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[ She's trying not to. She wants for things to be formal, for things to be structured. It's why, despite the threat of tears spilling over, they don't. Her eyes are glassy, her heart heavy, but she doesn't dare cry.

This is Sherlock's time to be comforted. She's strong, she can handle it. She's handled it before. It's hard, knowing the beginning and end of all things.

It's hard, having friends. ]

Sherlock. Sir.

[ She looks up and forces a watery smile, stepping back to salute him. Her movements are crisp, militaristic, but after a few seconds she moves to his leg, wrapping her arms around his waist, pressing her face against his hip. ]

[ Sherlock doesn't have friends. Sherlock wants to believe that in his span of this impossible place, that no one's had any affect on him. Sherlock wants to cling to the idea that he's made of marble and stone and he's incapable of crumbling. Sherlock Holmes is a liar. ]

[ Sherlock doesn't understand this. Doesn't understand the need for human contact and why people insist on it. He doesn't understand why Chase is doing this, and he's trying to rationalizing if he's doing anything lately to warrant that level of attachment. He doesn't hug back and he's not entirely sure what to do with his arms. ]

Is this anything important, Chase?

[ It's a stern question, because Sherlock's always been a rather stern guy. Attachments are dangerous things to have and that distance, Sherlock realizes keeps him alive. ]

No.

[ A lie. A tiny, tiny lie that Chase feels horrible for saying. Instead, she wants to say 'I'm sorry.' Instead, she wants to say 'Moriarty.' But she can't. She remembers Longcindia, remembers what Jesse had said on that night. She closes her eyes as much as she can.

She has to be brave. The smile is back, and it's genuine. ]

Everything's going to be fine, Sherlock.

[ Raising an eyebrow. Letting his arms stay to his sides for a moment, before taking a step back and taking a knee. He's always been rather tall, and Chase is four. ]

Lying doesn't work on me, remember?

[ Using that moment he's at eye level to properly read her. ]

You barge into my room on the verge of tears and tell me everything's going to be alright?

Did god tell you something awful? [ there's a hint of mocking in his tone. ]

[ Chase laughs. She can't help the laugh, though it gives her an awkward hiccup as she's half-crying as well. Sherlock, through and through. ]

No. God didn't tell me anything. [ She shakes her head, eye-level with the other, now. Tentatively, she reaches out to brush her hand along a cheekbone. ]

I had a bad dream.

[ And Sherlock stays still. He does't understand it. He knows about Chases clairvoyance (how much of that he believes is up for debate). Knows about the dreams, that once upon a time - back when the Tranquility wasn't filled with noise and people and the constant threat of danger - back when things just started and it was just them. Chase had a few people to come to when this happened. Bad dreams. Sherlock hasn't quite fathomed how or why he's now suddenly one of those people. ]

This place is one bad dream after another.

[ A beat, a sharp beat, because he's curious. ]

Why is this different?

Because I'm scared.

[ She is--she's genuinely frightened. There's evil aboard the ship, she knows. Everything evil lurks in the corners, but that's not what she's scared of.

She's scared, because she doesn't know where Sherlock's going to go. Doesn't know if he's going to remember anything. It's not because she's used to being able to tell with these things, either. It's because she wants Sherlock to be safe.

Her hand moves back, hastily wiping away tears threatening to spill, but despite herself, she sniffles. ]

[ he doesn't quite know what to do to comfort her. it's not his job, no. Not his problem. Chase feeling fear is a reminder that she's still human, that above all else, between apocalyptic harbinger or whatever prophetic dabble Sherlock's skipped over - she's still a kid. She's four, and even if Chase is part of the crew and involved with a lot of the ship's happenings it doesn't strip her away of her age. ]

[ Sherlock places an arm on her shoulder briefly, giving it a squeeze before sitting up and fetching something in his dresser. Topher and he had a talk about this once, comfort items and psychological affect towards them. He can't put a blanket around and go: Chase, you're in shock. It doesn't work like that. He lifts the grey deerstalker from it's drawer and plops it on Chase's head. Pulling the ear flaps snugly down. ]

Perfectly reasonable line of thinking.

[ he doesn't spare her a lie as he adjusts the cap. ]

[ Chase's hands curl around the flaps of the hat, though they don't undo the work Sherlock has done to pull it down. It almost covers her eyes and she's glad of that fact.

...But no. Sherlock deserves the last person he talks to at least look him in the eye. ]

I liked when we talked, Sherlock. Earlier. [ She's trying very hard not to cry again--so she forces yet another smile. ] We grew apart.

Did we?

[ Sherlock knows it's not like what it used to be. They've found their own niches and the ship's provided more puzzles than any club ever could. Sherlock's never been good with keeping up with ties or having anything long lasting. John is his oldest friend. ]

Are you going to regale me with nostaglia, Chase?

No.

No, I'm not--I just want..

[ There's no way she can say it. There's no room for mistakes in our family, Inferno had said. There's no defying God. Yet somehow, if anyone could do it, Chase has the feeling it would be Sherlock. She has problems figuring out what to say, exactly--this whole thing is making her head spin because when it comes down to it, she just doesn't want Sherlock to go. At all. She wants to be selfish, wants to cling to more than just the hat she still hasn't taken her hands off of. ]

I want you to remember that we're friends.

[ John told him once, that he would outlive God trying to get the last word.

But it doesn't register to Sherlock, how much those words mean. Of course. The weight of this conversation doesn't mark him until much later. He's looking at the surface, not reading into it. ( He's always been stubborn ). As far as he's concerned, this is a child who's had a nightmare and for some unfathomable reason she goes to him and not Spock.

He doesn't have friends apart from John(s) (or he wants to think that he doesn't. it's a life of course, the tranquility's changed him in small ways). But she's four and she'll think things like friendship hold meaning, so Sherlock won't argue. (Not like how he did with Raven). And maybe Chase matters more than he'll admit, but today isn't that day. ]

[ rolling his eyes. He doesn't have time to spare for sentiments. ]

Yes, yes. Off you pop, Chase. Spock's down in 200. He's quite literally, two doors down.

Edited 2012-08-17 07:10 (UTC)

Okay.

o--okay.

[ Chase smiles. Sherlock's smart but underestimates her, and for now that's okay. That's how it's supposed to be.

You didn't have to KILL her!
There's no room in this family for mistakes.

You can't fight destiny, Chase.

But just as she's about to go out the door she turns. Her hesitation is obvious, but her feet are silent on the floor as she moves back to give the other one last hug. The final embrace to go with the final problem. She waits until she's at the door again, though, keeping her head bowed. ]

Goodbye, Sherlock. I'll always be your friend. [ You can't fight God's will. She's tried before, once. Long ago. She can only observe until it's her time. Nodding to herself, she opens the door and continues back.

She doesn't go back to Spock, though--she waits. She waits and cries, sitting in a shadowy corner of the hall, waiting for something she knows she can't stop. ]

Edited 2012-08-17 07:22 (UTC)

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