like the sea touches the soil it strikes her again that she might stay here forever. this moment could stretch for eternity and she would stay, content. maybe as the hours passed she would losen her grip -- maybe as the days moved by she would give as much as she took. maybe they, too, would have their own little family, after months in a moment like this. and after years? her mind balks, then, because she is afraid to hope for it. calypso is afraid to indulge this fantasy (in this moment of clarity) because she knows just how powerful that hope can be. to give in would be to fully tangle herself with him, leaving no spaces for her to retreat to if he ever changed his mind. maybe it was already too late. they linger as the sky lightens, as the stars are tucked away to bed by the spindly rays of sun peeking over the horizon. hovering in that moment between night and day and it is then that she exhales, a sound of relief, a release of all the tension and pressure that had ebbed and flowed for months. it would not be the last of it, but as the dawn breaks she is finally able to relax. and then he speaks and she fights the urge to tense, to argue, to deny that they must leave this cocooned moment on the shore (with the saltwater on her paws and in her lungs). "aye," she says instead, though her mouth feels like cotton and her limbs are heavy. she leans against him as they stand, heart racing and thoughts spinning out of control. suddenly, in a tone that is almost panicked she blurts -- "stay?" -- and it is half question and half demand and she cringes to hear it. so, softer, she adds "please." this is a plea, a whispered request she dares to breathe in to the early hours of the day. impractical? perhaps, but she is selfish and a little afraid of what might happen if he leaves. afraid that it would be the last time.

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he holds her because he needs to. he holds her because he wants to. still, the moment seems fragile and his hands are far too clumsy to handle such a thing. it is… strange, hákon thinks, that his admission did not make him feel any lighter. their reunion was hardly what he’d imagined when he’d allowed himself to hope, and it leaves him feeling… strange. not quite dejected but something close. exhausted, maybe. hákon skagos just wanted things to be simple. just once. just once. he will not regret this moment though, nor the ones leading up to it. even the ones where he’d thought he’d lost her again — the ones where she was taken, not by the mist, but by her own thoughts. they are as cruel and as punishing as any ocean wave, he knows; he cannot fight off her inner demons, but he can do this. he stand, still as statue and be the support that she so desperately needs. there are others that can fill this spot, he knows — hell, there are others who can fill it better than he could ever dream of. but he is selfish and she needs comfort now, not when the world wakes a few hours from now. he is happy to be that stop-gap for her. ( you are so tired. ) slowly her shoulders slump, in some semblance of relaxation. it is not much but he’ll take it, seafoam eyes glancing down at her face every so often. trying to judge the expression he sees there and the look in her eye. making sure she is still here, that she is still… as okay as she’s going to manage to be tonight. this morning. whatever. eventually the line blurs until it is nothing but shades of grey and the beginning bits of sun begin to peak up over the horizon. that is when he nudges her, intent on putting her to bed as if she is an unruly child. and then — stay? it catches him off-guard, the look on his face flickering as he looks at her. she seems to cringe from her own request but adds to it, doubling down. her voice is little more than a whisper when she says please, and despite his own misgivings he gives a small nod. aye, he says, accepting the request with little fanfare. he knows where her den is from here ( he's stayed there before, of course, in the before times that seem like eons ago ) and he hopes to walk her there. allowing her to use his shoulder for as long as she needs. tucking her into her favored spot before curling up alongside of her, keeping his breathing even with hers until she finally falls asleep. he stays up longer than she does, long into the morning, and he thinks. ( despite everything, though, hákon does not feel any regret. not now. not with her. ) exit

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like the sea touches the soil if she had relaxed before she does so tenfold when he agrees. in the back of her mind there is the niggling doubt that he had accepted only out of a sense of duty, but in the moment she cannot find herself caring. calypso is selfish, then, for one of the few times in her life. she needs him here and so she asks, and if he stays because he is too kind to say no then she would deal with that later. right now it didn't matter -- right now all that mattered was that he stayed. they moved as one back to the den, with him all but carrying her. her paws are heavy with exhaustion, but she does not regret being out here with him. calypso would never regret anything to do with him. it does not take long for her to give in to sleep, once they are tucked in to the den. much as she might try to fight it she cannot for long. pressed against his side she is at peace, comforted, and is able to have a restful sleep for the first time in weeks. -exit-

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