1/2 (all the inner ramblings you could ever hope for)
James' hand on Lita's wrist is not enough to keep her from leaving. Feeling the pads of his fingers against her pulse point, knowing he can feel her heart beat through her skin causes her pause but she knows it cannot be the reason to stay. She looks up, savoring his beautiful face and soft touch, thinking this might be the last time she feels his fingers twine through hers and hating the thought. It's somehow entirely too much and yet not nearly enough. She can't bear to say it aloud but it has to be goodbye; they can't go on like this. Never trusting, always questioning, never knowing what's real and what isn't. Lita knows what will make her stay; it's as simple as it is elusive. It's the real James she wants. But how can you ask someone to let you into their heart after they've pushed you away for so long? She can't and he won't.
Except...except he does. He gives her exactly what her stupid, ruined heart longs for and Lita is without words. James is doing nothing less than laying his true self out for her to pick apart and dissect and discard. Stories he had spun for her unravel, dreams he had for himself bubble to the surface and hopes he had done his damndest to destroy spill forth. To listen to James punish and condemn himself so completely is unbearable to Lita but bear it she does. He thinks he's himself unworthy, inhuman and unlovable by coming clean. He doesn't know he's made himself whole to her, filling in all the missing pieces his lies left behind. What he says isn't pretty or perfect but it's real and it makes her believe they might be real, too.
He's beaten up, bruised, and bleeding but it's almost like seeing him, really seeing him for the first time. It isn't as simple as forgiving and forgetting anymore. They are so far beyond the concept that Lita can't even begin to entertain it. She doesn't have the words to say what she feels in this moment. There is such profound sadness in what they are and what they lost, and yet, hope burns hard and bright in Lita's chest. She could say anything, wax poetic for hours on end about him being a good man, a great man even, but would it be enough to convince him? Lita hasn't the power to sway someone whose worst enemy is himself with pretty words.
"Look at me," she asks, tightening her grip on his hand and he does. "Am I looking at you like everyone else? I see you, James." It's not flowery or poignant but it's real and it's what she feels.