ladyfirestarter

It's not the fire. The fire's under control. It's the panic again.

Charlie takes one more deep breath and holds it. Forces the muscles in her back, her arms, her stomach, to relax. Lifts her head.

(And there had come a night when they got through it.)

"I'm all right," she whispers, and it's more determination than reassurance. "I'm good."

(Later there came a night when it was all right.)

She brings her arms back up around him, twining her fingers into his hair, setting her thumbs against his jawline.

(Then, suddenly, a night when it was glorious.)

Soft and tentative: "...Let me drive, okay?"

(dance, little sister, dance)