#supportary

ㅤGregor had been weeping since the pair of them had found their privacy. He had given her such a thorough hugging that, now he had stepped away and his hands were resting still upon her shoulders, he worried that he might have hurt her. She said nothing to suggest that he had, instead making some little comment about his feelings that made him laugh. Something halfway between the most joyous giggling and a sob, so relieved was he that she was here, before him, alive!

ㅤHer words broke through a lull in their conversation. It was around three in the morning now, and even Gregor couldn't talk constantly until sunrise. He was leaning properly back in the driver's seat, only half listening to the rain pattering against the roof and windscreen of the car, thoughts of Lachlan swimming around his mind after their most recent stretch of discussion.

ㅤGregor looked Sylvie's way at the sound of her voice, and smiled, slight and unsure and, truthfully, quite surprised. How did things even get this comfortable with someone so quickly, he wondered. They'd known each other less than a year -- though more than half -- and she seemed to have such a handle on his thoughts, his feelings. Then again, they'd been talking about life before. About how he met Hugo, about life before Blackbriar, in more specifics now that they had an entire night to get through. Maybe she remembered that there'd been more to all that than he'd said.

their last couple of weeks had been more than difficult. gregor, almost dead. the decision to leave a comfortable job they’d both been at for some time now. an oncoming move, once the couple decided where they wanted to go. they chose to come to manchester first — closer than glasgow meant a shorter train ride. they’d spend a few days here and let gregor rest before forcing him to endure another train ride. he’d collapsed on her parents’ couch minutes after arriving, leaving sylvie plenty of time to talk to her mum. she lasted seconds before bursting into tears — recounting the events of the past weeks to her mother, leaving out sensitive details that would make someone come back and finish the job they started on gregor. she couldn’t handle him almost dying, she didn’t want to go through the pain of it actually happening. she’d barely calmed down by the time he woke up — groggily, gregor opened his arms to her, pulled her close. it made sylvie tear up again. i’m not going anywhere, he whispers in her ear. with a sniffle, she crawls up onto the couch with him, tucking herself as gently as she can into him without hurting him too badly. “ i know. ” she murmurs, gently kissing a patch of unbroken skin on his cheek. she loved him. she wouldn’t let herself lose him. “ and neither am i. ” nose gently brushes against his and her eyes flutter to a close. “ nothing will keep us apart again — not if i can help it. ”

ㅤThe thing about trains was that they were actually torture devices, dressed up as really useful public transport options. Every bit of Gregor ached at the moment, and he knew that it had precious little to do with the beating he'd been given not so long back. Two hours of sitting and waiting and wanting to be asleep but having nothing to support his neck. That wasn't even getting started on the kid who'd been kicking the back of his seat on and off since Stoke-on-Trent.

ㅤThis was better. He'd fallen asleep on the sofa almost the exact second he'd set himself down on it, it was so comfortable. Even better when Sylvie cuddled up with him. It aggravated those old injuries, of course, worsened his aches, but he didn't care. Being here, being able to hold her in his arms, it felt like a gift. And he could see that she'd been crying. To Emma, he imagined. He brushed a thumb over her cheek and pressed two soft kisses to her skin in its wake. The grogginess had not yet left him -- part of him was beginning to think that it never would, like that annoying high-pitched ring in his ears -- but he was determined to be gentle with her.

ㅤGregor couldn't see her as she said this. Then again, he didn't need to. He could lie here, in their nice and fancy hotel bed, listening to her voice just over the sound of light rain hitting the patio doors, and he knew exactly the look that would be on her face. His eyes were closed and he was, admittedly, a little too tired from the day's activities to consider opening them again.

ㅤSylvie was in his arms, tracing shapes upon his chest while he copied those same movements between her shoulder blades. She would be looking at him with those big, expressive eyes of hers and she would look smitten. She would even smile, he was sure, just a little, when Gregor smiled himself now.

ㅤGregor had been hoping she'd ask something like that. It was hard not to. This place, his little hideaway among all the plants and artificial lights of the Normandy's oxygen farm, was nothing like home. But it still felt like old times. Almost. She had gotten very close to him over the course of their conversation today.

ㅤWhere Gregor was leaning with his back against the side of one of the shelving units, packed to bursting with all manner of strange and beautiful flowers that he had brought onto the ship himself, Sylvie had crept to his side. So close that they were almost touching. He felt like a teenager again, heart fluttering away in his chest like a dozen butterflies, watching her with that little, excited smile of anticipation on his lips. Funny how, even after all these years, nothing changed much.