But it wasn't Aidan's Evey that wrapped her arms around him, then - it was the Evey that had lost him over a year ago, the Evey that never believed she'd hold him again, until the day when he swept her up in his arms and kissed her like he loved her. The other one inside her head, the one who'd never lost him, felt only just a little out of place. But the older Evey knew just what she was holding onto, and knew to hold as tightly as she could - because a moment like this (even drenched in desperate misery) might never come again. Her fingers ran through his damp hair. She turned her face toward him as far as she could, managed to press her cheek against the side of his head --
-- In short, she clung to him as desperately as he clung to her. And, for the moment, she told herself that this was all right, just this, just now, because they both needed it so badly.
"Aidan," she whispered, because her voice wouldn't carry a higher volume. God, she loved him. She loved him, she'd never stopped loving him, and she was fairly certain she was breaking her own heart by doing this, but God, God, after everything, he was here again. Not hers. And hers. And she wasn't his, and was. She was being foolish, she was being reckless, she shouldn't be doing this, she really, really shouldn't --
But it was Aidan. A part of her died with him, and she desperately wanted it back, wanted him to give it back to her.