She closes her eyes for a moment, resting, marshaling herself, savoring the simplicity of his fingertips on her steady pulse.]
I'm still sore. [Which he knows, just by looking at her.] A careful one - it would, yes.
But I have many people who would be happy to do it, Ben. It's enough that you're here.
[This is not a sop; this is fastidiously honest. All she needs from him is this, his steadiness, his concern, the knowledge that he is standing sentry. (His anger, which is love in a soldier's shape. A flash of memory: swearing, fingers bloody, needle dropped to the floor, not to leave him alone. And she is still here.) Whether he wants to overcome himself to give her that measure of comfort - that's his choice, and she could not begrudge him no matter what he does.]
Spam
I'm still sore. [Which he knows, just by looking at her.] A careful one - it would, yes.
But I have many people who would be happy to do it, Ben. It's enough that you're here.
[This is not a sop; this is fastidiously honest. All she needs from him is this, his steadiness, his concern, the knowledge that he is standing sentry. (His anger, which is love in a soldier's shape. A flash of memory: swearing, fingers bloody, needle dropped to the floor, not to leave him alone. And she is still here.) Whether he wants to overcome himself to give her that measure of comfort - that's his choice, and she could not begrudge him no matter what he does.]