[It was so much easier not to cry when Harry wasn't trying to push any button available, like he was in an elevator and desperate to get away from this floor. Felicity swallowed on wet, and she rubbed the knuckle of her forefingers under her eyes, starfish-black of eyelashes kept carefully intact.]
It's not the same. Nothing is ever going to be the same and I'm not going to react the same. [Threat and promise and her throat too full.] If you're an ass when you're supposedly here to make me feel better, Harry Ryan, I will throw things. [They were bridged across a strip of carpet and she didn't want to ask and he probably smelled like death or something scraped up off a bar floor or whatever but digging over old ground? Needed either tequila or a hug.]