Her hands in warm comparison. She's careful. Careful to mind about them getting too cold, careful to mind the threat of frostbite. And even if his hands are cold as she holds hers, she doesn't pull away. Holds it, also careful.
"I'm glad he was there for you." it's softly offered, the barest hint of a smile.
She never had an older sibling. She's the eldest of three. She's supposed to be that one for her sisters. Who's supposed to be the one for the eldest when things are so wrong for them?
There's the gentle swing. She doesn't get it, doesn't get him. Doesn't get how he can hold her hand like that and the last time he threw her off so badly everything just spiraled. He was so mean, even he said that, admitted it.
She doesn't get him. And there's no space here for it. Not now, not this time — and she lets him let go of her hand. She won't keep him, won't make him stay.
There's a tiny frown. Almost incredulous, a little amused more than anything. A teddy bear—? But she's quiet in reply, mulling, considering. It's a brief peace offering. But that's all it needs to be: brief.
And she nods, offers a final smile. Something quiet.
And then the moment is over, and Tim will say it has nothing to do with his predetermined timing of Little's patrol routes. (As if timing patrol routes was in any way difficult; he was a seasoned veteran at age kid.)
Tim bites at the inside of his cheek, and, ruining good farewells, he says, "No, I really gotta go."
...
He says, "I think I left the chainsaw running."
And he can imagine a hundred little Damians spawning from the one Default Damian, as the chainsaw revs and roars to life and slices him into-- uh-huh.
"It's going to eat right through my bed if the Aurora..."
Huh.
There's no graceful exit, just a restrained squeak of hurried and quiet cursing. Because Tim doesn't curse, like, much, and besides Kate--
She's cute.
Carrying flawed and harmful beliefs but hey who doesn't and.
Tim's running off. He stops just to say-
"Take the day off, I'll tell the Lieutenant if you don't--"
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
he did surprisingly well
"I'm glad he was there for you." it's softly offered, the barest hint of a smile.
She never had an older sibling. She's the eldest of three. She's supposed to be that one for her sisters. Who's supposed to be the one for the eldest when things are so wrong for them?
There's the gentle swing. She doesn't get it, doesn't get him. Doesn't get how he can hold her hand like that and the last time he threw her off so badly everything just spiraled. He was so mean, even he said that, admitted it.
She doesn't get him. And there's no space here for it. Not now, not this time — and she lets him let go of her hand. She won't keep him, won't make him stay.
There's a tiny frown. Almost incredulous, a little amused more than anything. A teddy bear—? But she's quiet in reply, mulling, considering. It's a brief peace offering. But that's all it needs to be: brief.
And she nods, offers a final smile. Something quiet.
"... Merry Christmas, Tim."
ok ok sorry 1 more
And then the moment is over, and Tim will say it has nothing to do with his predetermined timing of Little's patrol routes. (As if timing patrol routes was in any way difficult; he was a seasoned veteran at age kid.)
Tim bites at the inside of his cheek, and, ruining good farewells, he says, "No, I really gotta go."
...
He says, "I think I left the chainsaw running."
And he can imagine a hundred little Damians spawning from the one Default Damian, as the chainsaw revs and roars to life and slices him into-- uh-huh.
"It's going to eat right through my bed if the Aurora..."
Huh.
There's no graceful exit, just a restrained squeak of hurried and quiet cursing. Because Tim doesn't curse, like, much, and besides Kate--
She's cute.
Carrying flawed and harmful beliefs but hey who doesn't and.
Tim's running off. He stops just to say-
"Take the day off, I'll tell the Lieutenant if you don't--"
Okay for real now bye.
Peace. Love.
All that jazz.