[ allison leans into the hug, letting it ground her. she does her best to keep her breathing even and measured -- for the sake of ben, a brother she thought she'd lost forever, and for the sake of claire, a daughter she's still desperately hoping to see again.
and then ben apologizes, and allison's gentle hug turns firm as she pulls ben closer, shaking her head. he's not the reason why she's separated from her daughter. that's allison's fault, and allison's alone, and there's nothing ben could do to convince her otherwise. allison blames herself for losing her daughter, that guilt and grief mixed deep in her heart. what happened with the hallucination is but a shadow, a reminder of what her loss really feels like. in this moment, allison is just trying to be thankful for seeing clearly, and thankful that ben is back. that's enough of a miracle.
in this moment, allison is acutely aware of her inability to tell ben any of this, to put him at ease with her words. and that's a loss too, one that allison can't and won't yet mourn. to her, it's only been a day or so since the injury, too soon to conclude anything yet.
allison doesn't want to let go of ben to write, though. the contact is too important to her, and to him. allison can't remember the last time ben -- or maybe even anybody -- hugged her like this, with this kind of need. she can only imagine what it must have been like for ben, to be cut off from so many people he loved for so long, that she doesn't want to cut him off now.
so instead of talking, she does what she might have done for claire -- rub his back in small, gentle circles, trying to assure him that she'll be okay, that she doesn't need to apologize, and that she is so, so happy to see, hear, and touch him.
only after ben loosens up will allison slowly pull away, wearing a smile that's finally truly happy, perhaps tinged with a little sadness. ]
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and then ben apologizes, and allison's gentle hug turns firm as she pulls ben closer, shaking her head. he's not the reason why she's separated from her daughter. that's allison's fault, and allison's alone, and there's nothing ben could do to convince her otherwise. allison blames herself for losing her daughter, that guilt and grief mixed deep in her heart. what happened with the hallucination is but a shadow, a reminder of what her loss really feels like. in this moment, allison is just trying to be thankful for seeing clearly, and thankful that ben is back. that's enough of a miracle.
in this moment, allison is acutely aware of her inability to tell ben any of this, to put him at ease with her words. and that's a loss too, one that allison can't and won't yet mourn. to her, it's only been a day or so since the injury, too soon to conclude anything yet.
allison doesn't want to let go of ben to write, though. the contact is too important to her, and to him. allison can't remember the last time ben -- or maybe even anybody -- hugged her like this, with this kind of need. she can only imagine what it must have been like for ben, to be cut off from so many people he loved for so long, that she doesn't want to cut him off now.
so instead of talking, she does what she might have done for claire -- rub his back in small, gentle circles, trying to assure him that she'll be okay, that she doesn't need to apologize, and that she is so, so happy to see, hear, and touch him.
only after ben loosens up will allison slowly pull away, wearing a smile that's finally truly happy, perhaps tinged with a little sadness. ]
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