And then she turns, uncoiling in a liquid movement and somehow managing to avoid stepping on the tails of her coat in the process, and takes her first step towards the wall, and the easiest path down to the ground.
Hiro's eyes flicker elsewhere, and he considers sitting up in his sea of four-colors; instead, he just waits there as she makes her way down to him. Then he'll get himself upright, legs folding underneath him.
He has a lot on his mind, which might account for the quietness. But he smiles for her all the same.
River doesn't demand that he sit up, although she won't stop him if he does. Instead she just hunkers down in a crouch just beyond the edge of the comic book moat, her arms folding loosely between thighs and chest as she crouches.
Tentatively, he reaches up, as if he might gently fold a hand over hers, hold her hand to him briefly, but -- finds he lacks the courage. A river goes where it flows, he cannot bend or dam it.
"I don't want to forget. If I do, then I will not be me, Hiro Nakamura. There will just be two of him."
A Hiro.
Flopped out in a sea of comicbooks, staring at the ceiling too, unfocused with his glasses off.
He's had a long day, you see. A little sore, still, but recovering from his time with his friends at Homeland Security.
He spies River; he smiles up at her briefly, but then his face goes slack again. He's --
He's been better.
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That's before she flinches halfway through, one hand jerking upwards and the other tightening on a rafter.
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"I'm sorry," he says, face scrunching up in plain sympathy. He knows River can't help but share the hurt.
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And it will. Bruises fade, don't they?
Then again: Who is mean enough to hit Hiro Nakamura?
That's like punching a baby.
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"I know."
One breath. Two.
And then she turns, uncoiling in a liquid movement and somehow managing to avoid stepping on the tails of her coat in the process, and takes her first step towards the wall, and the easiest path down to the ground.
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He has a lot on his mind, which might account for the quietness. But he smiles for her all the same.
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Well, it's interesting to him, but-- he'd really just like to know what the other him DID.
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Well. He was nice to River.
Also, she thinks Roland Deschain is nice. Her standards may be a little unorthodox.
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One rarely likes to see that they can become ruthless.
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Softly, "I know."
Slowly, she lifts a hand until her fingertips hover a few inches from Hiro's shirt.
"You remember."
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"I -- don't know," he says. "Will I forget someday?"
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Some things just can't be answered, not yet.
Tentatively, he reaches up, as if he might gently fold a hand over hers, hold her hand to him briefly, but -- finds he lacks the courage. A river goes where it flows, he cannot bend or dam it.
"I don't want to forget. If I do, then I will not be me, Hiro Nakamura. There will just be two of him."
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River's eyes drop. In exactly the same soft and sad tone, "He won't."
(You are my beautiful sister.)
"Find the fences. Gotta dig 'em deep."
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