for numberthree.

[obediences]

And I’d choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I’d find you and I’d choose you.

Comments

[numberthree]

One hand is in the snow, and the other is suddenly in Luther's hand, and it's like the opposite of a trust fall because she isn't falling, but even the smallest tug of Luther in a rush comes with more force than anyone else could with their whole weight thrown into it. Sends her moving a little faster, upward. It's less like falling and a little like flying, without actually flying, plotting only where her feet need to be.

That once even the toes of her boots are crunching down into the hard-packed snow -- and the boards of the broken house wall, still everywhere around them; the ones Luther flew straight through the wall of only minutes ago, too -- they're already off and running. Debris isn't a concern. Only a detail. (And sometimes, when necessity calls for it, a weapon.)

Luther doesn't let go of her hand, squeezing hers gently once, and it's only one step out of the cadence of her roaring heartbeat, and she can't tell if it's just the warning of movement or it's something else. She doesn't have time for her heart to more than flutter something of a question mark that can't even make it to her mind, no less her mouth, before they're running.

Before she does what they've been trained to do;
tucks it away in her pocket; focuses on the mission in front of them.

Diego's voice and getting to him and the fact they've got whatever this is.