[ She hasn't cried on anyone in -- years. They'd always made Jack uncomfortable, and any other time, so often in excruciating pain, the research teams did nothing but observe her. There had been no comfort, just a cold alienation of herself until she knows no more what to do now than Steve does. But that he tries anyway might as well her own undoing. No one tried, not for years, and it's more than she really expects. Turning into the curve of his arms, taking the small space he gave her and settled in safe.
But it's just that she's tired, and it hurts, it hurts so much and all the talking, the pretty lights, is nothing else but an impermanent distraction, that changes nothing because it will keep hurting. She will never not feel this. She will never not be empty. Doesn't know what else to do but curl into him and keep crying, the hiccupped rise and fall of her shoulders, the wet that stains her cheeks. It accomplishes nothing, she knows, then giving her some break to it, all chips in a damn wall. Says nothing else, it's already been said anyway, just cries and cries until she's really sure there is nothing else left.
Finally gives into the exhaustion of it all, her hand curls in the material of his shirt, her eyes stay shut and in the comfortable dark of it, trickles away, how easily it goes from nothing to weeping to just uneven breaths and in the next and perhaps she shouldn't, so very, very close to sleep. Seems almost natural that way, like there was only so long she could keep this all going before it all burned itself out. Grief was like that, she figured. ]
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But it's just that she's tired, and it hurts, it hurts so much and all the talking, the pretty lights, is nothing else but an impermanent distraction, that changes nothing because it will keep hurting. She will never not feel this. She will never not be empty. Doesn't know what else to do but curl into him and keep crying, the hiccupped rise and fall of her shoulders, the wet that stains her cheeks. It accomplishes nothing, she knows, then giving her some break to it, all chips in a damn wall. Says nothing else, it's already been said anyway, just cries and cries until she's really sure there is nothing else left.
Finally gives into the exhaustion of it all, her hand curls in the material of his shirt, her eyes stay shut and in the comfortable dark of it, trickles away, how easily it goes from nothing to weeping to just uneven breaths and in the next and perhaps she shouldn't, so very, very close to sleep. Seems almost natural that way, like there was only so long she could keep this all going before it all burned itself out. Grief was like that, she figured. ]