It's a heartstopping voice. One he has dreamt about. Yearned for. Dreaded to hear, in this place. In the silence where you could hear a pin drop he swears even she can hear his heartbeat standing all the way over there.
At first when he turns he doesn't think he can trust that it's her. She looks like her. Sounds like her. But Mathias has been a cruel mistress and she has him doubting his senses. Another ghost perhaps. Some kind of manifestation of his heartache and desire. Anything but the real deal.
But she's standing there looking like the hot mess he remembers her to be and it's impossible to just heed his sensibilities and ask all the questions he should.
"Wynonna." He'd been holding his breath. Setting his tools aside and stubbing out his cigarette, he closes the distance between them and sweeps her up into his arms, holding her close, breathing in her shampoo and her eau de whiskey and finding immeasurable comfort in the familiarity of it, of how her body fits against his.
"Woman, why are you crying?" he asks with a small emotion-laden chuckle, the irony of echoing John 20:15 not lost on him.
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At first when he turns he doesn't think he can trust that it's her. She looks like her. Sounds like her. But Mathias has been a cruel mistress and she has him doubting his senses. Another ghost perhaps. Some kind of manifestation of his heartache and desire. Anything but the real deal.
But she's standing there looking like the hot mess he remembers her to be and it's impossible to just heed his sensibilities and ask all the questions he should.
"Wynonna." He'd been holding his breath. Setting his tools aside and stubbing out his cigarette, he closes the distance between them and sweeps her up into his arms, holding her close, breathing in her shampoo and her eau de whiskey and finding immeasurable comfort in the familiarity of it, of how her body fits against his.
"Woman, why are you crying?" he asks with a small emotion-laden chuckle, the irony of echoing John 20:15 not lost on him.