He watches her get up. As she walks away, when she can’t see him, he takes a deep breath and looks down. She’s not going to leave it. When does she ever leave it?
And he realises - if she dropped it now, they could still both forget. Keats is gone with the others. He won’t come back. But she won’t leave it alone, and that means he does know how this is going to finish. It’s a thought both painful, and dreadful. Not just because of what it means for him.
He looks across to the other side of the room as she figures out Ray’s plan, toying with the handkerchief in his hand. Doesn’t she get that it doesn’t matter? It’s not a real crime. The crooks don’t really exist. The plan to catch them is real, but the success of it, or not, holds no more weight than the air in her palm. He can’t mask his irritation. They could do anything right now. They don’t have to sit here, in this fantasy he made real, pretending like any of it’s important.
‘Why do you even care?’
He knows why she cares. She just wants to go home, and get away from this. From him. Just like old times.
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And he realises - if she dropped it now, they could still both forget. Keats is gone with the others. He won’t come back. But she won’t leave it alone, and that means he does know how this is going to finish. It’s a thought both painful, and dreadful. Not just because of what it means for him.
He looks across to the other side of the room as she figures out Ray’s plan, toying with the handkerchief in his hand. Doesn’t she get that it doesn’t matter? It’s not a real crime. The crooks don’t really exist. The plan to catch them is real, but the success of it, or not, holds no more weight than the air in her palm. He can’t mask his irritation. They could do anything right now. They don’t have to sit here, in this fantasy he made real, pretending like any of it’s important.
‘Why do you even care?’
He knows why she cares. She just wants to go home, and get away from this. From him. Just like old times.