(/binary/)
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definition-(adj): relating to, composed of, or involving two things
[1.] black hat
There are two constants in Salander's life.
Them, and Her.
It was never about the money, never about the humiliation and the bitter, searing pain that made her want to rip her hair out and systemically break each of her fingers while she tried to ignore the steady flow of blood from between her thighs, tried to swallow down the bitterness in her throat that clung resolutely to the roof of her mouth.
No, it was about self-defense, and maybe proving a point to Them: that she was not to be trifled with.
She fought wars of her own, shadow wars that took place on computers, carefully-placed documents, and whispered exchanges amongst their elitist factions in locked rooms under flickering lightbulbs.
And now, she has her scars written in ink all over her skin.
[2.] white hat
Inside, she is all jagged glass, broken fragments of something that used to resemble a girl but now here she is: this pale doll with the black eyes and the skeleton limbs and the hard-drive head.
Still, in the dim recesses of her green memories, hidden within the numbers are tangible things she can almost feel, at times, when she sleeps. A gentle touch, a warm smile, a game of chess during Christmas over cups of coffee, and a pair of mischievous eyes winking from behind a pair of spectacles as she declared checkmate.
Most of all, she sees his hands on her hips, holding her, loving her, gazing fondly into her sharp eyes with something like adoration. When they are undone, it is a pleasant self-destruction, nothing like the kamikaze strikes of Before.
It makes her feel human.
[3.] gray hat
Lying in bed with him, she feels unexpectedly hot and cold at the same time. His heart steadily falls and rises under her splayed fingers; both of them are naked, cloaked only in the heavy sheets while the snow accumulates in muddy ashen patches outside.
She can't figure him out; he's her first real anomaly, a stranger that comes and goes like the wind and gives and takes in tandem. Maybe he'll leave, soon. He likes to stay a while longer, though, and he always brings bagels with him.
Rolling over, she stares out the window, runs her hands absentmindedly over the stitches in her scalp. It's winter, he has to go to work, she has to go to work.
But maybe, just maybe, they can be like this for a few more hours:
just the two of them, and the World.
a/n: please don't favorite without reviewing! :)
