[ He's just not going to respond to that, he decides, even if for a millisecond he almost wants to smile over her immediate comeback and the tone over pointing out the obviously existing lock. That's just an old habit or an instant reflex from years of doing so refusing to not resurface. If things were normal it'd mean something, but it surely doesn't now.
At the confirmation it hasn't happened on any of her trips (or longer) here before, Claude opts not to say anything to that either. That's also as good as Hilda confirming what Cyprian had said - and what she'd said - are as good as true and not any kind of exaggeration like he'd wondered at first. It's not that he's setting that train of thought completely aside, but more that he's placed it on the metaphorical backburner to keep turning it over while his focus goes elsewhere. Since they apparently have something like unlimited time in this warehouse, it can wait until later.
He sets the second crate down on top of the first, spends a second looking at it, then changes his mind and moves it to the ground next to the original one. Better to create a sturdier base to stand on, and it's not like they're lacking more around to use. Maybe he'll volunteer to come back and help put things away later - after making sure the door works first. ]
I had a delivery to make and then stuck around because Cyprian asked.
[ That's good enough since she's not asking out of genuine curiosity anyway, he's positive. Comments about any mess also get ignored considering the only reason there is one is because he'd tried to leave before any of this happened. Instead he turns to look at her more directly this time. ]
Are you going to do anything to help get us out of here or not?
[ She's had to train herself out the habit of being curious about Claude, a difficult thing considering she's been curious about for years now. And while it's easy for her to claim she doesn't waste any of her energy on him anymore, that couldn't have been further from the truth.
Their deliberate distance has fooled her into thinking she's actually made some steps towards that. Except there are idle moments where her mind will wander to him and what he's doing. Or worse, when she's working on something she'll absently wonder what kind of input he'd give or what he'd think about it. It's moments like that when she's especially grateful for a place to hammer away on a piece of metal as if the act itself will also stamp out any thought of the man with green eyes.
Unfortunately her tools of choice are nowhere in sight and she has to remind herself it isn't productive or well adjusted to do that to boxes. She blinks several times at his question before dryly asking – ]
That seems counterproductive to leaving you alone, doesn't it? You're plenty capable without me helping you drag boxes around.
[ But she doesn't want to be here anymore than he does, and the alternative of wasting away in the warehouse isn't her idea of a good time. Begrudgingly she sets down her box before wandering over. Hilda can see his intention but she squints before tugging away one of the crates he's set down. ]
Not this one. Cyprian hasn't had a chance to break this one down yet; the wood isn't holding up anymore.
[ He'd meant it about helping, even if it was phrased blunter than he might've done at any other point in time, but Claude also doesn't wait before going to retrieve yet another something to stack on the growing makeshift quasi-staircase. There's a second where he has to press his lips together in a line again to restrain from saying something somewhere on the spectrum of unkind as an immediate reaction. It won't help anything, especially if they can't actually get out of here and have to be trapped together for even longer since this already feels like an eternity.
On top of that, finding himself reaching for his temper around her over and over is proving to be exhausting on so many levels both noticeable and not. As much as he doesn't want to stay barely on just this side of nice, the alternative's worse. For everyone. Claude inhales and lets it out in a soundless sigh to shake off any defensiveness. ]
Good news. The sooner you help me stack up things so we can get outta here, the sooner we can go right back to being not in the same room. Or even the same building, apparently.
[ Impassivity's the key there in keeping it from growing too pointed since what's said is merely a proven fact at this point as far as he's concerned. He returns from a couple feet away just in time to see her drag one of the stacked items away, resulting in a raised eyebrow from him until she explains. Upon a closer look out of curiosity - now that it's not interrupted by finding something to say back to her like before - he can see the subtle splits in the wood he'd missed. That would've been deeply unfortunate to find out when any farther above the ground. ]
Alright. [ Before setting the one in his hands down, Claude holds it out for her inspection. ] Is this one any better? It came from the same area.
[ The added advantage of her hair falling like a curtain across her face means that Claude doesn't see the mild surprise that appears on his face at his not-so-subtle call out in a very short amount of time. ]
It's rude to eavesdrop you know.
[ It's said lightly enough to try and match his impassive tone, but there's a restrained sharpness to Hilda's that she's clearly tried to dampen. There's more she could say but it'll only lead to a dead end and she knows it.
With the faulty box out of the way, Hilda locates a different crate nearby that's a little bigger than the one she had put away. When she whirls around to hold it out to him however he's already got another in hand. ]
That should be fine. We can stack this one below it.
[ The chiding pushes buttons he doesn't care for, and it almost brings forth yet another reaction he doesn't want. That instinct to be defensive even if it's hidden in flippancy surfaces again considering, Claude thinks, it was hardly eavesdropping all because she didn't know he was there, but it's not worth it. Saying so won't do anything but give a chance for it to escalate, and it seems nudging open a metaphorical door to talk about something which has obviously been going on is equally pointless.
He's not sure what he expected, so he spends a couple seconds staring at the shelves in pretend appraisal for something to do that isn't looking at Hilda and to reign in his frustration. There's only so many things he can invent to say about their task before being at risk of cycling through them, and right now he's not compelled to try finding more. But then again: no one ever said talking was required for stacking things when a clear enough end goal doesn't require any coordination. If they're lucky, it'll go by faster without pausing to say anything.
Wordlessly Claude sets the box in his hands down to take the one she's holding out to set it into place, and then scoops up the other he'd brought over to set it on top. One literal step closer to getting out of here. ]
[ They could argue about the schematics of what constitutes eavesdropping all day (just because you didn't know someone was there didn't mean they couldn't be overhearing or eavesdropping on conversations being had), but there's considerably less childish rage inside her compared to what she felt in the maze. It probably helps that there's no Fey wine in her body.
Truthfully her propensity for that childish anger is near empty. There's little for her to reach for in order to continue spurring her bratty tendencies. She's never gone this long being angry at someone, has never had to avoid someone she cared deeply for as she had for Claude for this long. If she thinks long and hard about it, she can't recall a time when she's gotten into a fight that lasted this long.
It's easy to get lost in thought about what that means when they're working in a tense silence. One of her favourite romance books had once said that love bordered on the edge of hate. That it takes just as much energy to love someone as it is to hate that same person. But that's a ridiculous notion because she didn't love him. And sure, she's angry with him but she doesn't hate him. Love turned to hate would make this all the more tragic and there's nothing in her life that reads like one of her romance novels.
With the other two boxes in place, Hilda goes in search of another. The ones along the bottom of the surrounding shelves are too heavy, filled with materials that would take more effort to take out than it was worth. Then she spots one, a box on the upper shelves that looks like it could fit perfectly...if only she were several feet taller. It could easily be solved by getting the ladder not mention safer to retrieve it too. Instead she casts the briefest glance over her shoulder towards Claude before pointing to the box in question and breaking the silence. ]
[ Silence, even despite being the one to bring it on, is something he discovers he still dislikes. This isn't a comfortable one like the many they've sat together in over the years; it's anything but. It's too much of a chance for half-started and mostly abandoned thoughts to keep whirling around his mind without any resolution for them while they work even though he's told himself his only focus should be getting out of here.
