—means that of course Derrica is in the herb garden whenever Ellie winds her way there.
It is windy, brisk but not frigid. Wisps of hair have escaped from Derrica's braids. The fringes of her knit-wrap flutter where she sits, one leg drawn up beneath her as she writes into a small notebook. A piece of parchment is pinned against one thigh as she works.
It's this piece she catches up, secures in the notebook as she becomes aware of Ellie's arrival.
"I didn't bring anything from the kitchen," because it hadn't exactly sounded like that kind of thought. "I'm sorry."
The herb garden's technically public, but also private enough that they can have a real conversation. Derrica apologizes and Ellie grins back, produces a handful of bright red strawberries from her pocket: probably pilfered, but readily overlooked due to her help with the dishes.
She offers them to Derrica first, puts the rest within easy reach as she perches herself on the edge of the bench, uses the moment to bite into a strawberry and gather her thoughts.
Despite the casual way she asked, awkwardness threatens to creep in. So-
"I've... started seeing someone," she says to her strawberry, somewhat nervously.
A small oh of reaction blooms across Derrica's face.
What she feels in response is—
Tangled. Not wholly one thing or another, but a mix of emotions that catch in her chest. There is no easy way to part the sharp sting of surprise from the warmer recognition of pride, pleasure at what must be wholly good for Ellie.
"Someone?" she prompts, berry untouched in her hands, falling to her lap. A little teasing.
Distancing herself from that first rush of reaction, finding her way to a more measured accounting of her feelings before there is any expectation she share them.
It is a tangled thing for the both of them. Lots of stuff unresolved that they're trying to work through.
Relief is the most prominent of them, overall. She didn't intend for this to hurt. But then, Ellie never intends that. She's clumsy sometimes, and fumbling this is still a fear.
"Clarisse," Ellie confesses, and the way that her expression softens, happy, makes a lot of things clear.
"It started a few days after my fight with Abby." Ellie drops her hands too, still holding the berry stem, bright red with one bite out of it. "It was supposed to just be one time. But then it wasn't, and then we became friends... and the lines kept getting harder to see."
She's not going to tell her the whole story, but it's enough to cast the shape of it.
And Derrica understands the boundary inherent in this answer, that Ellie gives her this much and no more. It would be a transgression to pry after any other part of the story.
The impulse to do so is—
Not productive. Or kind. Or anything like what Ellie deserves, because the glow in her voice is an unequivocally good thing.
She looks away briefly, eyes skimming the budding green around them. But of course she comes back, looks back at Ellie's expression because she has always loved any glimmer of the joy she finds there now.
"I'm happy for you," comes softly, sincerely. "It's serious?"
Seeking after something else, another place where a line might exist, where Derrica shouldn't cross.
It occurs to Ellie when Derrica looks away that Derrica might've had some confusing feelings about her, too, and that knowledge sits like a lump in the back of her throat. Not because she wishes they had turned out differently -- she's come to terms with that -- but because feelings are fucking hard, and neither of them like putting each other through it.
Derrica's genuinely happy for her, and Ellie can see that easily enough. Even if she doesn't strictly need her approval, it feels good. Ellie nods and reaches for her hand.
She squeezes it securely, settled on the bench between the two of them. It's something they've always done, something that Ellie won't give up, so long as Derrica won't.
"Thanks," she says softly. "And yeah, it's serious. We're not, like. Eloping or anything. But it'll be just the two of us."
Because it is as she said before: what Derrica asks for isn't always possible, isn't easy, too much with too much opportunity to be hurt by the things she needs. (Because she has been so slow to make room, to let herself trust in feelings that feel so much bigger than her, that indulging them won't break everything else good.)
It's fair. It's good. It still feels like a kind of loss. A vanishing of something that might have been, if Derrica had managed to—
"I love you," as a reminder, because this too is steadfast, unchanged by the landscape of their relationship shifting and recomposing. Derrica's hand is warm, easily secured in Ellie's. "I'm glad you're happy. That you've found someone who makes you happy."
Because Ellie is happy.
"Thank you for telling me," is a quiet thing too. Not just for this piece of news, to celebrate together. For what it means beyond that, for being clear so Derrica doesn't transgress on accident.
It stings less this time when Derrica says it. Ellie's far more able to hear what they do have, rather than what they don't. They've loved each other for a long time, even if the shape of it has evolved, and not always happily.
"I love you too."
It's bittersweet that the first time she says it is like this, but it feels right when she does. She squeezes her hand a little too tight, makes herself loosen her hold.
"... and at some point, I want to tell you all about it. If that's not too weird."
