Quiet and motionless, Evey let him hold her. He smelled exactly like she remembered him smelling, and the scent alone ripped long and jagged tears through her. He was wrapping himself around her, and she felt so far away from him. Even now, even when he held her, she felt like they were separated by some insurmountable canyon. She shut her eyes and tried to find something familiar in this. How many nights had she tried to forget it? It seemed she'd done that way too well.
But then she remembered something else altogether - something that dropped the bottom of her stomach out. Her muscles stiffened, vibrating with tension.
"You thought --"
And now she did pull away, her face not quite masking the realization, the hurt, and the resignation.
"You thought I was her."
That bright mirror of herself that she barely allowed herself to even acknowledge, much less look at, in Peter's mind... She'd recognized what she used to be, and it hurt to remember - so she'd walled herself off from that, from Peter, from everything, even mentally. Only now... Evey shut her eyes and realized what a disaster those mental blocks were, now. She tried rebuilding them, and then gave up. It seemed... useless now. Fruitless. A waste.
"Peter's still here," she said, "And I know about the other me. She's connected to us, too. I -- I tr... try not to look." But just as her shoulders hunched, she drew them up sharply and lifted her chin. The effect was destroyed by the tear tracks still evident on her face. She looked nothing like strong at all, but she was beginning to realize her place. It wasn't with him. That belonged to the other one. He never would have greeted her the way he had, if he'd known who she was. Something inside her began to fold up. Something tiny and vital.