Of the many things that are comforting about Dimitri, his strength ranks among the highest. Darcy allows herself to be moved without struggle, limp as a kitten held by the scruff of its neck, a strange mix of some deep-rooted panic at the vulnerability and a feeling of relief coursing through her.
Grief is big. Grief is everything when you're feeling it. All the fighting and suppressing and struggle to keep it down was, in Darcy's mind, the only way to keep functional and to stay useful, as she'd said. Because in the grip of grief, she's a tiny mote of dust skimming the surface of the ocean, unfathomably tiny and liable to be swallowed at any moment.
But here, with Dimitri's words and grip grounding her... she lets herself float. The frantic sobs come and go, and just as with Dimitri, sometimes she grips tighter, and sometimes she just leans on him, letting his presence comfort her.
"I'm sorry," she creaks at length, "I didn't mean to- I'm sorry."
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Grief is big. Grief is everything when you're feeling it. All the fighting and suppressing and struggle to keep it down was, in Darcy's mind, the only way to keep functional and to stay useful, as she'd said. Because in the grip of grief, she's a tiny mote of dust skimming the surface of the ocean, unfathomably tiny and liable to be swallowed at any moment.
But here, with Dimitri's words and grip grounding her... she lets herself float. The frantic sobs come and go, and just as with Dimitri, sometimes she grips tighter, and sometimes she just leans on him, letting his presence comfort her.
"I'm sorry," she creaks at length, "I didn't mean to- I'm sorry."