darker_london | Stephie/Peirre, PG13?

She'd been in the library all night, pacing, crying, cracking, pulling herself back together and crying some more. She wanted to throw something- break something, so it was a good thing she'd stomped into the library, because she wouldn't dare. Thank god she wasn't in the kitchen. She was simply so furious and frustrated that she couldn't think. Renee was in hospital. Ry wasn't speaking to her. Deirdre was practically on the other side of the world- if she felt helpless, she'd hate to think what Deirdre was feeling. Deirdre... did she even know? Did whoever it was ring here to find Deirdre- of course they did. And Ry wasn't even going to bother passing the information along, probably to Deirdre as well. She let out a little yell of frustration and sat down heavily in one of the fancy chairs, glowering at the cold, dead fireplace. It made her shiver, and realise that all she was wearing was underwear and Ry's long shirt.

Why couldn't he just talk to her? Was he really that much closer to Renee than Stephie? Was he really stupid enough to pretend that if he ignored it it would go away? Did he think she'd do something to make it worse- how could she make it worse? The mere fact that he refused to tell her anything said very clearly that Renee wasn't alright. Why was he being so selfish, so cruel? He couldn't even acknoledge that she cared!

Or perhaps he just couldn't cope, and needed a few hours to process what he had been told. Perhaps he wasn't telling her because he was as scared as she was.

But that thought was too calm and reasonable for Stephie's anger to bear thinking about right now, and she tossed it out of her head and called him a wanker.

Pierre! she thought suddenly. Pierre was one of her closest friends- if they hadn't called him already he'd at least know who to call to find out. Stephie stood up and covered the distance to the door in a few long strides, wiping the tears from her face. Why hadn't she thought of him before? It was a few minutes past dawn, the hallway was touched by a thin grey light.

She refused to look into the living room to see if Ry was still there.

She felt a little guilty, waking him up at this hour, but she didn't think she could wait much longer- and he deserved to know. "Peirre," she called, banging on his door. "Please be a morning person," she added, softer.

Pierre had the door open almost immediately. He hadn't been able to return to sleep after what he had found out. His phone was still clutched in his other hand, Scarlett's number on the screen. Even after all these hours, he hadn't been able to push "call". He couldn't go through it again. Not yet.

The computer was on, a game of solitaire on the screen. Tinny Dream Theater could be heard from the earphones of an abandoned ipod.

"Slink," Pierre said, with a valiant but failed attempt at a welcoming smile. "What's up?"

It was probably a stupid question, under the circumstances. But what else was there to say, really?

Oh good, she hadn't woken him. In fact, it looked like he'd been up for a while, which meant he knew- a sudden tightness gripped her stomach. Oh god, did she even want to know? She could hear faint Dream Theater lyrics somewhere behind him, remember that death is not real, but only a transition- She shook her head and ran a distressed hand through her messy hair. "Um- Ry- something's wrong and he's not telling me anything and I thought- I thought you'd know..."