Solo Log: Love, Fidgey

They have been practicing. It's difficult to have privacy when you share a single head, share senses and experiences so intimately. But Hoya and Xambria have been *trying*, with one focused on a single task and the other trying to keep their thoughts elsewhere. It's currently a lukewarm success at best, with any drifting thoughts immediately returning to the shares experience of the present.

Xambria is currently thinking as hard as she can on her theory of the Ancients. But niggling in the back of her mind, vying for her attention, is the letter Hoya has been working on for hours.

*Winter 24, 499 AOV*

*Piney,*

*I'm not as scattered as everyone thinks. Even Mom and Dad always thought I couldn't keep track of dates, or remember little details. Like I didn't care about them. I still remember the day you died, though, every single year. I try to write you too, if I can. I'm even in Flint this year! I thought about visiting Louisa, because she likes me to say hi, and see how I'm doing, but we're trying to lay low after our last assignment.*

*Can you believe it? I've taken a job with the Royal Homeland Constabulary. It's not work I would ever have chosen, but I've gotten to meet some very smart, very kind, very dedicated people. You would approve of them, I think. They aren't you, but they try not to be off-put by me. At least, usually they don't.*

(That's a lie,) Xambria thinks, noting the way Hoya hesitates. (Tell that to Marcel and the chair he threw at you, or the look they give you when you start talking to silent space around you. It's tolerated at best, and even you aren't so naïve that you don't notice.) She tries her best to ignore the rough scrubbing of tears from the gnome's eyes. The Ancients. The lack of forges, and all of the gold--

*I wonder sometimes what things would be like if you got better, and I didn't. I wonder if Rena is happy. If Mom and Dad still travel the countryside every spring. I haven't seen or heard from them in so long, sometimes I can pretend I don't miss them so much.*

*I don't know what's going to happen with the RHC work. We've stumbled upon some...really dangerous people, and I don't think it's going to get any safer any time soon. But I can't really tell you about that anyway, and it's boring work stuff. Just saying hello, and that I miss you, is more important.*

In Hoya's small hand, Xambria can feel the pen being gripped so tightly her muscles shake. Again, she actively tries to shove her consciousness elsewhere. Anywhere but where it currently is, peeking at a letter that's not hers to read and feeling a grief that isn't hers to share.

*You're the only one who never, ever acted like I was...wrong. Strange, and wrong. I haven't met anyone since who didn't think I was odd, at least a little bit. It's okay. I have friends here, even if they aren't perfect. Especially because they aren't perfect.*

*Sometimes, I think I might stay here in Flint. A little bit longer. Long enough to matter, and be a familiar face to--*

There's movement outside of the team's shared office door, footsteps down the hall. She can hear them from the stairwell, shoes clicking quietly in the mostly-empty building. Then, keys jingling as someone looks for the right one to unlock the door.

Hoya stands, quickly moving the scrap of paper from the desk to the fire. She stares as the edges of the letter curl as it burns; Xambria tries to ignore the growing distress in her friend's chest. It's not hers to feel, not now.

As the latch to the office door turns to allow a very chilly looking constable in, Xambria focuses her attention on the sounds of the building. She's so attentive to those, she misses the gnome whisper *love, Fidgey* to the burnt letter before turning to cheerfully greet her coworker, as if nothing had happened at all.