To say Gideon was worried about Billie would have been a dramatic understatement. Over the past week he'd watched her mood deteriorate without knowing what to do. He'd tried to bring up things that he thought would cheer her, but with little to no success... and no wonder, when literally any talk of the future, even the near future like the possibility of getting ice cream on the weekend, was framed by the uncertainty of their current situation, and the decision looming in the future. He'd agonized over whether to bring that up again, and had ultimately decided to wait for some sort of cue from her that she was ready to restart the conversation, which hadn't ever come.
He was keenly aware that today marked the end of the window he'd given her to make a decision, but based on her mood he was fully willing to extend it (against all empirical reasons that doing so was ill-advised). He'd been planning to tell her so, except — she was nowhere to be found. As the morning hours stretched on he started to wonder if she'd gotten it into her head somehow to run away, and it was only the fact that none of her belongings seemed to be missing from her room that kept him from frantically organizing a search party with Quincey Honeyduke.
When she finally did return, the state of her appearance made him do a double-take. With a good deal of effort, he refrained from saying anything until she'd spoken first, but it was impossible to keep his expression clear of emotion. He was disappointed — a little in her, he supposed, but mostly in himself, for letting things deteriorate so much that she'd felt she needed to disappear for a day rather than talk with him about what she was going through. He was worried, still, because he didn't know where she'd been or what she'd been doing, and while some amount of dirt and a few bruises were standard business for Billie, this was not. Most of all he was grieved, because it was obvious that she was struggling and he wished, more than anything, that he could have taken that burden off her shoulders. The fact that she was so obviously hurting wounded him, too, but there wasn't anything he could do to mend it; they just had to find a way to get through it and come out on the other side.
"Billie," he said in response, his tone blending all of those feelings while still attempting to maintain a veneer of normalcy.
He was keenly aware that today marked the end of the window he'd given her to make a decision, but based on her mood he was fully willing to extend it (against all empirical reasons that doing so was ill-advised). He'd been planning to tell her so, except — she was nowhere to be found. As the morning hours stretched on he started to wonder if she'd gotten it into her head somehow to run away, and it was only the fact that none of her belongings seemed to be missing from her room that kept him from frantically organizing a search party with Quincey Honeyduke.
When she finally did return, the state of her appearance made him do a double-take. With a good deal of effort, he refrained from saying anything until she'd spoken first, but it was impossible to keep his expression clear of emotion. He was disappointed — a little in her, he supposed, but mostly in himself, for letting things deteriorate so much that she'd felt she needed to disappear for a day rather than talk with him about what she was going through. He was worried, still, because he didn't know where she'd been or what she'd been doing, and while some amount of dirt and a few bruises were standard business for Billie, this was not. Most of all he was grieved, because it was obvious that she was struggling and he wished, more than anything, that he could have taken that burden off her shoulders. The fact that she was so obviously hurting wounded him, too, but there wasn't anything he could do to mend it; they just had to find a way to get through it and come out on the other side.
"Billie," he said in response, his tone blending all of those feelings while still attempting to maintain a veneer of normalcy.