Murdering your darlings part 3243

I absolutely love this scene. Matt has just been taken prisoner and has been hit by a “boom stick” basically a black christmas wrapping tube that knocks Fae out without killing them.

Kevin was pinching his nose hard enough to break the cartilage, and his chest hurt from all the air that had been forced into it. His throat was so dry it cracked like leather when he tried to speak. “Worst kiss ever,” he croaked.

“That was assisted breathing, you moron,” Kevin said. Matt was on a floor that felt like bedrock rather than anything laid by hand. The rock wall taking up three quarters of the wall around the cell he was in had all been chiseled into the right shape and aligned without any binder whatsoever, and the bars were just cold hard steel, close enough that not even Sam could have slipped out if he were coated in chicken grease.

“What are you doing here?” Matt asked. His lungs still hurt. He could feel them inside of him in three-dimensional space.

“Someone had to keep you breathing,” Kevin said. “And I punched the man who took Sam’s shirt off you.”

Matt touched his chest. He just felt Kevin’s sweater against his skin. Thank god it felt like cotton yarn instead of wool. “What do I do?”

No matter how good a scene is, if it doesn’t fit with what happens in the new version, it has to get cut. As Dvorah says in her brilliant poem from an ikebana course I took in Japan, a flower stem with two perfect flowers on them gets the second flower cut no matter how perfect it is in itself. The second flower is lost to the arrangement. Each time, every time.

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