There had been those few times when her rawness had come out, fleeting moments when everything had been out at the surface. But he's used to seeing her always perfect, always hiding what she's thinking. She's always a motion picture; only showing what she wants him to see. So it still comes as a shock to see her gaze so open and vulnerable.

"Whatever you're afraid you're going to become, you're mom or whatever, you're not. I know you're not. And I know that I don't have to be afraid of you. But if you can't believe that, that you're good, then I'll believe it for you until you do." He stares down at their hands, rubbing a thumb across her knuckles. "That's what I mean."

They're staring down the last days they might have together. It's the home stretch. Maybe that trust is only going to last a few days more before they both forget. But he needs her to know he's holding on to it for her, for as long as they've got. He'll trust her, believe her, for as long as they've been given. If she's unlucky enough to stay, if he's lucky enough to be here with her, that time will stretch out long enough for her to start trusting herself.