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A woman with the kindest smile Taika can imagine. Unbreakably so. A fortitude behind her poise unshaken by where her life's taken her these days, no matter the difficulties she endures here. The time she still makes for self care is evident in clear, warm skin, in long hair glossy and clean, in eyelashes particularly pampered.

“Hey…" Rikhard says upon approach, hands in his pockets. “How's my mom doing today?"

It's the nursing assistant before him and Taika, that is. Bouncy black dreadlocks tied up in a bun and mint-green scrubs slacked at her ankles, clipboard tucked over her wrist. Waiting near the closed door of Room 212 at not an old folks' home, and not an assisted living facility, but an “assisted living home." Because people don't live in facilities.

No, they live here. Some people have to. Someday.

Taika stands a pace behind Rikhard, always at his heels, but the nursing assistant pays little notice to Rikhard's plus one as she looks up at him and brings her smile even warmer, saying, “You're Sirma's boy, Rikhard?"

Rikhard nods, a motion nearly overshadowed by adjusting his hands from his coat pockets to those of his sweatpants, fingers repeatedly clenching visibly through the fabric once he thinks them hidden.

Not that Taika notices that much.

The assistant's smile remains, but her lips slim and her voice lowers as she says, “Oh, she's doing good today. She's just got herself in one of her moods again. Just grumpy. Kitchen's doing some barbecue and I'm gonna make sure she gets plenty of that for lunch, and then she'll feel better."

Oh, the stories this woman must hide behind a look like that.

“I can still see her?" Rikhard says, not quite with any hopeful tinge to his tone.

“Of course," the lady tells him. “Maybe that'll do some good for her, too. She may not admit it, but she could use her family."

Rikhard nods slower, pulling his hands back up and crossing his arms so nonchalantly, biting his lip. He just says, “Right. Thanks."

He turns for the door (to her room), and with nowhere else to go, Taika follows, the polite little smile on her own lips purely mustered.

“Rikhard," the assistant says lastly, catching both their attentions again. The woman has a look on her face serious for this, and eye to eye she says, “You go see her for as long or short as you like in there."

Rikhard grins at least a little. Nods. He and Taika go on.

As Rikhard and Taika enter together, stepping in, shutting the door behind them, stepping around the corner past the entrance—there's few similarities between him and the woman lying in the bed in the center of the room. Her greenish shade of iris is the same as Rikhard's, mostly, and… as ever, not much else.

And yet at first obvious glance, Sirma is fully herself today.

Frown written into the wrinkles around her lips, eyes sunken, and still she hasn't lost any of the meat on her bones as she wastes away in deeper solitude than she could choose. Bedsheet pulled up over her waist, covered like some hospital inpatient waiting on her diagnosis but for the blank t-shirt draped over her bones rather than some gown. Paler than even Taika remembers.

As Rikhard and Taika both come into sight for her, it's Rikhard her eyes fall upon first. And when this woman's lips dredge open, there's a voice out of them surprising only in how much fresher it still is than the withered throat it crawls out of.

Sirma growls, “Shit."

She narrows her old eyes and looks ready to spit, if only her cheeks had enough moisture in them for such. Instead, she says, “Didn't think my day could get fuckin' worse. Didn't tell me you were comin'."

Hands tuck flatter against his thighs within his pockets, but Rikhard summons forth a smile above. One hand comes out in a simple wave like to a distant friend, and he says, “Hey, Momma."

It somehow makes Sirma's gaze even sharper, how dark it lurks under her deep brow. She blinks, only such, and then her eyes are upon Taika's. And Taika freezes.

Sirma looks back toward Rikhard as she nods quick at Taika. “She's the one you brought? Really?"

Hand settles back in pocket, and Rikhard says, “Taika wanted to come see you too."

Taika's limbs don't quickly relax. But she worms the same non-confrontational smile over her own face, and gently, she says, “Hello, Sirma."

“In your goddamn truck?" Sirma says to only Rikhard. “Then she didn't come, you brought her, that's how it fuckin' works."

