House meeting (Firekeeper/Blind Seer)
There was a girl somewhere in the house that Ted had saved. Ted had saved. The words still felt absurd and irregular in his mind. He didn't even dare say them out loud. He'd have to, he knew, once Charlie came home, because Charlie would want to know. But until then? Ted was just going to keep the phrase to himself.
He didn't know where the woman was. The blind woman. He'd left her in his bedroom, pointed her in the vague direction of the attached bath, not wanting to think about the implications of that at the moment, and left her to her own devices. She could still be trying to get clean. Blindly (no pun intended) trying to find where he kept things. But he would have been no help there, really, because it was all still new to him, too. He'd be going through cabinets just as much as she was, and he'd be in the way on top of it. Or, she might have decided to lay down in his bed. That was okay, he supposed. Anybody who has gone through what she did deserved to sleep some.
He supposed it was their fault, his and Charlie's, that there wasn't a spare room with a spare bed where she could go instead of his room. On his bed. With his sheets. Ted sighed.
What he was going to do, he was going to just go into the kitchen and try to put together a meal for her. She'd probably be really hungry whenever she was done with whatever she was doing, and he wanted to have some good assortment for her. But nothing hot, not too hot, or too cold. He knew what the shock of a first meal after a large shock - IE going to prison - would feel like if it were just a sandwich. Nobody needed soup or ice cream to double that. But juice would be good, he was sure. She needed juice. Or maybe Gatorade. Maybe that would be better. Electrolytes and whatever.
Ted took one step into the kitchen and stopped. Staring. Not sure what to say. Or how to say it.