[ it isn't nearly as immediate as its wont to be, but not long after her passionate declaration does marta find herself reeling from a strange sort of first-hand, second-hand embarrassment. like she'd only just seen and heard herself and now blanching at the realization she'd said all she said. the fear that it might have been too much, too soon, too unwanted — that comes soon after, of course, and it flutters wildly into a brief panic when he reaches for her hand, when he says what he says — don't — and

and then she hears his voice, the careful, delicate wrapping around words that were meant to be so much stronger than they were laid out. and she feels the press of his palm all around her hand and she remembers — yes, that's right. sometimes in order to heal, it's got to hurt a little first. sometimes when you've got to press right where it hurts to know what to do next. ]

Hope doesn't have to be a dirty word, Kovacs. Isn't that why we're all here? Because of hope?

[ they each in their own way saw what reality had in store for them, and they dared to believe they could do something about it. if that isn't hope, what is?

her expression softens, and so too does her voice. knowing he hears her now, she doesn't struggle to speak above the clamor of his shaky breath. he knows she's here, feels her presence in both his hands. carefully, she lets the hand along his cheek fit a little more snugly, cradling where she'd once been tentative and unsure. ]

Maybe that hope is a little hard to carry alone right now... but that's okay. Because you're not alone.

[ no matter what he thinks. no matter what he believes he deserves. she's here. he came to her and she's here. ]

So take your time, okay? I'll carry it for you till you're ready again.