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It hit like a sledgehammer. The realisation.
“I can't kill you…” Her voice sounded hoarse, choked almost as if saying that out loud alone was enough to break.
Johnny had grabbed her by the waist, dragging her unwillingly into an embrace that he held there until she was ready to lash out. And she did so, violently, desperately. It had surged through her system like fire, the need to break free of his grip, to protect herself, but as her sharpened metal claws sunk into his enagram it had only caused pain with no real outcome. No damage. No bleeding.
How could he? He wasn't there…
“No. You can't.” He hushed quietly, lips pressed to the top of her head. It hurt like a motherfucker, but part of him knew the pain wasn't any more real than his appearance was, which helped lessen and dull the input surging through the relic. “You can't kill me… and I'm sure as shit not trying to kill you. So calm. Down.”
That familiar stinging sensation began to burn her eyes, tears blurring her wide-eyed and panicked vision, still breathing as though she just finished running for her life.
It was wrong.
This was wrong.
He's not… pulling her hair or choking her out. No punching or pinching, no beating, no bladed weaponry about to be driven into her back. She's still waiting for it, the reason to be afraid, but there was none. Only the vaguely glitchy rockerboy’s arms holding her still. Holding her steady as she trembled like a rabbit staring down a farmer's gun.
She wanted to say it again. Out loud. But opening her mouth only resulted in a strained gasping inhale for a breath she didn't realise was being held. Blinking as though it had only just become safe to do so as if closing her eyes for even a fraction of a second before now would've been a death sentence.
The claws slowly slid out of Johnny’s waistline. Her arms feeling like lead weights, the cyberware inside them disengaging with an ever-so-gentle whir of old servos, dropping with a quiet thump down to her sides.
Here it comes. Johnny is ready for it, taking a deep breath of his own to keep his head on straight and not get slapped by her sudden influx of emotions. It had been a risky move, forcing this, forcing her, knowing there was a chance that stupid adrenaline pump that dosed her bloodstream could've turned on at any time and sparked a cyberpsychosis episode.
But he couldn't do this anymore.
He couldn't fucking stand that ache.
The way she so vehemently avoided touch while craving it like a fucking addict going cold turkey but never feeling the relief of getting over their vice. It was bullshit. And Johnny doesn't do bullshit…
The first spasm racked her body with enough force to jostle the both of them, purposefully closing her throat up to stop the sob from escaping. “Stop it,” he growled in mild irritation, the fingers of his organic hand carefully making their way up behind her neck and into the messy mane of hair. Brushing with as much gentleness as he could muster while settling his palm against the back of her head, cradling it, a frown pulling his brow together before he closed his eyes and murmured into the curls. “It's safe, Valkyrie. Stop fighting.”
It's like watching a crack slowly spreading across the glass of an aquarium. One twitch, then two, until finally after another harsh inhale the sound that follows makes his chest tighten in a way he can't describe. It's like she's trying to scream, but trying so hard that instead, all that comes out is a strained gurgle. Long and harrowing at first, the way Vee’s arms come back up and hover there as if they don't know what to do with them. She knows. It just took a minute to go through. To register as okay, clinging to him and squeezing like a child starved of comfort being given a teddy bear warm and fresh out of the dryer.
The words ‘I can't kill you’ rolled from her mouth repeatedly with varying degrees of clarity, though each time she finished that statement Johnny could feel the despair bleeding to something else. A rush of catharsis that threatened to drag him into her little outburst. The croaking throaty cries and gasps mingling with jarring laughter unlike anything he’d heard come out of her before. Bittersweet, like the tears that left slimy wet tracks down the side of her face. He found himself swallowing and tightening his hold until the edges of his hologram started to strain and warp. He's not going anywhere…