[ As she approaches, his eyes immediately glitter with suspicion, and he leans back a little. ]
Now, Emma—
[ Warning in his voice, because he clearly expects more of the same from earlier – except he’s pleasantly surprised when she merely settles it on his head, fixes it in its usual way. He looks up at her, some wry comment – “See how simple that was?” – on the tip of his tongue, except—
It occurs to him, right then, how close she is, and he realizes how close she ventured these days, now that a quick brush of his hand wouldn’t fill her to the gills with ice. And how odd that was, given their rocky start, when she had glared daggers at him in the light of a flickering fire, and he merely smirked in reply. She had hated him then, he’s reasonably sure. Not so much, these days, and for a man who had once prided himself on not giving a damn what others thought of him, he finds he’s oddly glad for it.
Death had a funny way of fixing things.
He clears his throat (an unnecessary gesture, but habit has him doing it, all the same), and lifts a hand to the front of his hat, adjusting the brim minutely. ]
I should hope so. [ He says it lightly, eyes flicking down to her stomach; holding her gaze, looking up at her face, made something tighten and flare in his chest – something he didn’t have a name for.
no subject
Now, Emma—
[ Warning in his voice, because he clearly expects more of the same from earlier – except he’s pleasantly surprised when she merely settles it on his head, fixes it in its usual way. He looks up at her, some wry comment – “See how simple that was?” – on the tip of his tongue, except—
It occurs to him, right then, how close she is, and he realizes how close she ventured these days, now that a quick brush of his hand wouldn’t fill her to the gills with ice. And how odd that was, given their rocky start, when she had glared daggers at him in the light of a flickering fire, and he merely smirked in reply. She had hated him then, he’s reasonably sure. Not so much, these days, and for a man who had once prided himself on not giving a damn what others thought of him, he finds he’s oddly glad for it.
Death had a funny way of fixing things.
He clears his throat (an unnecessary gesture, but habit has him doing it, all the same), and lifts a hand to the front of his hat, adjusting the brim minutely. ]
I should hope so. [ He says it lightly, eyes flicking down to her stomach; holding her gaze, looking up at her face, made something tighten and flare in his chest – something he didn’t have a name for.
Then, with a smug little smile, ]
Suits me better, too.