[She feels tired, suddenly. More exhausted than she's ever been, keenly aware of the way her body feels, the open wounds, the gnawing fucking hunger. Whilst she waits to see if Steve will give her an answer, she stares at the pile of bodies they've made, tries to reiterate to herself that they're doing the decent thing. They're helping the others - and themselves - to stay alive. It just doesn't feel like the decent thing.
She drags her gaze away when he starts talking, and whereas once the idea of there always being another fight would have sparked excitement and jealousy in her, right now she can only feel sad. She wants to say something helpful and profound, offer sympathy in the wake of what he's said. It calls for sympathy, right? But fuck if she can find the words, right now and she doubts she has a profound bone in her body.
She's still trying to come up with a good response when he claps her on the shoulder, and in the end all she can offer him is a wry smile.]
Nah, that's not me. Never gonna happen. But fuck it, right now I'd settle for seeing everyone get the hell out of here.
no subject
She drags her gaze away when he starts talking, and whereas once the idea of there always being another fight would have sparked excitement and jealousy in her, right now she can only feel sad. She wants to say something helpful and profound, offer sympathy in the wake of what he's said. It calls for sympathy, right? But fuck if she can find the words, right now and she doubts she has a profound bone in her body.
She's still trying to come up with a good response when he claps her on the shoulder, and in the end all she can offer him is a wry smile.]
Nah, that's not me. Never gonna happen. But fuck it, right now I'd settle for seeing everyone get the hell out of here.