[ Blow to blow - this is the first time he's moved like this with a broodmate (the only chance he'll get now). This should be like a dance, minds aligned to a beat that only the pair of them can hear, muscle memory that shouldn't otherwise exist.
She gets a grunt in response, the place of the blow throbbing from her strike. He keeps up, but only just. Not for lack of technique - he's been practicing. His striking blows are slower than they ought to be. Holding back is an insult to them both, but the further along the dance goes, the more apparent it becomes that his heart's not in it.
Blocking another blow has his footing misaligned, her next might knock him to the ground - ]
[ She jams her heel into his thigh without thinking much about it. He is nothing to her in that moment. Just a training doll, and quite honestly one that does not quite measure up--
She pauses with her leg extended, looking at where he's dropped. She lowers her foot slowly, tilting her head at him. ]
I had wanted us to fight against him [ Ren ] together. Is this all it would have been?
[ Her eyes dilate, and what had been a moment's dismissive calm turns angry, she's on him as he tries to rise, her sitting on his chest the front of his shirt in her hand, the other fist raised like it's going to come down onto his nose, but she holds it there. Staring in to him. ]
(I had wanted for you to be worthy.)
[ A dark echo, her disappointment: in all of them. ]
[ Surprise flickers across his expression as he hits the ground, landing hard. Both arms raise to block the next strike, eyes narrowing at the accusation that comes instead. Something churns with a furnace heat, demands he lash back at her.
He tastes blood, biting the inside of his cheek so hard to silence that unwanted voice. It's wrong, demanding that his anger raise in response to her disappointment, her rejection. He doesn't respond immediately, but his gaze doesn't leave her face, the raised fist in his peripheral vision.
He feels very much like himself.
His voice is flat, his words slow and direct, and a little bit tired. ]
I don't need to be worthy. [ Whatever that means to this version of her. Whatever it is she's becoming, this strangeness to her ever since he woke up again (maybe before even that). The distance between them, forced space that will end in collision, because so long as they're both awake they can't be separated. ] And they didn't leave because they weren't.
Nothing to take from that response, and nothing to give to him either. Her anger compresses in on itself, cold down to the pit of her, until she's simply sighing.
Sighing at him, at his defenses, still inadequate. She rearranges her strike, taking her elbow down into his crossed arms, letting gravity do all the work through the weight of her. His face is protected, but she bounces his head and shoulders off the mats all the same. She slips off to the slide of his body and onto her feet without pursuing it further, walking away with her back to him. Her mind drifts elsewhere.
She's thinking about weeping for Sam in to his shoulder, and for Ren by herself. What a different girl, the same girl, but-- She's thinking of how little she feels like weeping now. For one moment she thought perhaps she could ignite... anything in Steve, but no. There's nothing there, and has there ever been? She's never wept over Jessica either, how did one grieve for someone they did not even know. ]
Of course not.
[ The dismissive answer a mother gives to a child. She's halfway across the room before seeming to realize she should say something further, glancing over her shoulder, ]
[ He almost calls her back - not to fight or to demand acceptance in place of dismissal - and it's because he doesn't know what it is that he wants to say that he lets his jaw snap shut, the sudden presence of empty space in his heart and mind adding pressure to his chest.
Walls raise back into place and he gets to his feet again. ]
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She gets a grunt in response, the place of the blow throbbing from her strike. He keeps up, but only just. Not for lack of technique - he's been practicing. His striking blows are slower than they ought to be. Holding back is an insult to them both, but the further along the dance goes, the more apparent it becomes that his heart's not in it.
Blocking another blow has his footing misaligned, her next might knock him to the ground - ]
no subject
She pauses with her leg extended, looking at where he's dropped. She lowers her foot slowly, tilting her head at him. ]
I had wanted us to fight against him [ Ren ] together. Is this all it would have been?
[ Her eyes dilate, and what had been a moment's dismissive calm turns angry, she's on him as he tries to rise, her sitting on his chest the front of his shirt in her hand, the other fist raised like it's going to come down onto his nose, but she holds it there. Staring in to him. ]
( I had wanted for you to be worthy. )
[ A dark echo, her disappointment: in all of them. ]
no subject
He tastes blood, biting the inside of his cheek so hard to silence that unwanted voice. It's wrong, demanding that his anger raise in response to her disappointment, her rejection. He doesn't respond immediately, but his gaze doesn't leave her face, the raised fist in his peripheral vision.
He feels very much like himself.
His voice is flat, his words slow and direct, and a little bit tired. ]
I don't need to be worthy. [ Whatever that means to this version of her. Whatever it is she's becoming, this strangeness to her ever since he woke up again (maybe before even that). The distance between them, forced space that will end in collision, because so long as they're both awake they can't be separated. ] And they didn't leave because they weren't.
no subject
Nothing to take from that response, and nothing to give to him either. Her anger compresses in on itself, cold down to the pit of her, until she's simply sighing.
Sighing at him, at his defenses, still inadequate. She rearranges her strike, taking her elbow down into his crossed arms, letting gravity do all the work through the weight of her. His face is protected, but she bounces his head and shoulders off the mats all the same. She slips off to the slide of his body and onto her feet without pursuing it further, walking away with her back to him. Her mind drifts elsewhere.
She's thinking about weeping for Sam in to his shoulder, and for Ren by herself. What a different girl, the same girl, but-- She's thinking of how little she feels like weeping now. For one moment she thought perhaps she could ignite... anything in Steve, but no. There's nothing there, and has there ever been? She's never wept over Jessica either, how did one grieve for someone they did not even know. ]
Of course not.
[ The dismissive answer a mother gives to a child. She's halfway across the room before seeming to realize she should say something further, glancing over her shoulder, ]
I think I've seen enough.
no subject
Walls raise back into place and he gets to his feet again. ]