#gnawseate

vivian's voice is laced with adrenaline and carries more power than the gunshot moments prior: it's raw and assertive and tries to rouse bennett's conscious back to where it should be. crimson smears his face where vivian's hand cracks against his cheek, returning to place pressure on the wound upon his arm. "combe!" voice firm, professional in a way she's never quite regarded him with before. "comb—! bennett, are you with me? you're bleeding. they're gone, but you're bleeding. come on, gather yourself, get your shit together. that's not a suggestion." vivian searches his expression, makes an assumption that he's in shock, sucks on her teeth in frustration.

the ringing in her ears prevents vivian from deciphering bennett's breathing pattern, sharp eyes measuring the way his chest swells and falls instead. "breathe in, breathe out— you're going to be fine, you're with me. come on, look at me..." she begins to demonstrate her own breathing, calm and collected, despite the erratic beating in her chest. the scent of burnt rubber, gunpower and smoke assaults her nose, strips the sensitive lining until it's raw and she can't smell anything else.

stick your nose where it's not wanted and you'll get caught in the crossfire.

vivian must've told him a million times. emotion locks an iron grip on her throat and closes it up: anger because he never listened. solace because he's alive despite that. shame for letting him get injured in the first place. the base of it all, panic she's trying to hide with intense effort. this will be the last time he's allowed anywhere near the case while it's active.

[   🧭   ]      where  would  they  go  if  they  could  disappear  tomorrow  ?