If only it was that easy. Instead it leaves more time to think about how things could be different even as he makes no attempts to change that. When she speaks he looks over for long enough to see what she wants as he then follows where her hand is pointing. ]
Sure.
[ It's a ways up there, but nothing that's not doable even if he's curious about why this box specifically. That'd require asking and rather than that, Claude places one foot on the lowest shelf to test how sturdy it is. Fairly so, given that it doesn't shift even when he places more weight on it. That's all he needs to climb up it before testing the next one in the same way, and then he's much closer to grabbing it.
Being up quite a bit higher than the floor requires wrapping an arm around the support beam since he's not trying to go crashing to the floor, and Claude stretches out his other hand to tug the box closer for a better grip on it. Whatever contents are in it seem to weigh less than the container - which is good news for him as he pulls it off the shelf before peering below since this would go faster with help. ]
Think you can climb up a shelf to grab this? Just one of them.
[ She hated dislikes silence as much as he did. It was part of the reason she chattered on as much as she did, much to Setheth's exasperation. So when her question isn't met with an icy silence, some part of her is relieved. But then again, why would it have gone unanswered? They're trying to work together so they can continue to avoid each other the way they have been for weeks. The thought brings about a pang in her chest, one that she doesn't expect to feel but is unfortunately a feeling that she's become used to over the last several weeks.
As Hilda watches him scale the shelf, there's some opportunity for her to tease him about not wearing high enough boots or being taller. In times past she might have even suggested she just climb up onto his shoulders so that they could reach the box - but they could barely stomach being in the same room, never mind any actual physical contact.
Reluctant silence meets Claude's question however. Whether or not they're on good terms, what will never change is Hilda's reluctance to exert more physical exertion than necessary. Habit has her ready to whine about it but she bites her tongue before nodding and doing as asked.
In the act of reaching for the box, her fingers brush ever so briefly against his and she takes in a sharp intake of breath. It's no more than a second if that, but that's all it takes to feel a jolt. Annoyance flares at how ridiculous she's being and she's quick to brush it off, adjusting her hold to properly grab a hold of the box. ]
Got it. We'll probably just need one more after this.
[ He doesn't say anything while waiting - just waits to see what she'll do or whether he's really going to have to climb down while juggling this box filled with who knows what. There's a rattle of something from inside it as he shifts it again, and again he wants to know what's inside, but what matters more is if it'll be something they can stand on as Hilda's predicted.
She moves to assist and he keeps a neutral expression throughout as if there's nothing to be interested in. Claude's about to look away, like there's anything to even look at except more storage from a different height, but before he can Hilda's fingers brush his. He has to swallow hard and unnoticeably as possible when that action not only brings a pleasant spark but longing and whispers to grab her hand with it. Like it's that simple. Like he even has that option, and like it's not a habit he wishes would disappear, among other untrue things he tells himself.
Instead the box changes from his possession to hers and Claude nods in response despite wanting to also raise an eyebrow over needing only one more box to make it out. That seems too pessimistic even while dealing with echoes of this almost being like something they would've planned together in the past because it's no more than that: echoes. Claude glances back up and grabs the box next to the one she'd pointed out to bring with him. That he moves one shelf below where he is by way of climbing down, then repeats that to a shelf that'll be within his reach and leaps down to the ground from there.
Nothing to do but bring it over to stack along with the other crate and survey it again before looking to her. ]
If you climb up there, I can give you a boost up to the window.
[ Probably. It should be close enough for her to get a grip on the ledge and climb up so they can see where to go from there if nothing else. ]
[ Being below Claude and having a box in her field of view means she misses any reaction he might have when their hands brush against one another. She knows him too well to know that something like that wouldn't go unnoticed, and because of that she immediately stomps on her curiosity in an attempt to quash the urge to wonder what his reaction had been. Better to assume that he didn't care, she reminds herself. If she didn't, the dangerous sliver of hope that she'd always held onto would always remain lingering in the depths of her heart.
She makes quick work arranging the box on top of the others. It only occurs to her belatedly to check what's inside because truthfully, she had no idea; she had only been going off the size. As Claude busies himself with the other box, she carefully cracks the lid open and her eyes widen. A familiar, polished jewelry box sits nestled in packing material. Alongside it sits another cardboard box and she doesn't have to open it to know what's inside. It's an unfinished project, one that she had started before their fight and completely forgotten about over the course of their fight.
Claude's approaching footsteps signal he's near and she hurriedly shuts the box with a definite thud before he can see. It's not very subtle and she can't help but wince. He'd normally ask - she would in his place - but she's banking on their mutual frostiness to stave off any potential questions. Before glancing towards him she tries to rearrange her expression into something neutral as he busies himself with the last box.
Unfortunately instead of neutral, her expression ends up looking a little more skeptical than anything else. ]
You aren't going to complain about how heavy I am are you?
[ There's a sort of telltale rustle as he approaches and the vague sensation of something being slammed shut, but for once Claude doesn't bother to look. It doesn't matter whether he's curious, he reminds himself yet again with another sort of dull ache, since the only thing to focus on is leaving. If Hilda wanted him to know whatever it was, she'd say something.
She doesn't - not about that as he sets down what's in his hands and takes a second to contemplate it. It's true, that might've been something he would've gone for - were they on speaking terms, if it would be taken as a joke like he'd meant whatever response given. Something he can't say he'd mean now, especially when the flat look he gives her in return vacillates somewhere between amusement and unimpressed in equal measure. ]
So I can end up on the floor again? Sure, let me get right on that.
[ If she's going to procrastinate, Claude's not going to wait. Resisting the urgh to sigh or roll his eyes since that'd be even less productive than allowing himself one (1) remark without any bite behind it and only something far more worn out, he takes a step onto the first crate. It's sturdy, so up he goes one more and then another to peer up at the window again. They'll probably be close enough, so nothing to do but look back at Hilda with an eyebrow raised next. ]
[ When the moment to ask passes, relief prickles over her. She didn't want to have to explain, didn't want to risk him seeing the source of her...what? Her embarrassment? Her hurt? The last thing she wants to do is explain that their fight had been so upsetting that she had to store the box he had given her that she had been using until recently to store tools in a completely different building on a shelf she never would have been able to reach on her own accord.
But as he brushes by her towards the box without a word or cursory glance, she can't help but feel a little taken aback that he didn't ask. That moment of surprise is quickly quashed when he reminds her of the night in the maze. Right, why would he ask? They're aren't friends. That's why the box and that unfinished project are in the crate in the first place.
Hilda sniffs, flouncing towards the boxes before carefully climbing up after him. ]
If we end up on the floor it isn't going to be my fault.
[ When she's beside him she motions for him to hold out his hand so she can step up onto it. ]
[ Claude immediately opens his mouth to ask if she's sure because it certainly was last time, and then thinks better of it and issues a tsk by clicking his tongue. Not worth it, he has to remind himself; it won't feel better to point that out. Silence is so rarely his default, but given how it feels like any step he might take is like being in range of a ballista? It's the better option.
When Hilda steps up and makes the requisite motion to be expected, there's a second of hesitation from him. That flutter from earlier in their accidental brushing of fingers comes back to mind - if something so small could cause it, what will holding onto her hand do? He's about to find out since that's what he does. The answers is it tugs on all those intricately bittersweet threads laced through everything, and most of all: it hurts that it still feels like her hand is meant to be in his.
