hostileterritory | TLV Inbox

It's a moment of sharp clarity, like the whole universe has paused for a breath, when he recognizes something that tingles in the pit of his stomach and up his spine.

"I'm-" Fuck, this is embarrassing, which is another feeling he's forgotten how to contend with. "I'm. I guess I'm, uh, scared, of that, a little. Feeling nice."

She doesn't laugh at him, or shake her head at him, or tell him... well, anything. Instead, she's going to reach over and put her hand gently on his arm.

"Do you know why you're scared of that?" A pause before- "Is there a set of dominoes you can follow to tell you?"

"The... It's the contrast, maybe, part of it. Remembering the... good, makes the rest of it worse." That's the first domino, and framing it that way in his head makes the next one easier to find. "And if I remember, well. What happens when I don't have anything- anything good left again. Scared of that I guess."

It's easier to see the light in the dark. But once the light goes out, it feels even darker.

She considers how to answer that. Then-

"You like apples at all?"

"I- Yeah." His tone isn't quite a question.

"If you were hungry for an apple, and there was a big basket of apples, what would you do?"

"Uh... Eat one." Still not quite a question.

She nods.

"Even though you knew you'd be left with the core?" she asks with a tilt of her head. "Even though the apple'd be finished and eventually, you'd be hungry again? And you don't know if the bowl of apple's'd be there next time?"

"I guess it just, uh, feels easier, being hungry." A pause and he corrects himself. "Uh, not, metaphorically hungry, actually hungry, seems... easier."

She tilts her head to one side a little.

"You think maybe that's because you have the option to turn it off?" she asks gently. "That maybe you'd skip that apple if you didn't know at some point, you'd be hungry. If you could just... not be hungry."

See how the cycle happens?

He tilts his head in the kind of nod that manages to be both a protested agreement and an unwilling concession. "I guess. It is, yes, probably. But I meant-- I more meant hunger doesn't scare me."

She nods.

"I know. And that's my point."

She turns her hand towards him.

"You're not scared... because it's just a fact of life. You know you'll be hungry. You know you'll deal with it. There's no door you can close to keep that away."

She looks at his eyes now.

"But for this, there's a door. And you don't know what's behind it all the time. What might be behind it next time. So it's easier to keep it closed."

Her eyes are as impossible to look away from as ever. Fear kindles in his gut, but there's something else too. It's the something that made protecting someone in danger a natural action. The same instinct that prioritized Hanna promptly and without second thought.

He can do this for her, because she wants him to, because she wants it for him. The same way he would have switched things back on for Caleb with or without the gun.

He says can quietly enough for it to barely be a sound. Clears his throat and tries again. "Can we move to the couch?"

Edited 2024-12-30 04:18 (UTC)

She nods, and before she moves to go there, she's going to seek out his hand with her own and gently close her fingers around it.

He feels like a fucking child and it's humiliating and also-- a relief. A relief under all the self-flagellation.

He lets Saga draw him over, focused on their joined hands. "I don't remember it being this hard."

"It probably wasn't," she admits with a little smile. No shame. No doubts on that. It's hard right now. That isn't something wrong with him. It's just how it is. He's just living through it.

She'll sit down on the couch.

He sits down next to her, a little awkward, suddenly wondering if she's uncomfortable with this. If it's unprofessional, if it's... strange, somehow. It's not like he's unused to getting close to people fast. He was used to it, anyway. That's what happened in the sandbox. But the vulnerability of it is hard to stomach.

He looks at his own hands on his lap, picks at a hangnail, and gives her a sheepish now what sort of look.

She isn't uncomfortable. And this, in her estimation, isn't any less professional than anything else. 'Professional' doesn't have to be cold. It doesn't have to be unkind. It doesn't have to be hard and edged and push.

She'll reach over and she won't touch him, but she will put her hand gently over his, an offer. Just to get them started.

He takes her hand. Studies their fingers, the contrast in skin tones. David--

Henry closed his eyes and leans sideways to rest his head briefly on her shoulder. He moves again before he can lose his nerve, shifting his hold and his seat on the couch so he can lie down and rest his head in her lap.

"Is this... This is all right?"

She nods, and he'll feel the movement in her body from there, but she'll also say-

"Just fine. You're doing good."

She offers him a warm little smile and one hand will reach up to start combing gently through his hair.

"If it's giving you trouble, think of it like... physical therapy. But instead of helping you to walk, or move your arm, it's helping you to feel." She runs her fingers through a couple of times before she adds- "And it's okay if it takes time. If we work slow."

He eases under her fingers, relaxes just a tiny bit, and remembers the last time they did this. He'd been dying then. He knew it. It had been peaceful, even knowing he'd come back.

Even knowing he'd come back.

"I think-" His eyebrows knit, as a bubble of something unpleasant rises to squeeze his throat. His breathing goes briefly uneven. Henry closes his eyes, trying to focus.

"Fuck." He mumbles the syllable and breathes a little deeper. "Christ, it's hard to think sometimes, isn't it."

He'd forgotten. And he's pretty sure it shouldn't be this bad, not over an anxiety as small as the one he meant to voice.

She'd be the first person to say that there isn't really any 'should' or 'shouldn't' in his case, in his situation. No one alive had tried to do this. And even if they hadn't, emotions are so personal, so... fragile. She'll still while he struggles but she doesn't pull her hand away.

"It can be, yeah."

"I think," he says, soft this time, "it probably is going to take a while."

There, he managed it. "I-"

Another pause, another molten slurry rising in his throat. He clears it to try and make the choked sensation go away. "I'm afraid of-"

Is it okay, to admit it like that, to just say what he's afraid of, even if it's to Saga? It's... off. Wrong. Makes him feel like he's botched an assignment somehow.

"I'm... I guess I wonder if I'm going to be able to do it."

"That sounds like a pretty reasonable fear," she says gently, and she watches him to see if he can swallow that. She knows how hard of a time he's having talking about this.

Slow, deep inhale. He breathes out, and says, "Yeah," at the same time so it becomes a whisper.

He licks his lips and tries to stay focused through the mental static of a thousand petty fears. "Yeah, I guess."

Another unsteady breath.

"You know, wasn't in my file, but- I had a tutor in high school. Had a couple but only remember one. Had her for I think it was a science class. Junior year, the year before I joined the army."

He clears his throat softly. Closes his eyes so he can focus on his thoughts. "I just didn't get it, whatever she was trying to show me. Didn't get it, didn't get it, and then one day she broke her pencil in half and said she could teach a dog to read easier than teaching me anything."

A breathy chuckle. Henry can feel his heartbeat like a meaty fist squeezing at the base of his throat. "Pretty sure I failed that class, whatever it was."

Edited 2025-02-22 03:24 (UTC)

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