Ellie loosens her grip, and Derrica tightens her in turn. No, there is no point at which Ellie's hold is too tight.
"I just need a little time first."
Not long, Derrica would promise. Only a little while, to let this settle. Let it become part of the landscape between them, let other things fade.
"You're..." and here definition falters, uncertain of how she might describe the things they are to each other. Recast it and lose no part of the familiarity and intimacy they have. Settles on: "You're important to me. I want to hear everything you would tell me."
The way Derrica tightens her grip settles her, and Ellie matches it, nods. She's glad that she's honest about it- there are times when Derrica's harder to read, when Ellie gets the sense that she's suspending her real feelings to spare others, especially her.
She prefers this kind of honesty.
"Yeah," she says, steady. "I know that feeling." Almost word for word what she'd told Derrica after their last restructuring.
"And if there's anything you want to tell me too, I wanna listen."
A light pressure: Derrica's thumb at the back of Ellie's hand, silent acknowledgement.
Yes, Ellie knows. So maybe it is fair that Derrica feels some of it now.
"Not yet."
Maybe never. There are things that Derrica knows are unfair to say, that are her business to carry and process and let go of in due time. Ellie is happy, and they have an understanding of each other, this resolution to hold fast to their closeness in whatever form it takes.
"Only that I want to know, if I overstep," is only a reiteration of things they've spoken of before. Maybe it won't hurt Ellie anymore if Derrica reaches for her, but maybe it will be unwelcome for other reasons.
Not yet is a fair answer, and honestly it's the one Ellie expected. It's a lot to ask someone to reach in with both hands pull their guts out for you when you've already left them raw.
"You know I will."
It's not the first time Ellie's had things be less than straightforward, difficult without anyone involved being wrong. But it does make her more determined to be honest and heartfelt, to not let anything slip away. Even if it's clumsy, it's sincere.
Ellie looks down at their joined hands, squeezing again.
"Is there anything... y'know, outside of us, that I can help with?"
Because despite this conversation, their own complicated entanglements aren't the only thing in their lives.
Derrica breathes out. Not a sigh, but near to it. Awareness of all other things weighing on her, living alongside this new-made ache, and uncertain of which she might share with Ellie.
She draws Ellie's hand into her lap, folds it between her own two hands, as she turns over her respective worries. Considers that maybe they should have been talking about other things this whole time; maybe if she came at the thing between them sideways, it would have worked better.
But that's not something to say aloud to Ellie.
"Can you help me take inventory in the clinic tomorrow morning?" is what she settles on, having considered and dismissed heavier worries. "It goes faster with two, but I don't like bothering Richard for it every time."
It's a mixture of faint disappointment, but a knowing reality. If the question had been reversed Ellie probably would've asked for something similar. Something to do with their hands, practical, necessary. No high stakes.
It gives them space around each other, time for them to relax into it again.
Yeah. It's good.
"You bet," she says softly, curling a thumb to rub over the back of Derrica's knuckle, lifting her head to look at her. "I'll be there."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[Probably should have led with that, considering their history.]
Do you have a minute to talk? It's not bad or anything, just- you know. Stuff.
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—means that of course Derrica is in the herb garden whenever Ellie winds her way there.
It is windy, brisk but not frigid. Wisps of hair have escaped from Derrica's braids. The fringes of her knit-wrap flutter where she sits, one leg drawn up beneath her as she writes into a small notebook. A piece of parchment is pinned against one thigh as she works.
It's this piece she catches up, secures in the notebook as she becomes aware of Ellie's arrival.
"I didn't bring anything from the kitchen," because it hadn't exactly sounded like that kind of thought. "I'm sorry."
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She offers them to Derrica first, puts the rest within easy reach as she perches herself on the edge of the bench, uses the moment to bite into a strawberry and gather her thoughts.
Despite the casual way she asked, awkwardness threatens to creep in. So-
"I've... started seeing someone," she says to her strawberry, somewhat nervously.
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What she feels in response is—
Tangled. Not wholly one thing or another, but a mix of emotions that catch in her chest. There is no easy way to part the sharp sting of surprise from the warmer recognition of pride, pleasure at what must be wholly good for Ellie.
"Someone?" she prompts, berry untouched in her hands, falling to her lap. A little teasing.
Distancing herself from that first rush of reaction, finding her way to a more measured accounting of her feelings before there is any expectation she share them.
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Relief is the most prominent of them, overall. She didn't intend for this to hurt. But then, Ellie never intends that. She's clumsy sometimes, and fumbling this is still a fear.
"Clarisse," Ellie confesses, and the way that her expression softens, happy, makes a lot of things clear.
