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
( ... )
"Wh- no!" He's somewhat surprised by the force of the word. He hadn't even thought about how that might be interpreted. "No, I haven't- haven't seen him....at all. I hope it stays that way."
He tries to watch for what she's doing, but the fingers distract him. "The knife didn't sever anything...or hit anything major, I don't think. I got lucky. but Eileen...your fingers...." He looks really concerned over them now. "These look really bad."
Confusion flickers. Does this mean he knows somehow? About what Troy had done to Julianna, or today what he'd done to her? She doesn't know how but she wouldn't put it past this place to splatter crimes somewhere in Henry's path as well as in hers. "Hurts like a bitch," she concedes with a watery smile. "Wasn't my face, at least. Or my writing hand. Small victories." Screwed up goddamn life where broken left fingers and a knife wound that doesn't pierce lung are counted as successes. "I found morphine. Used about half of it, but you're bigger than me. If it doesn't take care of it we'll just find something to bandage that with, I guess. I'm sorry that this happened..."
She hadn't accomplished a lot of things today, really. No sign of Lynn, lost track of Troy, and dragged Henry right back down to Hell all because she needed her little ritual, felt she had no choice but to come here. Whyever did she say that? It looks so foolish now, but at the time, the compulsion had been absolute. She can't draw out the second half
( ... )
He starts shaking his head as soon as she starts apologizing. "Don't." He hugs her lightly again, mindful of the hurt hand. His voice softens to a whisper as he talks into her ear. "Don't apologize, okay? We're both together. Even in a place like this...we'll make it through. We've done it before, we will again. We should just focus on that." Easier said than done, but right now they both need to hear it.
He pulls away and looks at the little vial of morphine. "I don't know if we should save this....are you sure you don't need the rest of it? I think I'd be okay if I didn't have it." He had to remember how all of this worked here. Something like morphine might actually make it better, rather than just taking pain away.
His quiet reassurance has the opposite effect, at first. It has been a long, long couple of hours, and she bleeds inside in a way that she didn't when they'd parted company. She squeezes her eyes shut and quakes. Oh Jesus, oh God, it's going to get worse, this place is what it is, he's going to get hurt, she's going to see him get hurt, or die, and even though he's right here, warm through the cloth of his shirt and smelling of sweat and himself beneath the first smears of grime, she can't prevent it, can't grab hold of him and push him out of here, can't tell him when to duck, can't walk the path for him. He draws away and eyes greedily soak up the sight of the lines in the skin of the knuckles on Henry's hands, the shape of his jaw, the movement of the adam's apple in his throat, knowing that even if they can make it through, the cost of doing so will be steep. Knowing that somewhere out is something that will try to kill him, that wants to make him suffer, wants to vent all his own frustrations as tortures. The very idea of
( ... )
He watches her silently, the reactions running through her face. He can't do much but watch them- put into words, it would take far too long to express. They came to the same conclusion, anyway. He catches her features just like she catches his- if they can capture this moment, if they can just remember how it feels to be together and to be okay, maybe they could make it through this.
No, they had to make it through this. There was no choice. They'd hurt and they'd suffer, but in the end they'll find their way out. He would not let her pass here. And the look in her eyes- she won't allow it either. Between the two of them, they'll stay alive.
He stares into her eyes and nods slowly, then unbuttons his cuff. As he rolls up his sleeve, he leans forward to peck her lightly on the lips. "I love you, Eileen." You're so strong, and I don't know if you even realize it... The words go unspoken as he pulls back and holds his hand out for the syringe.
A smile glows as he kisses her and a brief laugh bubbles up at his declaration, her own in return no less heartfelt for her amusement. "I love you, too, but you can sure pick some weird times to tell me." By the look in her eyes, she obviously finds that to be more virtue than flaw. She hands over the needle primed to deliver the remains of the drug, very nearly the same amount as she'd used on herself upon her descent into hypovolemic shock only an hour ago. "There, don't forget to do the flicky thing."
