He was using his eyes; that was the problem. There was an inherent need to disbelieve what he was seeing, however: the solemn quiet, the sadness to it all. His gaze flickered over them, lingering on the mother, and he didn't think about it when one of his hands brushed over his stomach.
Burying their kid, and Tucker couldn't think of one joke, one moment of sarcasm, one note of anything other than a hushed little, "Oh." Then he realized she asked him a question, and he snatched his eyes back to her.
"I was hungry, so I was going to stea--see if there was anything to eat." And that was before, when he actually had an appetite, unlike now. Well, shit.
His hands curled into fists, relaxed, and curled again. "Mind if I stay?" There was no offer to shut up, but he would. There were some things that even Tucker could respect however slight, however small, and this happened to be one of them. God, having a kid made him soft.
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Burying their kid, and Tucker couldn't think of one joke, one moment of sarcasm, one note of anything other than a hushed little, "Oh." Then he realized she asked him a question, and he snatched his eyes back to her.
"I was hungry, so I was going to stea--see if there was anything to eat." And that was before, when he actually had an appetite, unlike now. Well, shit.
His hands curled into fists, relaxed, and curled again. "Mind if I stay?" There was no offer to shut up, but he would. There were some things that even Tucker could respect however slight, however small, and this happened to be one of them. God, having a kid made him soft.