It was a pretty good indicator for his mental state that he hadn't heard her coming, not even felt her presence near until she touched him. There could be a fucking assassin in the same room right now, and he would only know when he had a bullet in his skull.
Her caress made him jump, and for an awfully long irrational moment he felt like pushing her away. Not because he didn't want her close - he needed her more than anything right now - but because he didn't want her to see him like that. He couldn't let her. He couldn't be so fucking vulnerable right now, not when she needed him.
But pushing her away would have hurt her too, given her the feeling she had done something wrong when neither of them had. So he reached for her hand without turning around and held it close to his chest, concentrating of the feeling of her soft, tender skin under his fingertips. The faint throb of her pulse to attach his thoughts to, let them be carried away from that one place that held only hurt and blame, carried by the only tide of wanting - needing - to be strong for her. He couldn't allow himself to break now. He just couldn't.
It could have been seconds or minutes before his breathing finally evened and the steel hard tensed muscles of his back gave in a little. His throat and his eyes still burned from held back tears and he knew he looked like smoking weed all night long, but at least the air didn't feel like he was suffocating anymore.
"Salvatore Tomasi."
The name came from his lips before he realized he was about to talk. Right. He had to give her the only information she would want and need right now, before he could turn to her. It was so much easier facing the weathered dark back rest of the sofa when talking about this.
"Sounds like a good guy. He'll be waiting for us at 9 am tomorrow."
Considering the trend of the last days, that would be about the time when he would have collected Natasha from the bathroom floor, make her drink a few sips and driven her to the hospital, hopefully without killing them both on the way.
no subject
Her caress made him jump, and for an awfully long irrational moment he felt like pushing her away. Not because he didn't want her close - he needed her more than anything right now - but because he didn't want her to see him like that. He couldn't let her. He couldn't be so fucking vulnerable right now, not when she needed him.
But pushing her away would have hurt her too, given her the feeling she had done something wrong when neither of them had. So he reached for her hand without turning around and held it close to his chest, concentrating of the feeling of her soft, tender skin under his fingertips. The faint throb of her pulse to attach his thoughts to, let them be carried away from that one place that held only hurt and blame, carried by the only tide of wanting - needing - to be strong for her. He couldn't allow himself to break now. He just couldn't.
It could have been seconds or minutes before his breathing finally evened and the steel hard tensed muscles of his back gave in a little. His throat and his eyes still burned from held back tears and he knew he looked like smoking weed all night long, but at least the air didn't feel like he was suffocating anymore.
"Salvatore Tomasi."
The name came from his lips before he realized he was about to talk. Right. He had to give her the only information she would want and need right now, before he could turn to her. It was so much easier facing the weathered dark back rest of the sofa when talking about this.
"Sounds like a good guy. He'll be waiting for us at 9 am tomorrow."
Considering the trend of the last days, that would be about the time when he would have collected Natasha from the bathroom floor, make her drink a few sips and driven her to the hospital, hopefully without killing them both on the way.