Logs - Aite RP

Tara ends up blinking several times as she listens to Leah, but her gaze remains on the darkness that surrounds them. It's obvious she's not comfortable with the sentiment that Leah is putting forth, and there's a rare flash of frustration in her eyes as she looks Leah's way. Anger, even. But it fizzles almost instantly when she notices the tears, her frown looking increasingly lost as her eyes dart from cheek to cheek, narrowly

dodging Leah's eyes. She looks off to the side again, retreating inward a little in both stance and mindspace as she fails to express herself in the face of the outpour of emotion from Leah.

Leah merely falls silent in the face of Tara's inability to respond, seemingly assuming the worst from it. Her hollow gaze falls low once more, accompanied by a short sniffle as tears quietly fall down her cheeks. Her hand once again grasps at her shoulder, chin returning to rest against her forearm as she looks at the floor, practically staring through it with distant, green eyes.

Tara flinches a little as she hears Leah's sniffling, guilt growing most prominent among the complicated mix of emotions in her face. There's fear there, too, and hints of an odd anger. She stands silent and unmoving, her body stiff with discomfort. The situation that she's found herself is so very unfamiliar. The idea that someone cares so much about her is alien, inexplicable and terrifying. The only familiar aspect of the last day

is also the most unwelcome. People are dead because of her. It's not long before tears of her own join Leah's, causing her to blink rapidly as they escape, looking to Leah again as her expression shifts into a helplessly uncertain frown.

Leah finally speaks up again. And when she does her voice is quiet. "...Are you angry at me?" she asks bluntly, not chancing taking a look at Tara for fear of seeing that all-too-familiar resentment in her eyes. It's not often that she wears her own fears and insecurities so openly on her sleeves, but it's been a rough day. And not just because of the mass grave Jattic has spent the better part of the afternoon filling with

bodies and dirt. Their victory today wasn't without flaw, no question about that. Innocent people died, allies were wounded, and in the aftermath she has no idea where she stands with Tara, the person she set out to protect. But, while those weren't ideal outcomes, they were known possibilities. And the mission was successful. Tara is safe now, whether she likes it or not. But there's more gnawing at her. Such as the

terrorist organization that put a bomb in her head and forced her to kill her friend in cold blood suddenly being praised as heroes.

Tara blinks, staring at Leah for a moment, cheeks still wet with tears. She swallows hard, the question causing her to deflate, shoulders dropping. It's obvious that she's far from eager to answer that, but there's no resentment in her eyes. There's mostly guilt and regret, and a little bit of that anger, which causes a bit of sharpness in her tired, choked up voice. "I didn't want more people to die..."

Leah shuts her eyes at the response, nodding a few times in turn. "Neither did I, sweetheart." she says quietly, shrinking against her own embrace, grip on her shoulder tightening. Of course there was never any other way it was going to end. Fasha had to die. It takes a moment for Tara's words to settle in before she lifts her chin, brow furrowed as she studies Tara. "...What do you mean more?" she asks.

Tara 's gaze is quick to fall, shirking Leah's scrutiny. She looks immensely uncomfortably as attention is called to that small but significant word. She draws in a breath, which turns to a sniffle as her eyes close. Fresh tears roll silently across cold, wet cheeks. When her eyes open she's making all the effort she can to avoid looking Leah's way, head turned as she stares out into the shadows of the dark warehouse, hugging herself.

"I tried to run away..." she says in a choked whisper, barely audible despite the silence of the room.

Leah watches Tara through sympathetic eyes as she speaks up, silently stepping closer. The small, but meaningful reveal seems to inject a bit of life back into her, causing her to release her grip on her shoulder and reach out, tentatively, to place it on Tara's upper arm, an instinct to provide some amount of comfort taking hold. A moment passes wordlessly before she softly- hesitantly- asks, "...And-... someone got hurt...?"

It almost sounds more like a statement than a question.

Tara is already tense when Leah places a hand on her arm, and the tension only grows at her touch, but she doesn't pull away. Her face contorts in a grimace as she swallows again, and there's a tiny, quick nod, confirming the assumption. Her head remains turned away, awkwardly so, far enough to strain her neck.

Leah sniffs loudly, drawing in a breath in an attempt at trying to regain her composure. It's met with limited success. Her puffy, glassy, reddened eyes betray her straightening posture. But it's obvious that Tara needs her right now, so her own worries, troubles- and everything eating away at her- can wait. "Hey-..." she starts softly, reaching up with her other hand and placing it gently against Tara's cheek to urge her to

meet her gaze. Her voice is still quiet, despite her renewed efforts, as she searches the young girl's eyes. "It wasn't your fault." she says and, despite the wariness in her voice, there's a certainty in her tone.

