She looks down at his hand in hers, and feels the tension — days, weeks, months of tension — start to ease out of her. A start, she thinks, a start at building something real and true. She smiles down at him and gives his hand a little tug to get him out of the chair.
He rises slowly — she can't remember him ever seeming unsure this way before; the face he shows her has always been larger-than-life Red. It warms her, gives her hope that the openness in his face reflects a new openness inside him, that together, they can begin something new.
"Come, sit with me," she says. "We can talk, or not. We can just… be… not alone." A little wistful now, he's not the only one who's sick of the company of his thoughts.
He follows her like he's not really thinking about it, and stands beside the bed, bemused.
"Take off your jacket," she suggests.
He shrugs it off, stands with there with suit jacket in one hand, hat in the other, directionless still.
She sighs, gives her head a little shake. She takes his things from him, and puts them neatly down on the recently vacated chair. "Sit with me," she says again, and sits on the bed herself, shifting over to make room for him, back propped against the headboard.
Her movement seems to bring him back to himself a bit — he takes off his tie, his vest, tossing them onto the chair, too, toes off his shoes. He eases down beside her on the bed, leans back, mirroring her position. He lets out a breath, relaxes a touch.
"It's more comfortable than it looks," he admits, smiling a bit.
She laughs. "It's homey, really."
"I wouldn't go quite that far," he replies drily. "But, right now, it's all I could ask for. Lizzie… Elizabeth. Thank you."
Touched, she reaches out again, gives his hand a squeeze. "I'm glad that you came to me," she says. "It means something to me that you did."
They sit, hands still clasped together, in the dark, in the quiet. At ease together in a way neither would have thought possible. She wonders absently what has become of her anger, her confusion, her endless questions; but decides, for now, that they don't matter. This peace, this moment is worth forgoing it all — it has been missing from her frenetic life for so long.
He feels softer with her beside him, her quiet acceptance of him, his presence, is a balm to his tired mind, weary soul. He has the fleeting thought that he might finally sleep, like this, her hand in his, her quiet breathing making the night into a friendly thing. She's warm beside him, despite her bare arms and legs, residual heat from her shower pooling between them. It's exquisite, he thinks, not just her —body, face, mind, soul, Lizzie — but the shared silence, the communion. It's more than he dreamed would be possible between them, after Braxton, after Tom, with the Fulcrum lurking behind them like a curse. It's beautiful.
He's so still and quiet beside her that she wonders if he's fallen asleep. She shifts, as smoothly as she can manage, to bring her body in line with his, to share both her warmth and her newfound feeling of wellbeing. Savouring their closeness, she leans her head into her shoulder, and sighs in contentment.
He wraps an arm around her instinctively, tucks her more firmly against his side. She feels, against him, like home, and he doesn't know whether to rejoice in the feeling or to cry out at the futility of it, of this fleeting space they've carved out of their harsh reality.
He feels, she thinks (wondering how it's so), like a piece of her that's been lost — gone since Tom wasn't Tom anymore, or maybe before that, maybe he has always belonged in that empty space. She carefully tucks her arm across his middle, wanting to share at least a measure of the comfort he brings to her.
His breath catches in his throat — it's almost too much, her attention, her affection, her soft warmth beside him, her pleasure in being with him. He lets his hand run over her head, the silk of her hair, her back. It's been a very long while, Red thinks to himself, since he's found himself in bed with a woman and absolutely no idea what he will do next.
So he just sits, rests his cheek on the top of her head, breathes in, breathes out, and it's all so perfect that he just slips away.