[Gideon stays precisely where she is for a good, long while. This is the kind of shit she almost never lets herself do, that she's been given so pitifully few opportunities to do throughout her life, but she lets herself do it now. Her tears soak Alucard's shirt, her face staying pressed to his chest, hands wrapped around him like he's a god-damned lifeline. The kind of tangible anchor she's so desperately needed. He feels good and solid and real beneath the pass of her hands, and somehow she finds there's a kind of clean satisfaction in giving herself over to her friend, and her feelings. The shit that had been done to her in that pit, the shit she'd had to do to ensure her and others’ survival—it can be so fucking exhausting, needing to be strong all the time.
Eventually she quietens though, chest heaving less, tears beginning to dry up. Her voice still sounds wet and raw as she pulls back a little, just enough that she's no longer pressed up body-close against him. Not quite ready yet to look him in the face.]
Shit. [She says, eloquently.] Everyone's gonna think you entered a wet shirt contest. I suggest you tell them that you won. Totally believable.
[Because it's never the wrong time for a tit joke.]
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Eventually she quietens though, chest heaving less, tears beginning to dry up. Her voice still sounds wet and raw as she pulls back a little, just enough that she's no longer pressed up body-close against him. Not quite ready yet to look him in the face.]
Shit. [She says, eloquently.] Everyone's gonna think you entered a wet shirt contest. I suggest you tell them that you won. Totally believable.
[Because it's never the wrong time for a tit joke.]