Tara reluctantly meets Leah's gaze at her urging. Her words cause a defiant frown, breaking away from her hand and looking down at the shoulder of her armor. "It was." she says, reserved timidity dispelled by frustration and shame, leaving a jarringly assertive statement.

Leah seems a bit taken aback by the atypical assertiveness in which Tara speaks with, causing her to pull her hand back. She falls silent again, merely sucking in her lips as she watches Tara. "...What happened?" she finally asks cautiously, certain that no matter what Tara has to say that it won't change her opinion. But if this is something that Tara needs to get off her chest, she's not going to deny her an outlet to do so.

"...If you don't want to tell me-..." she trails off, leaving the rest of her statement implied.

Tara seems reluctant to outright refuse Leah's question, but neither does she say anything, leaving a tense silence, but it doesn't last long before she meets Leah's gaze, blinking to fight the blur of the tears still escaping. "W-... we tried to run. It was stupid. It didn't work..."

Leah remains patient, leaving it in Tara's hands to decide whether or not she wants to talk about it. When she finally speaks up, Leah winces, giving a few shakes of her head, her ponytail flowing behind her. "No, Tara. It wasn't stupid." she says. "They took something from you that they had no right to take. Your freedom. Your life." she continues, eyebrows furrowing deeply as she speaks. "And there is nothing stupid

about wanting to take it back. And-... And I know it hurts that someone else suffered because of it. And I'm so-... so sorry-..." her voice cracks, unable to avoid dwelling on all of the hurt and pain Tara has been forced to endure. The unfairness of it all. But, as she's found out first hand, life is rarely fair. "But, sweetheart?" She swallows, bringing her hand back up to Tara's cheek and looking her dead in the eyes,

another small, deliberate shake of her head, "It was not your fault. Fasha and his family put you in this position and people got hurt because of it. Because of them. Because they use people. Because they-... they devalue people. And we came here today to do something good. To do the right thing. And-..." another sniff as a few more tears break free causing her to blink back against them as she seems to get a

little momentum behind her words, "...and people got hurt! But that doesn't mean that what we did was wrong. It doesn't mean you just stop. It doesn't mean you just give up. Because if you do, they win. Fasha wins. And then it was all for nothing. So- no matter how much it hurts- you have to push through that. You have to-... to keep moving forward. Mourn them. Remember them. Grieve for them. But you can't blame

yourself."

Tara listens in silence to Leah, but she doesn't seem to take well to her words. Her gaze falls away, and she withdraws from the hand on her cheek, head turning away evasively, although her feet remain rooted in place. She doesn't respond.

Leah once again retracts her hand when Tara reacts negatively, gaze turning downward. She draws a breath in through her nose and wipes at the strands of hair that fall in her face, tucking them behind her ear. "...Tara." she says softly.

Tara 's arms tighten a little around herself, a defensive posture, closed off. The name is enough to make her gaze return to Leah's face. There are no more tears, but her cheeks are still wet, reflecting the light of the electric lantern. She wears a complicated frown as she studies her and waits to hear whatever is next, but she doesn't say a word herself.

Leah doesn't seem to have thought any further ahead. She shrugs her shoulders, that defeated, wary look returning to her face. "I'm sorry." she says simply. "Sorry for everything you've been through. Sorry that things didn't go the way I would have liked today. I just want you to be safe. I want you to have a real life. And-... for that I'm not sorry." She gives another small, apologetic shrug. "You're sweet, kind,

compassionate. You deserve to have a chance to live. To be happy. So I did what I felt I needed to do to achieve that. And-... and if that makes you hate me?" another shrug, her mouth tugged into a pained, thin line, forehead creased as she struggles to keep her emotions from getting the best of her once again. "...Then I understand. Nathan has contacted people he knows who are going to help the people we rescued today.

Fasha handed over a lot of credits before he-... before we-..." she swallows, gaze briefly lowering. It's not a difficulty in facing what they did. Fasha deserved exactly what he got. Just fear of the judgement in Tara's eyes. "...So we're going to use it to make sure they have the best shot at starting a new life that we can give them. And-... and if you want to go with them I-... I'll understand." she pauses, a few more

stray tears escaping before she has the chance to shut her green eyes. "...But if you don't?" she continues, her words carried by a strained breath. "You have family here, Tara. People who care about you. People who love you. You have a home now. A real home..."

((Remove underlines*))

((Retcon post*))

Tara blinks as she realizes what Leah is saying, what she's fearing, and the emotion she sees cracks her conflicted frown. A loud sniffle, and more blinks. Rapid. A futile attempt to contain the the fresh tears that start to flow. Not quietly like before. Sobbing. Sudden emotion that overwhelms her withdrawn state, causing her to shake her head and take a step forward, wrapping her arms around Leah's armored form in a hug. The

situation has her rattled and guilt-ridden, and there most certainly is a part of her that is upset with Leah, but that could never erase the kindness she's been treated with or the belonging that she's been given.

