Molly shook her head emphatically, or as much as she could while she was hugging him so tightly, “You’re still my hero. No matter what you’ve done, I love you anyway.”
Molly believed that he would say the same thing to her. A child’s love was pure, unconditional, and despite all the horrors that those blue eyes had witnessed she still knew how to love. It was her father’s love that taught her that it was alright being different, special, because she was still Molly; it was her mother’s love that saved her, even if it meant her death; and it was Matt and Mohinder’s love that made her realize life went on, that she could love and be loved the way her parents had loved her once again. Different, sure, but it was still love and that was all that mattered.
When he pulled away so did she, listening to his every word as if it were gospel. “I just worry a lot, that’s all.” She admitted, ducking her head down a little bit. “It’s like I’m humpty dumpty; you’re still putting me back together again.”