He hears her voice first, but he really doesn't believe it. He's heard her voice before, when she was taken from him, when he was trapped. He imagined her vice just a few hours ago, after she disappeared. He couldn't let himself believe it.
However, the feeling of her fingertips on his face are too difficult to ignore. He knows they're hers- he's not sure how, but he does. He pulls in a heavy breath, and it seems that he's forgotten how to breathe altogether. His cough is lighter than he thinks. He can feel it move through his whole body.
He had almost convinced himself his mind was lying to him again by the time he opened his eyes. But there she was. "Ei- Eileen..." He blinks, just to make sure she doesn't disappear.
It's amazing how quickly he moves then, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pressing his face into her neck. "Oh, god....you're all right. Oh, god, Eileen, I was so worried...."
Her eyes are wide and white with shock, glazed with fear and sharp with worry, as she watches him come around. As he envelops her, she just about hurls herself at him likewise. A mantra of anguished denial threatens to sputter out - No, no, no no no no no no no! - and a little of it does squeak past her censors. "No, no, oh God what are you doing here?!" A rhetorical question, even in this battered state. If it hadn't taken him, he would've made it do so, this painfully essential one out of six billion. So important, so important, he couldn't possibly know how much. He smells like a basement but the simple fact that his chest rises and falls inspires such excitement, she soars with it. A war rages between the impulse to beam and the urge to weep. Both sides win; an astonished smile comes and goes, her breath hitches and her voice strains in the wake of a broken sob muffled into his shoulder, followed in no time with breathless, relieved laughter
( ... )
He almost seems calm, himself. The fact that she's there, she's right in front of him, and it's not a dream and not a nightmare- that does more than anything ever could to bolster his strength. "Just got a knife in my shoulder. It's not bad."
He reaches up and curves his fingers around her face, like he'd been imagining doing since this started. As his fingertips brushed against her chin, he gazes down at her with concern. "What about you? Oh- man...what happened to your hand?" he asks, pulling the wrist attached to her two broken fingers gently out so he can look at them. "What happened? Anything else...?" He hopes not, he really does. He watches her eyes, but they seem clear, and he's terribly grateful for that.
She's so taken aback by the stark contrast between his words and the way he speaks them, practically serene, that she can do nothing but stare and gibber for a moment. "J-just... a what?!" Just got a knife in my shoulder? Just a knife?! A rational mind would consider their environment and all of its terrible potential, consider how very very much worse it could be and has been for them in the past, and figure that yeah, the word "Just" is fair enough when he's walking and talking. But hers is not a rational mind, not right now and especially not when it comes to him. It sounds to her every bit as horrific and ridiculous as it would had he declared it some sunny morning waiting in line at the coffee shop on 16th. Her swollen purple fingers look ugly, the gash in her scalp had bled quite nicely, but the violence inherent in and potential for destruction from a knife, a whole other league
( ... )
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However, the feeling of her fingertips on his face are too difficult to ignore. He knows they're hers- he's not sure how, but he does. He pulls in a heavy breath, and it seems that he's forgotten how to breathe altogether. His cough is lighter than he thinks. He can feel it move through his whole body.
He had almost convinced himself his mind was lying to him again by the time he opened his eyes. But there she was. "Ei- Eileen..." He blinks, just to make sure she doesn't disappear.
It's amazing how quickly he moves then, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pressing his face into her neck. "Oh, god....you're all right. Oh, god, Eileen, I was so worried...."
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He reaches up and curves his fingers around her face, like he'd been imagining doing since this started. As his fingertips brushed against her chin, he gazes down at her with concern. "What about you? Oh- man...what happened to your hand?" he asks, pulling the wrist attached to her two broken fingers gently out so he can look at them. "What happened? Anything else...?" He hopes not, he really does. He watches her eyes, but they seem clear, and he's terribly grateful for that.
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