[ Of course it makes sense. To him, as much as to everyone else in their little party, bound together not just by their respective tadpoles but by loyalties, friendships, beliefs that had all worn them raw. Cazador's boot on his neck, an inexorable weight tolerated because there's nowhere else to go once one reaches the deepest ocean floor.
He thinks of that weight as the pause between them stretches, and thenβ I remembered. A light. A bubble floating upward. Silence and stillness suddenly surge forward and upward, into relief and worry and surprise. That brush against his sleeve is enough to prompt his own hand to rise, his fingers scrabbling over the back of Gale's hand to reach his wrist. It's only that touch β an anchor, concrete proof of Gale's presence here β that opens the door to his realizing just how worried he's been that this day might never come to pass, that his devotion might simply carry him to detonation after all. ]
I had hopedβ
[ A third path. Shock peels away into gladness. Whatever comes next, they'll face together, now on equal footing. ]
I told you, didn't I? [ he says, each word recovering a little more of his usual confidence, his usual teasing. (He hadn't really, after all β he'd done his best to let sleeping dogs lie, allow Gale the courtesy of writing the absent chapters on his own.) He seems to realize, then, that he's still holding onto Gale's wrist, as his gaze flickers down before he lets his fingers loosen, falling tentatively away. He reassesses, then, his focus settling on that new bit of scar tissue. ]
no subject
He thinks of that weight as the pause between them stretches, and thenβ I remembered. A light. A bubble floating upward. Silence and stillness suddenly surge forward and upward, into relief and worry and surprise. That brush against his sleeve is enough to prompt his own hand to rise, his fingers scrabbling over the back of Gale's hand to reach his wrist. It's only that touch β an anchor, concrete proof of Gale's presence here β that opens the door to his realizing just how worried he's been that this day might never come to pass, that his devotion might simply carry him to detonation after all. ]
I had hopedβ
[ A third path. Shock peels away into gladness. Whatever comes next, they'll face together, now on equal footing. ]
I told you, didn't I? [ he says, each word recovering a little more of his usual confidence, his usual teasing. (He hadn't really, after all β he'd done his best to let sleeping dogs lie, allow Gale the courtesy of writing the absent chapters on his own.) He seems to realize, then, that he's still holding onto Gale's wrist, as his gaze flickers down before he lets his fingers loosen, falling tentatively away. He reassesses, then, his focus settling on that new bit of scar tissue. ]
Howβ how do you feel?