The next hour or so is spent on clean up. Glass and Christmas ornaments and bits of shrapnel- a few pieces even embedded in the wall opposite the window- litter the living room. It's a harsh realization for Francois. A few feet in one direction or the other during his trek through the living room and that could've been his jugular struck by the shrapnel. Getting all of the glass out of the Christmas tree proves to be a tricky process but,
#Leah'sHouse – March 1, 2022
with some time and effort, Tara and Francois are able to manage it. Cardboard is taped over the broken window and a layer of plastic- which was leftover and stowed away in the attic after Leah and her father painted the newly erected house- is put overtop the cardboard in an attempt at further insulating the hole as much as possible. It's better than it was, but the house is still noticeably colder than usual. After cleaning her own wound
and contacting both Steve and the Respite regarding her and Tara's absense, Leah spends her time outside while the others tidy the house. One last search is performed on her attackers to make sure she didn't miss anything before each body is wrapped in some old, spare sheets from the house and laid out in a row for pickup by the hospital. She does her best to kick snow over places where the blood has pooled, but it ends up mostly leaving
small stains of pale pink and light blue in the snow. The weaponry is stashed in her room, but the exo-suit is left in the yard for now.
Leah is seated at the dining room table, elbow pressed against the table, head in her hand with a plate of eggs that have long since gone cold. She's still wearing her jacket and absently sipping at a much needed mug of coffee. She looks worn out despite the relatively early hour. It's not so much the fight that's taken it out of her. She's certainly faced far worse. It's an emotional exhaustion. Mental exhaustion. This fight made
its way to her front doorstep. To her father. To Tara. A small sigh slips out of her as she brings the mug to her lips. There's a long day ahead of her, and she's most certainly not looking forward to it.
Francois is seated at the table as well, slowly picking at his food (He however reheated his! He's not a savage!), thoughts clearly elsewhere. There's a heavy silence that permeates the air as he avoids asking the many questions he has. Only occasionally shooting a small look across the table.
Tara 's appetite seems unaffected by the morning's events - or more accurately, the life she's lived has taught her to always eat her food, and to do it quick, because you never know when it might get taken away, or whether the next meal will be withheld. She's been even quieter than usual, but she's been diligent about helping with the cleanup. There's a bruise on her temple where the barrel of the Carnifex was jabbed against her head.
Leah quietly pokes at her eggs, pushing them around on the plate with her fork more than eating them. But eventually the silence seems to grow too heavy, prompting her to speak up. "Guessing you probably have a lot of questions..." she says quietly to her father, gaze remaining fixed on her eggs. It's not just an observation. It's an invitation to voice them.
Francois remains quiet, even after Leah has spoken up, his gaze falling to the middle of the table. She's not wrong. Plenty of questions occupy his thoughts. But, still, he seems hesitant to voice them. Gently clearing his throat, he glances to his daughter. "...Who were they?" he asks, his tone careful, carrying with it an invitation that she doesn't need to do this if she doesn't feel comfortable.
Tara looks up from her food when Leah speaks, gaze moving between her and Francois. The question - one that she knows more of than he does - makes her look to Leah again.
Leah slowly nods to herself as she hears the question, as if expected, but continues to watch her plate. "Gang members..." she explains, green eyes scanning across her cold, uneaten breakfast. What gang? Where are they from? The details don't matter. That's not what he's trying to figure out. She gives a small shrug of her shoulders as she seems to see what question will naturally follow. Why. "I-... ummm-..." she sucks in her
lips briefly, sliding a piece of egg around her plate in a small circle with the prongs of her fork, "...interrupted a deal they were making. A deal with slavers." She hazards a look his way, as if to see if he understands what she's getting at. "I-... never imagined they'd be able to track me down." she adds quietly. An oversight. A misstep. A failure. All of which color her tone.
Francois takes a second for it to settle in, but the breath he draws in and the way his shoulders rise is enough to let Leah know that he's connected the dots. Even if it wasn't, the micro glance he shoots Tara's way would've probably given it away. "...Oh." he offers quietly. He's no stranger to being left in the dark about parts of his daughter's life. Whether due to career necessity, or simply to keep him from worrying, he's
gotten used to those gaps in information. But he's no idiot. He knows enough about how Tara came to live with them to put two and two together. He swallows at the discomfort in his throat. "...More will come?"
Leah gives a small shake of her head. "No." she says simply, voice barely more than a whisper. Hopeful optimism, perhaps, but it's what he needs to hear. A small amount of safety returned to his world. "That was all of them. The ones that survived were-..." another sigh escapes, exasperation slipping out with it, "...just a couple of kids that got mixed up with the wrong people..."
Tara looks down at her plate as Leah mentions the day where her whole life changed. She seems to shrink a little in her seat.
