Ingrid counts to one hundred, after Narvin curls, settles, and stills. She counts to one hundred, and then to one hundred after that, and one hundred for a third time, too. She watches the steady rise and fall of Narvin’s breathing, the peculiar smoothness of her face as weariness, defensiveness, caution and suspicion and consideration all--simply seep out of her features and slide off of her like water over a leaf.
Five microspans is time enough, she thinks, to get to work. So she does. It’s delicate work, sliding up the robe, maneuvering Narvin through the sleeves and collar, shifting her gently. Eventually, she gets that Coordinator robe off, and dismays slightly to find that everything below that is likewise more than slightly damp.
It’s far from ideal, but... Ingrid begins to strip her of that, too.
(It is an almost medical act, methodical, careful, trying as ever not to jostle her. Whatever nakedness there is to see, Ingrid pays no mind of it--not the nakedness itself, really, though among Gallifreyans such a sight should cause averted eyes and affronted sensibilities. That isn’t really the reason Ingrid doesn’t pay it much mind. It’s only that there is Narvin’s modesty, and that she sees in this whole act the goosebumps along her arms. That detail, more than anything, stays with her)
Whatever undergarments besides, Ingrid does not examine them too closely, except to know that Narvin is not, in fact, naked in her bed. That might be a little much for either of them to deal with, frankly--now or in the morning. They’ve enough already to contend with, without making a series of firsts out of a rather unfortunate night.
Ingrid has a loose silk robe with ties down the front. It is easy, to wrap Narvin it it, and tie it over her chest and belly. Easier still, after that, to pull one of her softest and warmest plush blankets overtop her. She places another cover, a quilt this time, over her feet. Just to be safe.
....Ingrid takes a little time, that way, after that. Just to watch Narvin slumber, just to think of the last time they would up like this. Just to... think.
Ingrid doesn’t really want to think about the things that Narvin has just shown her, but there are some responsibilities you cannot put off, and some it is imperative to attend to. There are some incidents that simply... demand to be taken into consideration.
Threatened to burn the world, and murder Narvin along in the bargain.
It is funny, talking to oneself. The assumption is, of course, that the future speaks to the past, in an endeavor to make things what they must be. It is not half so intuitive to look forward and itch for a change. The future should be the one to dictate, or so the theory might go.
But there is a reason, too, that Ingrid resists the name. Braxiatel refers to a comfortable past and a more-or-less contented present. Ingrid, to her, has always belonged a little bit more to a future moment, and an older pair of eyes. She has not always liked looking at those eyes. It is hard to see herself in them, sometimes. There are things she wants and things that she fights for and compromises she refuses to make. She cannot always see those in her mirror, either.
Threatened to burn the world, and take Narvin along with it.
(This emotion, Ingrid does know. Revulsion. It’s not that she’s ever claimed to be a good woman, and not even that she’d ever hoped, really, to become one. But hope works in funny ways, and she did once ask to be remembered fondly. She is hoping, surely, for something.)
Ingrid scrubs her face with a hand, and takes a long, deep breath. “Oh, to blazes with it,” she murmurs.
She goes to her closet. She removes her Cardinal trappings, her suit underneath, her undergarments, her hair from its pins.She dresses herself in a soft linen gown made for sleep, and she comes to her bed, with the Coordinator resting peacefully in it. She crawls onto her mattress. She settles behind the sleeping Coordinator of the CIA.
She wraps an arm around Narvinektrolona, closes her eyes, and focuses for the next rather long while on the rise and fall of Narvin’s chest.