She immediately occupies her newly free hand with taking hold of his, her thumb stroking his bared wrist. He's been walking wounded with a damn knife gash, she hardly expects he needs emotional support for a little needle stick, but there's everything else swirling around, too. If they somehow get out alive and conscious, she's sure that reaching out will be the default for weeks. One of the perks of dating a guy with as much baggage as you: God knows he'll never roll his eyes at vulnerable gestures like this. "I haven't seen
( ... )
Henry doesn't forget to do the flicky thing, tapping the glass lightly and then inserting the syringe into his arm, choosing to ignore the rather worrisome nature of the needle. It does, however, make the fingers on his free hand close around hers. The little gesture almost makes him smile. The reassurance is something he probably won't stop needing anytime soon. He pushes the plunger down and almost immediately feels the numbing effect.
He's rolling his shoulder, trying to get used to the sensation when Eileen starts talking about 'him'. Henry's entire stance changes. His mouth hangs open and his shoulders hunch. It's obvious he wants to interrupt, but he doesn't. By the end, he seems fairly upset himself. "You've seen him? But we- did he hurt you? I thought he was....oh, god." He rubs his hands over Eileen's upper arms. "Are you...okay?"
It's abundantly clear when it dawns on her that there is a communication failure here, and its exact nature. Fair enough; that had been her first thought, too, when she'd gotten blood on Miriam Locane's grave. This is the very last thing trick she would ever intentionally pull on him, and she looks upset herself at putting him through the misunderstanding.
"Oh, no no no! No, I'm sorry, no, I mean... Abernathy. I found Troy Abernathy." Saying that, she's a little sickened to find, sends a prickle of fear running through her again to flash in her eyes, sense memory rearing its ugly head. "I'm so sorry, I'm fine now, I didn't even... Nothing of him, no. It's okay," she soothes, touching his face but unable to summon up a reassuring smile, given the solemn news yet to impart. "We have to be careful with Troy too, though. Henry, I... I think he abused his wife. I think he killed her." She decides to look at his neck rather than his eyes for a moment and says more quietly, "What we heard in the theater... I think it was his
( ... )
That creeping, paralyzing fear dissipates as Eileen reassures him. If they had to deal with Walter here, his resolve would be going out the window. Silent Hill as an otherworld is hard enough to deal with- at least without Walter here, he could rationalize that it wasn't all for them. No, they just got stuck here again- they're lucky that way.
The news about Troy surprises him, however. And he's not sure why- he had always assumed the man wasn't a terribly good person, even when he's not a monster. But... "Oh man, I...I didn't take him for that sort of person." Henry may not show emotions terribly well- in fact, his face is more stony now than usual, even- but a brief look of disgust crosses his eyes. "I....I have to admit, I'd always...uh, wondered if there was a reason he was here. I guess that's why."
Eileen nods sympathetically. Yeah, she's familiar with revulsion at this revelation, and Henry's naturally handled it far more rationally than she'd managed to. "I know. It's weird, I'm not sure I believe it, but... that's what it seems like. The blonde woman we saw the pictures of, that was her. I don't know which one was real." 'I don't know which death was real,' is what she actually means. "So we can't let him see us. I've been trying to stay hidden and keep following along. Good news is he doesn't have the eyes of an eagle."
She cranes her neck to get another look at the site of his injury, now that the drug has had some time to take effect. "I haven't seen anything of Lynn. She was at this inn over that way one at one point, but not anymore, I don't think Abernathy knows where she is either." Her fingers splay out on his back and her face lights up with a real smile. That unpleasant sojourn into the vet clinic had been worth it. "Looks much better. Does it still hurt?"
He leans his head against hers briefly, just for the closeness. "No, it doesn't hurt at all now." Now he just had to worry about his natural bad aim. "I've still got twelve bullets for this gun, if we need them. I'm...uh, I'm not sure where to go. Or what we should do with Dr. Abernathy if we find him, now.....he, uh, did he hurt you?" He looks at Eileen with an odd expression, although it's not directed at her. He's trying to decide just how ready he should be to try to hurt Troy.
An instant of serenity only lasts as long her sigh of relief. Then, she's not really sure how to interpret the way he looks at her, and it's time for her eyes to flicker and her lips to purse in a wince. "This is going to sound crazy, but, he thinks I'm her. Julianna." It's a little ridiculous that she'd be worried about how not to sound whiny in a nasty situation like this, but she just can't help it. Any control gleams valuably to her, no matter how insignificant.
