Quiet me - write a drabble about one character trying to calm another down

It was when Baird was exploring what he thought was a deserted hallway in Azura's hotel when he heard crying. Shit, lucky us. This place is haunted. No, wait. It was real crying.

He followed the quiet echo to the next split in the hallway to see a slight figure hiding behind one of the embellished columns. He recognized that blond bob. It was Anya. He felt ridiculous intruding on her private moment, but she had already heard him coming and hastily wiped her eyes.

When she turned, it was clear she was expecting anyone but Baird. She was immediately on the defensive. "Oh, hey Baird. You scared me." Her voice was weak and thick with tears, despite her trying to hide it. Her eyeliner was smeared along the bottom of her eyes, giving her a hollow look. "What are you doing around here?"

"Just, uh—" Shit, he was never prepared to deal with emotional women. "You know, touring the site. Wanted to see what kind of crazy shit Prescott had stashed away here."

"It's pretty impressive. Azura predates even the Pendulum Wars, but to find out about it now? Feels a lot like betrayal."

"Yeah, well, politicians. What are ya gonna do?" He shifted his weight from each foot, trying not to look at her. Why was she even crying? The war was finally over and done with; it was time to celebrate. Was there a bar on the island? He'd treat her to a drink if it helped.

Anya leaned her back against the column and sighed. "It took seventeen years, but we're finally here. It doesn't feel real yet. I saw it for myself and I still … I don't know how to feel."

"Does anyone?" he asked. "This is everything we've been fighting for and what's left out there? A scorched and barren country, maybe two handfuls of people to rebuild and repopulate." Baird joined her against the pillar with his own sigh. "We've got a lot of work to do."

"And so many people to bury, to hold memorials for—where do we even start?"

Death wasn't exactly his favorite topic, so he changed it. Sort of. He'd been meaning to catch Marcus and maybe check in on his mental stability, but even if he could find a way to ask, he knew Marcus would remain tight-lipped. So Baird chose the easiest source. "Hey, uh, how's Marcus holding up? You know … with Dom and Adam."

Anya seemed smaller after the question and Baird wished he could take it back. He liked Anya; she was one of the reasons he was still sane after this war. Being the calm voice in his head for so many years went a long way.

"He's handling it the only way he knows how," she whispered. "I keep thinking every time he looks at me that he'll finally let me in, but he's devoted to working. I asked Hoffman to help me find a way to sit him down and let him rest, but that's not Marcus. He has to work. He has to have a distraction." Anya ran a tired hand through her hair. "He watched Carlos die, Tai, so many more I probably don't know about—and now Dom and his father. All of them right in front of him. Do you have any experience with this, Baird?"

He lowered his head. Yeah, he'd seen people die; he was even there when Tai broke. But Baird didn't allow himself to dwell on it, any of it. There was nothing he could have done differently to save those people.

Finally he answered, "No. But you'll know what to say to him when he does open up. It's gotta be rough to lose everything like that. I hated my dad but imagining him dissolving right in front of me? Nah, even I can't handle that. Just … give Marcus some time, maybe some space. He'll come around. He knows you're there."

Anya wiped at her eyes again and smiled, laughing a little. "Thanks, Baird. You know, I waited years already—when Marcus was in prison. I wrote daily. I never gave up on him, even after it was obvious he gave up on me. It was all a misunderstanding, of course. What's a few more weeks, maybe months? The one thing I've wanted for Marcus is for him to know he's not alone, but I don't want to be obsessive, you know? I just want him to know that someone loves him, and that it's okay to feel it."

"Hey, you're the perfect balance between crazy-stalker-girlfriend and doting lover. You're practically a saint. Like I said, let him brood for a bit and then swoop in to pick up the pieces. You know him better than any of us, Anya. You'll know what to do."

Anya sniffled and leaned her head against Baird's arm. He didn't mind—she was one of the people he could stand and she was practically like a sister—although it did make him a little uncomfortable. He just didn't do physical affection. But Anya needed the support and he was honored she chose him.

"Thanks again, Baird," she said. "You're a good friend. Don't ever doubt that."