"Seems healthy. People at home don't need you to fix their lives?"
But she's processing what he said, about being here so long he can't function outside of it, trying to work out what she wants to say about it if anything. That part is easier.
"There are books full of jokes about how lawyers don't help fix things," he reminds her with a wry smile. He doesn't necessarily agree with them but, well, what he does isn't quite the same thing as saving lives. "But no, I've saved my people. My pack. That's what I originally wanted."
"God, no." He misses Alec terribly, which is why he goes home once a week. "Besides, if I tried, he knows where to find me. Have you ever been married?"
She is absolutely not going to address it, and she in fact ignores that it ever happened.
"Oh well spotted: I have trust issues," she answers, the only warning he gets before she drops her arms.
It won't be long before razor wire starts coiling into existence to one side, strand after strand layering up as she speaks.
"Everyone likes to jump on that the second they think they can like I don't know that about myself, like I don't have a reason for it or like I'm not making a conscious choice. Most people don't deserve to be trusted. People I'll have a conversation with in a hallway don't necessarily deserve to come into my house or learn my name, let alone anything else. Trust is earned, not once, but over and over and over again because at any point most people will only too happily use that, too, to get something they need when it's them or you, so don't stand there and act like it's as simple as how often anyone has trusted anyone else before now."
"The thing is, you can hijack the system. You can tell who wants something good based on how quickly they give something good." A stew instead of something held back for things they want. "You can read what people want based on how fast they give you what you want."
"No, I mean - I want good things. But I don't want anything from you, so the scale is off. Just because a person isn't willing to negotiate with another person doesn't mean they're not good - whatever good even fucking means."
She shakes her head, but at least the razor wire has stopped.
"I think it means you've risked a lot and you haven't been rewarded for it often," he says, kicking shards of glass away. "I think it means you're still willing to risk a lot but god fucking help the person who bets wrong on you."
She doesn't answer right away. In fact seconds keep ticking past and it might seem like she isn't going to answer at all.
She doesn't know he can smell exactly how deep his assessment digs. How hearing it aloud reaches right down inside her and both digs in a still raw, gaping wound but hits steel as well.
"I tend to do," Lark agrees quietly, but he's watching her, watching those reactions. "You haven't given up," is his assessment. "And we should all be glad you haven't."
She doesn't know about that part anyway. Jesus has said she helps the communities be successful, keeps people alive, and she knows she has. She knows she's an asset wherever she is, if people let her be.
Instead of saying any of that what she says is, "If my group found anyone on the road, anyone we were considering letting join us. We had three questions we'd ask them."
She almost waves it off since he's not from her world but then remembers they're here, where she's talking to a werewolf and friendly with a vampire, so why not.
"No, it was a literal Hell we had to fight our way out of. We crash land sometimes, or the ship malfunctions, and we end up stranded." Occupational hazards around here vary.
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But she's processing what he said, about being here so long he can't function outside of it, trying to work out what she wants to say about it if anything. That part is easier.
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She doesn't know anything else about his life, doesn't know what fanily he has, but he brought up a husband.
Then the corner of her mouth twists with uncharacteristic bitterness.
"Well. Unless you're hiding here from him, too."
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When she answers, "No," a handful of broken glass falls so gently into the sand behind her that it barely makes any sound.
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"Well it's about trust. How often have you trusted anyone before now?"
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"Oh well spotted: I have trust issues," she answers, the only warning he gets before she drops her arms.
It won't be long before razor wire starts coiling into existence to one side, strand after strand layering up as she speaks.
"Everyone likes to jump on that the second they think they can like I don't know that about myself, like I don't have a reason for it or like I'm not making a conscious choice. Most people don't deserve to be trusted. People I'll have a conversation with in a hallway don't necessarily deserve to come into my house or learn my name, let alone anything else. Trust is earned, not once, but over and over and over again because at any point most people will only too happily use that, too, to get something they need when it's them or you, so don't stand there and act like it's as simple as how often anyone has trusted anyone else before now."
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"The thing is, you can hijack the system. You can tell who wants something good based on how quickly they give something good." A stew instead of something held back for things they want. "You can read what people want based on how fast they give you what you want."
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"But sure. Let's hear more."
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She shakes her head, but at least the razor wire has stopped.
"Just. Get to the point."
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She sucks the back of her teeth and does not look down or away.
"What do you think it means?"
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She doesn't know he can smell exactly how deep his assessment digs. How hearing it aloud reaches right down inside her and both digs in a still raw, gaping wound but hits steel as well.
She shakes her head.
"You seem to be doing alright."
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Instead of saying any of that what she says is, "If my group found anyone on the road, anyone we were considering letting join us. We had three questions we'd ask them."
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"Ask me," he prompts. See where he lands with them.
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She almost waves it off since he's not from her world but then remembers they're here, where she's talking to a werewolf and friendly with a vampire, so why not.
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"Vacation spot from the Barge?"
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She leaves it for now with a shake of her head.
"How many people have you killed?"
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"Seventy-two."
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She considers him a moment, dark eyes narrowed.
"Why?" Not a frivolous question, but the final one.
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