Note: As always, I own nothing. I noticed that I've been terrible with keeping up with this collection even though I've written plenty of little drabble things since my last update. Sorry about that guys, I'll try to be a bit better about that in the future. Anywho, onward! Rated T for some bloodies stuff but nothing all too graphic.
When they first partnered up, everything she did always seemed so deliberate. She walked with purpose, she spoke of necessity and duty and obligations, of training and connecting, but never about the things he thought she might. She was a warrior, but still a girl. Don't girls talk about nail polish and stupid shit like that? What was the deal with this one?
He never said anything to her about it, because really, the necessary conversations they had were still a little overwhelming for him. Words were never his thing. It's sort of why he played for her the first day they had met. He wanted her to hear exactly why she should run, but didn't have the words to tell her. Who knew she was a master of selective hearing? She wanted a scythe and so she found one. No need for wishy-washy feelings about it. He was what she needed and that was fine. Why make things complicated with getting too personal?
It took a near death experience for that attitude to change. She was missing her eyebrows and her legs were bloody and raw from skidding across the pavement. He had thought from the way she was breathing that she might've broken some ribs, but she never mentioned it. She didn't cry and she didn't complain. She didn't yell at him for being so weak he couldn't protect her(which was just as well, he did it enough himself for the both of them).
She did however get very, very talkative.
She talked about everything and anything. She talked about her eleventh birthday, how one of the boys she beat in arm wrestling got so mad he cut off one of her pig tails. She told him with a little grin,
"I broke a few of his fingers."
And he laughs, because he thinks it's fucking hilarious that any person would ever think it was a good idea to cross her. Some part of him wonders what she would look like if her hair was still so long, but he ignores that and tries to keep the conversation going, because it's nice to hear her voice and know that maybe he's not so alone.
He tells her,
"When I was seven I put peanut butter in my mom's clarinet."
She guffaws and winces, and he would feel guilty if not for the vibrant grin on her face and glint in her eyes. Their little resting place on the park bench feels separate from the whole world, like a little sanctuary just for them where no bad things can happen. It's a nice feeling, to want to share a safe place with another person. If she wanted to hurt him, she could so very easily, but he knows that she won't.
He trusts her.
They talk a bit more about unimportant things, and it's the most important he's ever felt, because even though he couldn't keep her from getting hurt, at least he can help make her feel better after the damage has been done.
Sometimes, that just has to be enough. And he thinks that maybe that's okay. He'll always be by her to pick up the pieces.
He's never belonged anywhere before.
He has to admit, it's a wonderful feeling.