It feels like her heart transfers to somewhere between the placed their hands are and her ears. Unable to focus away from it at all, and unable not to nod when Luther says those words. More than a little even. Like she'd agreed and nodded, and though about it again, and did again. She hates a lot of things about this, and even this place, but it still true. It is still better than the alternative. Dead on the floor in that cabin, all of her blood racing out of her, vision blurring so quickly into spots and blackness, breaths shorter and shorter.
She thinks, again, for a second of seeing the still frame of that car, behind Diego, when she hadn't thought Diego was real, hadn't known the memory was. Her body across their laps, Luther and Diego's, bloody and squished in that small space. For more hours than she wants to think about still. Even at this second. Like somehow that's still more than she can stand being real. Having to hold Luther having done.
Yes.
Allison presses send on that, but it's not where it ends. She can see, feel, how unfinished it is, and without having even figured out how exactly she was going to get back here, they are. And it is right here. Right now. Maybe it's impetuous as much as it is some terror, but neither ever did stop her much. She moves without hesitation, smooth and fast, even for how small it will be. Not even her wary sane patience with the understanding she's not supposed to push him is more than a whisper against this topic, against the need that decides her.
Both. Her hand shifted under his, fingers spreading to link between his own as she lifted her hand from her throat and ducked her head a little at the same time. Moving the still small distance that put her hand, and his around it, against her own cheek, for saying it (even if it was never actually 'saying it') with him there, too. Better than dying, and better than waking up alone when I hadn't.
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She thinks, again, for a second of seeing the still frame of that car, behind Diego, when she hadn't thought Diego was real, hadn't known the memory was. Her body across their laps, Luther and Diego's, bloody and squished in that small space. For more hours than she wants to think about still. Even at this second. Like somehow that's still more than she can stand being real. Having to hold Luther having done.
Yes.
Allison presses send on that, but it's not where it ends. She can see, feel, how unfinished it is, and without having even figured out how exactly she was going to get back here, they are. And it is right here. Right now. Maybe it's impetuous as much as it is some terror, but neither ever did stop her much. She moves without hesitation, smooth and fast, even for how small it will be. Not even her wary sane patience with the understanding she's not supposed to push him is more than a whisper against this topic, against the need that decides her.
Both. Her hand shifted under his, fingers spreading to link between his own as she lifted her hand from her throat and ducked her head a little at the same time. Moving the still small distance that put her hand, and his around it, against her own cheek, for saying it (even if it was never actually 'saying it') with him there, too. Better than dying, and better than waking up alone when I hadn't.