[If he had pushed the issue, she would have pulled away, perhaps even gone so far as to leave the roof. But in his silence, the pain fades back into a dull ache. (It's one of the things she unconsciously likes about him, how he knows when to push and when to leave something be. If Chekov had just backed off when she told him to... No. This isn't Chekov's fault. He's the one dying in hospital bed. She can't blame him.)
When Li crouches beside her, she finds herself instinctively leaning towards him. She doesn't want to thaw out, would rather remain frozen, but her cold body can't pull away from his warmth. Much like that first time in the shed.
She lets him take her hand, even though it burns. He squeezes her palm and she instinctively squeezes back, drawing out a comfort she doesn't deserve but desperately craves.]
⊕ march 15th, late evening
When Li crouches beside her, she finds herself instinctively leaning towards him. She doesn't want to thaw out, would rather remain frozen, but her cold body can't pull away from his warmth. Much like that first time in the shed.
She lets him take her hand, even though it burns. He squeezes her palm and she instinctively squeezes back, drawing out a comfort she doesn't deserve but desperately craves.]