Francois falls quiet and silence once more takes over the dining room for a while. Plenty of questions remain. Questions about what led to her paths crossing with Tara. About who these people were. But he bites his tongue, not wanting to push her to share more than she's comfortable with. There is one question, however, that he's unable to shake. One that nags at him. And, after a few moments of wrestling with it, it seems to just
slip from his lips. "...Is it always like that?" he asks, his tone careful as can be. "The-... the work that you do...?"
Leah seems to welcome the silence that takes over, happy to have a break from her father's questions. But, for once, her appetite seems lost. And for a while, she just returns to poking at her eggs, thoughts far from this room. Francois' question stirs her from her thoughts, causing her to draw in a deep breath. She considers it for a moment. Both the question, and what he means by it. Is it always so violent? Is it
always so dangerous? Are you just a cold blooded killer? She swallows, distant gaze turning to an arbitrary point on the table. "...Not all the time." she says. A pause follows, unsure of what else to say before finally looking to Francois, offering an almost apologetic shrug of her shoulders before quietly admitting, "...But-... sometimes it is."
Tara remains silent, of course, but her attention has returned to Leah, her discomfort not gone unnoticed.
Francois draws in a breath of his own, nodding to himself, brows furrowed as he mulls over her words, her discomfort not lost on him, either. Another few moments pass. "...But they're always bad people, yes?" he asks. But it's not quite a question. It's more of a statement, confident in its assertion. An attempt at alleviating the worries that he knows are going through her head right now. To remind her that he knows exactly who
Leah holds back the bitter snort that threatens to slip from her. Bad people. Good people. If only there was a bright neon line that divided them. Let you know which is which. But if her career has taught her anything, it's that those lines are jagged and blurry. There's rarely good guys and bad guys. You just try and make sure that you're doing what you're doing for the right reasons. That's the most anyone in
this line of work can hope for. But that doesn't make the question, as innocent as it may be, any less weighty. Make 'em pay, Leah. CRACK. "Always." she says, the lie coming quick and confidently as her green eyes seek out her father's. Another white lie for his sake.
Leah doesn't dare look Tara's way, her focus turning right back to her plate of mostly-uneaten food. After a few more moments of silence, when it seems as if her father has no more questions he's willing to voice, she speaks up instead. "...I guess after what you saw today you probably understand why people back on Earth feel the way they do about me." she says quietly, unable to hide the insecurities that lay behind her words,
Francois studies Leah with an incredulous look, as if he can't believe what she's saying. He opens his mouth to respond, but all that comes out at first is a displeased scoff, a sadness creeping in to his expression. "Sweetheart-... All that I saw today-..." he begins, "...was my brave daughter who found herself in a situation she never asked to be in. Who made sure her father- who was far more scared than he's proud to
admit-..." he says, something of a snort slipping between his words. His arm reaches across the table as he speaks, hand bringing Leah's away from her coffee mug and laying overtop of it. "...was safe and protected her wonderful sister." he continues, reaching out with his other hand and repeating the gesture with Tara, another small reinforcement that she is unquestionably a part of this small family.
Leah's face contorts into a heavy frown as Francois speaks, the gentle touch causing her to blink at the glassiness in her eyes, but her gaze remains low.
Francois gives Leah's hand a pat before grasping it in his own and lifting it off the table ever so slightly. "I saw a woman with so much compassion that she had to help the very people who came to do her harm." he pauses briefly, merely studying Leah for a moment before continuing, "So, no. I don't understand them. I pity them. I pity anyone who can't see just how incredible my daughter is." he says, a bit of emotion
Tara 's eyebrows furrow a little as Leah speaks. Francois' touch soon brings her attention his way, but his words make her gaze fall to the table, the sentiment making her swallow. She looks to Leah again while listening to the words that follow, confusion and a soft concern in her eyes.
Leah's head dips a little lower, a heavy sniffle sounding out as a stray tear frees itself. She brings her hand up to try and wipe at it, but it's too late, the flood gates have been opened. For a few moments, she remains as she is, head low, bangs falling over her face as tears quietly run down her cheeks, gaze fixed on a plate of cold eggs. "...You-... umm-... didn't look too scared." she eventually says, sniffing hard and
sucking in her drying lips before hazarding a look his way through her messy bangs, "The way you ran out there with that shotgun?" A hollow attempt at levity despite the heavy emotion in her voice.
Francois brings his hands back to the table in front of him and blinks at the encroaching wetness in his own eyes, heart breaking as tears run down his daughter's face. But, just as he's about to stand from his seat to wrap her up in a hug, the somber frown etched into his features is tugged away when Leah speaks up, a weary, exasperated snort slipping out. "Merde!" he exclaims, drawing in a deep, heavy breath as he slumps back
in his chair before explaining simply: "I nearly shit my pants." It's been too heavy of a day for a language filter.
Tara 's frown deepens as Leah starts to cry, worry and surprise written clearly on her face. She looks unsure what to do, but after a moment's hesitation she reaches out, mirroring Francois' gesture by placing a hand on her other arm. The words that come from him make her blink, wide eyes suddenly turning his way.