"That's not stupid at all," Luther says automatically, and it might be a kneejerk response, but it's still a true one (and not a shred of a lie in it). She was a grieving mother, starving for a glimpse of her child. Of course that makes sense. If he'd been stranded here without any of the Hargreeves, he'd have swallowed up any last tiny shred or remnant of them he could.
(And it's not like he's known or experienced or seen any model for motherhood besides Grace's cold, steady hands and effervescent, rigid smiles, but he can imagine. He tries to imagine.)
"Was that the... last time you actually saw her in-person? Or did you have... uh, visitation?"
He has to fish for the right word, before finally landing on the term, remembering what to call it. It's not a context he's ever known; it's so, so far removed from everything he's ever experienced or that was relevant to the basics of fight-combat-train, put down the enemy, physically recover, do it all over again, wash rinse repeat. Court dates and visitation rights are a thing from books and movies, not academy life.
no subject
(And it's not like he's known or experienced or seen any model for motherhood besides Grace's cold, steady hands and effervescent, rigid smiles, but he can imagine. He tries to imagine.)
"Was that the... last time you actually saw her in-person? Or did you have... uh, visitation?"
He has to fish for the right word, before finally landing on the term, remembering what to call it. It's not a context he's ever known; it's so, so far removed from everything he's ever experienced or that was relevant to the basics of fight-combat-train, put down the enemy, physically recover, do it all over again, wash rinse repeat. Court dates and visitation rights are a thing from books and movies, not academy life.
But it's hers. It was her life.