HENRY
I was waiting for something extraordinary
but as the years wasted on...
but as the years wasted on...
Henry levels Mabel's incensed, gnarled face with the calm of his own storm - a different kind of storm. One that's filled with compassion and empathy, a hand reaching through all of the chaos and torment to try to pull her out of it. Only, he can't. Figuratively or literally, and he'd never dare to try and touch her. At most, all he can do is offer his support, his presence. It not being enough doesn't matter so much in the moment, not this moment.
No. His head tilts ever so slightly, brows raising by a fraction of an inch; subtle contention. Whether it's his ability to see through her or her own conscience that convinces her to reveal the bitter heart of the matter, he's only relieved that something does.
He doesn't know what to say at first, his own, taut muscles visibly slumping. His eyes soar down, landing on her feet and the slushy ice beneath them. It must have been horrible to die. It must have been terrifying, those last minutes spent drowned at sea. He remembers her telling him, even if it was spoken so callously and so briefly - as if not to make much difference to her at all. He sees now that it did and it still does.
"So don't," he lifts his chin to meet her gaze, stepping toward her, "take my shift. Fly the hell out of there if things get too messed up and there's nothing else to do. Save yourself, or- or claw their fuckin' eyes out, Mabel," he knows she may not like the idea, at least he thinks she won't, so he adds with more conviction, "this is as much your battle as it is mine, but I.. can't be there. But nobody should have to die for this, not if it can be helped," he pulls back the sleeve on his arm and offers it out to her, "let me help you."
No. His head tilts ever so slightly, brows raising by a fraction of an inch; subtle contention. Whether it's his ability to see through her or her own conscience that convinces her to reveal the bitter heart of the matter, he's only relieved that something does.
He doesn't know what to say at first, his own, taut muscles visibly slumping. His eyes soar down, landing on her feet and the slushy ice beneath them. It must have been horrible to die. It must have been terrifying, those last minutes spent drowned at sea. He remembers her telling him, even if it was spoken so callously and so briefly - as if not to make much difference to her at all. He sees now that it did and it still does.
"So don't," he lifts his chin to meet her gaze, stepping toward her, "take my shift. Fly the hell out of there if things get too messed up and there's nothing else to do. Save yourself, or- or claw their fuckin' eyes out, Mabel," he knows she may not like the idea, at least he thinks she won't, so he adds with more conviction, "this is as much your battle as it is mine, but I.. can't be there. But nobody should have to die for this, not if it can be helped," he pulls back the sleeve on his arm and offers it out to her, "let me help you."
nothing ever did
unless I caused it
unless I caused it
