trusted. With love. All with a broken soul continuing to crumble inside of her.

F’in works through tangles that the wind twisted into Linny’s hair while she was aloft without properly binding it. How does he know to do this? Lots of cousins. And a sister. He knows how to braid it all fancy too. Shhhhh. He is … content is not the right word exactly. He is resigned? No. There. He is there. Simply occupying Linny with something that might comfort her without requiring anything of her. He’s got the brush moving smoothly from crown to ends through the whole of her long silky (and, today, slightly gummy) locks, keeping up the brushing now as he waits. Waiting for… that. She asks him a question. That empty expression sends a gale of worry whistling through a hollow in his chest. A pang of empathy, resonant and ringing, for the little one they’d shared so briefly. And lost. He swallows. The brush makes a final pass and is set aside. “We are doing everything we can to find her.” His hands replace the brush now, smoothing across shining waves. Pale eyes meet Linny’s, “I think about meeting her from time to time.” He smiles, faintly, eyes dropping to the bedspread, “Such a sweet little thing.” A broader smile, “A charmer.” Present tense. His hands move to capture one of hers, fingers lacing, with a squeeze, his other hand petting the back of Linny’s scarred hand, gentle over the scars long-healed that swirl there, a daily reminder of courage and sacrifice. He looks back up to those dead, dead eyes, “Can I do anything for you?” Oh. “I ordered some food for you.” In truth, even with food scarce, there were probably a dozen meals headed the weyrwoman’s way from well-meaning weyrfolk.

When F’in starts talking about Sofia, there’s a twitching of Linny’s lips that looks like she’s trying to grin, weak muscles ticking up just slightly to look like a ghost of the intended facial expression. “You have no idea how sweet she is. For who her parents are, she’s such a happy baby. Even when she’s upset, she doesn’t cry, and she’s so quick to smile and laugh. She’s just so beautiful and perfect and—” But then, talking about Sofia causes a sudden stab to her chest, tears from a reserve springing to her eyes as she pulls F’in’s hand in towards her face, closing her eyes as she inhales the smell from the back of his hand. Trying to steady herself with the familiar, with the here and now. “I’m not hungry,” comes the return of the dead, flat voice, lips kissing his skin before nuzzling her cheek against his hand, eyes opening to peer up at him, which might allow for a few tears to drip down onto him. “But if we don’t find her, or if we find her too late, what then?” Linny asks, going back to her previous question that never got a proper answer from him.

F’in’s face is solemn, but he’s pleased to see even a momentary lightening of Linny’s burden of grief. He snorts, “She didn’t get that from you.” A lip twitch there and his eyes widen. “And certainly not F’dan.” Solemnity returns with tears. He disentangles his hand and scoots closer, scooping the goldrider into his lap, her chest and shoulders and cradled towards him, head resting in the crook of his arm, braced across her back. His free hand arranges her hair, freeing it from where the shift had trapped it between them. And, finally, tugging Sofia’s blanket free and bundling it in the warm hollow between their bodies. He looks off to the weyr entrance. “I didn’t figure you would be.” Didn’t stop him, though. He looks down, eyes dark with concern, confusion. “I don’t know, Linny.” Jaw muscles bunch and he looks at the pretty little blanket, arms going around Linny and pulling her close.

Like a doll, Linny is easily moved without complaints or resistance, though she does seem to be happier once moved and cradled in his arms, releasing a shuddering breath that shakes her whole body. Though she didn’t expect him to have the answers she so desperately craves, not having that closure nags at her, fearing the unexpected yet to come, which causes her to press herself against him all the more. “I just feel so alone,” she murmurs, voice thick as emotion wells up once more, bottom lip trembling as she tries to contain it. “When I had Sofia, I had someone to love and dote on, and now…” Now her weyr feels so empty. Lifeless. There’s no cooing coming from Sofia’s crib or laughter. No love. It’s just a weyr filled with furniture. Meaningless. Not to mention how her heart feels. “How do I start my life over?” Already preparing herself for the worst case scenario: her daughter is never returned to her or is found dead.

