[She's not answering. She's not answering, and he doesn't know what to do, except keep pounding his palm against the door. It stings, it's definitely overdoing it, but if she's here then she has to hear him. She--
She calls out, and Scott's heart actually skips a beat. He has to blink furiously to banish her face - her face after death, empty of everything that made her her - from his mind. His hand is still raised, palm red and smarting (and already fading, thanks to his returned strength) and hovering in the air. He must look like an idiot. He doesn't care.
When she hugs him - he barely sees the ring dagger, hardly registers it - he feels like the world is collapsing in on itself and expanding to impossible lengths at the same time. His arms are around her immediately, and he thinks distantly that maybe he's holding her too tight, but all his attention is on not crying. He can't just breakdown. She's not - she's not dead.
Scott has been on the Barge a long time, though. He knows what the Admiral is capable of, at least, he knows some of it. Maybe she made a deal when she died. Maybe she's from before that, like he was from before Stiles. He hates that nothing matches up anymore, that they can't be sure of what each other knows. So he squeezes his eyes shut and presses his face down against her shoulder.
She's his lifeline, right now. She was his anchor, and now that she's here, in his arms, he feels conversely adrift. How can he ever predict anything again? How can he ever expect what tomorrow will bring? Maybe that's a good thing. He never thought - he never expected to see her, not until Jack graduated. This is so much sooner than that, and he's afraid to let her go.]
Sorry, [he finally mumbles,opening his eyes. They're damp, he can tell that now, but there are no tear tracks on his face, and he'll consider that a win.] I'm so gross.
Spam }
She calls out, and Scott's heart actually skips a beat. He has to blink furiously to banish her face - her face after death, empty of everything that made her her - from his mind. His hand is still raised, palm red and smarting (and already fading, thanks to his returned strength) and hovering in the air. He must look like an idiot. He doesn't care.
When she hugs him - he barely sees the ring dagger, hardly registers it - he feels like the world is collapsing in on itself and expanding to impossible lengths at the same time. His arms are around her immediately, and he thinks distantly that maybe he's holding her too tight, but all his attention is on not crying. He can't just breakdown. She's not - she's not dead.
Scott has been on the Barge a long time, though. He knows what the Admiral is capable of, at least, he knows some of it. Maybe she made a deal when she died. Maybe she's from before that, like he was from before Stiles. He hates that nothing matches up anymore, that they can't be sure of what each other knows. So he squeezes his eyes shut and presses his face down against her shoulder.
She's his lifeline, right now. She was his anchor, and now that she's here, in his arms, he feels conversely adrift. How can he ever predict anything again? How can he ever expect what tomorrow will bring? Maybe that's a good thing. He never thought - he never expected to see her, not until Jack graduated. This is so much sooner than that, and he's afraid to let her go.]
Sorry, [he finally mumbles,opening his eyes. They're damp, he can tell that now, but there are no tear tracks on his face, and he'll consider that a win.] I'm so gross.