[ There had been so little time. Everything was still fresh and raw and new, for these two; Allison's throat still healing, the bandage still bound around her throat, the woman unaccustomed to her new limitations. It all just happened yesterday. Yesterday. Luther finds, staring down at this too-small screen, that he doesn't quite know what to do with her response this time. Can't read her emotions from cold hard text; can't see the flicker in her eyes or twitch at the corner of her mouth that he could always read clear as daylight. They're able to communicate through silence, they've done it before, but he can't do it blind and from afar like this. She's not lying in bed on the other side of a thin wall anymore, as she had for half of their life.
And he wishes, so sorely and painfully that it's like he's been punched in the gut, that he could hear her voice again. ]
Audio's easier. [ A crack in his own voice, the first sign of the hairline fractures in that rigid mask of Number One that he'd tried to pull together, slapdash. ] I'll... probably put my foot in my mouth but at least I'm not pressing the wrong keys.
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And he wishes, so sorely and painfully that it's like he's been punched in the gut, that he could hear her voice again. ]
Audio's easier. [ A crack in his own voice, the first sign of the hairline fractures in that rigid mask of Number One that he'd tried to pull together, slapdash. ] I'll... probably put my foot in my mouth but at least I'm not pressing the wrong keys.