There's one little armchair for additional furniture in this room, pushed snug right beside the window. Provided by the staff, judging by its condition—high hopes they hold for visitors, maybe. It's the chair that Rikhard's attention swivels next to, rather than the last line of conversation. And with a hand back out his pocket, and a flat motion toward the open seat, he says with a look back over at Taika, “You wanna—?"

Sirma's gaze bears down on either or both of them. Taika purses her smile and shakes her head.

So, clearing his throat, Rikhard settles himself down slow into the armchair, taking just the forward half of the seat. He perches his elbows over his knees and says low but cheery, “You been doing okay, Momma?"

Sirma's gaze grows wider. Lips curl. In a rush, she lifts one arm and swings it out, fingers open, and she says, “You really fuckin' askin' me that? How does it fuckin' look like I'm doing?"

Rikhard hangs his head a moment, twining his hands together. He says, “I just meant—"

“I know what you meant," Sirma says for him. “Bullshit, that's what. You get to get up and walk right out of here whenever you feel like leaving, and I don't. That's how I'm doing."

The woman lowers her voice just as suddenly as it raised, but through an ever greater bite, she mutters, “I hate it here."

She shakes her head, almost like a better mother, disappointed. Her small voice cracks.

“I hate what you've done to me."

Rikhard opens his mouth to say something, or anything, but hangs his head lower. Taika watches, and there are words, phrases, retorts that she refrains from using that enter her mind regardless. There's no greater will within her, either, to retort to this woman, and it's not a conscious effort on her part as her tails all bundle tighter around herself, all the tips stilled and cold around her nape or feet.

Taika remains as quiet as usual, then. And through pursed lips, Rikhard musters saying after all, “You're not well. The court took a look at what you were going through and said—"

Sirma scoffs, “Court can kiss my ass. They all full of shit."

She settles her arms back over her stomach, settles the sheet properly over herself again, and adjusts her lower back against her extra pillows.

“So what're you even here for, anyway?"

Rikhard untwines his fingers and lifts his gaze back to meet hers, even his smile battered down into a polite grin.

“It's been a while. Just wanted to see you, Momma. They treating you okay? Is there anything you want me to bring?"

Sirma pauses at his offer, genuinely soaking it in. She looks down to her bedsheets as if in harder thought somewhere else. Then she raises her head quicker, says, “They let you bring any beer in here?"

“Uh—I would, but this place has a, uh, policy against—"

“The one fuckin' thing I ask for and you can't even bring that! What the fuck is the point of askin' me?"

Somehow, it's a chuckle out from Rikhard at that. A weak laugh. He says, “It'd be warm beer, anyway, Momma. Fridge is off back home. We still got the electricity off."

“And why the hell is that?"

The narrow look has returned to Sirma's eyes. Taika sees it. Rikhard sees it.

This was a mistake.

Rikhard pulls one hand back around his neck, scratching, and he stutters, “Well, it's all part of the, uh… the process…."

Sirma's gaze widens again. Rikhard bites his lip, looks away.

“Y'know, part of just getting the place… cleaned up a little."

Dead in the eyes, staring him down even if he won't meet her gaze again, Sirma says, “You throwing away my shit?"

“The house is in bad shape, Momma…" Rikhard says, hesitating. “Everything's moldy. It's dangerous—"

The rage in her voice, the slight bent in her finger pointed directly at him, is instant.

“Don't you throw away my shit!" Sirma screeches, leaning quickly forward. “Those are my things and you don't get to throw them away! I still might need some of that, you don't know! You don't get to do that, you little faggot!"

Willing herself not to, Taika flinches at the word anyway.

Rikhard just keeps his eyes cast down, silent and still, ready to take it.

And the wide, pointed finger remains seconds more while Sirma fumes, her lips taut and pale, her nostrils flared. She waits these seconds for the gaul of a response or some defense, gaze drifting between either visitor.

Until the gaze settles on Taika a longer moment, and the pointed finger redirects.

“She the one telling you to do it?" Sirma hisses. “Or is it your goddamn girlfriend? Who's telling you to do that?"

Rikhard just says quietly, “No one's telling me, Momma. I took one look inside and saw how bad it was. No one can live in there with all that."

“Well you are."

“No, we're not," Rikhard says. “We're staying at Haddy's place until it's liveable again. No one can live there yet."

