arrival

[It's when the rock drops into his numb hands - palms stained with blood, black paint already chipping off the nails - that he snaps to awareness, staring at her like he's been shaken out of a nightmare. After a beat too long he finally finds his grip on it and nods a little, throat bobbing. Understanding, dreading. He'd think it's a pretty damn cool-looking find if his mind wasn't tripping over itself trying to reconcile the recent past with the present.]

So, [He jogs a few paces to close the distance between them, stuffing his cold hands, rock and all, into his hoodie pocket.] who should I be thanking for saving my ass?

[Normally a self-deprecating smile would accompany that sort of question but he hasn't got much in him right this minute.]