[Her eyes search his face, over and over, memorizing him as he is, how he's luminous now with his wet cheeks and pained eyes. Some of that, she put that there. She'll need to draw it back out. He's close enough that her eyes cross when she looks into them, and the breath from his words ghosts across her mouth. His hands on her face are still cool and she brings up her own to hold them in place, like she can warm them by touching.]
If you're lying, they'll never find the body. [In a wobbly murmur, but she's starting to smile at last because his words are enough, that he wants to and that he's here are enough. They shouldn't be - god, she knows this - but she's tired, she's old, she doesn't want to fight it. Relief unfurls between her shoulder-blades when she lets go, just lets all the poisoned and curdled emptiness go, and there'll be time to work through the rest of it - he promised.
As the rest of her catches up to speed, she settles back into awareness of her body, remembers time and space. That he's been just standing since she dragged him in. That she's a mess, the apartment is a mess. That elation is still energy and exhaustion is lead, and charge doesn't hold indefinitely. She should offer him a drink, a seat, a hot shower, his hands back. She should kiss him; he's right there. Instead, she blinks furiously, and her eyes cut to the side. Still with a splinter of accusation,] You didn't tell me you were coming. If I'd known, I'd have...
[Tidied sooner? Set up more space? Not melted down like catastrophic coolant malfunction was an action plan? She's still smiling, hasn't stopped; she can't help that any more than she could the tears. It's Bruce and they've seen each other through worse than this.]
that sounds unpleasant; don't die
If you're lying, they'll never find the body. [In a wobbly murmur, but she's starting to smile at last because his words are enough, that he wants to and that he's here are enough. They shouldn't be - god, she knows this - but she's tired, she's old, she doesn't want to fight it. Relief unfurls between her shoulder-blades when she lets go, just lets all the poisoned and curdled emptiness go, and there'll be time to work through the rest of it - he promised.
As the rest of her catches up to speed, she settles back into awareness of her body, remembers time and space. That he's been just standing since she dragged him in. That she's a mess, the apartment is a mess. That elation is still energy and exhaustion is lead, and charge doesn't hold indefinitely. She should offer him a drink, a seat, a hot shower,
his hands back. She should kiss him; he's right there. Instead, she blinks furiously, and her eyes cut to the side. Still with a splinter of accusation,] You didn't tell me you were coming. If I'd known, I'd have...[Tidied sooner? Set up more space? Not melted down like catastrophic coolant malfunction was an action plan? She's still smiling, hasn't stopped; she can't help that any more than she could the tears. It's Bruce and they've seen each other through worse than this.]