[ He might close the door; he might turn his back on her like he did before. She's had a lot of doors slammed in her face and slammed plenty of her own, but that motion had been worse than any infuriated crash of a door into its frame. Seeing him there and not there; there but unreachable, there but impossibly far away because he hadn't wanted to see her, had hurt like a slap. Maybe they don't know each other well, maybe they spend half their time being bewildered by each other, but he'd helped her in the storm and again in that cabin and again when she came out of Milton House. There'd been something deeply wrong about the steadfast Edward Little simply... giving up, and at the time she'd thought he'd just turned out to be someone else in the long list of all the people who gave up on her, but –
But it turns out it was the other way around. And she can't go back in time and make herself stay instead of pushing out the door and leaving him to his misery, but he's still here and so is she, so maybe there's something she can do now, if he lets her.
Which he does. He steps back, opening the door she'd slammed in her tornado of emotions, and invites her in, instead of sending her packing like she probably deserves. Her whole expression shifts; that hangdog remorse in her eyes softening and brightening, the wry press of her lips curving more into something that's almost a smile, crooked and pleased. ]
Thanks.
[ She lowers the bottle and does just as he asks, coming into his cabin – again, but this time as an invited guest and not as a whirlwind of frustrated worry – and glances around as she waits for him to close the door behind her. It's a pretty simple set up, but neat and tidy. He'd built the fire back up – or someone had – and that cold, oppressing feeling of gloom has lifted. Relief loosens her shoulders before she turns back to look at him. ]
You had one too, right? One of those shadows.
[ The familiar twisting sensation of guilt starts crawling up her throat; she tries to smash it flat. It won't help anyone, least of all him. ]
no subject
But it turns out it was the other way around. And she can't go back in time and make herself stay instead of pushing out the door and leaving him to his misery, but he's still here and so is she, so maybe there's something she can do now, if he lets her.
Which he does. He steps back, opening the door she'd slammed in her tornado of emotions, and invites her in, instead of sending her packing like she probably deserves. Her whole expression shifts; that hangdog remorse in her eyes softening and brightening, the wry press of her lips curving more into something that's almost a smile, crooked and pleased. ]
Thanks.
[ She lowers the bottle and does just as he asks, coming into his cabin – again, but this time as an invited guest and not as a whirlwind of frustrated worry – and glances around as she waits for him to close the door behind her. It's a pretty simple set up, but neat and tidy. He'd built the fire back up – or someone had – and that cold, oppressing feeling of gloom has lifted. Relief loosens her shoulders before she turns back to look at him. ]
You had one too, right? One of those shadows.
[ The familiar twisting sensation of guilt starts crawling up her throat; she tries to smash it flat. It won't help anyone, least of all him. ]