When he's fighting, he knows exactly what to do. The anger leads, his body follows. There are no boundaries.

But she is still crying, and he doesn't know what to do.

When he closes his eyes, his mind sees everything very clearly. Her hair, a gloved hand, covered skin. Those are the places he is allowed to touch. Boundaries. Where they are both safe.

He holds her to him, squeezes so tight he thinks it will stop the sobs. That she will melt right into him, where there are no walls.

He's fighting. It's all he knows how to do.