Miles has carried her inside. She doesn't know where they are. The hours of the day have moved her to the start of a night that slowly creeps into the shadows of the room around her.
She had felt Monroe's eyes on her after Miles had dragged her away from her frozen place in time in Austin, a place she would never forget. She had heard him, telling Miles they had to get the hell out of there. She had felt the way he had stopped talking. She had felt the exact moment his focus had flowed from Miles to her.
She had felt his eyes. His stare. She hadn't been able to look up and meet his eyes, afraid what he she would find in there. They had left the city behind them. She had heard their low voices, arguing about where they should keep going or find a place to stop for the night. Walking had turned into stumbling. Monroe's low and deep voice had been there, asking her if she was all right with a concern and kindness in it that had broken straight through her never ending will to keep on going. Miles had been there, to gather her in his arms and to carry her to where they were now.
She feels strangely safe so close to all of them. Now everything is swirling inside of her and she can still taste the moment she had to stop Jason, some things are suddenly closer to her heart than she would ever let them if she weren't here, today, with them.
Her head is leaning against Miles' chest. And she knows they are all here. She hears Connor's voice close to her. She hears the sound of Bass' boots on the floor next to her. She feels the weight of something heavy and soft against her body when Miles supports her head with a wide hand wrapped around her neck. A bed. A couch. She doesn't care. It's there. She feels the touch of other hands, carefully wrapped around her legs when someone, no, not someone, Bass, slowly lift her legs onto the couch.
She feels the heavy weight of Bass' hand resting against her leg. And she doesn't know how long the moment lasts, but his hand is still there. Her fingers try to find his hand, they are searching for him, through the heaviness that fills her heart. She doesn't think about why she does what she does. It just happens. And then, there is warmth. Warmth and his strong, wide hand wrapped around hers. The weight of his touch is so close. She expects him to pull back. But he doesn't. And then, she realizes it is his hand, there, close and with hers. And she pulls back, slowly. When her skin misses his warmth and she can't feel his hand wrapped around hers, she finally looks at him for the first time since everything changed.
She feels unfocused and yet, he is there. Bass. He is there. Here. With her. Guilt for reaching out to find something to hold onto flows through her thoughts. 'I'm sorry…' it's a whisper in the dark. She is not even sure she said it out loud. He moves closer to her. He crouches down in front of her. Her eyes are now closer to his. The first light of the night plays with the line of his jaw. His eyes are close. They are filled with so many things that it flows into one certain, strong moment of solace. He is close. And she knows, he is not leaving her tonight. And he is there, while she finally finds some solace in the shadow of his wide chest.