[She wants to cover his hand with hers, the same familiar way she's done so many times before, but something keeps her from it. It's as though to do so this time would be to acknowledge the space between them, acquiesce to it, let him keep her at this odd arm's length with a chasm widening between them. And she knows what he's doing. It's what he always does — parry, deflect, turn the concern away, double it back to where he thinks it's needed more. He's standing here broken and trying to comfort her because he thinks it's a better use of the comfort, that there's no point in wasting it on him.
And somehow, the thought just makes her angry.]
Don't do this.
[Again, the words slip out almost before she realizes she's said them, but this time they're precisely what she means. But there are a dozen different sets of unspoken words that might be added to the end of it; don't do this to yourself, don't do this to me, don't do this to us. Don't. Don't let everything fall apart like this.
She pulls away from the hand on her face.]
This much is my call to make.
[She eliminates the distance, fearless, and takes him in her arms.]
action;
And somehow, the thought just makes her angry.]
Don't do this.
[Again, the words slip out almost before she realizes she's said them, but this time they're precisely what she means. But there are a dozen different sets of unspoken words that might be added to the end of it; don't do this to yourself, don't do this to me, don't do this to us. Don't. Don't let everything fall apart like this.
She pulls away from the hand on her face.]
This much is my call to make.
[She eliminates the distance, fearless, and takes him in her arms.]