It's distracting, but not enough so that he doesn't hear the sudden sound of splintering beneath them. There's no time to look to find out which it is because next the mostly level platform of boxes they're standing on becomes considerably less so by the second. Claude lets go of her hand to on instinct wrap an arm around her waist to pull her closer in reflexes he doesn't question and to lean back against the wall in hopes that - if they're lucky - maybe they'll just have a slow slide to the ground when the planks underneath their feet crack entirely. ]
[ Hilda had become astoundingly good at pretending things away – at least that's what she tells herself. She had however been so flustered by the discovery of what had been in the box that she had in fact briefly forgotten about the spark between them when their hands had touched.
His hesitation prompts a reminder, and her cheeks flush, embarrassed. Not just at the hesitation but at the thought that flashes through her mind unbidden that he might be balking at the thought of touching her. Claude has the propensity for pettiness. Has no problem cutting people out. She's seen it firsthand. It had just never occurred to her that she might be on the receiving end and the thought cuts deep.
But then he's grasping her hand and an all too familiar warmth rushes through her. She can't help but stare down at their hands, part surprise, part confusion. Holding her hand wasn't going to get them up to the window. What was he –
And suddenly the world falls from beneath them. Or the boxes do rather. Hilda feels her heart drop to her stomach as the sound of splintering wood and clattering of the contents of the boxes tumbling to the ground fills her ears. A small, startled sound escapes her lips and it's only when they tumble to the ground too that she absently registers Claude's arms are wrapped around her, bracing her from the impact.
Or most of it at least. Her elbows smack against the concrete and she hisses, the immediate prickle of hit nerves distracting from the fact that some of the items that had escaped where the ones in her crate. Inches from their heads lays the silver jewelry box – now dented because of a small anvil falling onto it – and the mildly crushed cardboard box.
She can't help but whine, not realizing that she's still wrapped in his arms, their faces are dangerously close to one another, and that her hurt, embarrassment, or whatever, is now scattered around them. ]
Ow, ow, ow! I thought the boxes we picked were fine.
[ Used to falling as he is, those other falls come with the benefit of being from much farther up and with time to correct the downward course - or be saved by a wyvern with faster reflexes than his own could ever hope to be. Neither of those things happen here even if he pulls Hilda closer still to somehow lessen the impact if he can. The air's knocked out of him in a rush when they hit the floor. On second thought, he would've accepted being tossed on the ground in the maze again. At least the earth has some give.
Though he'd tried to protect her, what he's managed doing in the same instant is reopening his own invisible wounds. Hilda's weight in his arms and the exact way she feels is something Claude wanted to believe he'd erased from his memory for it to never be part of it again. For it to be something he'd never have to remember, and yet it'd taken all of a second for all of it to come flooding back with her face right next to his in a way she's made clear is an impossibility for anything outside of this.
Those injuries will last longer than any bruises from this fall to the ground, and he knows it. ]
They seemed solid enough. Are you --
[ Claude was about to ask if she was alright as he carefully detangles himself from around her to start sitting up, but then his eyes catch on the contents of the box scattered around. Or rather: one item in particular in gleaming silver he recognizes quite well from being the one to proudly select it from the tables in the markets to bring back like a prize. It's been evicted, it seems, even though everything she's ever brought him still sits on his own shelves where it belongs.
He shouldn't be surprised. Hurt shouldn't run like a bolt of electricity through him with the current being as strong as any electrical spell ever aimed his way and landed. But for a second, Claude feels it so strongly it even slips through as a ripple crossing over his face, there and gone in an instant like it was never there at all when he wrangles all of his walls back into place and moves away to get more boxes to start over. Nothing else to do but to keep moving forward like always. ]
[ Hilda's realization is belated on...everything. Several seconds tick by before her eyes widen when she realizes the proximity of their faces along with the feeling of being in his arms like that, and she's quick to try and right herself. Unfortunately losing mild feeling to her elbows makes that more of a difficult task than expected. Determined to put space between them she pushes through, so focused on trying to right herself even with tremoring arms.
It's only when Claude cuts himself off that she comes to her next realization. Her eyes dart from him to the surrounding items as a stark horror dawns on her. The box. There's a sharp intake of breath from her, heat rising to her cheeks building off the lingering heat from before. Hilda breaks her gaze away from the box and back towards him.
She's always been able to read his expressions, but she can't read the flicker of something in his face now. Time has caused a rift that feels like it's distorted her vision of a face that she knew as well as her own. The brief second flash of something unreadable on his face can't be hurt. Why would it be? It can't be because if it were, then the constriction of her chest and the heat on her cheeks that's quickly making its way down to her neck would be shame. And why should she be ashamed of removing something that reminded her of him?
But Claude doesn't say anything, the moment passes, and she's left swallowing a strange lump in her throat. Her eyes stay trained on Claude's back, torn between apologizing and saying nothing at all. The quiet clinking of objects fills the air like a clock ticking down as her window of opportunity to apologize begins to close. Her body seems to move automatically, fingers numbly taking a hold of the jewelry box. Absently they run over the dent in the box.
Her voice is astoundingly steady but only because her voice is quiet. ]
I guess the foundation of the wood wasn't strong enough. We should have checked more closely. [ Clearing her throat, she goes in search of a different box for her jewelry box leaving the other cardboard box on the floor. ] There's other ones over here that will probably be fine.
[ It's easier to face away from her for now, to take a few seconds to push back against what's threatening to numb the edges of everything. It takes Claude a bit longer to figure out what it is until as he reaches for a box he registers it's the extinguishing of some sliver of hope he hadn't truthfully realized he'd been holding onto. There's all the times he's told himself that this, whatever it is - was, is over, and then there's seeing proof.
Maybe Hilda's doing him a favor with this. That's the first rationalization he reaches for though all it brings with is more of that same feeling of being plunged into ice. It's better to know so he can let go in a way he'd been denying he'd have to eventually even if she'd already made it so clear before this instant. The signs were there. He just didn't want to read them for what they actually were until faced with one that can't be ignored or twisted into anything else and one that says more than any of the barbs they've leveled back and forth.
Somewhere he's certain the gods are laughing that all he wants to do is to talk to someone about it like that'll help him make sense of things, but that the only person he wants to do that with is the very person it's about who doesn't want to hear any of it. He'll just have to live with that, too. The far kinder thing to do after he's caused her this much pain is to finally leave her be. ]
Sure.
[ That's all he can manage in an equally quiet tone when even summoning forth one single word feels like an effort to keep it even and trim away anything else out of it besides an acknowledgement of hearing her rather than any of what's said. Even if he doesn't really, even if it's more because he's been silent enough and he doesn't want to argue over who should've checked what. He blinks and remembers he's supposed to be moving this box his hand is still resting on, and comes back into motion to yank it off the shelf.
