[ truth be told, he'd expected that to be that. they'd continue on to any other work that needs doing with the spire or, more likely, they simply go their separate ways. they experienced a fraught, miserable thing — because as much as this hurt cassian, and it did, amos isn't unaffected. maybe that's to be expected: a child in distress is a terrible experience for a lot of people, even if they know nothing about the child. it's a normal reaction.
so he looks up, surprised, when amos reaches for him. the motion is stiff, unpracticed, but not insincere. nothing about the way amos looks at him is insincere, and it makes him swallow as he meets that open gaze. normally, he could at least approximate friendliness, gratitude, something, at least in his eyes. but he's still so raw; still half-feels as if this is happening at a distance, or to someone else. he knows how to shove whatever's in his head aside to get the job done, he did, but it's starting to strain; and he has to resist the urge to shrug off that hand just for one less thing to deal with.
and then amos says, there's still a way to get her back. he feels like a plucked harp string, singing a single note: longing, rather than the suspicion and old grief he should be feeling. does feel, but not as strongly. no tricks, no bullshit. not a phantasm of a girl long gone, but a real shard. her soul, finally in his hands to protect at last. it knocks the breath out of him, how much he wants it. flickers through his eyes and the downwards pull of his mouth, and how he looks away before amos is done talking.
he exhales in a sharp staccato, and then he does pull away from amos. raises his hands briefly before letting them drop, and says, ]
I owe you one. Okay?
[ can't quite make himself meet amos's eyes. he does owe amos one, but he can't do this right now. and then he turns on his heel, heading back towards the city proper. ]
no subject
so he looks up, surprised, when amos reaches for him. the motion is stiff, unpracticed, but not insincere. nothing about the way amos looks at him is insincere, and it makes him swallow as he meets that open gaze. normally, he could at least approximate friendliness, gratitude, something, at least in his eyes. but he's still so raw; still half-feels as if this is happening at a distance, or to someone else. he knows how to shove whatever's in his head aside to get the job done, he did, but it's starting to strain; and he has to resist the urge to shrug off that hand just for one less thing to deal with.
and then amos says, there's still a way to get her back. he feels like a plucked harp string, singing a single note: longing, rather than the suspicion and old grief he should be feeling. does feel, but not as strongly. no tricks, no bullshit. not a phantasm of a girl long gone, but a real shard. her soul, finally in his hands to protect at last. it knocks the breath out of him, how much he wants it. flickers through his eyes and the downwards pull of his mouth, and how he looks away before amos is done talking.
he exhales in a sharp staccato, and then he does pull away from amos. raises his hands briefly before letting them drop, and says, ]
I owe you one. Okay?
[ can't quite make himself meet amos's eyes. he does owe amos one, but he can't do this right now. and then he turns on his heel, heading back towards the city proper. ]