crossmyheartandhope

[A little bit. Though she can guess; she's got an idea what he feels like]

Wasn't gonna Goldilocks you, but...uh. Where you--how you been?

I been... okay.

Just... been around, here and there. You know.

How bout you? You doing okay?

No.

[...Well, that was honest. She looks away, scrubs at her face]

...Sorry. For fucking up so bad.

...pretty sure that's my line.

You were doing fine. All I had to do was help out, and instead I dragged the whole thing down. We could've come out okay, but I--

[Her voice cracks, stays oddly high and reedy]

--Couldn't keep it together...so. I just wanted to--in person.

Way I figure, things were dragged down already from day one.

After that it was just, like - triage. Picking up the pieces.

[He's quiet for a beat or two; his fingers worry at the hem of his shirt, to tamp down on the impulse to reach for her hand.]

...I get it, dude. It was messed up, what he did to Req. If it'd been you, I don't think I coulda tried for a diplomacy roll, either.

I still got you all hurt. I let her come in the first place. I fucked up the dirt thing, I guess? I didn't find anything good--called you off from the crash site when that shoulda been the first place to check. You were good to go and I--I ruined it.

[She closes her palm, which doesn't make her hand tremble any less. Digs her nails in in an attempt to hold it together; forces her voice back down the octave]

I just-- I wanted to tell you, I'm so, so sorry, for everything. I, I ain't gonna run away, and I understand if you're--tired--but I just wanted to see you, and...say it in person, at least.

We both let em come. Way I remember it, it was me who opened my dumb mouth when you were trying to get her to stay put. And we didn't find nothing at the crash site. Some kid gave us the diary; C says it came from Furfur.

[He takes a breath in - kind of shaky.]

Look, everything was - a mess. Everything was real bad, okay? But like 99% of that was cause I messed stuff up, and the other 1% was just plain crappy luck.

You don't gotta say sorry for nothing. And - and I get it, if you want some space. You don't gotta explain nothing, or answer my texts or whatever. I get it, if you - if you think I'm more trouble than I'm worth.

[The more he talks, the more unsteady his voice gets, until the very last bit, when he sounds about half an inch away from tears.]

—What?

[She reaches out—punches him in the arm. But then she grabs it; squeezes; can’t make herself let go]

That’s stupid. Why would you think— No. I broke into your house, that’s the opposite of giving space. And--

A-and you can—you can call it, if you want, ‘cause I know I’m more trouble than I’m worth. But I don’t...I don’t want that.

[Her voice falters, but she forces her gaze not to dip away]

I don’t want to not have you.

[His eyes track down to the place where she's holding his arm, slow - back up to her face, searching her expression.]

Call it? That's - I don't want to call it, that's - no.

[He makes an odd sort of choked sound - looks down again to where her hand's still holding onto him and reaches, before he can stop to think or second-guess himself, to set his own over it, holding on a little too tight.]

You're like the opposite of trouble, you're like - you're like the best thing I got, I don't wanna -

[His voice breaks; the tears, which he'd been doing at least a so-so job of keeping away, start again.]

I don't wanna lose you, either.

[Parses this--lets out a little sound, maybe disbelieving, maybe relieved. Probably both. Manages something close to a watery smile]

Okay. O-okay.

[Shudders in a breath; urges him towards her a bit]

Will you--can we...?

[He manages a nod, shaky and a little awkward - doesn't quite trust his voice.]

[He makes to meet her halfway, pulling her in toward him. When his arms come up, the gesture is almost uncertain, like he's not quite sure this is okay - like he doesn't quite believe he can have this.]

[She goes readily, selfishly, like she's afraid he might disappear if she waits too long--like she might wake up alone with nothing.

Wraps her arm around him and pulls closer, pressing her face into the (cold, of course, should've been better) crook of his shoulder and not moving for a few beats]

[His chest hitches once - then again, harder.]

[The arms around her shift their hold, less tentative, now, and more clinging. His fingers close around the fabric of her shirt, a little desperate.]

[His hair's still damp from the shower. Maybe that's all that's getting her shoulder wet, but probably not.]

[Honestly she can't hold in a little whimper herself, and only half-tries to keep in the next.

At some point she stutters out an apology without attempting to explain what for--not like there aren't plenty of reasons. For the first time she mourns the loss of her arm since it means she can only clutch so tight. (She does her best anyway.)]

