She's sure it'll hit harder later, when she's had time to process, but right now it feels impossible to dig into –– no one's survived this before. No one's ever come back, no one has hoped for it for a long time. It's uncharted territory.
She closes her eyes, murmurs:
"Surviving's hard. You have to do it again and again, and it doesn't get easier... but you get used to it."
"I know, Tess. And you survive with the best of 'em. But I wish the Barge
wouldn't force you to survive this shit here, either."
He rests his chin on top of her head, his own eyes closed. God, he's so
fucking relieved she doesn't hate him for what he had to do. For what he
chose to do.
She winds a hand around his wrist, holding tight and squeezing. He's so new to this, and she's coming off a year's vacation from worrying about this specific kind of survival, and she's just glad he wasn't too sentimental to let her suffer.
It annoys her that she's too tired to pluck up the energy to be indignant about it.
"It's a shit deal," she agrees. "Fuck this place. Maybe it's supposed to mean something."
"I don't know," she replies, exhausted, but she does know at least one thing, one thing she's spent time trapped in her own head to fixate on: "But smack me if I ever say I didn't have a choice in killing someone."
"You didn't really have a choice when you was like that," he points out, chagrined. "But if you say it you're gonna sound like a fool and an asshole, so I'll stand by."
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He rubs a hand over his own eyes, still holding onto her. When he speaks, the bone-deep exhaustion he feels isn't even close to being masked.
"You ain't ever turned like this. Everyone else is runnin' around looking like animals, and you get this? Reliving the worst parts of your life?"
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She's sure it'll hit harder later, when she's had time to process, but right now it feels impossible to dig into –– no one's survived this before. No one's ever come back, no one has hoped for it for a long time. It's uncharted territory.
She closes her eyes, murmurs:
"Surviving's hard. You have to do it again and again, and it doesn't get easier... but you get used to it."
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"I know, Tess. And you survive with the best of 'em. But I wish the Barge wouldn't force you to survive this shit here, either."
He rests his chin on top of her head, his own eyes closed. God, he's so fucking relieved she doesn't hate him for what he had to do. For what he chose to do.
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It annoys her that she's too tired to pluck up the energy to be indignant about it.
"It's a shit deal," she agrees. "Fuck this place. Maybe it's supposed to mean something."
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"Like what?" He makes a face, but he leans in close enough that she can hold onto him comfortably.
"I reckon I'm pretty good at metaphors, but I couldn't figure out a good one for this."
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"You didn't really have a choice when you was like that," he points out, chagrined. "But if you say it you're gonna sound like a fool and an asshole, so I'll stand by."
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"Always," he agrees, softly. "You know it."
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