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AMY

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[begot]

[ God, it makes her want to smile.

She's been waiting for that, if she's being honest — the kind of honest that she keeps not on a tight leash but tucked away behind a curtain. A promise from someone, anyone, that there'll be blood shed, specifically in retribution for what'd been done to her. It's selfishness, sure, but she's entitled to that much. A little something to make up for being third- or fourth- billed in her own kidnapping. Whipped cream on the cake of the solidifying of— whatever this is.

In practice, she lets her breath hitch, the judder of it in tangible in her ribcage as she buries her face in his shoulder, working through the peaks and valleys of that kind of trauma. Her eyes are red when she finally pulls back, tears welling up and threatening to spill over even as she tilts her head upward, trying to blink them away. As it had been in the portrait hall, her first instinct is to laugh, like she's embarrassed, though, quickly— ]

I know, I don't have to. It's just—

[ Her smile dissipates a little uneasily — social armor, shed for his sake — a last, settling breath escaping her as she tries to shake the nervousness out of her hands. ]

Thanks. That's what I— what I should have said.

[scathe]

[she quivers in his arms, and he swears he can feel her lungs stutter when she's this close. his warm hand spreads open along her lower back, sliding to her waist when she pulls away. his other hand lingers on her face and he drags his thumb along her cheek one last time before it's his turn to retreat. nobody is supposed to look like this, torn apart and broken because of someone's cruelty, and amy is several miles and lock-ups before him, but it doesn't take a genius to know comparing pain is a no-man's land. useless.]

Don't worry about it.

[he takes her hand in his, more forward than he's been with her, since she's been the one to initiate contact before now. his connection is a bridge for the space she's made between them. amy's wet eyes are a window inside of her and he can't tear his own away– she listened to him, opened parts of herself for him to see, ones he insisted she didn't have to hide.]

Anybody else and I wouldn't give a shit. Okay? You understand? [his mouth slants, not quite a frown.] Don't tell nobody else I helped you. Not your girlfriends or your boyfriends or whatever you got. Make sure your man in there stays quiet about me, too.

[he's aware his help was broadcasted for everyone to see, but he's done a good job laying low and wants to keep it that way.]

[begot]

[ It feels like the snap of a puzzle piece being pressed into place, an image she's been able to picture in the abstract suddenly a little more concrete, a little better understood. It wasn't the fact of becoming a victim that changed things, or else he'd be having some version of this conversation with Rupert, too. There'd already been— something. Something, throughout the time he's been her trainer, through text exchanges she thinks they've both navigated like minefields.

(The question is: would he still feel this way about her, if he could see fully behind the veil? It's a question she asks herself, both more and less seriously, about all of the relationships she's formed since coming here.)

He hugs her, first. He takes her hand. And he looks right at her, not through her. In return, without protest: ] I— I understand.

[ Her fingers curl more tightly around his, her free hand rising to her face to wipe away the last of the tears that trail down her cheeks. ]

I'd try to do it for you, too. [ An address of the most important part of what he's said, to her, offered as she seems to steel herself. Anybody else and I wouldn't give a shit. ] You know that, right? If anything happened to you—

[ A sentiment that's more concrete, now, than when he'd texted her in the early hours of the morning and been unsure as to why she'd care if he was awake, if he was alright. ]

[scathe]

[in his mind, the two of them walk a tight-rope he's been reluctant to step toward (let alone on), but he secured it himself, and therefore can push her off whenever he wants. she's walking it regardless if he pushes her. that's the real securing; her trust in him to follow through with a promise, and her reciprocation in turn. elias isn't used to a confession like hers, filled to the brim with such raw honesty that it feels evocative in his core, and when she squeezes his hand and his eyes fall to their interlacing and up to her face, he is, in the knit of his brow, confused.]

Don't– no. Amy, don't, [he starts, stops. sighs, tilts his head back as though exasperation has flooded him so heavily he has to fight gravity from letting his focus find the floor instead. he hates these damn ceilings. i'd try to do it for you, too, but amy is fragile in ways he isn't, in ways he won't explain to her.] I get it, alright?

[elias is trouble and knows, lies like the air he breathes and isn't someone to expect anyone to exact revenge for. in comes amy with her promise, her care and worry and kindness, connection he stumbles over, the true appreciation of it hidden behind resistance, yet he won't let go of her hand.

she's a big girl and she's going to do whatever she wants but that won't stop him from lowering his gaze and telling her:]

Don't involve yourself in whatever mess I make.