[ His mouth turns up just a little, seemingly a little soothed by the thought. All in all, Stiles still feels like an abject failure, but the numbers aren't gonna lie--they reached 100% sync, an important milestone for any drift partners, and without a lot of trouble, at least at first. Maybe over time, he can ignore that memory, but his mother's death is still sore, nearly ten years later, and it's a time of his life that he doesn't want to remember.
But maybe with someone similar, he could learn to shoulder it again, instead of keeping it bottled deep inside of him.
Stiles runs his hands over his hair again, then lets it settle in his lap--he's starting to come back to himself. But he doesn't drop that connection, and even watches Derek when he wipes over his face, because it's kind of a weird feeling, to know that your own memories probably punched someone else in the emotions, too. ] A trial run's just a trial run, I guess.
[ Briefly contemplating getting up from the floor, he instead opts to sit there for a bit longer. There's nowhere else they really need to be-- the data will speak for them long enough that Derek feels they won't need to offer any reports yet-- and at this point, he doesn't think they're quite ready to be trusted with finer motor movements. So he settles, looking back at Stiles as they sit together. Everything is fresh in his mind, and he's not going to be able to sleep well tonight, but...
Well. The numbers really don't lie. Taking in a deep breath, he lets the corner of his mouth twitch the slightest bit in response to the very faint smile on Stiles' own face. ] Sounds right.
[ It's a small attempt at reassuring, although they're steady now. He's finding it easier to breathe, easier to remind himself that Stiles' eyes are amber like whiskey where Paige's were a cello's fine, worn wood. They aren't sitting there looking at old ghosts, although they might be remembering them together, sharing them now with someone they least expected. ]
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But maybe with someone similar, he could learn to shoulder it again, instead of keeping it bottled deep inside of him.
Stiles runs his hands over his hair again, then lets it settle in his lap--he's starting to come back to himself. But he doesn't drop that connection, and even watches Derek when he wipes over his face, because it's kind of a weird feeling, to know that your own memories probably punched someone else in the emotions, too. ] A trial run's just a trial run, I guess.
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Well. The numbers really don't lie. Taking in a deep breath, he lets the corner of his mouth twitch the slightest bit in response to the very faint smile on Stiles' own face. ] Sounds right.
[ It's a small attempt at reassuring, although they're steady now. He's finding it easier to breathe, easier to remind himself that Stiles' eyes are amber like whiskey where Paige's were a cello's fine, worn wood. They aren't sitting there looking at old ghosts, although they might be remembering them together, sharing them now with someone they least expected. ]