"No change," Luca muttered, looking at Kane and carefully ignoring Reed and Vlad. Personally, he was hoping to avoid getting caught between them--if Reed chose Vlad to flip out on, he had no objections, and he was vaguely behind the idea that she had a right to some flipping out since her sister had almost drowned. Still, he would not mind Vlad bearing the brunt of her grief, not at all. The other option was taking it himself.
And if Reed snapped at Kane again, unconscious sister or no, he was going to have to say something. That would probably end poorly--but no one was going to get to yell at Kane in front of him, whatever the circumstances.
Weary of everyone, he looked back down at Theresa, taking in her still features--skin so pale behind the coal dark hair, lips red despite the cold. For a moment he felt a flicker of remembered warmth in his chest, thinking of their time together, how she had come to trust him, how she had melted under his touch, and how he had then shrugged and left.
She didn't look dead, despite the unnatural stillness, now that he examined her closely.
Slowly, reverently, feeling like the air was weighted down by an old dream, he lowered his face to hers, and placed a soft, chaste kiss upon her lips.
His felt like the room tilted around them--
and nothing happened.
"I'm sorry, Theresa," he whispered, before straightening up and blinking, feeling a strange and unexpected disappointment.
He turned away from the table, rubbing his fingers against his temple, wishing the fucking ambulance would just get here already.