His hand turns easily in hers, fingers wrapping around fingers as he forces a smile back on his face, as he tightens his grip in a comforting squeeze. That much he knows how to do, has always known how to do. It's like when Torunn had been scared, telling them they should leave. He'd smiled at her and held out his hand, telling her it was okay, they could do this. And she'd taken it, squeezed, and they'd been flying. Maybe Libby couldn't fly, and maybe that wasn't the kind of reassurance she needed, but it was reassurance all the same. A gentle reminder of another's presence. Of someone else being there. That they weren't alone.
And really, that's all he needs. His shield at his feet, Libby's hand and worry, the broken assurances, the slight web of alcohol at the corners of his consciousness. It's enough, for now. Enough for what he'd been through, what he hadn't told anyone, so far.
"I got out. The-- the smile appeared and there was a way out," he'd barely been able to move, had to drag himself out of the room on his arms, his legs practically paralyzed until he'd been out of the room, until the crushing presence in his mind lifted and he could get to his feet, until he could run and break his way into the room they'd shoved his shield inside of. Until he could get the comforting metal back in his hands and bust the rest of the way out, along with everyone else their mystery helper had let lose.
But other than that, he'd been okay. He'd seen the reactions others had had, how much worse some of them had had it, and so he'd bitten his tongue. He'd kept his head down and waited until he was ready to check the network again. And he'd kept quiet. He hadn't told anyone before now, and he didn't-- he hadn't even wanted to, not really. But Libby had mentioned it, and he'd needed his shield, needed the reassurance, and she'd known. He knew she would figure it out. That's just... that's how it was, with them. For some reason, they just knew.
"Can you give me one?" he's blurting out, suddenly. Tightening up his jaw almost defensively as soon as he says it. "A tattoo, I mean. To remember."
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And really, that's all he needs. His shield at his feet, Libby's hand and worry, the broken assurances, the slight web of alcohol at the corners of his consciousness. It's enough, for now. Enough for what he'd been through, what he hadn't told anyone, so far.
"I got out. The-- the smile appeared and there was a way out," he'd barely been able to move, had to drag himself out of the room on his arms, his legs practically paralyzed until he'd been out of the room, until the crushing presence in his mind lifted and he could get to his feet, until he could run and break his way into the room they'd shoved his shield inside of. Until he could get the comforting metal back in his hands and bust the rest of the way out, along with everyone else their mystery helper had let lose.
But other than that, he'd been okay. He'd seen the reactions others had had, how much worse some of them had had it, and so he'd bitten his tongue. He'd kept his head down and waited until he was ready to check the network again. And he'd kept quiet. He hadn't told anyone before now, and he didn't-- he hadn't even wanted to, not really. But Libby had mentioned it, and he'd needed his shield, needed the reassurance, and she'd known. He knew she would figure it out. That's just... that's how it was, with them. For some reason, they just knew.
"Can you give me one?" he's blurting out, suddenly. Tightening up his jaw almost defensively as soon as he says it. "A tattoo, I mean. To remember."