Mako need it, the contact, even in here. But the sight of the shoe froze her in place as much as it drew wracking tremors from her. She heard it land, watched him throw it. Too much emotion. Her heart racing too hard, too fast, all at once, her breathing quick and light like she'd been running miles as she pressed herself against him to try and settle herself.

He was here. Daryl was.

She didn't need a shoe. She didn't need it here. But she shook as if that was a revelation, her fingers curling against whatever fabric of his found her fingers, her eyes tight with tears. She didn't need the shoe.

She had hope. Mako buried her nose against his neck, her breath warm as she let out a soft cry. That shoe was her past. It wasn't now, she didn't have to hold onto that anger, that fear, that moment.

The death.

So much death.

Mako's fingers found his cheek, his hair, and she half pulled away to just stare at his face for the longest time. They had each other, they were stronger, and there were a thousand other complex emotions that she couldn't begin to sort through. She needed him, wanted him, accepted him with everything in her. A second, third, fourth chance at something real. Something that wouldn't just break.

And if there was something outside that refuge, in the distance, that screaming roar, it couldn't get to them. It couldn't find them.