“I can only imagine.” The nearest thing is losing Rhakanth. There’s no comparison. So different… the bonds. Still, even the thought sends a bolt of cold dread shuddering down his spine. (An aside: HEY. That’s some nice furniture.) The hand not cradling Linny to him, rubs up and down her back, “Don’t worry, Linny.” He clears his throat, hoarse, tight, “You’ll find a way. You’ve started over before.” He swallows. This wasn’t the same at all. But tragedy wasn’t exactly a new thing in the goldrider’s life. This one she hadn’t brought on herself. It’s too bad that doesn’t help. Simply makes her, makes everyone, feel… powerless.

“What can I do?” He asks again. Since she’d passed over it before.

“I don’t want to start over,” comes out with a bit too much force, but for someone who’s been lacking on emotions, it’s not necessarily a bad thing to see Linny getting all worked up over the idea. “I’m finally at a point where I want stability and to settle down and for my life to stop being such a clusterfuck. I’ve been trying to get my life together. I haven’t even had anything to drink through all of this.” Which is quite the feat for someone who drank whiskey like it was water. Still, tears fill up in her eyes, both them and frustration spilling over onto her face, but F’in’s repeated question distracts her and stops her from any more ranting and raving, and instead, she seems to soften, leaning her head against him even more. “Just stay here with me?” comes in a soft, pleading tone, lifting that pathetic expression up towards him for a moment before nestling in against him. Many people have sent their condolences and well wishes, but few have offered comfort in the way he has and is. Physically in addition to emotionally. She didn’t want to hear how sorry people were; she wanted to be held and loved and consoled. Maybe Sofia doesn’t cry when she’s upset, but Linny definitely does.

The bronzerider shakes his head at Linny’s lament. Hard. It had to be hard to consider. His brows cant in sympathy, forehead deeply furrowed. He shifts on the bed, turning to peer a realization striking. THAT’S what had been missing. Bottles. Glasses. At her soft tone and request he has no other response than to nod and lean down to kiss her temple. He brushes hair from her brow, “I’m due out to sweep with G’tan,” pale eyes seek hers, “Extra sweeps, you know, for… Sofia.” He winces, “It’s… I… do you want me to cancel?” He’s not sure where his duty is, here.

Though the goldrider may be in mourning, it doesn’t stop her bravado from shining through: after all, she has been through countless tragedies before and putting on a brave face is what it’s all about. Even if she knows F’in might be able to see right through it, it’s worth a shot. Linny gently shakes her head, lips turning up in just the slightest grin aimed up at him. “No, you go. We need everyone we can get out there looking for her.” Which is very much the truth. It’s impossible to tell if and when F’dan will pull riders from doing sweeps for the baby girl, and so while they are able, they need to get as many people out looking for her as possible. “Plus, if we don’t….” Find her. Save her. Rescue her. Bring her back. “I need to get used to being alone.” A sad fact, pathetically said, if there ever was one. “So you go. I’ll be fine.”

Of course F’in sees through it. But that’s what brave faces are for, setting the mind to difficult tasks. Such as letting go a source of warmth and comfort when you need it. F’in, Linny’s woobie. Speaking of woobies, the bronzerider looks at the pretty little blanket, a hand moving from Linny’s back to feel the soft fabric. Test it between fingertips. Linny’s words are the only real right thing here, the sooner they found Sofia, the better. It is a strange question he asks next, “Can I take this?” Eyes move from the cloth to Linny’s dark, grief-drowned pools, “I, um. It’s, not. It’s not worth it.” He winces, “Sorry.” His face schools back into concern, hugging Linny to him a moment (F’in Hug #52 — the 50s are all cradled-lap hugs), “Are you going to go out again?” Asked after he eases back, with a glance at Linny’s leathers.

Let's be fair: F'in hasn't been Linny's woobie in a long time, and really, in her current situation, everyone is a woobie. Except F'dan. No woobie for him. The question gets a slightly startled look from the goldrider, who drops her eyes to look at the blanket for a second before shoving it towards him. "Just…don't lose it. It has her scent, so it might be useful, but…be careful with it." See? Linny doesn't need woobies anymore. "Probably. As soon as Kaelidyth is rested enough. I took Aikuonath yesterday when D'ren got here." Another faint hint at a smile. "Probably gave people heart attacks, me flying around on a bronze." Even in tragedy, she can still get people all worked up. "So I'll be out again once she's up, since I have no dragon to steal today." Which may not be an appropriate joke to make, given that someone stole her daughter, but she seems not to notice.

