[He watches her so carefully, every emotion that flits across her face as if he can read what's actually going on in her head with a look. Maybe at one time, when they share absolutely everything, he thought he could. Maybe he'd been able to guess.
He doesn't have to guess long when she plays the voicemail though, Claire's voice coming through. He tilts his head, listens to it play. Ah... okay. It makes sense... at least more than it had when he received her message this morning. Letting out a breath, Luther does the only thing he knows to do--
He shifts forward once it ends and settles next to her on the couch and brings an arm around her, pulls her in to a careful embrace.]
I'm sorry... [He murmurs.] I know this is hard for you...
[ For a moment Allison froze, a strange stagger to her thoughts. Where no one has touched her during in the better part of a year, and before that, the better part of half a decade, even Patrick knew better than to touch her, except carefully, like a litmus test on a bomb, if she was angry or hurt.
But Luther isn't Patrick. Luther isn't.
No one on the planet is Luther. No one else. No one ever had been. Could be. Even come close.
She's not sure if it's better, like she can breathe a little deeper, or worse, like she might tear up, again, as he starts talking into her hair in the same second she finally starts to relax a little. Hard is such an understatement. Hard was leaving this place. Hard was coming back. Hard was not talking. And breathing being strange all together now, impossible to take for granted.
Not having Claire? Not even being able to say a single word to her now, when words were all she'd even had to hold her through the last months? Was a constant reminder of how much just living could feel like dying. Hyperbolic, her therapist would say. Stupid, she'll say later. It doesn't change -- even if she lets herself close her eyes against him -- that it feels just like bleeding out on the cabin floor did. Except for every day, without end, without a wound to point to that anyone can see. ]
[He wishes he could-- fix this. Make everything better for her somehow. He wishes none of it had happened and she at least had her voice because he can't imagine what this must be like for her. He can't do anything besides hold on though.
Hold on and press a soft kiss to her head.]
We'll make it okay somehow... Okay? I'll do whatever I have to.
[Not that there's a lot he can do, but hopefully it'll-- help. Maybe it will soothe some of the hurt she's feeling, some of the hopelessness.]
You're going to see Claire again-- and you're going to hold her again, no matter what.
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numberthree) wrote2019-03-13 09:06 pm
no subject
He doesn't have to guess long when she plays the voicemail though, Claire's voice coming through. He tilts his head, listens to it play. Ah... okay. It makes sense... at least more than it had when he received her message this morning. Letting out a breath, Luther does the only thing he knows to do--
He shifts forward once it ends and settles next to her on the couch and brings an arm around her, pulls her in to a careful embrace.]
I'm sorry... [He murmurs.] I know this is hard for you...
no subject
But Luther isn't Patrick. Luther isn't.
No one on the planet is Luther. No one else.
No one ever had been. Could be. Even come close.
She's not sure if it's better, like she can breathe a little deeper, or worse, like she might tear up, again, as he starts talking into her hair in the same second she finally starts to relax a little. Hard is such an understatement. Hard was leaving this place. Hard was coming back. Hard was not talking. And breathing being strange all together now, impossible to take for granted.
Not having Claire? Not even being able to say a single word to her now, when words were all she'd even had to hold her through the last months? Was a constant reminder of how much just living could feel like dying. Hyperbolic, her therapist would say. Stupid, she'll say later. It doesn't change -- even if she lets herself close her eyes against him -- that it feels just like bleeding out on the cabin floor did. Except for every day, without end, without a wound to point to that anyone can see. ]
no subject
Hold on and press a soft kiss to her head.]
We'll make it okay somehow... Okay? I'll do whatever I have to.
[Not that there's a lot he can do, but hopefully it'll-- help. Maybe it will soothe some of the hurt she's feeling, some of the hopelessness.]
You're going to see Claire again-- and you're going to hold her again, no matter what.