[ For a long second, he makes no move – just stands there awkwardly in the doorway, peering at the empty space of her bed. The covers are tousled to one side, an indent on one pillow to signal which side is likely Emma's. The other pillow, however, looks relatively untouched, and something quails in him, quiet and apprehensive.
Faraday knew little about Matthew Cullen, largely by design. What did he care about a dead man? Who Matthew was, how he was, had no bearing on the job or on Faraday, wouldn't have affected the outcome for good or ill. What Faraday knows, though, is that Matthew Cullen's death was enough to spark a massive thunderstorm, one that put steel in Emma's bones and flames in her eyes.
What a poor substitute, Faraday must be.
He swallows thickly, taking a few limping steps forward. ]
You sure on this? [ low, uncertain, and his gaze flicks up to her face before darting away. ]
no subject
Faraday knew little about Matthew Cullen, largely by design. What did he care about a dead man? Who Matthew was, how he was, had no bearing on the job or on Faraday, wouldn't have affected the outcome for good or ill. What Faraday knows, though, is that Matthew Cullen's death was enough to spark a massive thunderstorm, one that put steel in Emma's bones and flames in her eyes.
What a poor substitute, Faraday must be.
He swallows thickly, taking a few limping steps forward. ]
You sure on this? [ low, uncertain, and his gaze flicks up to her face before darting away. ]