Like Odin is the All Father, F’in is the All Woobie.

He is all woobies, every woobie, the best of woobies. And in this moment, taking himself away AND Sofia’s woobie. What kind of All Woobie move is that? Linny will see. He eases her down onto the bed and scoots away. The little blanket, folded and tucked into his coat. “Come on, get up, you should get some rest if you can. And,” he grimaces at the flight leathers, “Those aren’t comfortable to rest in.” Counting on her tractability, F’in will help Linny out of her leathers and into a shift to sleep in. Does Linny own a shift? He leaves her sitting on the bed in undergarments while he goes over to her dresser to find what he’s looking for. WHOA. Not that drawer. He blinks, whistling low.

Oh. HEY. There.

He paws through silky strappy lacy things, were these organized and neat, sorry. There’s a white, clean, underworn long-hemmed and very Nowtime shift in the bottom of the drawer. He might have thought it was a liner, except that there is just a trace of embroidery, white-on-white ringing the collar. He pulls it carefully out and the profusion of negligees seem to have doubled in volume now that they’ve been disturbed from tidy slumber. He looks from the shift in his hand to the burgeoning mound of silky snatches of things. Shards. Hopefully she’s staring at the ceiling. “Uh…” he folds the chemise over his arm and shoves the lacy strappy bits down and shoves the drawer shut quickly. He turns back to Linny with a smile that slips sad as he maps the woman who’d have worn all those silky lacy things to the gray imitation sitting on the edge of the bed. “Here. This looked comfy.” Not that naked isn’t comfy, but, well, if folks drop by… Holders. They might. In the situation. But something else… the change, the state she’s in… it seems. Appropriate. That even a thin bit of cloth might be some protection against the grief and worry. It’s a silly thought. And F’in looks down at the snowy fall of fabric.

He holds out a hand for Linny to take so he can help her up and, if needed, into the garment.

While he's off rummaging through her stuff (which…really! Acting like he lives there, digging around in her stuff, tsk tsk!), Linny shrugs out of her jacket, folding it carefully before reaching down to start removing her boots. One by one, they are pulled off, and when he returns, she's just pulling off her socks. F'in and his choice are eyed, something akin to a smirk on her lips as her eyes land back on him, an eyebrow arched. "Really? Out of all of the things you could have picked, you went with that? I have a brand new purple lacy piece that I haven't had the good fortune to wear for anyone yet, and you pick…that?" Eyes go wide but she goes along with it, especially when it looks like he's going to help her, which causes her to stand in front of him. Oh, fun. Tunic is lifted up first and pulled over her head before it's tossed onto the bed carelessly, nothing lacy found under there, just bare skin, before hands undo her pants, tugging them off before they are put on the bed as well, and as per usual, there's nothing at all there either.

F'in has undressed her countless times before, but how many times has he actually dressed her? Like a child, she lifts her arms up in the air to assist in the process, and now, that smirk seems a little more firmly in place.

F’in shrugs at Linny’s barb, not sure if it’s more brave face or real humor. Sometimes the changes are hard to track. He looks at the shift, “It’s soft. I thought it’d feel nice.” Not that the sheets wouldn’t. They’re very soft as he recalls. “And that if anyone came to visit, you’d be, you know, clothed.” He smiles a bit himself there. That she’s going Linny-style is surprising, given how flight leathers chafe, though, that’s what the pants are for, he supposes.

How many times has he dressed her?

Never.

“Uh,” He lifts the downy cloth high and, it’s cute, her upstretched hands are eye level, teeny thing that she is, “You flew on Aikuonath?” That’s just percolated into his consciousness. He helps thread her arms through the wide sleeves, it’s a simple garment, broad and billowy. Pretty in a demure way. The white fabric bright against Linny’s warm skin. Though, there’s a flat pallor to it just now. Unsurprising. He sweeps down, crouching tugging the hem and settling it before standing again, hands on Linny’s shoulders. “There. How’s that?”

