Again, I don't own any of this.
And please review after you read! I think next chapter I'll have them clash, but for now enjoy the friendship.
"What was your childhood like?" she asked curiously as she watched him read a book.
He raised his eyebrows, about to ask what prompted the question, but decided not to; it didn't matter anyway, and she would probably start an argument about why he needed to know everybody's motives at all times. "Lovely," he said, and although he thought he was doing an effective job of covering up the truth, it was clear to anyone that he was lying.
"Really?" she asked skeptically, her eyebrow raised, expression amused.
"How did you know?" he asked.
She laughed a little, a light and joyful sound. "Because you don't use words like 'lovely'." Her smile faded, and she looked at him thoughtfully now. "What was it really like?"
"Bad," he admitted, and she nodded, inviting him to tell more. Suddenly he found himself pouring out his life's story, and she was comforting him at the right times, and then when he asked her what her childhood was like, she shrugged.
"I killed my parents' murderers." She looked him in the eye. "Does that bother you?"
"Not at all," he told her, unable to explain the odd rush of companionship he felt at her ruthlessness.