The finger falls. Then Sirma's face with it. Just as soon as the next feeling sinks into her, a look of great personal drama overtakes her. Her voice drops to a whisper.

“You hate me. You hate your own mother."

"Momma…" Rikhard says, lifting his chin, “that's not true, I don't hate you. Christ, I don't hate you…."

Lip nearly trembles, or so it shows, as Sirma mutters to him, “Then why are you throwing away all your momma's things, Rikhard? That's not the kind of thing a loving son does, baby. Why'd you put me in here?"

“I didn't—Momma, I wasn't the one who put you in here. I just think—"

"No, no, you just let someone else do it for you and told them to keep me here. I know. I heard it all. I know what the hell happened. You just want me to stay in here forever is all. That's all you're thinking."

Sirma's voice rises according to need, and when once again neither Rikhard nor Taika can respond to that, she straightens back up, fuming quieter through her eyes.

There's never quite been much Taika can respond to.

It takes clasping his hands together, fiddling his thumbs one against the other, for Rikhard to mutter again, “I should have brought some flowers. I'm sorry, I can come back with some flowers."

“Oh, you trying to skip out on me now, too? For flowers?" Sirma says, back to her look of readiness to spit so soon. “What the hell are flowers gonna do for me in here? Don't get me any fuckin' flowers."

She looks to the window, curtains open only slightly. Wistful, if ever she was capable of that look.

“You shouldn't have even come here," she says. “Can't do anything for me. Won't. Just leave me here to rot like you were going to anyway."

Rikhard hangs his head back to its more usual state here, lips tight like he's looking for missing words. His boots scuff against the floor, pulling closer to the base of the chair, maybe dealt with enough after all for today.

But somehow, Taika doesn't push up from where she sits beside him.

Just as politely, she asks Sirma, “Have you seen any of our tournaments on television?"

A momentary look of confusion crosses Sirma's face before she places the foreign voice returned to her head, and she glares back at Taika. She only says, “What about that shit?"

Taika doesn't look away.

“We've won several," she says. “We fought hard for them. We really made it."

Sirma's brow darkens even further.

“You didn't make shit," she hisses. “My boy did," you fucking furry whore. i know what you're after.

Taika gives in. She turns away. Shuts her voice.

But without looking up, again never hearing what he never could, Rikhard mutters clearer anyway, "Don't talk to her like that."

Boots flex, and he gets up. He pats one hand over Taika's shoulder. It's the gentlest touch he can offer, but there's a greater strength within it than Taika could have thought either of them were capable of in this room.

And now another part of her heart aches.

“We'll just go," he says.

And just as Rikhard steps around Taika and heads for the door, Taika coming just as quick, then the voice behind them cracks, truly.

“You know I love you, baby, right? Momma still loves you," Sirma whimpers. “Momma doesn't hate you, Rikhard…."

His fingers are so close to the knob, but her voice pulls him back once more.

One weak smile, and still Rikhard looks back over his shoulder and says, “I know, Momma. I love you too."

He pulls open the door, and as she follows him out, Taika takes only one look back at Sirma—and Sirma's looking right back. The look on her face as Taika turns the corner is bilious.

Whatever she's thinking now, Taika refuses to know.

Old, well-loved truck rattles down the road back through the woods, exiting town just now. Wheels lurch over potholes hidden past every twist and curve, but neither Rikhard nor Taika truly notice anymore when they get jolted over such on either far side of their worn vinyl bench, not so much padding left in it to cushion the bumpy ride.

Rather, they ride in silence. Windows up, heat on, vents open.

It's getting even colder outside.

Taika takes another deep breath, and it's now taken her about twenty minutes of them to figure out what little she still has to say. So finally she says within Rikhard's mind, with full need of the breath in her lungs, “I should have said something more."

Rikhard keeps one hand grazed over the top of the wheel, guiding it back and forth, and his other by the edge of his closed window. He says just as plainly as he ever does, “About what?"

Taika doesn't look to him, either.

“She had no right to say any of that. I should have defended you. Or myself."

Rikhard eases on the accelerator to swing a tighter left.

“It's all right," he says. “She's not in a good place. Just venting, y'know?"

Taika does look to him.