Whatever else is on the floor that'd spilled out of the crate holding the jewelry box - he doesn't want to know. Ignorance really is bliss, he reminds himself, and sets the crate down without looking. First comes clearing the smashed pieces of wood so neither of them have to step on it and putting those aside to clear out later so Cyprian won't have to clean up more of a mess. Claude adds the new crate to the stack and then steps away to retrieve another one. ]
[ She doesn't enjoy this feeling of her heart splintering apart again. In her usual, Hilda way, she had patched the cracks back together with stickers, crystals and bright baubles in an attempt to tell herself that she was getting over it and that nothing was wrong. In vain she had tried to fill the absence of him with dirt and flowers like that would somehow nurture something else to grow in its place. The Feywilds had helped, with its pastel, dreamlike scenery. There hadn't been any moping or pouting from her, taking every experience in stride. The distractions helped so long as she didn't let herself stop to think about how that was possibly a once-in-a-lifetime experience that she would have loved to experience with him. It's catching up to her now: the denial, the flowers that refuse to take root, the feeling of how good it is to be held by him and how she'll never experience that again and it's for others to have now.
The original box she had come here looking for still stands stalwart on the shelf she had left it on. After a moment's hesitation, the jewelry box finds a place inside amongst her other supplies. The dent in the lid feels fitting somehow. It's not beyond repair. It still works. And objectively speaking, she knows she can fix it by hammering it out but that feels like a metaphor for something she doesn't want to dwell on. Steeling herself she tries to draw in a breath but finds it halting instead. Several more moments pass in an attempt to pull herself together, to stop unnecessary tears from forming before she turns around to retrieve her cardboard box.
Thankfully, nothing inside is damaged. The small pouch containing the beads he had picked out at the market lie nestled in their velvet bag.glinting up at her like wyvern eyes. The sight prompts her to draw the bag shut immediately. Her other project is in there too, waiting for the final finishing touch that she's been keeping at the Old Public Hall. She tries to compartmentalize everything she's feeling into the box as she closes the lid. They strain against the constraints of the box but she pushes down, hard. If he doesn't care, then she can't either. How else is she supposed to protect herself? How else will she ever get over this hurt she's carried with her for months? How else will she ever grieve the loss that is Claude?
When the cardboard box is placed alongside the jewelry box she returns to help him with the boxes. She doesn't want to argue. Hadn't even meant what she had said as an avenue for bickering. Uncomfortable silence accompanied by the fall of their feet and the soft shifting of boxes fills the air. When the boxes are situated again, Hilda motions to their little pyramid with a measured expression, devoid of anything on purpose. ]
[ It's while picking up another box that Claude feels like he's suddenly aged years all at once. More than what the war brought on, more than what arriving here had taken months to undo, far more than the pit dredged up of which he still hasn't addressed - the reality is that this realization simply takes up so much space it seems to crush all the fragile things he'd kept close in its finality. It's probably not a coincidence it feels somewhat like standing at the edge of a battlefield when it clears and looking at the wreckage left behind.
This time it's them. There's the faint memory he has of thinking during their fight how there'd always been the chance of losing her and that he'd steeled himself against it, thinking he could rely on all those old habits of not needing anyone to pull him through when he'd always managed on his own, and yet none of that anticipated what it'd actually mean. A fault in a calculation he can't correct, and now they'll both pay for it when unlike atter a battlefield there's no clear steps forward from here.
Homesickness suddenly flares, but not for a place. It's been too long since he's been home for it to fit there, and Fodlan feels more and more distant with every day he opens his eyes and looks out the window at Cadens. With it now comes longing as painful as any animal teeth when it claws its way through his chest with no regard for anything in its path. He's been on the other side of this enough by now to know what this is without needing any time to identify it: it's grief. Unlike before, now it's for someone who's still standing here when he swallows the feeling back and turns to look at her with a worn smile he can't bother to disguise. ]
I'll test it out first this time.
[ Said as he's already halfway up onto the first box and stepping towards the next row while placing his boot down on the edge to see if it'll hold. It does, so Claude climbs up onto it and shuffles a couple more steps around to complete his test. The wood doesn't give or give any signs it will. He doesn't even know if he's relieved so much as simply going through the motions towards the escape he'd wanted so badly minutes ago and now feels like it was in another lifetime with the rift between it and facing whatever else will happen once they leave.
With that same wooden expression on his face he holds out a hand to her to help her up to keep moving. ]
[ The tired smile catches her off guard and there's a brief moment she worries that he had seen the flicker of worry on her face. She had spent so long always fussing and worrying after him in her own way that the urge to do so now is still there. She shouldn't be so surprised. Habits like that rarely went away so quickly. And yet the realization adds to the scales that threaten to tip her over the edge into tears.
He's only climbing up the boxes in order to test their stability but it feels like she's saying goodbye to him. The urge to reach for his hand, to stop him from going crosses her mind and her fingers twitch, like she's about to. That's the opposite of what he wanted though, isn't it? He had already said as much that he wanted to get out of here, get away from her. Doing that would hinder him, cause ire that she doesn't want to stoke anymore. So her hand remains limply to her side instead.
Even when the stability of the boxes seems clear and he's prompting her to climb up, she finds that she can't. Every part of her feels heavy, filled with regret and a reluctance to move towards a curtain call that she had all but resigned herself to so quickly in the wake of their fight. But he's waiting. And somehow that makes her move. Somehow she makes it up the boxes, fingers curling into familiar (beloved) ones and she has to look down at her feet in a feigned move to ensure her footing is sound. When she's sure that her voice won't crack when she speaks, she looks up towards the window in order to examine the latch there. ]
How did you want to do this? I could step into your hand or I could climb onto your shoulders.
[ Said like they were discussing a plan to escape from Garreg Mach away from Setheth's always watchful eyes. Said like this is just another ridiculous scenario that they so often found themselves in in the past and not at all like it feeling like an ending. ]
[ The time in which it takes her to decide to step up can't be more than a few seconds in reality, but it feels like an eternity. At the same time it's too fast because it's more apparent than ever their goal is within (relative) reach, at which point... then what? He leaves to head back to the merchant, and Hilda either stays here, because she's staying here, or disappears to somewhere else within Cadens again?
The latter feels so much worse than it had when he'd been stealing his way through the warehouse's semi-shadows towards the door. When it'd felt easier to leave that behind like it didn't mean anything, like it hadn't had any cause and had spontaneously developed, and like it wasn't real if he just didn't pay attention to it. But now the thoughts rattle all around his mind with no resolution, and become even louder when her hand's in his. Practice keeps his face from flinching when the weight of it slipping into his grasp feels achingly familiar and for a second Claude stares at their hands like it's something he needs to memorize. As if that memory wasn't already taunting him while he's still living it.
And - oh. He hadn't actually thought this part through besides lifting Hilda up being a method of securing a way out, and he has to blink again to force his mind back into motion. A strange feeling and not one he's encountered often before, but fitting in all the worst ways for how it's ground to a halt now. ]
Which one would you prefer? We'll go with that.
[ One of those relies on a lot more trust than the other, after all, and he's not going to assume she has any of that towards him anymore. It'd be easier to let her climb up, and probably safer, but he'll leave that up to her to decide as he shifts his gaze to the window. ]
[ There's an ease to how well their hands fit together and there's that feeling again, rising up unbidden like a reaction she wishes she could rid herself of. A simple touch shouldn't elicit such a feeling of desire and want, but she feels the wave crash over her, threatening to drag her under. Everything is still unsteady, her centre of gravity off after they had fallen from the boxes and seen the jewelry box he had given her fall too. Coming with that uncertainty is that feeling of goodbye, like this is somehow the last time she'll ever feel his arms around her or her hand in his.
