[ His hand twitches in hers. He looks, for a moment, at her, completely hapless, completely overwhelmed, completely uncertain what to do with that. With being touched. He...When's the last time he was touched by another person? In a way that wasn't just an incidental bump in the road, or someone grabbing him to haul them along with him, or to...
He looks down at where their hands join, and for a single desperate moment it almost comes out of him. All of it. Lucifer, and Lucifer's plans, what he wants with him. How scared he is. How he doesn't know how to resist him, how he doesn't even know how to start. He even opens his mouth, and takes in a breath. But - but if he tells her that, he knows what she'll insist - that he come with her, come under their protection. Fall under their custody. Become some protectee - some prisoner - of the Butcher. And he knows, he knows, that he'll tear him to pieces. And if he doesn't, he'll apparently accept him as a son. And he doesn't know which prospect is more terrifying.
God. He looks up again and meets her eyes, sees the kindness there, the warmth. If he didn't feel so miserable he'd want to laugh. No, she's not looking at him with affection because she's addled with her love for Miles. He believes that now. Rather, she's addled with her love for that other-him. Mark Pierre. God, it's not even that he's coming in second behind Miles any longer - now he's coming in third, behind Miles and some other version of himself. Pathetic.
So instead of saying all that, he just says, in a small voice: ]
Please don't. I - still don't want them to know.
[ He tries to pretend, mentally, that it's some masterful manipulation. Playing on her compassion and her maternal weakness to keep her from giving up valuable intelligence on him. Too bad all of the emotions that tremble in his voice comes from are genuine. ]
no subject
He looks down at where their hands join, and for a single desperate moment it almost comes out of him. All of it. Lucifer, and Lucifer's plans, what he wants with him. How scared he is. How he doesn't know how to resist him, how he doesn't even know how to start. He even opens his mouth, and takes in a breath. But - but if he tells her that, he knows what she'll insist - that he come with her, come under their protection. Fall under their custody. Become some protectee - some prisoner - of the Butcher. And he knows, he knows, that he'll tear him to pieces. And if he doesn't, he'll apparently accept him as a son. And he doesn't know which prospect is more terrifying.
God. He looks up again and meets her eyes, sees the kindness there, the warmth. If he didn't feel so miserable he'd want to laugh. No, she's not looking at him with affection because she's addled with her love for Miles. He believes that now. Rather, she's addled with her love for that other-him. Mark Pierre. God, it's not even that he's coming in second behind Miles any longer - now he's coming in third, behind Miles and some other version of himself. Pathetic.
So instead of saying all that, he just says, in a small voice: ]
Please don't. I - still don't want them to know.
[ He tries to pretend, mentally, that it's some masterful manipulation. Playing on her compassion and her maternal weakness to keep her from giving up valuable intelligence on him. Too bad all of the emotions that tremble in his voice comes from are genuine. ]