split-the-atomā:
She can see the confusion written in his face, and maybe itās too soon for her to be getting into all the details of it when the two of them together canāt even form a real sentence. So she just settles for wrapping her arms around his neck and bringing his head down against her chest, a hand against his scalp, running through his messy hair. Tears slip down her face, nearly dripping down onto his head before she rubs at her face with her sleeve.
āThere wasnāt a body, Nat,ā she murmurs against his head, her voice small and breaking. Her other arm wraps around his shoulders, fingers digging in gently, desperate to keep him as close as possible. āI didnāt die, it all happened in the blink of an eyeā I was there and now Iām here.ā
Her grip tightens around him, an edge too strong, but borne out of love. He sounds so miserable, and it only takes a few seconds to look around for her to see he hasnāt been taking good care of himself.
Why would he? The kids are gone, wrapped up in their own lives, and Goz is God only knows where, and Angelaās family might all be dead now for all she knew. And Nate hadnāt remarried. He wasnāt a creature meant for solitude.
No one really was, but especially not her Nat.
āIām not going anywhere,ā she murmurs into his head, a stupid promise but one she canāt help making in the face of his grief. āIām not going to die again. I promise.ā
Nate accepts being pulled down into that embrace, accepts her hands running through his hair, and for a moment itās almost like way back when, when he was young and stupid and she was young and lonely and they were the only two people in the world who were looking out for one another. And in that moment all the years melt away, the lines disappear from his faceāhis hairās all brown again, instead of the salt-and-peppered look itās been taking on as of late.
āI donāt want this to be a dream, Angel,ā He stares up, leaning close to her and too afraid to close his eyes, lest he open them only for her to be gone again. āI donāt wanna wake up anā have this be all in my head.ā His own voice is equally muted, as he pulls himself tighter on the couch, closer to her, listening to her heartbeat with his ear pressed to her chest.
She got stronger, he notices, somewhere in the back of his mind. More muscle tone. He wonders when in that twenty years that happened, if she had really been asleep or gone or..disappeared, or something else entirely.
He always seems to fit so perfectly into her, even now when heās older and a bit wider and sheās still almost the same as she was twenty years ago. She tucks her chin in, kissing his forehead, between his eyebrows and down the proud line of his nose. Her fingers trail his jaw, soft and gentle, bitten nails raking the stubble that decorates his chin.Ā
āItās not a dream.ā This is a promise she can make, with all her being, something she knows is as true as the sun coming up each morning. Angela holds his cheek in her hand, tipping his head up to look in his eyes again. Those havenāt changed-- maybe the rest of him has more mileage, has aged like bourbon, but his eyes are the same. Still full of life.
āI swear itās not a dream. Feel this,ā and she takes his hand, pressing his palm over her heart, still beating strong and ostensibly human even if some parts of her arenāt anymore.Ā āThatās real. I promise. Iām real.ā














