At first, she can't tell if the relief or the incredulity is larger, even as Luther settles her with a look that almost seems confused and like he can't believe she asked it. Maybe, because there's no way it started tonight, and she doesn't know if she can believe she's that lucky.

But she doesn't actually believe he'd lie to her. No.
Not even like this. Not even about this.

Not tell her, yes. But lie?
She doesn't think so.
Hopes not.

But there's. She doesn't actually doubt it, does she. The expression he has, that keeps rowing back and forth between too much and too little seems too real itself. A little chagrin even at being caught, at having to do this in person. With anyone. He'd chosen to not do it as himself to being with, hadn't he.

She's the only person who knows this part. That it is him.
She wishes she didn't feel like she had to steal that to claim it.

Allison hates that anything can make him want to be less than who she knows he is. That this makes him feel like he is. Isn't. Himself. The only person that the whole of her universe revolves on here. One of the only two points that define what is good and right in her whole life.

She turned, willing herself patience. Without asking anymore at this moment than she might have if it were any other day and she'd walked in on him working, Allison sits down careful, not entirely casually, on the bottom corner of his bed. Trying to think past every part of her still yelling this was wrong.

I still don't think it's safe.

But.

You said people wrote you back?
That there were possibly options?

She hadn't been listening. She didn't really when she was yelling. Apparently, even when she was doing it without making a sound. Words just became weapons to catch and throw back. Fury was always easier than fear. She wasn't taught to be afraid, and if she had to be afraid, she was taught to use that as a weapon, too.

How did those things never come out them when they grew up?

Her expression was a least ruefully calm. Trying to listen. Without lying either.