August 1 - Trace
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It's night, and Linali's almost nodding off in the chair by Allen's bed when he sits up suddenly, half turned away from her.
Startled (but not quite awake yet), she opens her eyes but otherwise does not move as he shifts to sit on the far edge of the bed. His breathing is uneven and she can hear it above the steady rain. Faint light from the lamp above the bed silhouettes his hunched back; one hand appears to be pressed to his heart, the other shields his eyes.
Linali knows why he woke, and as she blinks she wonders if the hand to the heart is to calm adrenaline or to guard from the phantom touch of the tall Noah's Tease. Or maybe the hand of the man himself. She begins to stand, to see if she can help.
The chair creaks.
She doesn't realise Allen's moved until her body's already flung her into fighting stance, the chair clattering to the floor, cool darkness on her legs and his sword pointed at her throat.
They both still.
Allen's right eye is locked on hers, frantic and slightly mad; the left flicks, swinging, back, forth, back again, eerily quiet, the only movement in the tableau.
She holds still, trying to calm by sheer force of will her racing heartbeat, and the innocence back into shackles.
Allen lowers the sword. He stares at her a moment longer, then sits again, shoulder shaking in what she's not sure is tears or laughter.
Maybe both.
'Sorry,' she offers hesitantly.
He shakes his head. 'My fault,' he says. 'My fault.' He rubs his eye.
She doesn't argue. Instead, she rights the chair knocked over earlier. 'I can go,' she says.
He shakes his head again. Linali doesn't know if it's a 'no' or a continuation of the previous movement - whether he even heard her.
She stays anyway.