It takes everything in her power not to tighten her grip, to hold on so that he can never let go. To focus on the conversation and task at hand.
Both options aren't ideal, but she's further away from the latch on the window than he is thanks to her lack of height and he's just a couple of inches short from being able to nudge it open with his hand. ]
I'm not sure I'll be able to reach it if I'm just being boosted into your hands but we can try that first. It's probably less risky than me climbing onto your shoulders too.
[ The tumble they had taken earlier hadn't been that bad, but if she were on top of his shoulders - that was just further to fall. ]
[ If his mind was working properly instead of reeling around one topic to another and back again between them all, Claude might've noticed it seems like they're having similar reactions to the idea of leaving. To not wanting to let go, whether it's of something going unsaid or each others' hands or whatever else. Or maybe he does see it and sets it aside in the same breath because that's assigning too much meaning to things he now knows are no longer what he'd hoped, and there's only so long he can use hope as a weapon against himself.
The window is something tangible even if it's not in their reach. At least that's something to work towards than anything that won't be. Claude nods, still doing his best to not be pulled too off-kilter beneath what he knows are poor facsimiles of his usual ability to remain unflappable in the face of unimaginable chaos. Fitting, in some ways, given that he'd never predicted any of this in all those carefully laid out plans. ]
On the count of three, then?
[ That's the best way to go about it, surely, to make sure they're on the same page before he lifts her up. This is also familiar but more from late nights of looking in the monastery's kitchen cabinets for something, or to climb over a wall to get away from Seteth, or to climb into somewhere they shouldn't be. All those memories rush forward with the strength of any avalanche and put him in peril of being buried beneath their surfaces as he gets down on one knee with fingers laced, ready to start the countdown to lift her towards where they need to go and where it feels like he'll be left with only memories and nothing past this. ]
[ Focusing on the window makes it easier not to acknowledge how their hands slipping from one another's makes the wound he had left behind ache. Or how him asking her an incredibly simple question feels like a countdown towards another ending that she would realize with a startling clarity she doesn't want.
Claude kneeling down in order to boost her up in an all too familiar way overlaps in her mind's eye with memories from their now distant past. She can't help but be reminded that the first time they had tried to do this she had stepped on a tender spot on his thigh sending them collapsing to the ground in a heap of laughter. There's no chance of that today though. Hilda gives him a nod, pushing the numbers past her lips. ]
One, two, three -
[ Hilda steps into his hands, arms outstretched. Thanks to the momentum from Claude, one hand easily grasps the ledge to steady herself while the other stretches out, taking a hold of the latch. It unhooks with ease. The window is pushed out and with a strength she'd deny she has, Hilda pushes herself up onto the edge before flipping around to sit on it. And without thinking, the grin she gives him is bright and triumphant. Or at least she hopes it is. Gazing down at him, she suddenly has to fight the, overwhelming urge to cry. Words stumble over her tongue and past her teeth, injected with so much faux brightness that it even sounds incredibly fake to her. ]
Not bad, Claude. The second best archer hasn't let himself go.
[ It works, and he really shouldn't be feeling as sad about that as he is. What's the alternative - that they stay in here in whatever uncertainty's permeated everything past animosity? In another life, they would've celebrated this successful plot they came up with in seconds with no one believing it but them even if there wasn't anyone else around like right now. That's how it should be now, but it's not and the chances of that happening again seem so unlikely.
That too stiff smile comes back to his face when it's all he can summon up as he boosts her up and she lands in the window without any further trouble. It's a poor match to that dazzling grin which makes her whole face aglow. There's a second where he wants to memorize that sight too before Claude catches himself and stops - that'd just be another way to wound himself by picturing it again later, and he's supposed to be letting all of that go. ]
Well, I do what I can. Not just anyone can make it so effortless, you know.
[ The air of straddling the fine line between confidence and cockiness makes it into his voice even if he doesn't exactly feel it himself right then, but it's there for appearances' sake to this time be in sync with what she'd said even if he doesn't entirely believe it either. Falling into old routines back from a different time before they'd known each other feels easier to grab onto right then as he looks back at the wall and finds something that'll work as a foothold as he holds a hand up to her again. ]
Give me a hand up, will you? Then we can be out of here.
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At the confirmation it hasn't happened on any of her trips (or longer) here before, Claude opts not to say anything to that either. That's also as good as Hilda confirming what Cyprian had said - and what she'd said - are as good as true and not any kind of exaggeration like he'd wondered at first. It's not that he's setting that train of thought completely aside, but more that he's placed it on the metaphorical backburner to keep turning it over while his focus goes elsewhere. Since they apparently have something like unlimited time in this warehouse, it can wait until later.
He sets the second crate down on top of the first, spends a second looking at it, then changes his mind and moves it to the ground next to the original one. Better to create a sturdier base to stand on, and it's not like they're lacking more around to use. Maybe he'll volunteer to come back and help put things away later - after making sure the door works first. ]
I had a delivery to make and then stuck around because Cyprian asked.
[ That's good enough since she's not asking out of genuine curiosity anyway, he's positive. Comments about any mess also get ignored considering the only reason there is one is because he'd tried to leave before any of this happened. Instead he turns to look at her more directly this time. ]
Are you going to do anything to help get us out of here or not?
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Their deliberate distance has fooled her into thinking she's actually made some steps towards that. Except there are idle moments where her mind will wander to him and what he's doing. Or worse, when she's working on something she'll absently wonder what kind of input he'd give or what he'd think about it. It's moments like that when she's especially grateful for a place to hammer away on a piece of metal as if the act itself will also stamp out any thought of the man with green eyes.
Unfortunately her tools of choice are nowhere in sight and she has to remind herself it isn't productive or well adjusted to do that to boxes. She blinks several times at his question before dryly asking – ]
That seems counterproductive to leaving you alone, doesn't it? You're plenty capable without me helping you drag boxes around.
[ But she doesn't want to be here anymore than he does, and the alternative of wasting away in the warehouse isn't her idea of a good time. Begrudgingly she sets down her box before wandering over. Hilda can see his intention but she squints before tugging away one of the crates he's set down. ]
Not this one. Cyprian hasn't had a chance to break this one down yet; the wood isn't holding up anymore.
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On top of that, finding himself reaching for his temper around her over and over is proving to be exhausting on so many levels both noticeable and not. As much as he doesn't want to stay barely on just this side of nice, the alternative's worse. For everyone. Claude inhales and lets it out in a soundless sigh to shake off any defensiveness. ]
Good news. The sooner you help me stack up things so we can get outta here, the sooner we can go right back to being not in the same room. Or even the same building, apparently.
[ Impassivity's the key there in keeping it from growing too pointed since what's said is merely a proven fact at this point as far as he's concerned. He returns from a couple feet away just in time to see her drag one of the stacked items away, resulting in a raised eyebrow from him until she explains. Upon a closer look out of curiosity - now that it's not interrupted by finding something to say back to her like before - he can see the subtle splits in the wood he'd missed. That would've been deeply unfortunate to find out when any farther above the ground. ]
Alright. [ Before setting the one in his hands down, Claude holds it out for her inspection. ] Is this one any better? It came from the same area.
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It's rude to eavesdrop you know.
