Wherever her mind was, wherever her thoughts were spinning and trying to get to, he chooses something to say that stops her cold.
It's not that it's a surprise; she knows he does, she's known it for a long time. They're important to each other. They've done things that prove they both know that, they both have shown it. It's easier to shoulder some times than others, for different reasons, but it is true. It's not even the first time they've actually said something along the same lines.
But never so simple, so straightforward - and never in this context. This most shameful corner of who they are, who they had to be to survive to get here, the marks they're left with after. Her hands are still clasped with each other on the counter, and she's not entirely aware of how she digs her thumbnail into her skin when she's not paying attention to it.
Don't say shit you don't mean, she thinks, vicious even to her own mind. Luckily, her throat is too tight to say it, and she breathes in past it, harsh.
"What?" she manages instead, stupidly, the only point at which the questions she has intersect. What does that mean? What does that have to do with what they're talking about? What is she supposed to do with it? What now? What next? What does he want from her in turn?
no subject
It's not that it's a surprise; she knows he does, she's known it for a long time. They're important to each other. They've done things that prove they both know that, they both have shown it. It's easier to shoulder some times than others, for different reasons, but it is true. It's not even the first time they've actually said something along the same lines.
But never so simple, so straightforward - and never in this context. This most shameful corner of who they are, who they had to be to survive to get here, the marks they're left with after. Her hands are still clasped with each other on the counter, and she's not entirely aware of how she digs her thumbnail into her skin when she's not paying attention to it.
Don't say shit you don't mean, she thinks, vicious even to her own mind. Luckily, her throat is too tight to say it, and she breathes in past it, harsh.
"What?" she manages instead, stupidly, the only point at which the questions she has intersect. What does that mean? What does that have to do with what they're talking about? What is she supposed to do with it? What now? What next? What does he want from her in turn?