crossmyheartandhope

Dude, you're - you're good.

This is good, it's. [He takes a breath in, and it hitches a little.] I missed this so much, you don't gotta do anything but what you're doing right now.

I gotta make sure you don't die again. Then--

[She starts again, voice more sure]

Then maybe we can talk about being good.

Hey. It was my dumb wish, right? This one's on me.

If--

[Swallows, like she doesn't want to have this conversation--she doesn't--but it's not like she can think about much else, so may as well.]

...I rushed in, like an idiot. I just-- I shouldn't've left you alone. It's just 'cause I...

[Bites her lip, swallows again, harder]

...Just saying...wouldn't've been any problems if we'd had each others backs, is all.

Yeah, well. Least you didn't show up too late to do anything.

This time.

...hey.

[He pulls back a little, but not far - just far enough so that he can rest their foreheads together. One hand comes up, hesitant, to touch her cheek very gently.]

It's done. Kay? It's all done. We're both - we're here now.

[Her cheek is especially hot beneath his hand, jaw tense. From the angle it's hard to tell through her glasses if her eyes are open or shut. Her shoulders are stiff as a board.]

That's the important part. Right?

[He closes his eyes, because there sure are tears standing at the corners of them. His thumb traces the hard line of her jaw, careful.]

We're here, and we're still going. We got tomorrow, and - and the day after, and the day after.

S'like you said. To getting back up, no matter what.

Edited 2019-01-16 08:06 (UTC)

[She doesn't cry, but she doesn't do anything else, either--can't, all of a sudden--just sits there and breathes in shallow and breathes out too fast. But--

(can't she even do this?)

--Nods, jerky and slow, but definitely a nod.]

[He huffs something that might be a laugh, but it's watery and a little unsteady. The tears break and run down his cheeks, and he pulls back again, but only so that he can scoot in closer, like he was before, to bury his face in the crook where her neck meets her shoulder.]

[Nothing is said since she doesn't trust her voice even a little bit, but she does reach for him eventually, more clinging for dear life than offering comfort but--soon, in a minute. Maybe it's close enough for now.]

[It's good enough. It's better than good enough.]

[Clinging for dear life means they're both still alive to cling.]

[...True.]

[(Which works out since it takes her much more than a minute.)]

[He stays for a while, just like that, just holding on - aware thanks to the proximity of the tension in her shoulders, and in her jaw.]

[(Aware that it's his fault they're there. If it's all done, shouldn't this be the easy part? How did he mess this up, too?)]

[At last, hesitant, his hand comes up to thread into her hair, slow and careful. When he speaks, his voice is still rough with the tears.]

...'s not your fault. You know that, right?

[That is completely untrue. If only she could force her stupid mouth to say--anything, god, but she can't do that right, either. She doesn't sink against his touch, but only just barely, and still isn't strong enough to keep her hands from knotting into his shirt.

(God! Pull yourself together; like he hasn't dealt with enough!)]

...O-okay.

[The "o" wavers, nothing about any of this is okay, but--maybe she can at least pretend.]

[The fingers slip through her hair, gentle, picking through the tangles he finds. His hands are maybe shaking a little, but that's - that's okay. That's probably okay.]

[He'll tell himself that's okay.]

For real. I - none of that was on you. Okay?

[Honestly this might all be pretty reassuring if it was in any way deserved. As it is, it only feels worse. Finally, she moves her hands from clenching his shirt to clenching the fabric of her pants, progress. Her tone is ginger, like she's unwilling to put put too much weight into it]

--You weren't too late. I--left you behind. You couldn't even've got up there, much less stopped me. Okay?

[He opens his mouth - closes it again.]

...I did get up there, though. Just - too slow, is all.

Or too quick. Either way--you're the one who did what they were supposed to. You're good, okay?

There's no - no supposed to in a game like that, there's - it's all wrong, from start to finish.

They - they were shooting at us, dude. What were you gonna do, come back down so they could take pot shots at everyone from a sniper's eye view? Just - just hang out on the wall like a target? There weren't any good choices, and that's not on you.

[His voice creeps up higher as he talks; toward the end, the words are coming a little too fast together, a little indistinct. His hand's stopped moving in her hair, but it stays curled there, protective, at the base of her skull.]

[The effort to force her tone light is obvious]

...Maybe there weren't good choices. But there sure were some bad ones.

That's the point, though. They - all of em were bad choices. You can't - you can't just make something with nothing, sometimes -

[The sentence cuts off, partway, with a sharp intake of breath. He has to pause, and breathe, and swallow against the tightness in his throat.]

Sometimes--sometimes you fuck up real bad. And sometimes other people gotta pay the price. I don't--

[Her voice cracks, but she pushes through anyway]

It's not your problem, okay? Don't worry about it. I won't-- I'll do better, okay?

You didn't fuck up. You - it's not on you, I don't -

[He doesn't know how to say it. He doesn't know how to make her understand. The hand in her hair is shaking a little again.]

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