Chapter Text
Lucretia finds a two bedroom apartment for her and Davenport in Neverwinter. The first night there, she fixes Davenport a simple supper, and locks herself in her bedroom.
Davenport eats the stew she prepared for him, and washes his dish. He sets it, along with his cup and spoon, on the table, and stands there as he tries to figure out what to do with himself through the static. It’s hard to think of what he should do, what he would do, if he knew who he- who he-
The door to his bedroom is open, but Davenport waits outside Lucretia’s room, needing instruction and guidance. He tries the door handle once. Locked. There is a strangled sob from the other side. He paces outside of her door until his legs are tired, and he stops, standing with his back to the opposite wall of the hallway.
Hours later, when Lucretia opens her door, she nearly kicks the man in the side from where he had fallen asleep, curled in a ball on the floor against the doorframe. Lucretia never locks her door again.
They fall into a routine, with Lucretia’s guidance. Davenport wakes up early and showers. He dresses in the outfit that Lucretia chose for him the night before and brushes his teeth. He goes into the kitchen and puts the already prepared bread in the toaster, and flips the switch for the water kettle. The pour-over for coffee is already prepared, grounds in the filter and a mug beside.
They had learned early on that doing the small things was enough for Davenport. He could learn to turn a knob, pour water, push down toast. Everything else had to be prepared ahead of time, and Lucretia did so, diligently.
He would sit at the table and drink his coffee and eat his toast, and then he would wash his dishes. And then he would sit, because what else was there to do? The apartment was basically bare bones, aside from the few belongings that Lucretia had been able to keep, that didn’t fill Davenport’s head with painful, panicked static. And making decisions, he knew, was not his forte.
Lucretia came out of her room a few hours later every time, dead in the eyes, pouring herself a cup of coffee. The first few days she barely even noticed that the gnome wasn't doing anything. On the third day, her vacant eyes sharpened to look at him. "How long have you been awake?" She asked over her coffee, voice rasping.
Davenport considered, and shrugged. "Davenport."
Lucretia's eyes flicked between him, sitting at the table with nothing in front of him, to his clean and dry mug and plate on the countertop.
"We should get you some things," She murmured after a moment, taking a sip of too-hot black coffee. "I'll...figure it out. I promise."
A week later, Davenport’s room had things for him to do. Lucretia had walked him around town and bought him anything and everything that caught his eye. It was strangely endearing to see him excited, something that her Captain never let out. At the most, Captain Drew Davenport was mildly relaxed with a glass of wine in his hand, but still professional. This Davenport was like a child, grabbing up books and colored pencils and things Lucretia had never thought he would like, but she bought them, and she choked on her bittersweet smile when she looked down to see him beaming, swinging the bags as they walked. It was painful to see him this way, but the excited gleam in his eye was the most emotion she had seen out of him yet.
Davenport’s room was the master bedroom. Lucretia and Fisher shared the smaller second bedroom. The door was always closed, but never locked. Davenport helped Lucretia push his bed to the corner of his room, creating space for the small table and chairs that Lucretia had procured for him. Before long, they had a small art table set up, his colored pencils all tip-up in a mug sitting on top of a stack of paper. A few books that he had chosen - Lucretia wasn’t sure how much he actually retained of reading and writing, but she was fairly certain all the books had pictures, so she didn’t prevent him from taking them - were in a small bookshelf, along with a few colorful fidgeting gadgets that he had chosen. Davenport was delighted at the look of it, by the way he clasped his hands together and rambled his name over and over.
When Lucretia came out of her room the next morning, eyes tired from a night of no sleep, Davenport wasn’t at the kitchen table. His mug and plate were clean and set on the counter. She put them away and went to his bedroom door, and watched him color for a few minutes before leaving him to his devices. If he needed her, he would call.
On their next outing into their neighborhood, Davenport snatched up a clear plastic tube with glow-in-the-dark stars. Big blue eyes focused on Lucretia as he held it tightly to his chest, and with a sigh she nodded, holding out her hand to take it to the register.
Davenport spent that entire afternoon jumping on his bed, sticking stars on the walls and ceiling wherever he could touch. That night, when he laid in bed, he had an outburst of longing that was gone as soon as it had arrived. He rolled over, and went to sleep to the sound of static.