[ It's said lightly enough to try and match his impassive tone, but there's a restrained sharpness to Hilda's that she's clearly tried to dampen. There's more she could say but it'll only lead to a dead end and she knows it.
With the faulty box out of the way, Hilda locates a different crate nearby that's a little bigger than the one she had put away. When she whirls around to hold it out to him however he's already got another in hand. ]
That should be fine. We can stack this one below it.
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He's not sure what he expected, so he spends a couple seconds staring at the shelves in pretend appraisal for something to do that isn't looking at Hilda and to reign in his frustration. There's only so many things he can invent to say about their task before being at risk of cycling through them, and right now he's not compelled to try finding more. But then again: no one ever said talking was required for stacking things when a clear enough end goal doesn't require any coordination. If they're lucky, it'll go by faster without pausing to say anything.
Wordlessly Claude sets the box in his hands down to take the one she's holding out to set it into place, and then scoops up the other he'd brought over to set it on top. One literal step closer to getting out of here. ]
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Truthfully her propensity for that childish anger is near empty. There's little for her to reach for in order to continue spurring her bratty tendencies. She's never gone this long being angry at someone, has never had to avoid someone she cared deeply for as she had for Claude for this long. If she thinks long and hard about it, she can't recall a time when she's gotten into a fight that lasted this long.
It's easy to get lost in thought about what that means when they're working in a tense silence. One of her favourite romance books had once said that love bordered on the edge of hate. That it takes just as much energy to love someone as it is to hate that same person. But that's a ridiculous notion because she didn't love him. And sure, she's angry with him but she doesn't hate him. Love turned to hate would make this all the more tragic and there's nothing in her life that reads like one of her romance novels.
With the other two boxes in place, Hilda goes in search of another. The ones along the bottom of the surrounding shelves are too heavy, filled with materials that would take more effort to take out than it was worth. Then she spots one, a box on the upper shelves that looks like it could fit perfectly...if only she were several feet taller. It could easily be solved by getting the ladder not mention safer to retrieve it too. Instead she casts the briefest glance over her shoulder towards Claude before pointing to the box in question and breaking the silence. ]
Can you reach that one?
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If only it was that easy. Instead it leaves more time to think about how things could be different even as he makes no attempts to change that. When she speaks he looks over for long enough to see what she wants as he then follows where her hand is pointing. ]
Sure.
[ It's a ways up there, but nothing that's not doable even if he's curious about why this box specifically. That'd require asking and rather than that, Claude places one foot on the lowest shelf to test how sturdy it is. Fairly so, given that it doesn't shift even when he places more weight on it. That's all he needs to climb up it before testing the next one in the same way, and then he's much closer to grabbing it.
Being up quite a bit higher than the floor requires wrapping an arm around the support beam since he's not trying to go crashing to the floor, and Claude stretches out his other hand to tug the box closer for a better grip on it. Whatever contents are in it seem to weigh less than the container - which is good news for him as he pulls it off the shelf before peering below since this would go faster with help. ]
Think you can climb up a shelf to grab this? Just one of them.
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As Hilda watches him scale the shelf, there's some opportunity for her to tease him about not wearing high enough boots or being taller. In times past she might have even suggested she just climb up onto his shoulders so that they could reach the box - but they could barely stomach being in the same room, never mind any actual physical contact.
Reluctant silence meets Claude's question however. Whether or not they're on good terms, what will never change is Hilda's reluctance to exert more physical exertion than necessary. Habit has her ready to whine about it but she bites her tongue before nodding and doing as asked.
In the act of reaching for the box, her fingers brush ever so briefly against his and she takes in a sharp intake of breath. It's no more than a second if that, but that's all it takes to feel a jolt. Annoyance flares at how ridiculous she's being and she's quick to brush it off, adjusting her hold to properly grab a hold of the box. ]
Got it. We'll probably just need one more after this.
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She moves to assist and he keeps a neutral expression throughout as if there's nothing to be interested in. Claude's about to look away, like there's anything to even look at except more storage from a different height, but before he can Hilda's fingers brush his. He has to swallow hard and unnoticeably as possible when that action not only brings a pleasant spark but longing and whispers to grab her hand with it. Like it's that simple. Like he even has that option, and like it's not a habit he wishes would disappear, among other untrue things he tells himself.
Instead the box changes from his possession to hers and Claude nods in response despite wanting to also raise an eyebrow over needing only one more box to make it out. That seems too pessimistic even while dealing with echoes of this almost being like something they would've planned together in the past because it's no more than that: echoes. Claude glances back up and grabs the box next to the one she'd pointed out to bring with him. That he moves one shelf below where he is by way of climbing down, then repeats that to a shelf that'll be within his reach and leaps down to the ground from there.
Nothing to do but bring it over to stack along with the other crate and survey it again before looking to her. ]
If you climb up there, I can give you a boost up to the window.
[ Probably. It should be close enough for her to get a grip on the ledge and climb up so they can see where to go from there if nothing else. ]
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She makes quick work arranging the box on top of the others. It only occurs to her belatedly to check what's inside because truthfully, she had no idea; she had only been going off the size. As Claude busies himself with the other box, she carefully cracks the lid open and her eyes widen. A familiar, polished jewelry box sits nestled in packing material. Alongside it sits another cardboard box and she doesn't have to open it to know what's inside. It's an unfinished project, one that she had started before their fight and completely forgotten about over the course of their fight.
Claude's approaching footsteps signal he's near and she hurriedly shuts the box with a definite thud before he can see. It's not very subtle and she can't help but wince. He'd normally ask - she would in his place - but she's banking on their mutual frostiness to stave off any potential questions. Before glancing towards him she tries to rearrange her expression into something neutral as he busies himself with the last box.
Unfortunately instead of neutral, her expression ends up looking a little more skeptical than anything else. ]
You aren't going to complain about how heavy I am are you?
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She doesn't - not about that as he sets down what's in his hands and takes a second to contemplate it. It's true, that might've been something he would've gone for - were they on speaking terms, if it would be taken as a joke like he'd meant whatever response given. Something he can't say he'd mean now, especially when the flat look he gives her in return vacillates somewhere between amusement and unimpressed in equal measure. ]
So I can end up on the floor again? Sure, let me get right on that.
[ If she's going to procrastinate, Claude's not going to wait. Resisting the urgh to sigh or roll his eyes since that'd be even less productive than allowing himself one (1) remark without any bite behind it and only something far more worn out, he takes a step onto the first crate. It's sturdy, so up he goes one more and then another to peer up at the window again. They'll probably be close enough, so nothing to do but look back at Hilda with an eyebrow raised next. ]
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But as he brushes by her towards the box without a word or cursory glance, she can't help but feel a little taken aback that he didn't ask. That moment of surprise is quickly quashed when he reminds her of the night in the maze. Right, why would he ask? They're aren't friends. That's why the box and that unfinished project are in the crate in the first place.
Hilda sniffs, flouncing towards the boxes before carefully climbing up after him. ]
If we end up on the floor it isn't going to be my fault.
