The gym, Sunday afternoon

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For the record, Aeryn did leave the gym last night. She just wandered around rather than going back to 238. John had said he'd be gone when she got back, so she's really not in a rush to go back to an empty room. So she's back in the gym, working on zero sleep, trying not to think too much as she takes out her frustrations on the punching bag, and failing miserably at that.

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"I don't know if he or they want that advertised," she says, taking a seat on the mat. She actually really needed to just sit for a moment. "But I wasn't the only one, no. I think we were more in his way than anything."

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"Understandable," she said, although she has a pretty good idea of at least one other person just based on who radio said turned up in the clinic Monday. "I just tried to tell John that I seriously doubt that anyone would hold anything that happened against him. I don't think he believed me."

Isabel hit the bag again, finding a strange satisfaction in picturing the faces of a few of the more uptight Royalist commanders. "Was he able to gain control again after you left? Or did you have to deal with Ugly the whole time?"

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"He was like that for three days," she says, studying the mat carefully. "The surgery was Wednesday. He started coming back to himself then."

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"Sometimes words can hurt more," Isabel said quietly, dropping her hands.

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"Yeah," she says. "Kind of makes me long for the days they weren't necessary."

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"Would you really give all of this up?" she asked, taking a seat next to Aeryn.

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"That depends what 'this' includes," she says honestly.

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Isabel shrugged, "What would you leave out?"

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"The part where everything feels bad," Aeryn admits.

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"Would you believe me if I told you eventually it'll get better?" Isabel sighed and started to take the gloves off. "And at this point I'm speaking from experience."

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"Logically, I know that. It's just a lot at once and neither of us are in a good place about it." See, she's even frustrated into honesty.

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"And talking probably isn't working well at the moment." It wasn't really a question.

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Aeryn snorts at that. "Not at all."

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"I wish I had a magic way to fix everything," Isabel said. "All I know is that when I got back, talking was too much. Everything was too new, too raw. Just being quiet was much better."

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"I'm trying to let it be that way, give him room," she says, and let's face it, she needs it as much as he does. "He doesn't want to talk. But when there's no talking, I get accused of not being comfortable or thinking he did these things, and when I try to explain, he doesn't want to hear the answers, so we're worse off than we were before."

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"I can see that. Because you're both hurt," she nodded. "As much as it sucks, I think you're just going to have to give it time. But it will get better. You love each other too much for it not to happen."

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"Yeah," Aeryn says, frowning and going quiet for a moment. "I should get back up there." Not that she knows why, except she has to do it sometime.

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"Okay," Isabel agreed, wishing she could do more. "I told John, and the same goes for you. If you want a change of scenery, or just want to sit quietly with someone, you're more then welcome to come by. It doesn't matter when, day or night. I've got the extra bed and I can do quiet."

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"Thanks, Isabel," she says, and means that for more than just the offer. She gets up and says, "I'll see you later."

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"I'll be around," she replied, reaching for the gloves again.