The way she touched him was hardly kind, but couldn't be described as unkind either. It simply was, a resignation in her hands that he didn't want to accept or deal with for any reason. If he accepted it, then he was going to have to face the ugly truth that she didn't want him here. And possibly never did. Was there any real truth to that? Akheron couldn't guess. She wasn't giving him much of a reason currently to think otherwise. That ambrosia had to come from somewhere, didn't it? Think instead of feeling and reacting. Think. There was nothing wrong with his reason, even if he hadn't put it to any good use of late. Of late? Ever, perhaps, if the results of his decisions were anything to go on. It wasn't as though he'd never had a chance to change course.
Did he need to change course now?
Was he swimming out to sea alone?
Time was going to answer that question better than he could, even now. What he had to concern himself with was not the risk of the decision but the gain. He had everything to gain from making the right choices. He had her to gain. Fear was in it, but hope. For the first time, as she propped him up inelegantly and filled his throat with the foul nectar of the gods, in a long time. Hope. Akheron on the fly that smiling a dim smile while one was being forcefed a drinkable substance was not in the best interests of one's neatness. It spilled down his neck. Akheron hardly noticed. It wasn't as though he'd been immaculate before the spill.
Or would be again for some time.
Damn, but he wanted her to keep cradling him that way.