"Aikuonath is a clutchmate of Kaelidyth's, and of course, D'ren and I have been close for Turns. They were happy to help." So neither rider nor dragon minded one bit. Linny's silent though the rest of the dressing, amused with the close attention paid to the hemline and once he's upright again, she nods in approval. "Good enough." The woman looks down at herself in the shift, twisting her hips this way and that, watching the fabric twirl around her. “I feel like a grandma.” Especially for someone who either sleeps in the nude or in one of those getups in the Unmentionables Drawer. But more often that not nude, since she doesn’t have anyone to get all dolled up for. Linny’s shoulders lift up and down in a loud exhale, looking to the bronzerider with widened eyes. “Now what? Are you going to tuck me in, too?” She’s not putting anything past him, at this point.

The girlish twirls bring a bit of genuine mirth to F'in's face, "You don't look like one." A grandma. That brings something to mind, though, "How's Roslin?" She used to be around so much. Before he started, uh, 'seeing' her mother.

To her question: "Yup." Hands move from her shoulders to pat her cheeks, like he were the one a dozen years her senior. He moves past and tugs the bed beat before folding the light blankets back. Igen hadn't reached the height of its heat yet, so the nights would still cool from day's heat. Sheets smoothed, he pats the pillows. "All right. In ya go."

"Roslin's good. Doing very well in Southern. Glad to have her there right now instead of here, that's for sure." Linny can only handle one child missing at a time, thankyouverymuch, watching as F'in gets her bed ready for her. Faranth only knows if she can actually sleep. But for him, she is willing to try, padding softly over to the bed and crawling into it, allowing him the honor of pulling the blankets over top of her. All while she somehow manages a tiny grin directed up at him, for all of the 'mothering' he's doing to her.

“Good to hear.” Maybe she’ll make Linny a granny in truth, soon. Those Southerners. The stories you hear. SCANDALOUS. F’in does, in fact, tuck Linny in before smoothing hair away from her face and standing, head canted to look down at her. He’s rather certain that the moment he’s out of sight she’ll be back up and to worrying. Though she looks exhausted enough that if she makes even a token attempt sleep will overtake her. At least, that’s the hope. He leans down and kisses her temple, “A hundred breaths. Count ‘em out. If your mind wanders, start over, hmm?” He smiles and kisses her again before straightening and righting his leathers. “I’ll check on you later.” He turns to head out, boots clomping on the thick rugs. He pauses at the entrance to see that she’s still abed.

Linny nods her head at his advice, and laying down, looking up at him, makes her look, and feel, so delicate and fragile. It's too often that she's the one looking after other people, but never after herself and so rarely has anyone returned the favor. She lays there, mind already whirling, and when he's at the entrance, she lifts half of her body up to look. Not because she's trying to sneak out of bed, but to tell him, "Please find my baby." Linny looks at him for a long, gut wrenching moment before laying back down and getting comfortable in the bed. She may not sleep for long, and it may not be the best sleep ever, but it'll be something and that helps.

F’in’s a real mother. Linny, as he well recalls, is rather terrible at looking after herself and, so, he is at least a little surprised, but glad that she looks to be complying — or at the least trying — with the suggestion of rest. Shards, she has to be exhausted. Looking down, the vibrant woman a pale, haggard echo of herself, and for the first time, F’in has a stab of dread that they wouldn’t find Sofia. And this horror would be Linny’s reality. It tightens his throat as he moves off and looking back, catches her rising up on elbows. The hoarse request drives that spike of dread deeper. “Yes, Linny.” He swallows against the lump in his throat and heads out to meet his partner for extra sweeps.

And when he returns later to check on her, revealing that they still have found nothing, poor F'in will probably have to deal with a hysterical Linny, who will have to face yet another night without her precious daughter, who is somewhere out there. Hopefully safe. Hard to believe that this crumbled woman was once full of sass and vigor and so much sexual energy, now so lost to grief it's heart breaking.

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