He wasn't sure that he believed her, but it had never seemed very loving to him to always demand absolute truth. Sometimes, you don't want to pull all the grit and the blood and the pus and the scars to the surface, and perhaps it was enough that he thought he knew the truth. Perhaps the knowing was the important bit, and not the words coming past her lips.
So he closed his eyes when she leaned back against him, an odd and distorted reflection of Long Night, but he found that he did not mind the similarity. After all, family meant being there, especially when things were tough. And this.. this was tough. Tough times. They knew Long Night and its monsters, yet had gone up against them all the same.
This monster they did not know, and this time they were cautious instead of brazen, but they were rising up all the same.
Did she know how brave she was?
Should he tell her?
But the words escaped him; seemed too inadequate, unable to capture the feeling. So he remained quiet, content to sit there, at peace, even if only for a moment. Something tight and coiled in him had relaxed, an ache in his chest he noticed only as it disappeared.
He wanted to give the world the finger, and stay against her in the bakery until the world ended.
"Do you think it will be okay, Rory?"
He thought about it. He thought about what she might want to hear. He thought about what he might be expected to say.
He thought about what he really thought: that this was frightening and horrible and uncomfortable and made him so uneasy, like he could trust no one, and dare do nothing. His teeth fidgeted with his lower lip, and then he heaved a small sigh. "Yes," was what he said in the end, rubbing the heel of a boot against the floor. "Yes, I think it will. It might take a while, and it will not be easy, but.. yes. Eventually, I think it'll be okay." He was no shining beacon of optimism, no preacher of joy: if there was a dark undercurrent in his voice it was because he knew that it will be okay wasn't necessarily the same as all of us will survive.
Perhaps they could have one, but not the other.
So he closed his eyes when she leaned back against him, an odd and distorted reflection of Long Night, but he found that he did not mind the similarity. After all, family meant being there, especially when things were tough. And this.. this was tough. Tough times. They knew Long Night and its monsters, yet had gone up against them all the same.
This monster they did not know, and this time they were cautious instead of brazen, but they were rising up all the same.
Did she know how brave she was?
Should he tell her?
But the words escaped him; seemed too inadequate, unable to capture the feeling. So he remained quiet, content to sit there, at peace, even if only for a moment. Something tight and coiled in him had relaxed, an ache in his chest he noticed only as it disappeared.
He wanted to give the world the finger, and stay against her in the bakery until the world ended.
"Do you think it will be okay, Rory?"
He thought about it. He thought about what she might want to hear. He thought about what he might be expected to say.
He thought about what he really thought: that this was frightening and horrible and uncomfortable and made him so uneasy, like he could trust no one, and dare do nothing. His teeth fidgeted with his lower lip, and then he heaved a small sigh. "Yes," was what he said in the end, rubbing the heel of a boot against the floor. "Yes, I think it will. It might take a while, and it will not be easy, but.. yes. Eventually, I think it'll be okay." He was no shining beacon of optimism, no preacher of joy: if there was a dark undercurrent in his voice it was because he knew that it will be okay wasn't necessarily the same as all of us will survive.
Perhaps they could have one, but not the other.
