hallelujahpilot: (take you to Hallujulah)
after this:

Trudy is a(n ex) Marine pilot, and it shows: her room is neat, military neat, everything put away neatly. Or rather, it was neat. Her and Norm's clothes are on the floor, scattered here and there and she'll have to go find where the hell her left boot ended up (in the bathroom, she hadn't looked when she'd tossed it). The bed is a mess, too, because them having a bed is new and interesting and fun after living in a one-room lab with two other people for over two months (having a room with a door they can shut and lock for privacy is also nice, lets put it that way).

The sheets have twisted around them, but Trudy doesn't mind. She's curled up next to Norm, her head on his shoulder and one leg tangled around his. The shell and bone bead on her necklaces are pressing into the side of his chest, but she can't quite bring herself to shift and change the situation.

She's missed him. She loves him, and she's dead, and she's missed him so damn much. So for the moment Trudy is just going to stay here, and trace patterns on his drying skin, and slowly get her breathing back to normal.

(she's listening to his heart, too, but she's not sure she'll mention that bit)


hallelujahpilot: (Default)
Trudy Chacon

November 2011

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