[Easier said and done, but he isn't going to tell her that.
He tried, and all he got for his efforts was an hour or two of nothing, only to wake up instilled with the kind of blind panic he's only felt a handful of times before, mind scrambling to make up for the time it thought it had lost, foggy and unclear with a very narrow focus: that he had to make sure that it wouldn't happen again, because for a moment, it felt like it was. It isn't something he looks forward to repeating.
He can pretend, at least, as best he can, until the mental itch becomes too harsh to be ignored. Try to avoid the compulsion to check things every hour. Make sure nothing is amiss, double-check that the locks and blockades are where they should be. Hide in his room, caged in, keeping his eyes and ears open for the slightest irregularity in sight or sound, letting his mind fill in the blanks when they find nothing, as it waited impatiently for the first shadow or scream. What didn't happen one moment, after all, might happen the next.]
Feel like talking?
[In the interim. That had helped, once upon a time, in the days leading up to the fourth back home. It had been a distraction then, but as good as any, listening to her talk about nothing in particular (because "nothing" was normal). The only difference here is he still feels like a little kid, surrounded by a goddamn fort that isn't even of his making—and that's apparently still not good enough, so the kid asks for a story to go along with it.]
no subject
He tried, and all he got for his efforts was an hour or two of nothing, only to wake up instilled with the kind of blind panic he's only felt a handful of times before, mind scrambling to make up for the time it thought it had lost, foggy and unclear with a very narrow focus: that he had to make sure that it wouldn't happen again, because for a moment, it felt like it was. It isn't something he looks forward to repeating.
He can pretend, at least, as best he can, until the mental itch becomes too harsh to be ignored. Try to avoid the compulsion to check things every hour. Make sure nothing is amiss, double-check that the locks and blockades are where they should be. Hide in his room, caged in, keeping his eyes and ears open for the slightest irregularity in sight or sound, letting his mind fill in the blanks when they find nothing, as it waited impatiently for the first shadow or scream. What didn't happen one moment, after all, might happen the next.]
Feel like talking?
[In the interim. That had helped, once upon a time, in the days leading up to the fourth back home. It had been a distraction then, but as good as any, listening to her talk about nothing in particular (because "nothing" was normal). The only difference here is he still feels like a little kid, surrounded by a goddamn fort that isn't even of his making—and that's apparently still not good enough, so the kid asks for a story to go along with it.]