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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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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