He was expecting a hit. He was expecting her to punch or shove, to kick or scream. All of them he would have accepted. It was her right. He wanted her to get angry. To be angry at what had happened to her, to be angry about how she had been treated. He even wanted her to get angry at him. Because the world deserved her anger, and he felt so utterly consumed by it on her behalf that he didn't even know where it would all go.
So he was expecting the hit. He wouldn't have hit her back. He would have just taken it. But he was expecting it. So when instead her hand lay on his - a spark jumping between them, travelling right up his spine - he hissed in a surprised breath and almost pulled his hand back.
But he couldn't.
His heart was going too fast again.
"You have time," He hissed, his voice lowering significantly. "I can't undone what's been done, but the thing I can give you the most of in the world is time. You're here. It's not your fault. She can't blame you. So use it. As long as you need, whatever you need."
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So he was expecting the hit. He wouldn't have hit her back. He would have just taken it. But he was expecting it. So when instead her hand lay on his - a spark jumping between them, travelling right up his spine - he hissed in a surprised breath and almost pulled his hand back.
But he couldn't.
His heart was going too fast again.
"You have time," He hissed, his voice lowering significantly. "I can't undone what's been done, but the thing I can give you the most of in the world is time. You're here. It's not your fault. She can't blame you. So use it. As long as you need, whatever you need."