When Allison steps out of the small, dark bedroom, she closes the door quietly, turning the handle as softly as possible, before letting it go slowly—waiting for the click. But then she doesn't move. Or at least not the direction she would have. She leans back on the door. Shoulder blades, and the back of her head against the wood, and gaze goes up, but the ceiling isn't any more help than her breath trying to convince her to let it speed up.
If Claire weren't still just starting to fall asleep, and it wasn't her room at all, Allison might have let the back of her head fall harder. Or maybe she would have done that a few times. She holds on to the frenetic energy of it, like one-second longer, she can keep herself from what she couldn't on the other side of the door. Aside from a testament to the fact her sanity seemed to be made of sterner stuff than she'd ever before given it the credit for, being a parent seemed to be like one giant confusing, terrifying, almost always unexpected, jump to the next.
But that?
Wasn't supposed to be one of them.
That was definitely not in any of the books.
And she couldn't just close her eyes and pretend it didn't happen. Claire didn't. She didn't. That Luther. Krakoa was where she was supposed to stop making messes of her life. Of everything. Take the chances she'd been afforded. Make the right choices. Stop hiding behind whatever she was 'supposed to be' for anyone else. Stop giving in to all the bad habits of two decades of neglect and anger, among so many other things.
For Krakoa. For Claire.
Allison's not sure how she manages to push herself back up, or quite how many steps it was from Claire's bedroom door back to the living room. But she's pretty positive she goes right on not remember how to breathe right when she spots Luther on the couch and has to wonder when the last time she just stopped and saw him was.
It feels stupid to phrase it that way in her head because she's always seeing him. He's always here. Always somewhere around, during even the days he isn't here. He's helped her so much with everything the last year, since getting here, since saying yes to David and Josh, about Krakoa, about the Council of Five.
Before that, before they left the White Tower. When she first came back with Claire, and not a single clue in the world what one even did with a baby, but the rabid certainty she would kill someone before letting anyone else take her. How was that only a year and some change ago. That person seemed so much younger. Different. A different life.
A different her.
A different him.
Than the man currently sprawled out across her couch, comfortable sweater, and the dangling feet. A book held just high enough to read it comfortably, and his focus entirely turned toward it, perfectly at ease. And she thinks, with something arrestingly sharp in her chest, that if she didn't know better, if she wasn't herself, just looking at this, she might think he lived here, too.
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If Claire weren't still just starting to fall asleep, and it wasn't her room at all, Allison might have let the back of her head fall harder. Or maybe she would have done that a few times. She holds on to the frenetic energy of it, like one-second longer, she can keep herself from what she couldn't on the other side of the door. Aside from a testament to the fact her sanity seemed to be made of sterner stuff than she'd ever before given it the credit for, being a parent seemed to be like one giant confusing, terrifying, almost always unexpected, jump to the next.
But that?
Wasn't supposed to be one of them.
That was definitely not in any of the books.
And she couldn't just close her eyes and pretend it didn't happen. Claire didn't. She didn't. That Luther. Krakoa was where she was supposed to stop making messes of her life. Of everything. Take the chances she'd been afforded. Make the right choices. Stop hiding behind whatever she was 'supposed to be' for anyone else. Stop giving in to all the bad habits of two decades of neglect and anger, among so many other things.
For Krakoa. For Claire.
Allison's not sure how she manages to push herself back up, or quite how many steps it was from Claire's bedroom door back to the living room. But she's pretty positive she goes right on not remember how to breathe right when she spots Luther on the couch and has to wonder when the last time she just stopped and saw him was.
It feels stupid to phrase it that way in her head because she's always seeing him. He's always here. Always somewhere around, during even the days he isn't here. He's helped her so much with everything the last year, since getting here, since saying yes to David and Josh, about Krakoa, about the Council of Five.
Before that, before they left the White Tower. When she first came back with Claire, and not a single clue in the world what one even did with a baby, but the rabid certainty she would kill someone before letting anyone else take her. How was that only a year and some change ago. That person seemed so much younger. Different. A different life.
A different her.
A different him.
Than the man currently sprawled out across her couch, comfortable sweater, and the dangling feet. A book held just high enough to read it comfortably, and his focus entirely turned toward it, perfectly at ease. And she thinks, with something arrestingly sharp in her chest, that if she didn't know better, if she wasn't herself, just looking at this, she might think he lived here, too.