[ When River arrives she hovers in the doorway slightly, taking in Charles' posture, his location on the stairs, before turning towards the kitchen and busying herself in that room.
It makes sense that Charles would avoid it; the carpet is missing and River doesn't want to know why (she knows, she can't help but know between both Ned and Charles, but she doesn't want to admit knowing right now).
Toast happens. Two eggs. Mint tea. Whatever she can identify from ancient looking spice shakers that don't make her sneeze. Erik is better at this, River thinks, this pushing onwards with what is necessary when the heart is broken and the mind is tired - Mal is better at it too, would know what to say that would force Charles to sigh and stop hiding in his own skin, but River ...even knowing, River doesn't always know what to say, what to do, how to be more comforting and less of a burden.
Because she can't, won't, isn't going to say to Charles look you must pull yourself together or we'll both fray apart. She can't hold on to her anger at what happened to Ned any more than she can hold on to any emotion, right now - she feels like a sieve with too many holes stretched out through time and it's probably dangerous and possibly short-lived but it is, and it worries her that it is.
Only she can't hold on to that worry for very long, either.
Whatever happens - if Charles falls off the edge he's precariously balanced upon or if River jumps first - she'll be there, she has to be, and he'll be there, because he doesn't want to lose another thing and that's ...
Well. It's not good but it is, much like she suspects the eggs aren't good but they are in existence and intended to be eaten. So she presents this halfhearted breakfast to Charles without a word, making sure he takes at least two bites for her one before she sighs and leans against him, head on his shoulder. ]
action;
It makes sense that Charles would avoid it; the carpet is missing and River doesn't want to know why (she knows, she can't help but know between both Ned and Charles, but she doesn't want to admit knowing right now).
Toast happens. Two eggs. Mint tea. Whatever she can identify from ancient looking spice shakers that don't make her sneeze. Erik is better at this, River thinks, this pushing onwards with what is necessary when the heart is broken and the mind is tired - Mal is better at it too, would know what to say that would force Charles to sigh and stop hiding in his own skin, but River ...even knowing, River doesn't always know what to say, what to do, how to be more comforting and less of a burden.
Because she can't, won't, isn't going to say to Charles look you must pull yourself together or we'll both fray apart. She can't hold on to her anger at what happened to Ned any more than she can hold on to any emotion, right now - she feels like a sieve with too many holes stretched out through time and it's probably dangerous and possibly short-lived but it is, and it worries her that it is.
Only she can't hold on to that worry for very long, either.
Whatever happens - if Charles falls off the edge he's precariously balanced upon or if River jumps first - she'll be there, she has to be, and he'll be there, because he doesn't want to lose another thing and that's ...
Well. It's not good but it is, much like she suspects the eggs aren't good but they are in existence and intended to be eaten. So she presents this halfhearted breakfast to Charles without a word, making sure he takes at least two bites for her one before she sighs and leans against him, head on his shoulder. ]
Sorry is such a stupid, hollow word.