Leah is quick to return the hug, almost an instinctive reaction to wrap her arms around Tara tightly. "...I'm sorry." she sobs, her own floodgate breaking from the sudden show of affection. "I'm so sorry." she repeats, the words nearly lost in muffled breath. It's unclear what she's apologizing for. The flash of sudden and quick violence that Tara was exposed to today? The lifetime of enslavement that Tara has had to endure?

Her failure to come up with another way to get Tara out of harm's way? A way that didn't require more bloodshed? More fighting? It blends together with other transgressions. Other regrets. The snap of a neck. A field of flowers for the dead. An organization that forced her to be a monster tauted as the protectors of humanity. It all mixes and settles into her chest in a ball of pent up emotion. The heavy rise and fall of

her shoulders matches her strained sobbed breaths as the warehouse's silence is accompanied by an overflow of emotion.

Tara 's eyes close as the tears keep flowing, her own sobs swallowed up by the dark, empty warehouse alongside Leah's. Her emotions have been left a complicated mess after an exhausting, violent day, and in the face of the flood of emotion from Leah she can't keep any of it contained any longer. Her cheek rests against the scuffed, cold ceramic of Leah's pauldron, tears staying the shoulder of her undersuit. Her hug tightens,

thankfulness that she's still there and concern for her pushing everything else aside.

Leah doesn't seem to be in any rush to release her grip on Tara, tears freely running down her cheeks. Just an outpour of unfiltered emotion. "Things are going to be better from now on." she finally says when the emotion has been drained from her chest. Her voice is little more than an exhausted whisper against Tara's shoulder. It's both a promise to Tara, and a plea to herself. Considering the current headlines she can't help

but doubt the truth behind her own words. But, for Tara's sake, she delivers a convincing enough lie. After the day that she's had, Tara deserves the ease of a comfortable lie. "...Okay?"

Tara offers no vocal response, but her head can be felt moving next to Leah's as she nods softly. Scattered sniffles sound as she tries to regain her composure. She pulls back eventually, so that she can wipe the tears, and her nose, on the back of her hand, pulling her hands in close to her chest as she studies Leah. Her eyes are a puffy red and her cheeks are wet, but the tension seems to have disappated from her face.

Leah reaffirms her statement with a nod of her own. When Tara finally pulls away, she steps back, gaze lowering in what can only be described as embarassment over such an emotional reaction. She, too, wipes at her cheeks and attempts to get loose strands of hair under control. Eventually she meets Tara's eyes, her own just as red and irritated as Tara's. She props up a small, sad smile as another sniffle slips out. "I guess I

should-..." she cocks a thumb back behind her in an arbitrary direction, "...probably let the others know that there's food..." she says softly, casting a small glance towards the pot. Of course she could just contact over comms so it's a pretty transparent attempt at ducking away to collect herself.

Tara draws in a long breath and nods again, wringing her hands a little as she stands in place, gaze darting over to the pot of stew for a moment. There's a small, brief hint of a smile in her emotionally drained face. An acknowledgement that although things are turbulent, their bond is far from broken.

Leah's own, strained smile seems to widen a bit as she spots the spot of brightness in Tara's features, but it's far too heavy for her to maintain for too long and, soon enough, it slips away. Her head droops forward as she takes a step back. Lips dry, eyes red. Color drained from her skin. That usual bouncy energy drained. It would be hard to tell by just looking at her that they won today. She doesn't get far before she looks

to Tara one more time, hesitating briefly before opening her mouth to speak. "Tara..." she begins. "...I meant what I said. You deserve to be happy." she says. It's a small statement with little context, but it seems important to her. She certainly wasn't enslaved by a batarian house, but she knows a thing or two about being starved for choice and agency in your own life. Your path planned out for you by others, as if

you have no say in it. For her, there's no way around it. She'll always be a biotic. An outcast. But there's an opportunity to give Tara back what was stolen from her. To make her future better than her past. "I want you to be happy." she clarifies with a sheepish shrug, her voice cracking ever so slightly as she takes another backpedaling step towards the door. She forces that heavy smile up for just a flash of a

second before dipping her head in a nod and turning to leave.

((That usual bouncy energy nowhere to be seen.*))

Tara averts her gaze at Leah's words, focusing on the stove, but she glances back when she leaves, shoulders dropping with a heavy, tired sigh once she's on her own. She goes to sit on a nearby crate, pulling her legs up close and wrapping her arms around them, chin resting on her knees as she stares at the reflected light of the lantern in the metal of the field kitchen.