[ Wynonna's hands move over him, and he's too stunned, hurt, relieved, terrified, to reflect on anything for long, to process anything — but it feels natural. Not strange or nerve-racking or unwelcomed in any capacity, not something he needs to shy back from; it feels natural that she should touch him over, feel him, keep him close. Just as natural as his own grasp on the woman's arms, somehow both gentle but firm, a way to keep holding on. In that moment, whatever on-going thing that's been quietly tormenting him, how to categorise this person and how to treat her subsequently, how to handle her, simply doesn't matter.
None of that does; the truth is right there, so easy to see in a moment like this when every fibre of his being needs Wynonna Earp to be okay. She's one of his people. She's his person.
He's filled with some surge of dread by the thought of making the journey there — remembering the variety of weapons Interlopers have, and... how some have been touched by the supernatural (some of them can manipulate and even create fire, and he'd seen that used against others, too, and the thought makes his throat start closing up within seconds.) Even if her cabin is close, what if someone targets them? They're so much more visible now that the sun is shining through; he squints against it, looking to her eyes — the direct brightness making them lighter, their blues and greys reminiscent of the sheets of ice that had been his world for so long.
'It's safe there. I can make it safe.'
He nods right away, even if some part of him wants to hesitate. He feels as though the moment they start running again, they'll be in danger — that something will give chase. There's a squeeze to her arms; even when he finally lets go to turn and head with her, he doesn't really let go, not fully, keeping one hand up and close to her forearm still, ready to latch onto the fabric of her clothing again.
He can't rest until he gets her inside somewhere for the immediate moment, but he feels the panicky buzz of so many others he needs to know are safe and can't find. His breathing's faster again, shallow as he moves. His heart's in his throat. He knows better than to suggest they run haphazardly around searching for Kate, that they'll be no good to her dead, but he feels as though he's abandoning her by not doing it all the same. ]
I lost contact with Miss Marsh. She was with me, but then— [ His voice catches, slips out of his control for a moment. ] We can gather weapons at your home, prepare — set out again shortly and find her. She may have sought refuge somewhere close by.
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None of that does; the truth is right there, so easy to see in a moment like this when every fibre of his being needs Wynonna Earp to be okay. She's one of his people. She's his person.
He's filled with some surge of dread by the thought of making the journey there — remembering the variety of weapons Interlopers have, and... how some have been touched by the supernatural (some of them can manipulate and even create fire, and he'd seen that used against others, too, and the thought makes his throat start closing up within seconds.) Even if her cabin is close, what if someone targets them? They're so much more visible now that the sun is shining through; he squints against it, looking to her eyes — the direct brightness making them lighter, their blues and greys reminiscent of the sheets of ice that had been his world for so long.
'It's safe there. I can make it safe.'
He nods right away, even if some part of him wants to hesitate. He feels as though the moment they start running again, they'll be in danger — that something will give chase. There's a squeeze to her arms; even when he finally lets go to turn and head with her, he doesn't really let go, not fully, keeping one hand up and close to her forearm still, ready to latch onto the fabric of her clothing again.
He can't rest until he gets her inside somewhere for the immediate moment, but he feels the panicky buzz of so many others he needs to know are safe and can't find. His breathing's faster again, shallow as he moves. His heart's in his throat. He knows better than to suggest they run haphazardly around searching for Kate, that they'll be no good to her dead, but he feels as though he's abandoning her by not doing it all the same. ]
I lost contact with Miss Marsh. She was with me, but then— [ His voice catches, slips out of his control for a moment. ] We can gather weapons at your home, prepare — set out again shortly and find her. She may have sought refuge somewhere close by.