maybe who we were then is shattered, but who we are in the end is what matters
This companionship must seem so simple on the outside, but the familiarity of each motion is a reminder of how many previous days and nights they have done this dance. A string of hours that link like chains into physical proof of his loyalty and dedication to her even in her darkest moments when she could not even find the words or presence to thank him. To Ru, everything is tainted with the expectation of transaction, and it had killed her to be unable to pay him back. Now, he is as cherished to her as Deimos, and any notion of payback is meaningless. Now, there is only gratitude.
She only blinks because he pulls her in, and then she merely shuts her eyes and folds like a small paper crane into his chest, creases worn and frayed. It feels wrong to compare her grief and loss to two men who are so dear in her heart. Against anyone else she would not hesitate, but she knows what they have been through. It makes it harder to value her own losses above theirs. Hearing it from Tal makes it easier, though it makes her eyes burn as well. Dropping the bread in her hand, she grips at the front of his shirt.
"I wanted my last memory of Enzo to be him standing beside Mort," she whimpers, all pride down the drain. "Now I can't stop seeing him in the Citadel again. I can't stop hearing Flora's screams. And I can't stop hearing Ru'in -" her voice chokes itself into silence, something like a low moan of pain resonating in her throat. Tal knows her son's name, but little else. More of a scar than a scab, it is just as inflamed, if slightly more resilient.
She only blinks because he pulls her in, and then she merely shuts her eyes and folds like a small paper crane into his chest, creases worn and frayed. It feels wrong to compare her grief and loss to two men who are so dear in her heart. Against anyone else she would not hesitate, but she knows what they have been through. It makes it harder to value her own losses above theirs. Hearing it from Tal makes it easier, though it makes her eyes burn as well. Dropping the bread in her hand, she grips at the front of his shirt.
"I wanted my last memory of Enzo to be him standing beside Mort," she whimpers, all pride down the drain. "Now I can't stop seeing him in the Citadel again. I can't stop hearing Flora's screams. And I can't stop hearing Ru'in -" her voice chokes itself into silence, something like a low moan of pain resonating in her throat. Tal knows her son's name, but little else. More of a scar than a scab, it is just as inflamed, if slightly more resilient.
