Even for backward phrasing, it's more than Allison had given this place for nearly the first year after they got here. When it was clear to everyone who gave her even the split chance of an expression, no less a stream of written words, that, honest to god, she hated everything about being stuck here. She had no time to smell any of the flowers as long as it was keeping her from where she belonged, what she needed to do, who she needed to get back to.
If she's being honest with herself -- and somehow it's never easier to that than with Luther nearby, with the feeling of it being safe to actually look at, no matter how terrible, it is or she is -- she's not even sure, herself. If that heat or hate downgraded to something like vague irritation only is the cause of what she just said. Because of finally having a win. Finally saving a world destined to end. Supposedly, righting the future.
Or if it's another side-effect of all those years. Of settling for so many years longer there than she was ever here, incapable of doing anything but accepting that her family was out of reach, the future was out of reach, Claire was out of reach. With no ability to do anything about them, or even talk about them for a year, and when she could talk again, not even having a way to try to, without sounding crazy.
Another of the million things swallowed by the silence,
and then by her not even giving people the chance to believe her sans proof. But yesterday was all the proof she needed to know how that would have gone, isn't it?
The last few days. As all those doors and all those lies peeled back with the return of each of her family members, with another apocalypse. Until that earnest unwavering you only make me better of Ray's love became that last shaking, shattering ramble that began with No, I'm not okay edged so far into the splintering panic of being pushed too far, knowing too much, seeing too much.
Knowing he couldn't take any more. Of all of it. Of all of her. At three days in.
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Even for backward phrasing, it's more than Allison had given this place for nearly the first year after they got here. When it was clear to everyone who gave her even the split chance of an expression, no less a stream of written words, that, honest to god, she hated everything about being stuck here. She had no time to smell any of the flowers as long as it was keeping her from where she belonged, what she needed to do, who she needed to get back to.
If she's being honest with herself -- and somehow it's never easier to that than with Luther nearby, with the feeling of it being safe to actually look at, no matter how terrible, it is or she is -- she's not even sure, herself. If that heat or hate downgraded to something like vague irritation only is the cause of what she just said. Because of finally having a win. Finally saving a world destined to end. Supposedly, righting the future.
Or if it's another side-effect of all those years. Of settling for so many years longer there than she was ever here, incapable of doing anything but accepting that her family was out of reach, the future was out of reach, Claire was out of reach. With no ability to do anything about them, or even talk about them for a year, and when she could talk again, not even having a way to try to, without sounding crazy.
Another of the million things swallowed by the silence,
and then by her not even giving people the chance to believe her sans proof.
But yesterday was all the proof she needed to know how that would have gone, isn't it?
The last few days. As all those doors and all those lies peeled back with the return of each of her family members, with another apocalypse. Until that earnest unwavering you only make me better of Ray's love became that last shaking, shattering ramble that began with No, I'm not okay edged so far into the splintering panic of being pushed too far, knowing too much, seeing too much.
Knowing he couldn't take any more. Of all of it. Of all of her. At three days in.