[ When she's beside him she motions for him to hold out his hand so she can step up onto it. ]
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When Hilda steps up and makes the requisite motion to be expected, there's a second of hesitation from him. That flutter from earlier in their accidental brushing of fingers comes back to mind - if something so small could cause it, what will holding onto her hand do? He's about to find out since that's what he does. The answers is it tugs on all those intricately bittersweet threads laced through everything, and most of all: it hurts that it still feels like her hand is meant to be in his.
It's distracting, but not enough so that he doesn't hear the sudden sound of splintering beneath them. There's no time to look to find out which it is because next the mostly level platform of boxes they're standing on becomes considerably less so by the second. Claude lets go of her hand to on instinct wrap an arm around her waist to pull her closer in reflexes he doesn't question and to lean back against the wall in hopes that - if they're lucky - maybe they'll just have a slow slide to the ground when the planks underneath their feet crack entirely. ]
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His hesitation prompts a reminder, and her cheeks flush, embarrassed. Not just at the hesitation but at the thought that flashes through her mind unbidden that he might be balking at the thought of touching her. Claude has the propensity for pettiness. Has no problem cutting people out. She's seen it firsthand. It had just never occurred to her that she might be on the receiving end and the thought cuts deep.
But then he's grasping her hand and an all too familiar warmth rushes through her. She can't help but stare down at their hands, part surprise, part confusion. Holding her hand wasn't going to get them up to the window. What was he –
And suddenly the world falls from beneath them. Or the boxes do rather. Hilda feels her heart drop to her stomach as the sound of splintering wood and clattering of the contents of the boxes tumbling to the ground fills her ears. A small, startled sound escapes her lips and it's only when they tumble to the ground too that she absently registers Claude's arms are wrapped around her, bracing her from the impact.
Or most of it at least. Her elbows smack against the concrete and she hisses, the immediate prickle of hit nerves distracting from the fact that some of the items that had escaped where the ones in her crate. Inches from their heads lays the silver jewelry box – now dented because of a small anvil falling onto it – and the mildly crushed cardboard box.
She can't help but whine, not realizing that she's still wrapped in his arms, their faces are dangerously close to one another, and that her hurt, embarrassment, or whatever, is now scattered around them. ]
Ow, ow, ow! I thought the boxes we picked were fine.
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Though he'd tried to protect her, what he's managed doing in the same instant is reopening his own invisible wounds. Hilda's weight in his arms and the exact way she feels is something Claude wanted to believe he'd erased from his memory for it to never be part of it again. For it to be something he'd never have to remember, and yet it'd taken all of a second for all of it to come flooding back with her face right next to his in a way she's made clear is an impossibility for anything outside of this.
Those injuries will last longer than any bruises from this fall to the ground, and he knows it. ]
They seemed solid enough. Are you --
[ Claude was about to ask if she was alright as he carefully detangles himself from around her to start sitting up, but then his eyes catch on the contents of the box scattered around. Or rather: one item in particular in gleaming silver he recognizes quite well from being the one to proudly select it from the tables in the markets to bring back like a prize. It's been evicted, it seems, even though everything she's ever brought him still sits on his own shelves where it belongs.
He shouldn't be surprised. Hurt shouldn't run like a bolt of electricity through him with the current being as strong as any electrical spell ever aimed his way and landed. But for a second, Claude feels it so strongly it even slips through as a ripple crossing over his face, there and gone in an instant like it was never there at all when he wrangles all of his walls back into place and moves away to get more boxes to start over. Nothing else to do but to keep moving forward like always. ]
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It's only when Claude cuts himself off that she comes to her next realization. Her eyes dart from him to the surrounding items as a stark horror dawns on her. The box. There's a sharp intake of breath from her, heat rising to her cheeks building off the lingering heat from before. Hilda breaks her gaze away from the box and back towards him.
She's always been able to read his expressions, but she can't read the flicker of something in his face now. Time has caused a rift that feels like it's distorted her vision of a face that she knew as well as her own. The brief second flash of something unreadable on his face can't be hurt. Why would it be? It can't be because if it were, then the constriction of her chest and the heat on her cheeks that's quickly making its way down to her neck would be shame. And why should she be ashamed of removing something that reminded her of him?
But Claude doesn't say anything, the moment passes, and she's left swallowing a strange lump in her throat. Her eyes stay trained on Claude's back, torn between apologizing and saying nothing at all. The quiet clinking of objects fills the air like a clock ticking down as her window of opportunity to apologize begins to close. Her body seems to move automatically, fingers numbly taking a hold of the jewelry box. Absently they run over the dent in the box.
Her voice is astoundingly steady but only because her voice is quiet. ]
I guess the foundation of the wood wasn't strong enough. We should have checked more closely. [ Clearing her throat, she goes in search of a different box for her jewelry box leaving the other cardboard box on the floor. ] There's other ones over here that will probably be fine.
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Maybe Hilda's doing him a favor with this. That's the first rationalization he reaches for though all it brings with is more of that same feeling of being plunged into ice. It's better to know so he can let go in a way he'd been denying he'd have to eventually even if she'd already made it so clear before this instant. The signs were there. He just didn't want to read them for what they actually were until faced with one that can't be ignored or twisted into anything else and one that says more than any of the barbs they've leveled back and forth.
Somewhere he's certain the gods are laughing that all he wants to do is to talk to someone about it like that'll help him make sense of things, but that the only person he wants to do that with is the very person it's about who doesn't want to hear any of it. He'll just have to live with that, too. The far kinder thing to do after he's caused her this much pain is to finally leave her be. ]
Sure.
[ That's all he can manage in an equally quiet tone when even summoning forth one single word feels like an effort to keep it even and trim away anything else out of it besides an acknowledgement of hearing her rather than any of what's said. Even if he doesn't really, even if it's more because he's been silent enough and he doesn't want to argue over who should've checked what. He blinks and remembers he's supposed to be moving this box his hand is still resting on, and comes back into motion to yank it off the shelf.
Whatever else is on the floor that'd spilled out of the crate holding the jewelry box - he doesn't want to know. Ignorance really is bliss, he reminds himself, and sets the crate down without looking. First comes clearing the smashed pieces of wood so neither of them have to step on it and putting those aside to clear out later so Cyprian won't have to clean up more of a mess. Claude adds the new crate to the stack and then steps away to retrieve another one. ]
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The original box she had come here looking for still stands stalwart on the shelf she had left it on. After a moment's hesitation, the jewelry box finds a place inside amongst her other supplies. The dent in the lid feels fitting somehow. It's not beyond repair. It still works. And objectively speaking, she knows she can fix it by hammering it out but that feels like a metaphor for something she doesn't want to dwell on. Steeling herself she tries to draw in a breath but finds it halting instead. Several more moments pass in an attempt to pull herself together, to stop unnecessary tears from forming before she turns around to retrieve her cardboard box.
Thankfully, nothing inside is damaged. The small pouch containing the beads he had picked out at the market lie nestled in their velvet bag.glinting up at her like wyvern eyes. The sight prompts her to draw the bag shut immediately. Her other project is in there too, waiting for the final finishing touch that she's been keeping at the Old Public Hall. She tries to compartmentalize everything she's feeling into the box as she closes the lid. They strain against the constraints of the box but she pushes down, hard. If he doesn't care, then she can't either. How else is she supposed to protect herself? How else will she ever get over this hurt she's carried with her for months? How else will she ever grieve the loss that is Claude?