"It started a few days after my fight with Abby." Ellie drops her hands too, still holding the berry stem, bright red with one bite out of it. "It was supposed to just be one time. But then it wasn't, and then we became friends... and the lines kept getting harder to see."
She's not going to tell her the whole story, but it's enough to cast the shape of it.
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And Derrica understands the boundary inherent in this answer, that Ellie gives her this much and no more. It would be a transgression to pry after any other part of the story.
The impulse to do so is—
Not productive. Or kind. Or anything like what Ellie deserves, because the glow in her voice is an unequivocally good thing.
She looks away briefly, eyes skimming the budding green around them. But of course she comes back, looks back at Ellie's expression because she has always loved any glimmer of the joy she finds there now.
"I'm happy for you," comes softly, sincerely. "It's serious?"
Seeking after something else, another place where a line might exist, where Derrica shouldn't cross.
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Derrica's genuinely happy for her, and Ellie can see that easily enough. Even if she doesn't strictly need her approval, it feels good. Ellie nods and reaches for her hand.
She squeezes it securely, settled on the bench between the two of them. It's something they've always done, something that Ellie won't give up, so long as Derrica won't.
"Thanks," she says softly. "And yeah, it's serious. We're not, like. Eloping or anything. But it'll be just the two of us."
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"I understand."
Because it is as she said before: what Derrica asks for isn't always possible, isn't easy, too much with too much opportunity to be hurt by the things she needs. (Because she has been so slow to make room, to let herself trust in feelings that feel so much bigger than her, that indulging them won't break everything else good.)
It's fair. It's good. It still feels like a kind of loss. A vanishing of something that might have been, if Derrica had managed to—
"I love you," as a reminder, because this too is steadfast, unchanged by the landscape of their relationship shifting and recomposing. Derrica's hand is warm, easily secured in Ellie's. "I'm glad you're happy. That you've found someone who makes you happy."
Because Ellie is happy.
"Thank you for telling me," is a quiet thing too. Not just for this piece of news, to celebrate together. For what it means beyond that, for being clear so Derrica doesn't transgress on accident.
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"I love you too."
It's bittersweet that the first time she says it is like this, but it feels right when she does. She squeezes her hand a little too tight, makes herself loosen her hold.
"... and at some point, I want to tell you all about it. If that's not too weird."
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Ellie loosens her grip, and Derrica tightens her in turn. No, there is no point at which Ellie's hold is too tight.
"I just need a little time first."
Not long, Derrica would promise. Only a little while, to let this settle. Let it become part of the landscape between them, let other things fade.
"You're..." and here definition falters, uncertain of how she might describe the things they are to each other. Recast it and lose no part of the familiarity and intimacy they have. Settles on: "You're important to me. I want to hear everything you would tell me."
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She prefers this kind of honesty.
"Yeah," she says, steady. "I know that feeling." Almost word for word what she'd told Derrica after their last restructuring.
"And if there's anything you want to tell me too, I wanna listen."
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Yes, Ellie knows. So maybe it is fair that Derrica feels some of it now.
"Not yet."
Maybe never. There are things that Derrica knows are unfair to say, that are her business to carry and process and let go of in due time. Ellie is happy, and they have an understanding of each other, this resolution to hold fast to their closeness in whatever form it takes.
"Only that I want to know, if I overstep," is only a reiteration of things they've spoken of before. Maybe it won't hurt Ellie anymore if Derrica reaches for her, but maybe it will be unwelcome for other reasons.
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"You know I will."
It's not the first time Ellie's had things be less than straightforward, difficult without anyone involved being wrong. But it does make her more determined to be honest and heartfelt, to not let anything slip away. Even if it's clumsy, it's sincere.
Ellie looks down at their joined hands, squeezing again.
"Is there anything... y'know, outside of us, that I can help with?"
Because despite this conversation, their own complicated entanglements aren't the only thing in their lives.
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Derrica breathes out. Not a sigh, but near to it. Awareness of all other things weighing on her, living alongside this new-made ache, and uncertain of which she might share with Ellie.
She draws Ellie's hand into her lap, folds it between her own two hands, as she turns over her respective worries. Considers that maybe they should have been talking about other things this whole time; maybe if she came at the thing between them sideways, it would have worked better.
But that's not something to say aloud to Ellie.
"Can you help me take inventory in the clinic tomorrow morning?" is what she settles on, having considered and dismissed heavier worries. "It goes faster with two, but I don't like bothering Richard for it every time."
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It gives them space around each other, time for them to relax into it again.
Yeah. It's good.
"You bet," she says softly, curling a thumb to rub over the back of Derrica's knuckle, lifting her head to look at her. "I'll be there."