Re: Diner: Seven & Marta
He was gentle, but he could read her well enough to see at least the tone of what was tumbling through her mind. And he didn't pretend that he couldn't. His little scold made her blink, raising her eyes to stare openly at him. She wanted to reach out to press a finger against that single crease between his brows, to ease it away with a fingertip. But instead she listened to what he was saying, and it cut off her path toward those clinging, tarry thoughts that wanted to grasp and pull her down. She wanted to apologize, but she didn't think it was the moment for it, so she nodded instead.
And then a motion off to the side caught her attention. That little movement of his hand was a long-familiar gesture, something that was part of the foundation of who they'd become. He'd done it more than once, and each time she'd reached out in return to give the both of them the opportunity to hold on. To see the offer of it again after so long startled her. That it was something he would still give to her and want for himself. She stared at him, trying to read a face that she hadn't seen in too long. The curl of his hand made her own twitch, wanting -needing- to feel the dry warmth of his skin and the way his fingers were long and thick enough to wrap around hers.
"We're not strangers," she said, though her voice did still hold a bit of doubt. The doubt was small though, and it didn't stop her from finally moving her hand from its tight grip on her own ankle and reaching (and reaching and reaching) across the width of the table to slip her fingers across his palm and curl around. She watched herself do it at first, like she was watching a hand that wasn't her own, but once she was holding carefully to Seven's hand, she lifted her gaze to look him in the face again. She was watching closely for reactions, ready to pull back again if she'd misread everything. But if she hadn't, then slowly her tension would ease at the familiarity of his touch. And it gave her the kernel of courage to give some of that brutal honesty.
"Sorry, I... started thinking a little too much." Her spiral. The one he'd cut off with his gentle chiding. She took a shaky breath, her fingers twitching in his (a little tremor that she didn't even really pay much attention to anymore). "Sometimes it's hard to stop the guilt." Honest. Brutal.