Luke's hands dipped into the clear stream, the cool water wrapping comfortingly around his fingers. He watched the color of his skin, willing it to change, praying that the scars of all his sins would fade.
"It will never go away." Tear's voice was gentle as she sat lightly beside him, curling her legs under her. "No matter how many times you wash your hands, that stain will always be there. And," her hand reached into the water, touching his wrist, "you're the only person who will ever be able to see it." Her fingers laced with his. "To you, your hands will always be the crimson of blood, a reminder of all the people you've killed."
Luke frowned, watching their entwined hands waver with the diffraction of the water. "Do you still see it on your hands?"
She nodded, brow furrowed. "It scares me sometimes to think of how little it bothers me," she admittedly quietly. "I know I used to be like you, and the idea of ending a human life made me sick." Her head fell lightly on his shoulder, her hair tumbling again his back. "I don't want to you become like me, so desensitized to death."
Luke smiled slightly, laying his cheek against her hair, and closed his eyes, sighing. "We're fighting to survive, right? We're fighting for life."
She was silent, her eyes on his thumb as it rubbed across the back of her hand. If she looked closely, she thought she could see the blood on their hands running together.