A hundred times over, she was wrong. She doesn't hate anything that she's listed and forgotten the way she hates this. The relief at her words giving birth to this. The way his face opens, and he leans in toward her, beseeching, and she knows this face.
This is the face of a hundred ideas, and a hundred perfect missions details, and a hundred things that if he just got right, just managed to do what no one on the planet was even capable of -- and their father would compliment him. Recognize him. See him. Approve of him. Respect him.
Allison hates this face. In the same way that her throat closes up sandpaper walls and the edges of her eyes suddenly feel dry and she's not even positive she can breathe looking at Luther looking at her like this. Suddenly needing her to see (how well he's planned it), to understand (why he has to), to agree (that he's allowed). And she can't.
Everything in her strangles loudly at sheer magnanimity of that truth. Because this is the part of Luther than can be hurt most. Worst. Has been.
Because she can't stand the idea, even in her head, of the light darkening more.
Allison has to look away. She doesn't think she can lie to him. Knows she can. Doesn't want to even here. She doesn't have to like. He already knows she doesn't. He already knows exactly how she feels about it. She said that loudly in the network. When she blew in here. What she chooses she doesn't choose kindly, but out of a mirrored sort of desperation.
That doesn't look like desperation, because when she looks back her face is more set.
You will tell me before you do anything. Go anywhere. Choose whatever. You don't get to leave me in the dark about any of this anymore.
Or so help her god. She'll never manage to do anything in a day thinking he could be anywhere else, not telling her, doing god knows what to himself, to chase a potential impossibility. Even the idea of going back to her room and leaving him in here alone, when this is what he was doing, made her feel tense.
And maybe that makes her cruel in her choice, even if she barely feels like she's holding on to the bed. Gravity.
no subject
Oh. She was wrong.
A hundred times over, she was wrong. She doesn't hate anything that she's listed and forgotten the way she hates this. The relief at her words giving birth to this. The way his face opens, and he leans in toward her, beseeching, and she knows this face.
This is the face of a hundred ideas, and a hundred perfect missions details, and a hundred things that if he just got right, just managed to do what no one on the planet was even capable of -- and their father would compliment him. Recognize him. See him. Approve of him. Respect him.
Allison hates this face. In the same way that her throat closes up sandpaper walls and the edges of her eyes suddenly feel dry and she's not even positive she can breathe looking at Luther looking at her like this. Suddenly needing her to see (how well he's planned it), to understand (why he has to), to agree (that he's allowed). And she can't.
Everything in her strangles loudly at sheer magnanimity of that truth.
Because this is the part of Luther than can be hurt most. Worst. Has been.
Because she can't stand the idea, even in her head, of the light darkening more.
Allison has to look away. She doesn't think she can lie to him. Knows she can. Doesn't want to even here. She doesn't have to like. He already knows she doesn't. He already knows exactly how she feels about it. She said that loudly in the network. When she blew in here. What she chooses she doesn't choose kindly, but out of a mirrored sort of desperation.
That doesn't look like desperation, because when she looks back her face is more set.
You will tell me before you do anything. Go anywhere. Choose whatever.
You don't get to leave me in the dark about any of this anymore.
Or so help her god. She'll never manage to do anything in a day thinking he could be anywhere else, not telling her, doing god knows what to himself, to chase a potential impossibility. Even the idea of going back to her room and leaving him in here alone, when this is what he was doing, made her feel tense.
And maybe that makes her cruel in her choice,
even if she barely feels like she's holding on to the bed. Gravity.
Promise me.