[It's okay; he's probably holding on tight enough for both of them.]

[He'd thought he was done with crying, but no, actually; it turns out he is not. It's breathy and gasping, quietly intense, buried against the crook between her neck and her shoulder.]

You don't - you don't gotta be sorry. You're good. You're better than good, y-you - I'm the one who -

[There's something else in there, but it's mostly incoherent, muffled by fabric and garbled by the way his breath keeps hitching. When it becomes comprehensible again, he's saying:]

- so c-could you just, like. Stay? Just a little while. You can - can do whatever after, but could you - ?

Edited 2019-08-29 22:04 (UTC)

[She hums in response, possibly a touch too much hysterical relief to count as truly reassuring, but--of course. Of course.]

Dummy. I-I've been waiting for you...!

[And who knows what idiocy might tumble out of her mouth next, or how reedy or high-pitched it might sound. So instead of continuing with words she just tries to get a better grip on him, heft him into the bed proper. Maybe this way he'll believe she's more than happy to stay put, here with him]

[He goes easy enough - lets himself be hauled in, a little awkward without the leg, but willing to go where she maneuvers him.]

[He doesn't let go - just clings, and breathes, and tries not to cry harder at how impossibly good the words "I've been waiting for you," sound after a nightmare like the one Lilith sent his way.]

[She neither needs nor wants him to let go, and this way it's a little easier to lean into him, keep the same amount of contact and pressure while attempting something closer to stroking his back. Not that she's against that idea either. It's just difficult to sell it when her hand's still not quite steady enough to do all she wants it to do.

But she isn't planning on going anywhere, so maybe there's time.]

[It's not like he's in a rush to go anywhere, either. If it was up to him, they would stay here all night.]

[Which is to say, he's keeping right where he is, grip still a little desperate, curling into her as much as he's able.]

[It's fine. It's nice, to be needed, even if just a warm body (and she is plenty warm, pulse thrumming as she holds on tight; hooks a leg around his to be that much closer). Also it's nice because it's him, and being apart too long's never quite felt right, especially in times like this.

She tries to explain, eventually, though in so many mumbled fits and starts it's hard to put it together as anything but a bunch of false starts and true apologies quietly sniffled into his neck or his hair or his shoulder. ...At least she's a warm body]

[The warmth is a bonus, it's true - especially after Lilith's vision, where he was so, so sure that he would never have this again. It's better because it's her, though; every minute that passes soothes the part of him that was so sure he wouldn't see her again, that she would never want to.]

[The arm around him, and the closeness, and the murmured words - they're better because it's her. It's important that it's her, and gradually, the jagged sobs ease into something quieter, just shaky breathing and his forehead resting on her shoulder. His hands are still holding tight to the fabric, as though afraid she'll disappear if he lets go.]

[She doesn't, because if this is all she can do, if this is the closest thing to 'help' she can give, she'll give it. How can she not, for him of all people?

Eventually she gets her hand moving--cheats by stroking through his hair, which is soothing to her, at least. Then she forces her voice a little more steady, and finds safer topics to maintain patter--how good he is, and not to worry, and a few tries at how much a help he is, or silly things they should try later...though only a few, since that assumes an awful lot about how helpful she isn't or that he'd spend time with her when he had a choice, and then she has to work on the lump in her throat again which is just wasted time for everyone.

But if he's feeling even just a little less desperate and terrible, then that's all that matters. She tucks him in further into her, while she can]

[He stays where he is, feeling vaguely guilty for needing this so much, but still absolutely selfish enough to soak it in. He turns his head into the hand in his hair, relishing the closeness - lets the words wash over him, reassuring and gentle and good. The parts about him being good and helpful - well, those cut away at him, a little, because he is all too aware of his own faults. But he clings to the other parts, the parts that suggest maybe she'll want to spend time with him later, just as tightly as his hands are still clinging to her shirt.]

[It's not until he's cried himself out that he tries to talk again. The words are wobbly and hoarse, when he finally manages.]

Sorry. 'm sorry. I just - I missed you, is all.

O-oh?

[This sounds too good to be true, so best not to think about it, since she's probably misunderstanding what he means.]

...I figured you'd want some space, after...everything.

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