[ Teddy's first instinct is to say something along the lines of you know I don't really need sleep, Bigby. But something else turns him towards something more human, instead.
Humans would say something else, something like: ] It's okay. [ Humans reassure, they care. And Teddy cares an awful lot. It shows in the unnecessary bandage on Bigby's torso and the fact that his own fingers are stained with blood for the first time in a while. Shows in the way he grins a bit just replaying the memory of Bigby's bewildered laughter in his head (and if there's any good in host memories being whole and intact and perfect to the end, it's that good memories like that one will never fade in detail). ]
You can be a kicker or a snorer or a drooler and it'd be okay. [ His eyes slip shut, voice nearly a low rumble in his throat if not for the fact that Teddy thinks it's important Bigby hears what he says next. ] This is the most real I've felt in a long time.
[ And maybe there's no actual definition for what makes something real. God knows whatever Teddy reads in references never make sense to him. Maybe playing it by ear is okay. Maybe that's what makes all the difference, when in his world nearly everything he'd done was scripted. Everything about his body is a facsimile of a human being, but the weight of Bigby's hand had been felt. Existed. That had happened, and it hadn't mattered that everything in Teddy's shoulder is synthetic as hell.
He breathes in and out calmly, slowly. The false heart in his chest beats nice and even. He's got half a mind to hope the sound of it might help Bigby do the same and lull him to sleep.
Next time this happens, if it ever happens, Teddy thinks he's going to hold his hand. ]
kinda set this up to lead up to and/or be an ending? but im good with All Things and Dead @ 4:56a.m.
Humans would say something else, something like: ] It's okay. [ Humans reassure, they care. And Teddy cares an awful lot. It shows in the unnecessary bandage on Bigby's torso and the fact that his own fingers are stained with blood for the first time in a while. Shows in the way he grins a bit just replaying the memory of Bigby's bewildered laughter in his head (and if there's any good in host memories being whole and intact and perfect to the end, it's that good memories like that one will never fade in detail). ]
You can be a kicker or a snorer or a drooler and it'd be okay. [ His eyes slip shut, voice nearly a low rumble in his throat if not for the fact that Teddy thinks it's important Bigby hears what he says next. ] This is the most real I've felt in a long time.
[ And maybe there's no actual definition for what makes something real. God knows whatever Teddy reads in references never make sense to him. Maybe playing it by ear is okay. Maybe that's what makes all the difference, when in his world nearly everything he'd done was scripted. Everything about his body is a facsimile of a human being, but the weight of Bigby's hand had been felt. Existed. That had happened, and it hadn't mattered that everything in Teddy's shoulder is synthetic as hell.
He breathes in and out calmly, slowly. The false heart in his chest beats nice and even. He's got half a mind to hope the sound of it might help Bigby do the same and lull him to sleep.
Next time this happens, if it ever happens, Teddy thinks he's going to hold his hand. ]