Back then it would have taken more than a nuclear disturbance to slow me down.
[That makes him smile some again, and when they're getting closer to his room he moves his hand from her shoulder to settle at her waist, so he can pull her into a hug against his side.]
I'll keep a tab. Make 'em count. [Those stories that is.]
[ The hug surprises her, for some reason, but she settles into it. It's the easiest thing to wrap her other arm around her and press her face briefly against his shoulder. He smells like booze, mostly. It shouldn't make her miss Roth, but there it is, a dull ache in her chest.
She leans back and tries for a smile, fighting back the tears. Really, she's being ridiculous. ]
I will. I don't have any as exciting as drunk French ornithologists, but I have a few.
[It's actually been a while since someone just hugged him. He had no idea how long it had been until she hugs him back, and he realizes he can't even remember. Just the occasional gentle shifting of weight by the Boss's Phantom. And even then, that's only so much.]
[After everything, he gives her a tighter hug back. Dropping his crutch. Nevermind, he'll just leave that on the floor for now. They're not too far from his barracks now. But he takes her face in his hands (one flesh with warm palm and chilly fingers, the other the same temperature of the corridor) and, spurred on by his drunkenness, gives her a scratchy kiss to her forehead.]
[ She's more than happy to be properly hugged, the clatter of his crutch something that only registers distantly. It's nice, she feels warm and rather ridiculously safe for a moment, a memory of Roth's occasional hugs tinging the current one. Miller is entierly different, but she finds she's no less fond of him.
The kiss is a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. She blushes and laughs softly, hiding her face against his shoulder for a moment again. Then the ramifications of him using both hands catches up to her. She shifts, glancing down at his crutch. ]
That's a bit of a problem.
[ Now how are they going to get that without one or both of them winding up on the floor... ]
[He lets go, and takes a couple of staggering, uneasy steps to grab the wall. Then grabs the wall to keep from falling.]
[At least that gives her a moment to pick up the crutch for him. He's not too far from his room now. At least he won't be too much more effort for her.]
You know something funny? I think I did, too. I'd forgotten what it felt like.
[It genuinely had been that long since he'd had just a hug. Just a plain old-fashioned hug.]
[He takes the crutch, and with another wobble rights himself.] Next time I drink, I'll do it when I'm less depressed. [He promises that, but he isn't promising he won't drink, either. He misses the days when doing it socially felt good. He's pretty sure he's not outgrown that.]
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[ She's extrapolating, but also she rather likes the image. It's utterly mad and she's inclined to believe every word. ]
Ah... This means I owe you two stories now.
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[That makes him smile some again, and when they're getting closer to his room he moves his hand from her shoulder to settle at her waist, so he can pull her into a hug against his side.]
I'll keep a tab. Make 'em count. [Those stories that is.]
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She leans back and tries for a smile, fighting back the tears. Really, she's being ridiculous. ]
I will. I don't have any as exciting as drunk French ornithologists, but I have a few.
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[After everything, he gives her a tighter hug back. Dropping his crutch. Nevermind, he'll just leave that on the floor for now. They're not too far from his barracks now. But he takes her face in his hands (one flesh with warm palm and chilly fingers, the other the same temperature of the corridor) and, spurred on by his drunkenness, gives her a scratchy kiss to her forehead.]
I'll look forward to them.
[Then he stares at his crutch.]
[Yup. That sure is down there.]
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The kiss is a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. She blushes and laughs softly, hiding her face against his shoulder for a moment again. Then the ramifications of him using both hands catches up to her. She shifts, glancing down at his crutch. ]
That's a bit of a problem.
[ Now how are they going to get that without one or both of them winding up on the floor... ]
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[He lets go, and takes a couple of staggering, uneasy steps to grab the wall. Then grabs the wall to keep from falling.]
[At least that gives her a moment to pick up the crutch for him. He's not too far from his room now. At least he won't be too much more effort for her.]
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Here. [ She holds out the crutch. ] And... Thank you. I think I needed that.
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[It genuinely had been that long since he'd had just a hug. Just a plain old-fashioned hug.]
[He takes the crutch, and with another wobble rights himself.] Next time I drink, I'll do it when I'm less depressed. [He promises that, but he isn't promising he won't drink, either. He misses the days when doing it socially felt good. He's pretty sure he's not outgrown that.]
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[ With the walk home and the hug, really. She hasn't felt especially useful of late, but this is a nice change of pace.]
I could go with you next time, if you like. We could even out our story telling and drunken walk home tabs.