"It's j-just too many things," Ellie told David weepily, after a moment of crying into his shirt. She pulled away slightly to look him in the eyes, attempting a grateful smile; still, a tear or two still escaped down her cheek.
He'd have to understand: she wasn't afraid of being hurt. Not really. Not entirely. Ellie had no fear of death -- she had a fear of not being able, and she had a fear of what she'd written down weeks ago in the infirmary. She worried over the meaning of things, especially when it seemed that she should be able to understand them.
It was nice, though, sitting like this. Looking David in his dark eyes. They were so warm. Caring. Ellie nearly forgot about being upset, having him so near; she calmed, breath evening, and leaned forward to rest her forehead against his.
But then, of course, her stomach gave another sick little roll, and she remembered that he might not want to hold her again when he knew everything. Not that it wouldn't be his right, of course.
"Too many things," Ellie murmured again, running fingers along his cheek. "That's all it is. I'll be all right."
She paused, blinking away new tears. "Thank you. For everything. For everything you've done, even... Even if." The journal.