open.

[tender]

WHO: Derrica + OTA
WHAT: Office Hours
WHEN: Guardian
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: Drop in, door's open.

There is nothing technically wrong with the Project Haven conference room and office. They are orderly, without any tangible sign of the intentions of their former owner.

Still, Derrica has thrown open the single window in the office wide in spite of the cold. There is a small crate just beside the doorway between office and conference room, where Derrica has been pitching anything she finds questionable. (Chantry texts to be relocated to records or the chapel, small items that might be personal affects, or are simply not to her taste.) She's left the doors open behind her, the one leading into the conference room, the one leading into the corridor, and the one leading into the Forces and Diplomacy workspaces as well, as if to promote circulation to the highest degree possible.

What comes after the cleaning is something Derrica is still working out.

She's never had an office. She's yet to even sit down at her allotted desk in the Forces workroom. But here she is, and she make something of the space. It's expected, she's certain.

Her hands are full of Chantry hymnals when the sound of footsteps pulls her attention from them.

"Watch out for the box," is her first, immediate word of caution. It's only partly blocking the doorway, but just enough to be a hazard to the unsuspecting.

Welcome to Project Haven. Don't mind the momentary clutter.

Comments

[notathreat]

It's a good question. An honest one. The kind of question Ellie needs in her life, no double-talk or maybe or unspoken, hinted bullshit. No doubletalk.

Even if it puts them both on the spot, Ellie appreciates it in a way she can't yet put into words, but it's good. It's good for her, good for them.

It's one of the first steps she can take to start getting over herself.

So Ellie takes Derrica's hand, lacing their fingers together, and looks down, running a thumb over Derrica's knuckles, considering.

"We go out," she suggests. "The two of us, together. Flirting, all of it. Everything on the table. If we walk away friends, then we walk away friends. If it goes in a different direction-"

Ellie pauses, still considering Derrica's hand. She cups in between her own, then looks up and seriously into her eyes.

"Then I'm ready to see where it goes."

[tender]

"We'll be friends either way," Derrica says, firm over the words. That's what she wants, more than anything else: the preservation of the bond they share. Ellie matters. Their friendship matters. Derrica wants to be clear about that.

But it helps, how decided Ellie is in her answer. But still, she tips her head, meeting Ellie's eyes as she lets that decision settle and weighs up her own response.

"You can change your mind," is an important thing too. Even if Ellie knows, Derrica thinks it's good to hear out loud, for someone else to remind her. "If you realize you aren't ready."

It's not always so straightforward. Derrica knows this too. And there needs to be space for whatever might happen in the future, whatever Ellie might need. Everything Derrica's already said still applies. She can wait. Their friendship can be what it is, without Derrica pressing for more.

[notathreat]

If Derrica hadn't been so clear about her interest, Ellie might've thought this was a way to hint that they should slow down, or even stop. Instead, it makes her smile, and she ducks her head, like it might show.

"Thanks," she says, squeezing her hand again, making herself look up. Her face has softened a bit into something far more comfortable, more fond.

"I like that you look out for me. If it gets weird, we'll slow down."

She offers a bigger smile.

"Same goes for you. If you're not ready, or. Anything else."

[tender]

"I like looking out for you," Derrica tells her, a little teasing around a very true sentiment. They are friends, and they care about each other. Of course Derrica will pay due attention to Ellie's comfort.

There's always a small twinge of—

Not sadness, but something close to it. Worry, maybe. Worry that Ellie is unused to being cared for this way.

"And I will," is a promise too, though the things that might require Derrica to step back are not so predictable. But she'd been clear with Ellie. They both understand each other, and what they need. There's no guarantee that any part of this will be easy, but it will help to know. "Did you have a day in mind?"

Does Ellie need a day or two to prepare for a friendly, flirtatious kind of drink?

[notathreat]

Ellie sees it in Derrica's face, but maybe it's because she's looking for it. Maybe it's because she's a healer, but Derrica's more sensitive to other people's hurts than anyone she's ever met. Ellie feels a brush of shame, mostly because she made it obvious enough to be seen.

She doesn't like being a wounded thing, partially because so many of them were inflicted through her own stupid choices.

She shoves the fleeting thought aside. Later, she'll recognize it, and marvel at the fact that Derrica's presence is what inspires her to make the effort.

"Tomorrow?" she asks, tilting her head. Derrica's wrapped up in moving today, and Ellie isn't being called away on an assignment.

"I can help you move this stuff today. Get you settled in."

bow on this y/y?

[tender]

Tomorrow.

It's so soon. But maybe that's an indicator on it's own. Ellie could have put this off a week, if she wanted to. Plenty of time to reconsider.

But tomorrow leaves no real time for any changes. Perhaps this does mean Ellie's made up her mind truly. Derrica puts that aside to consider later, when they aren't in the middle of unpacking boxes and making this space hospitable.

"Yes," she agrees, releasing Ellie's hand to slip off the desk. "Tomorrow would be perfect."

Assuming disaster doesn't strike between now and then, as it is sometimes wont to do when it comes to Riftwatch's affairs.

"I might owe you more than one drink once we get to that wooden bench in the hallway."

Which is not supposed to be all the way up here, and yet.

Y!

[notathreat]

It's a risk- but then again, everything is, and Ellie's done with biding her time, nursing her feelings. She of all people knows that in order to heal, an injury must be stretched, walked on one it's had time to set.

It may be painful, but Ellie wants to live, and that means allowing herself to enjoy being alive. Even if she's out of practice, even if she has to re-learn how.

"I'll keep a running tab," she teases, and follows.