Re: [No. 3 to No. 24: Iris & Sam]
For as much as Sam may or may not have blamed her, for as much as so many people did, the blame that Iris carried for herself was much greater. Internal, constant, there every day, a continual sort of erosion. There were days (not as many in the past few years, but still there, still when things got rough) when she contemplated going back, back to that station, confessing to things she didn't actually think she'd done. She wasn't certain, but she could say so, right? Would saying it make anything better?
And that defensive tone? The things she said and the way it spiraled out of control, more than half of it was trying to convince herself of it all.
It never quite worked.
So she stayed folded in on herself, the smallest she could be, hoping for the shaking to pass, searching for that tiny bit of calm inside that would help keep her from breaking down completely. But they'd killed a man, been chased by a mob, and now...
Her good hand snuck back to cover the back of her neck, not realizing that tears were spilling over her cheeks, wetting her knees through the too-big basketball shorts she wore. She heard Sam talking, and nodded, but didn't quite process what was being said. Just agree, agree to whatever was being said, and it would be okay. Eventually. Maybe.