[ She's been so tired, and so worried, and so stressed, and she hasn't had any idea where he's been or what he's been doing, aside from being sure that he'd been out, trying to calm people, trying to restore order, trying to help. He's always trying to help, whether it's possible or not; it's who he is. But somewhere in all that, he'd thought of her, too, and she shouldn't be surprised by that anymore but she is, that someone like him not only thinks of her, but tries to find her when everything is going straight to hell.
She hears the worry and relief in his voice — breathed almost directly into the shell of her ear and for a moment she shivers, hard, with something other than shock — and recognizes it. She's never wanted Dolls and Doc so badly, and the help and protection they provide; they aren't here, but she has him, and for this moment locked in his arms, crushed against his chest so close she'd think he can feel her heart thrumming rabbit-fast in her own, she's not thinking of the danger, of the rage that's been ripping the people they know into shreds of themselves. She found him, and he found her, for right now, it feels like they're in a bubble of their own where nothing can touch them.
Even when he pulls away, just enough to look at her, his hands on her arms, trying to bring them both back to reality, she can feel it. The way the world is rocking around them, but here in these few square feet of space, where she can have her hands on him and see his now-familiar face, the ground is still and steady. He steadies her, even if he's still trembling himself. It doesn't matter; it's Little, he's a safe place to stand. He always has been, even when she convinced herself he wasn't. There are no trapdoors here under her feet after all, only a solid, dependable foundation that gives her a moment to think, to breathe.
Her own hands go to his shoulders, slide to his chest, palms flat against his coat before they sweep down without ever lifting from his body and settle at his sides, his ribs, feeling them expand with each breath. It's like and not like when she'd patted him down after they'd stumbled out of Milton House; she has to paint him with touch to be sure each part of him is real, unhurt, okay. ]
My cabin isn't far.
[ He's right that they can't stand here in the snow, in the open. Anything could happen. Elias... might have had someone like Little, someone who's looking for him and who won't ever be able to find him, and they might come for revenge, the way she knows she would have, the way she'd gone looking for Chloe.
Her fingers grip the wool of his coat, reluctant to let go, to let her step back. A slight, cool breeze brushes over them and tugs the unruly mess of his hair into even greater disarray and for the first time she wonders where his cap is.
It's not important. ]
Come on. It's safe there. I can make it safe. Okay?
no subject
She hears the worry and relief in his voice — breathed almost directly into the shell of her ear and for a moment she shivers, hard, with something other than shock — and recognizes it. She's never wanted Dolls and Doc so badly, and the help and protection they provide; they aren't here, but she has him, and for this moment locked in his arms, crushed against his chest so close she'd think he can feel her heart thrumming rabbit-fast in her own, she's not thinking of the danger, of the rage that's been ripping the people they know into shreds of themselves. She found him, and he found her, for right now, it feels like they're in a bubble of their own where nothing can touch them.
Even when he pulls away, just enough to look at her, his hands on her arms, trying to bring them both back to reality, she can feel it. The way the world is rocking around them, but here in these few square feet of space, where she can have her hands on him and see his now-familiar face, the ground is still and steady. He steadies her, even if he's still trembling himself. It doesn't matter; it's Little, he's a safe place to stand. He always has been, even when she convinced herself he wasn't. There are no trapdoors here under her feet after all, only a solid, dependable foundation that gives her a moment to think, to breathe.
Her own hands go to his shoulders, slide to his chest, palms flat against his coat before they sweep down without ever lifting from his body and settle at his sides, his ribs, feeling them expand with each breath. It's like and not like when she'd patted him down after they'd stumbled out of Milton House; she has to paint him with touch to be sure each part of him is real, unhurt, okay. ]
My cabin isn't far.
[ He's right that they can't stand here in the snow, in the open. Anything could happen. Elias... might have had someone like Little, someone who's looking for him and who won't ever be able to find him, and they might come for revenge, the way she knows she would have, the way she'd gone looking for Chloe.
Her fingers grip the wool of his coat, reluctant to let go, to let her step back. A slight, cool breeze brushes over them and tugs the unruly mess of his hair into even greater disarray and for the first time she wonders where his cap is.
It's not important. ]
Come on. It's safe there. I can make it safe. Okay?