[It's the distance she keeps that really makes him take note of her hesitation. His heart is racing, and everything still hurts, but it's her hesitation that - it doesn't put a pause on anything he's feeling, but it makes it easier to control.]
[She died. She died. It's so overwhelming to think of, but she's the one who died. There's so much she's been through lately, and he needs her, but it can be a little ignored, for now. He's been ignoring it enough the last few weeks that it's familiar to stomp on it. None of that changes the fact that he thinks she was unbelievably stupid, or how he has no capacity to forgive her for it. But it does allow him to really look at her since he teleported home.]
[Slowly, he reaches out and sets his hands on top of hers, practically covering them whole on her legs. His knuckles sear with pain, but he doesn't think the damage is worse than a fracture at most, and not even all his fingers. Just as slowly, he turns them over and takes her hands in his own, cradling them gently; the bruised hand is stiff in his grip but no less tender.]
[Her hands are warm. He can hear her breathing, and even though he can still hear her saying I died, she's alive in this moment. Bellamy hasn't stopped crying, but it's far less wild, far less hysterical. It's touching her more than any words she's offered, this quiet reminder that she's still here, that - well, it doesn't fix anything. But it's steadying.]
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[She died. She died. It's so overwhelming to think of, but she's the one who died. There's so much she's been through lately, and he needs her, but it can be a little ignored, for now. He's been ignoring it enough the last few weeks that it's familiar to stomp on it. None of that changes the fact that he thinks she was unbelievably stupid, or how he has no capacity to forgive her for it. But it does allow him to really look at her since he teleported home.]
[Slowly, he reaches out and sets his hands on top of hers, practically covering them whole on her legs. His knuckles sear with pain, but he doesn't think the damage is worse than a fracture at most, and not even all his fingers. Just as slowly, he turns them over and takes her hands in his own, cradling them gently; the bruised hand is stiff in his grip but no less tender.]
[Her hands are warm. He can hear her breathing, and even though he can still hear her saying I died, she's alive in this moment. Bellamy hasn't stopped crying, but it's far less wild, far less hysterical. It's touching her more than any words she's offered, this quiet reminder that she's still here, that - well, it doesn't fix anything. But it's steadying.]