When the cardboard box is placed alongside the jewelry box she returns to help him with the boxes. She doesn't want to argue. Hadn't even meant what she had said as an avenue for bickering. Uncomfortable silence accompanied by the fall of their feet and the soft shifting of boxes fills the air. When the boxes are situated again, Hilda motions to their little pyramid with a measured expression, devoid of anything on purpose. ]
Second time's the charm?
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This time it's them. There's the faint memory he has of thinking during their fight how there'd always been the chance of losing her and that he'd steeled himself against it, thinking he could rely on all those old habits of not needing anyone to pull him through when he'd always managed on his own, and yet none of that anticipated what it'd actually mean. A fault in a calculation he can't correct, and now they'll both pay for it when unlike atter a battlefield there's no clear steps forward from here.
Homesickness suddenly flares, but not for a place. It's been too long since he's been home for it to fit there, and Fodlan feels more and more distant with every day he opens his eyes and looks out the window at Cadens. With it now comes longing as painful as any animal teeth when it claws its way through his chest with no regard for anything in its path. He's been on the other side of this enough by now to know what this is without needing any time to identify it: it's grief. Unlike before, now it's for someone who's still standing here when he swallows the feeling back and turns to look at her with a worn smile he can't bother to disguise. ]
I'll test it out first this time.
[ Said as he's already halfway up onto the first box and stepping towards the next row while placing his boot down on the edge to see if it'll hold. It does, so Claude climbs up onto it and shuffles a couple more steps around to complete his test. The wood doesn't give or give any signs it will. He doesn't even know if he's relieved so much as simply going through the motions towards the escape he'd wanted so badly minutes ago and now feels like it was in another lifetime with the rift between it and facing whatever else will happen once they leave.
With that same wooden expression on his face he holds out a hand to her to help her up to keep moving. ]
C'mon, the window awaits.
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He's only climbing up the boxes in order to test their stability but it feels like she's saying goodbye to him. The urge to reach for his hand, to stop him from going crosses her mind and her fingers twitch, like she's about to. That's the opposite of what he wanted though, isn't it? He had already said as much that he wanted to get out of here, get away from her. Doing that would hinder him, cause ire that she doesn't want to stoke anymore. So her hand remains limply to her side instead.
Even when the stability of the boxes seems clear and he's prompting her to climb up, she finds that she can't. Every part of her feels heavy, filled with regret and a reluctance to move towards a curtain call that she had all but resigned herself to so quickly in the wake of their fight. But he's waiting. And somehow that makes her move. Somehow she makes it up the boxes, fingers curling into familiar (beloved) ones and she has to look down at her feet in a feigned move to ensure her footing is sound. When she's sure that her voice won't crack when she speaks, she looks up towards the window in order to examine the latch there. ]
How did you want to do this? I could step into your hand or I could climb onto your shoulders.
[ Said like they were discussing a plan to escape from Garreg Mach away from Setheth's always watchful eyes. Said like this is just another ridiculous scenario that they so often found themselves in in the past and not at all like it feeling like an ending. ]
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The latter feels so much worse than it had when he'd been stealing his way through the warehouse's semi-shadows towards the door. When it'd felt easier to leave that behind like it didn't mean anything, like it hadn't had any cause and had spontaneously developed, and like it wasn't real if he just didn't pay attention to it. But now the thoughts rattle all around his mind with no resolution, and become even louder when her hand's in his. Practice keeps his face from flinching when the weight of it slipping into his grasp feels achingly familiar and for a second Claude stares at their hands like it's something he needs to memorize. As if that memory wasn't already taunting him while he's still living it.
And - oh. He hadn't actually thought this part through besides lifting Hilda up being a method of securing a way out, and he has to blink again to force his mind back into motion. A strange feeling and not one he's encountered often before, but fitting in all the worst ways for how it's ground to a halt now. ]
Which one would you prefer? We'll go with that.
[ One of those relies on a lot more trust than the other, after all, and he's not going to assume she has any of that towards him anymore. It'd be easier to let her climb up, and probably safer, but he'll leave that up to her to decide as he shifts his gaze to the window. ]
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It takes everything in her power not to tighten her grip, to hold on so that he can never let go. To focus on the conversation and task at hand.
Both options aren't ideal, but she's further away from the latch on the window than he is thanks to her lack of height and he's just a couple of inches short from being able to nudge it open with his hand. ]
I'm not sure I'll be able to reach it if I'm just being boosted into your hands but we can try that first. It's probably less risky than me climbing onto your shoulders too.
[ The tumble they had taken earlier hadn't been that bad, but if she were on top of his shoulders - that was just further to fall. ]
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The window is something tangible even if it's not in their reach. At least that's something to work towards than anything that won't be. Claude nods, still doing his best to not be pulled too off-kilter beneath what he knows are poor facsimiles of his usual ability to remain unflappable in the face of unimaginable chaos. Fitting, in some ways, given that he'd never predicted any of this in all those carefully laid out plans. ]
On the count of three, then?
[ That's the best way to go about it, surely, to make sure they're on the same page before he lifts her up. This is also familiar but more from late nights of looking in the monastery's kitchen cabinets for something, or to climb over a wall to get away from Seteth, or to climb into somewhere they shouldn't be. All those memories rush forward with the strength of any avalanche and put him in peril of being buried beneath their surfaces as he gets down on one knee with fingers laced, ready to start the countdown to lift her towards where they need to go and where it feels like he'll be left with only memories and nothing past this. ]
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Claude kneeling down in order to boost her up in an all too familiar way overlaps in her mind's eye with memories from their now distant past. She can't help but be reminded that the first time they had tried to do this she had stepped on a tender spot on his thigh sending them collapsing to the ground in a heap of laughter. There's no chance of that today though. Hilda gives him a nod, pushing the numbers past her lips. ]
One, two, three -
[ Hilda steps into his hands, arms outstretched. Thanks to the momentum from Claude, one hand easily grasps the ledge to steady herself while the other stretches out, taking a hold of the latch. It unhooks with ease. The window is pushed out and with a strength she'd deny she has, Hilda pushes herself up onto the edge before flipping around to sit on it. And without thinking, the grin she gives him is bright and triumphant. Or at least she hopes it is. Gazing down at him, she suddenly has to fight the, overwhelming urge to cry. Words stumble over her tongue and past her teeth, injected with so much faux brightness that it even sounds incredibly fake to her. ]
Not bad, Claude. The second best archer hasn't let himself go.
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That too stiff smile comes back to his face when it's all he can summon up as he boosts her up and she lands in the window without any further trouble. It's a poor match to that dazzling grin which makes her whole face aglow. There's a second where he wants to memorize that sight too before Claude catches himself and stops - that'd just be another way to wound himself by picturing it again later, and he's supposed to be letting all of that go. ]
Well, I do what I can. Not just anyone can make it so effortless, you know.
[ The air of straddling the fine line between confidence and cockiness makes it into his voice even if he doesn't exactly feel it himself right then, but it's there for appearances' sake to this time be in sync with what she'd said even if he doesn't entirely believe it either. Falling into old routines back from a different time before they'd known each other feels easier to grab onto right then as he looks back at the wall and finds something that'll work as a foothold as he holds a hand up to her again. ]
Give me a hand up, will you? Then we can be out of here.
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