“I don't think that was just venting."

“Sure it was," Rikhard says instantly, his expression as blank as his voice is confident. “Her brain's getting worse, right? She was sure better growing up."

The sound of Taika's voice tightens.

“Marginally."

One glance back to her, one eyebrow raised within the look he gives, and Rikhard looks back to the twisty road just as quickly. He says, “You can hate her if you want, but she still needs someone looking out for her. That's my responsibility."

Another curve in the road, and Taika barely notices the sway.

She says, “Is it?"

Rikhard brings his other hand to the wheel, clenching firmer at ten and two, straightening up. Frowning, letting just that slip.

“She at least kept me, so yeah, it is."

His knuckles relax again only slowly.

“Kept us."

He bites back the frown and now runs one hand through his hair, brushing back the strays over his forehead. He takes a quick breath, says faster, “And you know she kept us fed. That's a lot better than a lot of kids get out there in the world, y'know? She never kicked us out, never laid a hand on us. Never treated you like… just some animal, or something. She did the best she could."

It may not be the first time he's defended his mother, but still it sounds as if it's his own honor he defends, the way he says it.

To that, the words forming in Taika's head bite over her tongue even without use of it.

“Without Hadewych and her mother to show there's better than that, Sirma would still have you. Have both of us."

Rikhard says nothing more for a moment, but his frown stays.

Then he says, “So?"

Lips closed, Taika takes a deeper breath just for herself. She purses her face into a tiny smile, and she says, “I'm just glad you have Hadewych now."

Rikhard says nothing, but his dour expression wanes.

“I feel as though you take her for granted sometimes," Taika says, “but you two have really needed each other all this time."

Fingers shift over the wheel, and Rikhard keeps his eyes on the road. Something else reaches the corner of his lips.

“More like... if you weren't there, I woulda fuckin' lost it," he mutters.

It takes a moment in silence longer for Taika to realize the heat reaching up to her ears, an uncomfortable warmth all too suddenly visible beneath the slighter fuzz there.

She peeks back at Rikhard, and he already sees the blush. He's grinning again already. But he looks back to the road just as casually, and he mutters further, “Everybody needs somebody."

Adjusting his grip on the wheel, he mutters, “And she needs me."

And with a look right back at Taika, with a smile slimmer, he mutters, “Even if it's not the other way around anymore."

She can hear his certainty, but it's only a muffled anxiety she sees.

He knows where his life's headed. He has a path forward. Taika looks back ahead, too, but only to the dashboard.

It's getting harder and harder to tell him.

“By the way," Rikhard says, “what happened to that old hair clip?"

“I think I need to go," Taika whispers.

Rikhard looks quickly back over to her, nearly alarmed. Back to the road again, and he says, “Do you want me to, uh, pull over, or can you wait until we get back?"

A momentary grin settles over Taika, but not enough of one for the giggle that doesn't make it out.

Usually it's not a bother, but her tails are tucked so tight around her in here right now. The heater isn't helping. She swallows something back.

“I mean that I think this should be a home for just you and Hadewych," she says.

Taika barely peeks back over to him, and there's only an increasing look of confusion making its way down Rikhard's features.

“So… where are you planning on living?" he says. He laughs a moment. “You think Haddy's mom needs some company? I think she'll be good with us just nearby. You don't gotta be that out of the way for us, Taika, don't worry about it."

God. This was supposed to be just the one big thing she had to blurt out all of a sudden.

Slower, Taika says, “I think you and Hadewych should build a new life together. Just you two."

Quieter, “And I can do that, too. Just me."

And silence carries through. Just the truck rattles along, engine thrumming or heater blowing or tires crunching.

Anything to distract from the color draining even paler from Rikhard's face, eyes wide, lips thin.

He doesn't look back to Taika as he says, “Are you serious?"

Taika doesn't find a response to even that. So like he's trying to keep it together, Rikhard says, “Why?"

She looks anywhere but at him. She doesn't need to see what feelings finally break through his shell here.

Taika just says, “I want to see the world, I suppose. In a different way."

“We're already seeing the world, we're—we'll be back on the road after the house, we've still got plenty to see out there."

“In a different way, Rikhard…."

