She couldn't look away from that distraught look on his face, the pleading look in his eyes. In one moment he appeared as that little boy; scared and helpless. In another, he was a pillar of strength, the believer in the world. She loved and needed both of these people. She needed to save that little boy, and have faith in the believer. He was always the one to pick her up, to give her confidence in a population that only appeared to be capable of bad. Now it was her turn. She had the choice whether to believe in him now, and she was not going to mess this up.
"You believe me?"
His disbelieving voice nearly broke her heart. For someone who expects the best in every situation chose the wrong time to think the worst.
"I've never stopped"
Heartfelt. Sincere. To the point. Embellishment and sweeping metaphors of language was his forte, not hers.
The reassured look that relaxed the worry lines crinkling his forehead and eyes proved to her just how fitting their relationship was. Ying and yang. Her storyteller, full of beautifully long descriptions and tensions-building prose, needed an anchor, something uncomplicated and firm. He will always be a nine year old, whether on a sugar rush or needing comfort. She will always be there to keep him grounded in reality. Though at this moment she isn't sure what sort of reality they are in.
"I promise you, I will get you out"
"How? He is meticulous. He has thought this out, planned it to the letter."
She could see that he was losing it. To be honest, she was racking her brains and coming up empty as to how she could fulfil the promise, but she will be damned if she let him down. Not again. Not now he is hers, and she is his.
If there is one thing that she has learnt in the past four years it is that two plus two doesn't necessarily add up to four; sometimes it makes five because there is always a story. He has given her the story, now she needs to find the answer.
Gently he reached out to touch the bars, wanting nothing more than to wrap his arms tightly around her, breathe deeply into her neck, and forget that he was in a cell, waiting for death, that he hasn't been the only one to see her free. The knowledge that this man has been in his apartment, watched them make love, watch his daughter in the park, makes him feel physically sick. Violated. Protective. Primal. Ironically that would give him probable cause for the wishful death of another.
His thoughts are interrupted as he feels the soft entwining of fingers; long, slender, and comforting. He looks up to meet her eyes. He believes her. Not that she could get him out but believes that she believes in him, and it is the most uplifted he has felt all day. A small smile graces her lips. She knows him so well; knows that his mind is full of death, twisted murder plots written in fiction, rooted in reality. He needs a smile.
They both know what that smile means. A silent, unspoken 'I love you'.
He smiles back. He knows.