The mental image her first words conjured made Terrence blink, and then he laughed, the sound like a release of all the relief that had flooded his body. "Your components are perfect," he informed her, fingers curling tighter into her hair. Even with the wounds he hated because they weren't from him (though, he had claimed them, and hated them less now), to him she was still the embodiment of perfection. Always would be.
His eyes closed when she continued, mirth leaving his expression, but not because his mood had soured, merely quieted. Fuck, whenever she actually used words, they took his breath away. "You stole mine six years ago," he said, pressing into her touch on his chest, his teeth closing over her earlobe. His voice was quiet, but he knew she would hear every word. "But I'd have given it to you, if you hadn't taken it first. And you can have it, literally, too."
This wasn't quite where he'd been going with the comment about wanting to be her horcrux - he'd meant, really, that he never wanted to have to worry about her dying, because a part of her would always be with him, for him to resurrect her if necessary - but the extra meaning she'd added to it only made him want it more. With her hand resting on his chest, he remembered the way it had felt when she'd marked him with her initial, the way he'd enjoyed feeling like she was about to claw his heart right out of his chest, still beating, and eat it whole.
His heart, his soul, she could have both of those. He wished she'd take his mind, too, because that was the part of him that most desperately needed her effect on him right now. That effect being, of course, the way she tore him down only to make him stronger. The way his mind had broken felt truly degenerative, it felt wrong. It was better now, but what guarantee did he have that it wouldn't happen again?
He didn't, that was the point. He'd never truly had a weakness that he believed could get the better of him, before, but his mind had always been his weakest point. The most easily invaded, from a very young age; how many assaults did his mind have to withstand? He had protected it against outside forces, but now it was attacking itself.
Well, he supposed he would prefer that to the alternative. If a part of him had to be destroyed, there was no more worthy orchestrator of his weakness than himself. Of course he'd be his own worst enemy, he was formidable. His strength of will would defeat even this obstacle, though, he'd see to that. Perhaps a bit of Ella's soul would be exactly what he needed to be purged of his inner demons. It really was the best idea he'd had in a long, long while.
"My head went all to hell," he said, resting his head against hers. It wasn't a confession, not really; he'd gotten past the part where he believed himself weak. No one could make him weak, not even him. Especially not when he had Ella; being hers made him stronger. His explanation was matter-of-fact and to the point, not asking for help or for forgiveness for leaving the fight; she knew him well enough to know that he would never leave a fight before it was over unless he absolutely, positively had to do so. "Bit fucked up in there, right now. But I'll sort it out."