Chapter Text
The neon sign of the diner buzzed overhead, casting a low, rhythmic hum across the booth. Across from Hudson, Neagley sat entirely still, her hands wrapped tightly around a mug of black coffee. She hadn't spoken for five minutes, her eyes locked on the steam rising from the ceramic.
Hudson didn’t push. He knew better by now. He just sat there, a steady, unmoving anchor in her periphery.
"My therapist asked me a question on Tuesday," Neagley said, her voice cutting through the ambient noise of the diner, quiet but razor-sharp. "She asked what I wanted to do when the noise in my head finally stopped."
Hudson looked up, meeting her guarded gaze. "What did you tell her?"
Neagley didn't answer right away. Instead, she slowly slid her hands away from the mug. For the first time since he’d known her, she wasn't bracing herself. She uncrossed her legs, stood up from the booth, and took a step toward his side of the table.
"I told her I wanted to see what it felt like," Neagley murmured, her eyes tracking his face as she stopped right in front of him. She extended her arms, palms open, her chest rising and falling in a shallow, deliberate breath. "Don't make a big deal out of this, Riley. Just... hold on."
Hudson breathed out a shallow breath of his own, his chest tightening with the sudden weight of the moment. He stood up slowly, deliberately, ensuring every movement was entirely visible to her. He didn't want to surprise her. He didn't want a single sudden gesture to trigger the instinct to run.
"Okay," Hudson said softly, his voice dropping to a low, reassuring murmur. "Just holding on. You set the pace, Frances."
He stepped into her space, his large frame carefully closing the distance. He didn't wrap his arms around her immediately. Instead, he brought his hands up, hovering them an inch away from her back, waiting for the final, silent green light.
Neagley took a sharp, trembling breath. Her posture rigidified for a split second, a lifetime of defensive reflexes screaming at her to pull back. But she looked at Hudson—at the absolute, unmoving patience in his eyes—and forced her muscles to unlock. She closed the final inch herself, leaning forward until her forehead pressed against the sturdy fabric of his jacket.
Hudson gently brought his arms the rest of the way around her. He kept his touch firm but entirely still, giving her a solid, predictable pressure rather than a tight squeeze. He wanted her to feel anchored, not trapped.
Beneath his palms, he could feel the rapid, bird-like fluttering of her heart against her ribs. She was terrified, but she was staying. Slowly, Neagley’s hands moved up, her fingers gripping the fabric at the sides of his jacket, bunching the material tightly in her fists as if she were holding onto a lifeline in a storm.
They stood like that in the corner of the quiet diner, wrapped in the low buzz of the neon sign. For a full minute, neither of them moved.
Gradually, the frantic rhythm of Neagley’s heart began to slow. The tension in her shoulders didn't disappear completely, but it softened, melting into the solid warmth of his chest. For the first time in her life, a human touch didn't feel like a threat or a physical assault. It just felt warm. It felt safe.
When she finally pulled back, she did so deliberately, and Hudson released her instantly, letting his arms drop back to his sides without a moment of hesitation.
Neagley stepped back into her own space, clearing her throat and smoothing down the front of her jacket. A faint, barely perceptible trace of color touched her cheeks, but she looked him dead in the eye, her sharp, defensive armor slipping right back into place.
"If you ever mention this to Renee, Riley," she warned, her voice steady but carrying its usual bite, "I will bury you in a place they'll never find."
Hudson couldn't help the soft, genuine smile that broke across his face. He slid back into his side of the booth, picking up his own coffee cup.