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Eight days. Joan has been here eight days, long enough to celebrate Hanukkah if she did, which she doesn't, and Christmas, which she does, but didn't, since it isn't Christmas at home and the one person she needs to see on Christmas isn't here.
Her thumb rubs against the inside of her wedding ring, thoughts of Arthur overwhelming her increasing uncertainty about this place. She misses him, even though they've been apart much longer than eight days for work. And she's worried about him, in the midst of the Operation: Lynx crisis without her there for support.
She worries about Annie, as well, and Auggie who probably doesn't think she'd even noticed the smoldering fuse he'd been hiding the day she arrived here. Her other operatives may have been in less immediate danger, but without her there, that may not last. Especially if Jai moves in on her job in her absence. He'll squander personnel resources with as much callous disregard as he did her budget and destroy Arthur's faith in him as well.
It's funny, but not funny enough to make her smile, that she worries more about Arthur's heart than Jai's treachery. Arthur will take care of her people in her absence. But who will take care of Arthur?
Her lips press tight together at the thought that Geena or Petra might move in to take her place as wife if she's gone too much longer. The books on the bookshelf mock her as her fingertips move across it - nothing useful about this place, or intellectually interesting, just row after row of romances, some of them erotic enough to be fun under difference circumstances but most of them just a reminder that whether this place is real or she has been captured or she's in a coma or dead, she may never see Arthur again.
Which, Joan realizes, is precisely why anger at Petra or Geena is a better turn of thought. Anger is stronger than fear, and anger can be exorcised. She spins away from the bookshelf, intending to be rid of this ridiculous dress and shoes and find some way to run or at least take a brisk walk to cool her temper.
She spins - and is stopped so firmly in her path that she immediately grabs a book to smash into the face of whoever's grabbed her. But there's no one. No explanation for why she can't move. Her heart slams against her ribs, but Joan forces herself to breathe calmly and take stock. There are other people in the room, reading, talking, and none of them paying the slightest attention to her. None of them seem stuck.
Head cocked, Joan rubs a hand over the side of her face. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots a bundle of green with waxy white berries and a red ribbon overhead. She snarls to herself and spits out, "Oh, you have got to be kidding me."
A few people look up and start forward to offer their help but she holds up her hand. If this is a psych test to see if she will cheat on Arthur when it's expedient to do so, whoever's administering it will be sadly disappointed.
Her thumb rubs against the inside of her wedding ring, thoughts of Arthur overwhelming her increasing uncertainty about this place. She misses him, even though they've been apart much longer than eight days for work. And she's worried about him, in the midst of the Operation: Lynx crisis without her there for support.
She worries about Annie, as well, and Auggie who probably doesn't think she'd even noticed the smoldering fuse he'd been hiding the day she arrived here. Her other operatives may have been in less immediate danger, but without her there, that may not last. Especially if Jai moves in on her job in her absence. He'll squander personnel resources with as much callous disregard as he did her budget and destroy Arthur's faith in him as well.
It's funny, but not funny enough to make her smile, that she worries more about Arthur's heart than Jai's treachery. Arthur will take care of her people in her absence. But who will take care of Arthur?
Her lips press tight together at the thought that Geena or Petra might move in to take her place as wife if she's gone too much longer. The books on the bookshelf mock her as her fingertips move across it - nothing useful about this place, or intellectually interesting, just row after row of romances, some of them erotic enough to be fun under difference circumstances but most of them just a reminder that whether this place is real or she has been captured or she's in a coma or dead, she may never see Arthur again.
Which, Joan realizes, is precisely why anger at Petra or Geena is a better turn of thought. Anger is stronger than fear, and anger can be exorcised. She spins away from the bookshelf, intending to be rid of this ridiculous dress and shoes and find some way to run or at least take a brisk walk to cool her temper.
She spins - and is stopped so firmly in her path that she immediately grabs a book to smash into the face of whoever's grabbed her. But there's no one. No explanation for why she can't move. Her heart slams against her ribs, but Joan forces herself to breathe calmly and take stock. There are other people in the room, reading, talking, and none of them paying the slightest attention to her. None of them seem stuck.
Head cocked, Joan rubs a hand over the side of her face. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots a bundle of green with waxy white berries and a red ribbon overhead. She snarls to herself and spits out, "Oh, you have got to be kidding me."
A few people look up and start forward to offer their help but she holds up her hand. If this is a psych test to see if she will cheat on Arthur when it's expedient to do so, whoever's administering it will be sadly disappointed.
