Work Text:
“What you did for Ben... to Ben... it was, like, really, really…”
Mari stumbles over her words, unsure of what exactly to say. Was what Natalie did brave, or was it more kind? Both are true in their own right, Mari supposes, but somehow neither seem like large enough words to describe the mercy of what Natalie did. Neither of the words seem like things that Mari is supposed to say out loud. It would be safer to say that what Natalie did was awful, but that’s not true, is it? If it was awful, it was an awful necessity— how could Mari ever shame Natalie for that? The awfulness is not her fault, so why would she ever shame her for that?
In the end, it doesn’t matter what word Mari would have decided to settle on because Natalie interrupts, clearly knowing exactly what Mari is thinking. She nods gently in understanding, “I know.”
The words are blunt and honest in a way the way Natalie always is, but they remain gentle. Despite everything, Natalie remains gentle. Even if the gentleness hides beneath the surface most days, scared to emerge, it is still there, existing despite it all. Mari freezes, breathless from the way she’s looking at her, from having that gentleness so freely directed at her, and for a moment, she is almost able to forget the dangerousness of being seen as complicit. Almost.
Mari turns away from Natalie's gaze abruptly, looking around herself as if she has suddenly remembered who is surrounding them, and she quickly adds, “And you shouldn't have done it.”
Natalie’s lips quirk upward with fondness.
For a moment, stretching through the darkness, two people reach out, grabbing hands and meeting at an abandoned crossroad. It is a comforting touch, and it is an understanding touch— wrought with a gentle familiarity. They are the only people there, but that doesn't matter, does it? They have each other to lean on. The world around them is empty and desolate, falling apart more and more with each passing day, but still, they have each other. The reliability of that goes far beyond tentative allies, and it goes far beyond simply following a powerful leader. A trust forged from so much hurt and so much betrayal and from being labeled, once again, as an outcast, is not following a pack. It is stepping away, following what you believe in above all else— following who you believe in above all else.
Despite everything, two souls united for the briefest, most-fleeting of moments before they veered off into darkness once again. Two paths momentarily crossed before they diverged once more. It was only for a moment— a brief, too short moment— but it still matters that it happened, doesn’t it? It matters that it— the knowledge that you weren’t even there for her when it happened, that no one at all was there for her, that it must have hurt so terribly— will haunt you forever, doesn’t it?