“Yes, you are.” Her eyes softened as she patted his chest. “And I know you can’t help it. That’s just how you’re built, and it’s why I love you.”
Love.
His heart did a backflip behind his ribs. He knew she only meant it in the platonic sense, the same way you love a reliable friend or your family. But the words hit him like a physical blow anyway, because he’d been in love with her for so long that hearing even a casual version of it from her lips felt like salvation.
He swallowed hard, trying to find his footing in this new reality where they’d crossed every line he’d drawn between them. “Rue?—”
“Don’t,” she said softly. “Don’t analyze this to death. Not yet.”
He didn’t know what to say, so he reached up and traced the edge of her jaw, letting his thumb linger where her pulse hammered beneath the skin. “You sure you’re okay? I wasn’t gentle.”
She said nothing at first and instead swept a wet strand of hair off his forehead, studying his face like she was trying to memorize it. “I’m okay, Elliot. I didn’t need or want gentle. I needed you to just—take, for once.”
Yeah, well, he’d done that.
And then some.
She shivered, and he watched goose bumps bloom over her skin.
“We need to get you warm.” He fastened his pants and walked away long enough to find the stack of towels he’d seen on the way in. He grabbed several of them and returned to her, bundling her up. She let him fuss, eyes drooping closed, not quite asleep and not quite awake. He could see the exhaustion pounding through her, and it yanked at something inside him—some old, stupid part that believed he could fix her, if only for a night.
He eased her down onto the bench again, careful of her ankle, and gently started drying her off. She was shivering hard now, so he worked fast, not even pretending not to check her fingers for signs of frostbite. She didn’t have any, not really, but her circulation was crap, and her skin looked so pale and thin it made him want to punch a wall.
“You still with me?” he asked, kneeling in front of her and cupping her face. Her eyes were unfocused, and the edge of his thumb caught a stray tear or maybe a drop of shower water fromthe corner of her eye. She blinked at him, lashes half-clumped together, and nodded.
“Good. Sit tight. Gonna grab some supplies.” He tucked the towel more securely around her before quickly drying himself and pulling on his wet shirt.
The corridor outside was silent, the emergency lights casting long shadows that seemed to reach for him with ghostly fingers. He moved quickly, checking each room until he found several sets of thermal base layers, sweatshirts, and sweatpants, all blessedly dry.
When he returned to the shower room, Rue had curled up on the bench, towel clutched around her shoulders, staring at nothing. The sight punched a hole through his chest.
“Hey,” he said softly, kneeling beside her. “Found some clothes.”
She blinked, coming back to herself. “Thanks.”
He helped her stand, steadying her when she winced at the pressure on her injured ankle. The swelling had worsened during their... activities. He pushed away the flush of heat that threatened to rise at the memory.
“Let me help,” he said, holding out the thermal top.
She didn’t argue, which worried him more than any protest would have— Rue always fought assistance, even when she was bleeding out.
He eased the shirt over her head, then helped her into the pants, careful of her ankle. She was still moving sluggishly, so he made an executive decision and swept her into his arms.
She startled. “What?—”
“You’re hungry.” It had been hours since they had those packets of stew in the ice cave. “You’re exhausted and hurting. Let me take care of you.”
“Your shoulder?—”
“Is fine.” It wasn’t, and he was going to pay for this later, but at the moment, he didn’t give a flying fuck. It could fall off for all he cared. His only goal—his sole purpose—was to get her comfortable and safe. He’d deal with his own injuries later.
“Put me down,” she protested weakly, but her head was already resting against his shoulder, her body going lax in his arms.
“Not a chance.”
He carried her through the empty corridors, past the lab with its frozen horrors, to the common room, which was a smaller version of the one at Thwaites. Faded band posters decorated the walls, and a worn couch sat against one wall.
It was the closest thing to comfort they’d find in this place.
