He did not think himself, nor Gaelio, capable of it. Especially not Gaelio -- the more honest truth was that he'd always suspected himself capable of it. Wavering, slipping, that was precisely the danger he'd worked to avoid. But Gaelio should not have been capable of allowing McGillis's name to rattle in his voice that way. He should not be capable of any of it.
Instead they exchange it back and forth, giving inches, giving slack. Necessity born of a situation that had taken them off their violent path, but thereafter the two of them chose to continue on a new one, even admitting to a certain shared helplessness.
The most recent development. How quickly it's all unraveled, since the first decision he made to step towards this direction with this man.
When it's like this, he can't help but waver. When it's been building like this, the harsh whisper of just the beginning of his name is as heady as strong alcohol. A voice that he'd heard in his head for years, a voice long dead, but Gaelio isn't dead -- he rushes forward to prove it.
The rush of him moving in, as heady as the rest, a strong wave that jostles and drenches him. A hand pulling at his shoulder and the other guiding from under his chin. Surprise does flicker across his features, and tension ripples, but does not stop him from following Gaelio's guiding placement.
He watches as he twitches back after creating a face-to-face encounter.
Arms have already loosened from behind his back when Gaelio moves forward again and clamps onto his wrist. Not tight, not without a certain erratic energy. Surprise clings to his own countenance, bypassed by subtle crumpling in the deep pit of his eyes, when that thumbing at his wrist starts.
A delicate thing. Almost nothing. It washes him in another memory and strips off another layer of steel.
Even he can't bring himself to begin to lie anew, not when Gaelio looks to and speaks to him this way, after everything. It's courage that astounds him.
Courage that he, himself, is positive he wouldn't possess, if he ever had to face himself the way Gaelio faces him now. He's momentarily bowled over by it, the hand not held drifting up to graze over his own chest, fingers absently clutching at the material.
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1/2
He did not think himself, nor Gaelio, capable of it. Especially not Gaelio -- the more honest truth was that he'd always suspected himself capable of it. Wavering, slipping, that was precisely the danger he'd worked to avoid. But Gaelio should not have been capable of allowing McGillis's name to rattle in his voice that way. He should not be capable of any of it.
Instead they exchange it back and forth, giving inches, giving slack. Necessity born of a situation that had taken them off their violent path, but thereafter the two of them chose to continue on a new one, even admitting to a certain shared helplessness.
The most recent development. How quickly it's all unraveled, since the first decision he made to step towards this direction with this man.
When it's like this, he can't help but waver. When it's been building like this, the harsh whisper of just the beginning of his name is as heady as strong alcohol. A voice that he'd heard in his head for years, a voice long dead, but Gaelio isn't dead -- he rushes forward to prove it.
The rush of him moving in, as heady as the rest, a strong wave that jostles and drenches him. A hand pulling at his shoulder and the other guiding from under his chin. Surprise does flicker across his features, and tension ripples, but does not stop him from following Gaelio's guiding placement.
He watches as he twitches back after creating a face-to-face encounter.
Arms have already loosened from behind his back when Gaelio moves forward again and clamps onto his wrist. Not tight, not without a certain erratic energy. Surprise clings to his own countenance, bypassed by subtle crumpling in the deep pit of his eyes, when that thumbing at his wrist starts.
A delicate thing. Almost nothing. It washes him in another memory and strips off another layer of steel.
Even he can't bring himself to begin to lie anew, not when Gaelio looks to and speaks to him this way, after everything. It's courage that astounds him.
Courage that he, himself, is positive he wouldn't possess, if he ever had to face himself the way Gaelio faces him now. He's momentarily bowled over by it, the hand not held drifting up to graze over his own chest, fingers absently clutching at the material.
A little breathless. ]