Clearing her throat, she takes out her own gun to slide the clip and show him - five rounds left, not much of an advantage. "I don't think he heard my voice at all. I can't imagine he'd paint you with the same brush, though, so maybe you'd be able to get through to him. I don't know, I don't know what the hell was going on. I don't know how much of it was him and how much of it was what being in this place has done to him." She shoves the clip back in with unnecessary force, frowning darkly at the weapon and mumbling with a strain of weariness, "I hurt him back
( ... )
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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He tries to watch for what she's doing, but the fingers distract him. "The knife didn't sever anything...or hit anything major, I don't think. I got lucky. but Eileen...your fingers...." He looks really concerned over them now. "These look really bad."
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She hadn't accomplished a lot of things today, really. No sign of Lynn, lost track of Troy, and dragged Henry right back down to Hell all because she needed her little ritual, felt she had no choice but to come here. Whyever did she say that? It looks so foolish now, but at the time, the compulsion had been absolute. She can't draw out the second half ( ... )
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He pulls away and looks at the little vial of morphine. "I don't know if we should save this....are you sure you don't need the rest of it? I think I'd be okay if I didn't have it." He had to remember how all of this worked here. Something like morphine might actually make it better, rather than just taking pain away.
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No, they had to make it through this. There was no choice. They'd hurt and they'd suffer, but in the end they'll find their way out. He would not let her pass here. And the look in her eyes- she won't allow it either. Between the two of them, they'll stay alive.
He stares into her eyes and nods slowly, then unbuttons his cuff. As he rolls up his sleeve, he leans forward to peck her lightly on the lips. "I love you, Eileen." You're so strong, and I don't know if you even realize it... The words go unspoken as he pulls back and holds his hand out for the syringe.
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She immediately occupies her newly free hand with taking hold of his, her thumb stroking his bared wrist. He's been walking wounded with a damn knife gash, she hardly expects he needs emotional support for a little needle stick, but there's everything else swirling around, too. If they somehow get out alive and conscious, she's sure that reaching out will be the default for weeks. One of the perks of dating a guy with as much baggage as you: God knows he'll never roll his eyes at vulnerable gestures like this. "I haven't seen ( ... )
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He's rolling his shoulder, trying to get used to the sensation when Eileen starts talking about 'him'. Henry's entire stance changes. His mouth hangs open and his shoulders hunch. It's obvious he wants to interrupt, but he doesn't. By the end, he seems fairly upset himself. "You've seen him? But we- did he hurt you? I thought he was....oh, god." He rubs his hands over Eileen's upper arms. "Are you...okay?"
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"Oh, no no no! No, I'm sorry, no, I mean... Abernathy. I found Troy Abernathy." Saying that, she's a little sickened to find, sends a prickle of fear running through her again to flash in her eyes, sense memory rearing its ugly head. "I'm so sorry, I'm fine now, I didn't even... Nothing of him, no. It's okay," she soothes, touching his face but unable to summon up a reassuring smile, given the solemn news yet to impart. "We have to be careful with Troy too, though. Henry, I... I think he abused his wife. I think he killed her." She decides to look at his neck rather than his eyes for a moment and says more quietly, "What we heard in the theater... I think it was his ( ... )
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The news about Troy surprises him, however. And he's not sure why- he had always assumed the man wasn't a terribly good person, even when he's not a monster. But... "Oh man, I...I didn't take him for that sort of person." Henry may not show emotions terribly well- in fact, his face is more stony now than usual, even- but a brief look of disgust crosses his eyes. "I....I have to admit, I'd always...uh, wondered if there was a reason he was here. I guess that's why."
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She cranes her neck to get another look at the site of his injury, now that the drug has had some time to take effect. "I haven't seen anything of Lynn. She was at this inn over that way one at one point, but not anymore, I don't think Abernathy knows where she is either." Her fingers splay out on his back and her face lights up with a real smile. That unpleasant sojourn into the vet clinic had been worth it. "Looks much better. Does it still hurt?"
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Clearing her throat, she takes out her own gun to slide the clip and show him - five rounds left, not much of an advantage. "I don't think he heard my voice at all. I can't imagine he'd paint you with the same brush, though, so maybe you'd be able to get through to him. I don't know, I don't know what the hell was going on. I don't know how much of it was him and how much of it was what being in this place has done to him." She shoves the clip back in with unnecessary force, frowning darkly at the weapon and mumbling with a strain of weariness, "I hurt him back ( ... )
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