It's not hard for Allison to keep her expression whatever she wants it to be. That's been honed over that last decade. She can laugh until her eyes are sparkling even when all she wants to do is cry. It's not the same thing. But there's carefulness to her expression, even as she tries to dissect every bit of his and his voice while he speaks.

Listening to him explain more than what was left out there publicly.
Making her wonder what more might exactly have been said. Where. To who.

Even more so, what might have been said by Luther. To someone else. Somewhere else. Somewhere private. Locked away. All the words that might be like the ones he threw right back at her. With someone else who might have understood. Or take advantage of it. That didn't even understand how hard it was for Luther to drag anything out into the light from behind the mask.

Did it hurt more now, thinking about with all the details in rows,
or was it just that she didn't have the anger to throw that hurt into now.

She doesn't expect the question, but she should have, throws her right back to

It's not small then


No. Is yours?

She looks away, without even thinking about it until she has. The end of the bed. The wall. Not sticking a landing anywhere her gaze lands. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, all the feeling in her body seeming to rush to her throat, where the skin prickles and she nearly wants to rub the skin, but she won't move now either.

The answer is of course and it probably shows, but what she writes instead is,

Not like this.