Thea stands off to the side, using her hand to fan away the smoke that rises off of the pizza. It looks otherwise fine, other than the fact the crust is a little crispy. Perhaps the bottom, too.

Certainly still edible, though.

"Looks perfect to me, my dear."

As if nothing had happened and the puffiness around her eyes didn't exist, the woman moves across the room to sift through the kitchen island drawers. She plucks a pizza cutter, setting it next to him, before leaving again to find plates. She does all of this without another word, refocusing her worries on finishing dinner prep.

Rory Faust

This is a burden she's been carrying for over eight years, a crippling insecurity, guilt, torment. She carries it naturally, as if it is the easiest thing in the world. He should be concerned, because this is the first and only time he's ever heard her mention it.

Two plates clink softly against the countertop and she slides them closer to him. His blade crunches through the crust and he lifts and places. At first, she almost doesn't hear him.

"Yes. It was a really long time ago."

Her thumb strokes along the edge of one of the slices. It is too hot and she pulls her hand back, lifting the sauce to her lips.

Rory Faust

Mechanically, Thea moves to replace the lids on the Tupperware. One of them is slightly misaligned, just enough to make things worse. Just enough she can't fix if, she can't fix it, she can't fix anything.

Her breath catches in her throat and she struggles with it. The force of her grief and her attempts to maintain control veer out of control. Her fingers slip and she manages to cut herself on the plastic.

It isn't deep, but its enough that shes gotten blood on what remains of the peppers.

"No, Rory, I don't. There's nothing to talk about."

Rory Faust

Her hands are shaking and she can't seem to catch her breath. His attention lingers and she can feel his doubt, she can feel his concern and it is so heavy. The burden of guilt, of his worry, it's too much.

And then he grabs hold of her hand. He's warm and stable, latching onto her finger. The napkin is stained with her blood but with the pressure the bleeding stops. It was never a deep cut.

Thea sucks in a breath, pulling herself out of autopilot to follow his hand up to the first aid kit. She doesn't even realize how badly she's shaking.

"It's just a scratch, Rory, please. The--the pizza is getting cold."

Rory Faust

I don't want your help. I don't want anyone's help.

These thoughts are chanted in her head like an ultimatum. They scare her because she knows that isn't true. She needs help. She wants help.

She wants him.

"I've ruined movie night."

Thea pulls her other hand away from the cupboard, allowing him to grab the kit himself. Slowly, the hand whose finger is punched by Rory and the napkin awkwardly tries to squeeze his fingers in return.

Rory Faust

Somehow, in the midst of all of this uncomfortable silence and anxiety and strain, Rory finds it in him to laugh a little bit. Perhaps it should have bothered her, but instead she holds onto the breathless noise he makes.

She watches him, emotions conflicted on her face, as he sets to work on cleaning her cut and wrapping one of the smallest bandaids around it.

Its kind of pathetic, really.

And yet..

She steps closer to him, voluntarily placing herself in his arms. She buries her face in his chest, with the optimal position being the space between his shoulder and neck.

He is warm, and he smells like.. home.

Rory Faust

You're good to go.

But she isn't. She wasn't. She hadn't been. Once discharged from the hospital, they'd given her the equivalent of a pat on the back. A tiny bandaid on the gaping wound that was her heart.

This wasn't the same though. She needed to remind herself of that.

It wasn't Rory's fault and it wasn't hers, either. It wasn't anyone's fault.

Somewhere in the house, Thea's Mimikyu begins to weep.

Rory Faust