Fever looks at him carefully before reaching out and-
Oh. That's a handle, under her touch. Smooth, metal, as frigid as the tile is. It turns, quite easily. Unlocked. But she doesn't pull it open, and steps back, resting her hand on his arm again.
"I'm not going without you, Phil."
If he can't open the handle, then she will, and push him through. There has to be some crack, some loophole to struggle through so that they're both free. There has to be. She repeats it in her mind, over and over, because the alternative cannot be. She's done the impossible before-
(and this place hates, and hates, and if it had hands to strike her down it would. any knife turned against it will dull and chip. any blow will miss.)
no subject
Oh. That's a handle, under her touch. Smooth, metal, as frigid as the tile is. It turns, quite easily. Unlocked. But she doesn't pull it open, and steps back, resting her hand on his arm again.
"I'm not going without you, Phil."
If he can't open the handle, then she will, and push him through. There has to be some crack, some loophole to struggle through so that they're both free. There has to be. She repeats it in her mind, over and over, because the alternative cannot be. She's done the impossible before-
(and this place hates, and hates, and if it had hands to strike her down it would. any knife turned against it will dull and chip. any blow will miss.)