[ It helps -- knowing that it helps (even though Natalia knows better; sometimes it doesn't).
She starts at the beginning, much like he had months back. Her hands she folds neatly on the table in front of her; Iain won't remember that it's out of character, that it's the sort of thing she would have never done before. Now, it is a tidiness, an almost necessary gesture (control where there is none, a reminder to her of what he's lost, of what he was, those steady hands; you'll never touch me again, will you). ]
Your name's Iain Marling, an' you're forty-five years old. You live in this house, y'live here with me.
[ Everything is broken down into tiny packets of information, the simplest and most streamlined morsels of truth she knows how to offer. Natalia isn't sure if it's easier for Iain this way, but it's easier for her. The words threaten to stick in her throat less when they're not strung out in long, desperate phrases, sentiments that have difficulty finding pause or end. (I love you, I love you, please come back to me; Natalia stopped sharing that particular memory a long time ago.) ]
My name's Natalia. I look after you. [ Her gaze drops lower, now to his chest; it rises and falls with his breath (the proof of life). A hesitation, then; her lashes want to grow damp and stick together but she won't let them, not while he can see. (I'm a big girl, look how tough I can be.) ] I will always look after you.
An' it's alright if you don't know why. Doesn't change nothin'. Never will.
✘ AU
She starts at the beginning, much like he had months back. Her hands she folds neatly on the table in front of her; Iain won't remember that it's out of character, that it's the sort of thing she would have never done before. Now, it is a tidiness, an almost necessary gesture (control where there is none, a reminder to her of what he's lost, of what he was, those steady hands; you'll never touch me again, will you). ]
Your name's Iain Marling, an' you're forty-five years old. You live in this house, y'live here with me.
[ Everything is broken down into tiny packets of information, the simplest and most streamlined morsels of truth she knows how to offer. Natalia isn't sure if it's easier for Iain this way, but it's easier for her. The words threaten to stick in her throat less when they're not strung out in long, desperate phrases, sentiments that have difficulty finding pause or end. (I love you, I love you, please come back to me; Natalia stopped sharing that particular memory a long time ago.) ]
My name's Natalia. I look after you. [ Her gaze drops lower, now to his chest; it rises and falls with his breath (the proof of life). A hesitation, then; her lashes want to grow damp and stick together but she won't let them, not while he can see. (I'm a big girl, look how tough I can be.) ] I will always look after you.
An' it's alright if you don't know why. Doesn't change nothin'. Never will.