“Just—that's not why. Did I do something? Please don't let me ruin this because of how stupid I am, please. I'll fix it."

“Don't berate yourself," Taika says.

Rikhard's next deep breath comes quick, but the panic in his lungs stays there. He shuts up.

In that kind of quiet, Taika says, “Sometimes it's reasons you just… can't say."

Trees give way to a greater clearing, the road widens, and now wheels crunch over old gravel back up toward the house.

“Taika, come on," Rikhard whispers, knuckles tightening over the wheel this last distance. “You're my best friend…."

Maybe it's both the words and the tone of his voice, but Taika frowns. She's been called many things, some of them true, but “homewrecker"—that won't be one of them.

“That's Hadewych," she says. “She needs to be."

The truck pulls to a stop just before the house, and Rikhard pulls the gear into park. And his hand lingers over the lever. The engine groans more than hums, but even that rusty old noise is far too quiet for Taika to bear.

It takes a long moment before Taika can look back toward Rikhard.

He stares back at her with shoulders given out, as if on his knees from an inch above her.

Barely a croak out from his throat, he says, “Please don't leave me."

It takes a longer moment before Taika can look away.

“We've got more to clean first anyway," she says.

He just needs time. So did she.

Deep breath, and she tilts her face away from the flow of the heater, still going.

She says, “Could you come get my door for me?"

It takes just a few more days before it can accurately be said: it's winter now. No snow yet, and maybe they won't even get any. Some winters just don't.

It's still cold out, though. Cold in, too.

Again, it's Taika on the farthest side of the huddle as she, Hadewych, and Rikhard have lunch on the floor of the living room. It's warm, homemade sandwiches Hadewych's mother arranged and toasted for them all that they chew on silently, Taika's own meal again stretched out before her through Hadewych's boundless selflessness of holding it up.

The living room's empty now.

Not completely, but with only the television, a stained recliner, and two folding chairs that are leaned up against the wall remaining, it feels as if there's really nothing left. The folding chairs were brought a week or two ago, and yet neither Rikhard nor Hadewych have actually used them thus far, even to escape the seat of this filthy carpet.

Taika takes her next bite softly, but still it comes with a crunch through the bread. No one cares.

Hadewych and Rikhard both have their coats still on, unremoved through the whole day so far, not even during heavier lifting. Hadewych has her long hair done up in a jumbled bun with the loose, fluffy strands tucked over her ears, trailing down her nape, and its effortlessness is matched only by what she usually prefers calling her own resting bitch face.

Rikhard—he still just looks crumpled.

Taika wills herself not to check on him too often, but just a glance here and there, and his expression hasn't changed in the last several days. Emotionless. Not slumped, but drooped; he hasn't let his posture be so poor in years. He's barely halfway through his sandwich, not matching even Hadewych's pace. He hasn't taken a bite in a minute.

Not that Taika pays that close attention anymore.

He just needs more time.

Though as the idea of moving on settles in closer, that's something even Taika might like to indulge in.

Not that she needs it.

Something knocks high against her leg—an elbow. Not a shove, but a move made distinctly on purpose.

Taika looks over, and while Hadewych's jaw remains set forward, her gaze is pointed slim and sideward back at Taika. Glaring, just without anger backing it up.

They both sit there a moment further in complete silence. Taika cocks her brow, and Hadewych rolls her eyes, knocks her elbow carefully against Taika's leg again. Taika gets what she's getting across, but it takes a tight-lipped breath before she truly listens closer to Hadewych:

ing clue yet what the hell else could this mean you fucking—there you are, christ this is fucking weird like you're wiggling around in my brain this sucks

Taika nearly frowns, but not quite. And Hadewych's expression keeps dauntlessly the same through her whole thought process, only looking back away as she feels Taika enter.

“Am I intruding, Hadewych?" Taika says.

never mind, yeah no STAY that's the whole point just don't let rikhard hear you—fuck it's hard to say everything right when you can't think about it first i hate talking like this

Not that Taika can feel that much, but she sees plainer the embarrassment creeping up over Hadewych's frown.

“Take your time," Taika says simpler. “What did you want to talk about?"

