It's a chaotic peppering of messages, flung out as quickly as she can think it and type it, and Allison Hargreeves almost never says please.
Their whole lives, she always demanded. She took. She never asked. She never had to. If she'd gotten into better habits in her normal life, out and about the real world, Luther was never around to see it — he knows of her as imperious, demanding, and he's spent his entire life unthinkingly complying even when she wasn't using her power. He'd give her anything, he'd give her everything.
(Except, apparently, he hadn't given her this.)
He doesn't shove himself backwards to get further away from her, but he watches the near-approach of her hand like a rattlesnake in the grass. Feels the distance shrinking between them like a tightening and shortening leash, while his shoulders tense up.
She came to him about Claire. Her lowest and her most vulnerable moment, her most painful. Shouldn't he repay the favour? Shouldn't that be an easy consideration?
(No. It isn't.)
"I would be responsible about it," he finally says, suddenly banking into an earlier facet of the conversation. Not quite following up on what he'd just given away a moment ago. Still focusing on the how rather than the more important why. "I wouldn't be stupid about it. I'd research anyone who responded, and talk to them in-depth. There's a few different healers, someone who can manipulate biological material. I wouldn't go in half-cocked or rushed. If that's what you're worried about."
(He is so stubbornly blind to this. Because that's part of it, sure, but it's also not entirely it. What she's worried about, plainly and simply, is him.)
no subject
Their whole lives, she always demanded. She took. She never asked. She never had to. If she'd gotten into better habits in her normal life, out and about the real world, Luther was never around to see it — he knows of her as imperious, demanding, and he's spent his entire life unthinkingly complying even when she wasn't using her power. He'd give her anything, he'd give her everything.
(Except, apparently, he hadn't given her this.)
He doesn't shove himself backwards to get further away from her, but he watches the near-approach of her hand like a rattlesnake in the grass. Feels the distance shrinking between them like a tightening and shortening leash, while his shoulders tense up.
She came to him about Claire. Her lowest and her most vulnerable moment, her most painful. Shouldn't he repay the favour? Shouldn't that be an easy consideration?
(No. It isn't.)
"I would be responsible about it," he finally says, suddenly banking into an earlier facet of the conversation. Not quite following up on what he'd just given away a moment ago. Still focusing on the how rather than the more important why. "I wouldn't be stupid about it. I'd research anyone who responded, and talk to them in-depth. There's a few different healers, someone who can manipulate biological material. I wouldn't go in half-cocked or rushed. If that's what you're worried about."
(He is so stubbornly blind to this. Because that's part of it, sure, but it's also not entirely it. What she's worried about, plainly and simply, is him.)