HER EXPRESSION FALLS to the realm of disapproval with a small shake of her head. the pair of them are wired so differently in most aspects that itâs hard for her to keep up with him. in truth, itâs not even griffithâs humor that bothers her; itâs the timing of it all â how he can belittle any dire situation into almost nothing. â i think youâll fall to your grave with an off-color joke. â an early grave at the rate heâs going, but she does not voice it. itâs not a thought vera is particularly fond of. some may romanticize the idea that any moment could be their last, but the reality of it all is far too dark for her to linger on. itâs hard to embrace moment by moment when there is a looming cloud above your head. â no, i think youâve taken enough beatings for the evening. maybe try your luck in the morning. â with this reply, she grants him a half-smile before her eyes flit to the shoulder in question. â dislocated? â vera makes the assumption based on his instruction alone and takes a step forward, pushing the sleeves of her sweater up over her elbows. â i can try. â the task itself is a little foreboding considering her lack of information â where she can touch, how much pressure and strength without causing more discomfort or making matters worse for him. but she wants to help, and itâs not often griffith gives her the option to. â you may need to help me. â a hand just above his elbow and another curled around his wrist, vera is careful while she tries to straighten his arm out before her to find a better grip. â donât let me hurt you. â icy eyes meet his own so she can communicate just how much she means it.
SOMEWHERE ALONG THE WINDING PATH of fight after fight followed by a grace period that couldnât quite justify why they kept in contact with the other theyâve tripped, stumbled, and fallen ungracefully into... this. this understanding where vera can talk of the MORNING and not have it mean their next meeting to discuss the circumstances of his latest arrest. itâs what he wanted all along, isnât it? griffith isnât entirely sure, but to say no would make him feel like a liar. victory doesnât usually come with crushing GUILT, does it? maybe there was never a chance to win this game at all, and heâs fallen victim to the only thing heâll ever admit is beyond his control-- FATE. even with vera only fucking looking at him, griffith knows that he never stood a chance. her soft-spoken question registers just as the taut muscles of his rotator cuff give a friendly twinge. â walking âround the parking lot looking for where it parked its car, actually, â he says, trying to ease the line between her brows, but the determination has iced over her irises and despite her reservations, griffith knows that heâs come to the right place. â iâll talk you through it, â he promises, shifting his perch against the counter into a more forgiving position to brace for the oncoming discomfort. thereâs a moment while he waits for her to find a steady position for her hands, and he looks up to catch her gaze. â you only hurt me when you steal all of the covers, â he says with a half-grin, his attention quickly shifting to the task at hand. â so, youâre going to bend my arm at the elbow and then twist it outward, yeah ? if that doesnât work, you can start to lift it up. and then if that doesnât work, â he pauses with a nod, â we amputate. sound good ? âÂ
















