[ not out of the woods yet at all. and clinging to a liminal space created within a late night car ride after an impossible rescue would only last so long.
there might be an urge to make a comment about how well prepared steve was. and maybe eddie does so without vocalizing, a look to his feet then back at steve with brows that quirk up, something minutely amused in the expression that steve may or may not catch in his periphery.
in the gaps between his speaking of his not-death and dropping off to reconsider, eddie's attention catches on to the palpable tension quickly — eyes on steve's hands, suddenly white-knuckling the steering wheel. thinks he hears the hitch of breath and he's perceptive enough to recognize the telltale signs of panic. the guilt follows soon after, some worry of having been the one who caused it by asking, or being, or whatever. there's guilt and there's worry and the inexplicable urge to reach out. instead, his hands play with the corner of the towel still sitting on his lap, awkwardly unmoved from where steve had dumped it.
she's alive, but there's a but, of course there is and eddie just sighs. ] She will. It's Mayfield we're talking about here. [ he says, quietly. he doesn't know that for sure but there's something in the back of his mind that pulls on that thought anyway. and he can't help but think of that place again, of that vast void of an in-between, glassy surface and dark for infinity and he can't explain why his mind tries to reach for that connection, but he finds himself hoping she's not stuck there too.
he stays quiet for a little while longer — not too long, silence hanging only for a few beats before eddie gently asks, can't not after he'd caught steve's mostly well-hidden panic: ] Hey — you okay?
no subject
there might be an urge to make a comment about how well prepared steve was. and maybe eddie does so without vocalizing, a look to his feet then back at steve with brows that quirk up, something minutely amused in the expression that steve may or may not catch in his periphery.
in the gaps between his speaking of his not-death and dropping off to reconsider, eddie's attention catches on to the palpable tension quickly — eyes on steve's hands, suddenly white-knuckling the steering wheel. thinks he hears the hitch of breath and he's perceptive enough to recognize the telltale signs of panic. the guilt follows soon after, some worry of having been the one who caused it by asking, or being, or whatever. there's guilt and there's worry and the inexplicable urge to reach out. instead, his hands play with the corner of the towel still sitting on his lap, awkwardly unmoved from where steve had dumped it.
she's alive, but there's a but, of course there is and eddie just sighs. ] She will. It's Mayfield we're talking about here. [ he says, quietly. he doesn't know that for sure but there's something in the back of his mind that pulls on that thought anyway. and he can't help but think of that place again, of that vast void of an in-between, glassy surface and dark for infinity and he can't explain why his mind tries to reach for that connection, but he finds himself hoping she's not stuck there too.
he stays quiet for a little while longer — not too long, silence hanging only for a few beats before eddie gently asks, can't not after he'd caught steve's mostly well-hidden panic: ] Hey — you okay?