For the longest moment she just stands there, looking at him like she wants to take a step closer, and god - despite the bodies lying all around, the blood on both their faces, he wants her to. He wants her to do what he's still too afraid to do and take that step, but she doesn't.
Dean's breath leaves him all at once, disappointment warring with relief that he hasn't fallen yet, is neither climbing nor slipsliding towards something he can't escape from. Never mind that what he's hiding from could save him. It could hurt him, and he's spent so long hurting already. He needs to stop being so goddamn reckless around her, needs to be careful. He believes that, too, armor almost up and settled familiar on his shoulders, right up to the moment she calls to see if he's coming, and Dean is moving at a speed that shouldn't be left in his tired limbs.
He catches up with her as the hallway expands, close at her side as they journey towards the bathysphere that will take them home. His hands won't seem to behave, almost reaching for hers before he stops them, hovering near the small of her back, little touches that are surely meant to reassure himself more than her, but after everything, Dean can't be sure that they'd be welcome. If anything, Faye's given every indication that she prefers to do things on her own, and she can climb into a bathysphere without help, can hit its buttons without Dean close by her side, but here he is, lips still tingling and eyes never straying far. Even in the faded light of Rapture, she's so goddamn beautiful, an angry flush high in her cheeks that only makes her eyes brighter, and Dean finds himself reaching despite all the ways he's tried not to, smoothing violet locks back from the cut along her hairline.
"Sorry," he says quietly, and even as he says it, he doesn't know what it's for. Everything, maybe, the things he can control and all the ones he can't, for his hands on her and the way he can't seem to make himself stop. "Faye."
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Date: 2011-07-29 10:27 pm (UTC)Dean's breath leaves him all at once, disappointment warring with relief that he hasn't fallen yet, is neither climbing nor slipsliding towards something he can't escape from. Never mind that what he's hiding from could save him. It could hurt him, and he's spent so long hurting already. He needs to stop being so goddamn reckless around her, needs to be careful. He believes that, too, armor almost up and settled familiar on his shoulders, right up to the moment she calls to see if he's coming, and Dean is moving at a speed that shouldn't be left in his tired limbs.
He catches up with her as the hallway expands, close at her side as they journey towards the bathysphere that will take them home. His hands won't seem to behave, almost reaching for hers before he stops them, hovering near the small of her back, little touches that are surely meant to reassure himself more than her, but after everything, Dean can't be sure that they'd be welcome. If anything, Faye's given every indication that she prefers to do things on her own, and she can climb into a bathysphere without help, can hit its buttons without Dean close by her side, but here he is, lips still tingling and eyes never straying far. Even in the faded light of Rapture, she's so goddamn beautiful, an angry flush high in her cheeks that only makes her eyes brighter, and Dean finds himself reaching despite all the ways he's tried not to, smoothing violet locks back from the cut along her hairline.
"Sorry," he says quietly, and even as he says it, he doesn't know what it's for. Everything, maybe, the things he can control and all the ones he can't, for his hands on her and the way he can't seem to make himself stop. "Faye."