[He is, for the moment, very still. Thumbs brushing at her cheekbones, fingers twisting into her hair. Holding on, taking her in desperately. Like he's afraid she's going to fade away.
(All the others—they always do. There for a few seconds of flickery, fading Trace. Just enough time to say hi, ask them a question or two. And then they go quiet, file away to wherever they sleep in here, and he is alone again, and she'd be out of his reach for good, this time.)
Only...it's never like this. She is solid and warm and here in front of him. And she isn't leaving, at least not yet. She is moving her hands in a way that he distantly knows he should recognize. Through the static in the air and behind his eyes, and it takes longer than it should, but eventually...he realizes what it means.
This isn't how it happened. They aren't really here.
He takes a breath, shaky and then steadying, cautious and chagrined.]
Okay. Okay. Yeah, I— [Guiltily, he closes his eyes, leans his forehead against her to mumble miserably into her hair. Equal parts breathless relief and mortified realization. Present, now, if sort of slow and seasick and swimmy. Like he's had a few too many down by the canal.] Sorry.
[For what? He hesitates, like he's trying to make sure he doesn't say too much. Settles slowly and ironically on—] ...Really don't think the weather's been agreeing with me.
[The storm has been hell on any electronics the refugees have lying around. Which has been a special kind of inconvenient for the Transistor...and anyone unfortunate enough to rely on it to hang around.]
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(All the others—they always do. There for a few seconds of flickery, fading Trace. Just enough time to say hi, ask them a question or two. And then they go quiet, file away to wherever they sleep in here, and he is alone again, and she'd be out of his reach for good, this time.)
Only...it's never like this. She is solid and warm and here in front of him. And she isn't leaving, at least not yet. She is moving her hands in a way that he distantly knows he should recognize. Through the static in the air and behind his eyes, and it takes longer than it should, but eventually...he realizes what it means.
This isn't how it happened. They aren't really here.
He takes a breath, shaky and then steadying, cautious and chagrined.]
Okay. Okay. Yeah, I— [Guiltily, he closes his eyes, leans his forehead against her to mumble miserably into her hair. Equal parts breathless relief and mortified realization. Present, now, if sort of slow and seasick and swimmy. Like he's had a few too many down by the canal.] Sorry.
[For what? He hesitates, like he's trying to make sure he doesn't say too much. Settles slowly and ironically on—] ...Really don't think the weather's been agreeing with me.
[The storm has been hell on any electronics the refugees have lying around. Which has been a special kind of inconvenient for the Transistor...and anyone unfortunate enough to rely on it to hang around.]