Hadewych's thoughts jumble into a different order in an instant, unrestrainable, and immediately Taika hears, patronizing bITCh never mind sorry or whatever, i wouldn't say that out loud dammit, whatever listen what did rikhard's mom say this time? he just told me she was in a bad mood or grumpy and that's all the fuck he'd say

Taika does frown. But not like that. She looks away a moment.

that bitch can't get him like this for this long and i need you to tell me what she said because rikhard won't and i need to know, did she say she was gonna hurt herself?

Before Taika can consider how best to put it, one more thought of Hadewych's pushes to the forefront.

did YOU fucking say something? wasn't really thinking that never mind fuck

Mysteriously, Taika hasn't found a good previous moment to inform Hadewych of her plans. Even if now it may be good news.

Taika clenches her lip. Now just doesn't feel like that moment either.

“She was as foul as usual. I wish neither of us had gone—"

shoulda gone myself i know that but i fucking hate her i fuckin hate her so much

“I told Rikhard I would leave after we're done here."

Ah. Oops.

Well, maybe that's just how it needed to come out again.

Hadewych's eyes only widen as her thoughts come to a sudden focus.

are you fucking kidding me

that's what he's thinking about

he still hasn't—get out GET OUT i need a minute without you LISTENing get out OUT let me think this through aLONE

Taika exits gracefully, looking away just the same. True silence again, at least for her.

Beside her, Hadewych takes a deep, fragile sigh. And beside Hadewych, Rikhard says nothing all the more.

Usually he'd hear that and ask Hadewych if she had something on her mind, if he could help.

Too much still on his.

Another small knock on Taika's leg. She looks back over, and the dauntlessness over Hadewych's face is now less so.

rry sorry sorry first thing i'm thinking is sorry, i know you heard that one, why would YOU ever actually want to leave him did his mom fucking threaten you or something FUCK i hate talking like this can't help it

Taika says—

She says…

Something cleverly deflectful, in a better world. Hadewych peeks over and scowls the slightest second instead.

don't bother never mind don't answer that, you don't need to say it i don't need to hear it never mind to everything

So, back to the usual state of affairs.

Taika thinks of pulling away again, leaving it at that, but her own unbidden thought breaks through next, maybe not thought through as well as it should be before it crosses the divide:

“At least like this, we'll never have to be truly candid with each other."

But there's no mad scramble within Hadewych's mind in response. Taika's words quiet all of Hadewych's.

Distinctly then, unclouded by trains of thought beside, Hadewych thinks, hell no.

“Unless you're the one who'd like to give that a try," Taika says with a tiny smirk.

HELL no hell no i just told you hell no fuck i hate you, didn't mean to think that whatever i know enough without you having to say it

The murky headspace returns. On cue, more like. But Hadewych truly can't help that.

Taika says, “I think I'd still rather not admit it, anyway."

Her gaze falls.

“I do miss when you and I got along better. Back when you and Rikhard got home from school and we all went to your—"

oh my fucking god please let's not with the reminiscing neither of us need that and i don't want to and i hate you oh goddammit

Taika willingly stops, despite the interruption. She raises her paw instead, this time nudging Hadewych's arm. The drooped arm, with the sandwich.

“Be a dear, and such?"

With another roll of her eyes, Hadewych lifts the meal back to Taika's level, and Taika takes a firm bite.

“Well, that's why I think my departure will do us all some good," she says, chewing quietly. “Rikhard too, after he's gotten used to it. He and I both need to learn to rely on other people."

A tiny scoff out Hadewych's lips.

bullshit and you know it fuck i didn't mean to think that either could you just—i need my brain back to just me again could you just go, hard not to be rude could you just let me actually think again without pushing half my shit away at all times

Then she bites down back on her own sandwich, crunching louder.

Taika withdraws, and this time there is no coming knock on her leg.

Hadewych slumps her head over the crook of Rikhard's shoulder, snuggling into it, frowning still. The fabric of their coats shuffle against each other. It takes a minute longer before Rikhard seems to realize, or at least care enough to lean his own head over hers.

The picturesque cuddle.

Taika only glances at such. Takes her next bite, somehow still within reach.

Like it or not, now everyone knows. There's nothing stopping her from leaving.

She doesn't need more time.