[ Krouse nods as Clarke heads to the other room. He waits until the sound of her footsteps shift before he leans further over the sink, closing his eyes as his hair falls short of hiding his face. Under his bandages, his left arm lights up from the pressure he's putting on it. He shifts to his right late, the ache lingering. ]
Okay.
[ He says to himself, drowned out by the rush of water. A deep breath to fill out his lungs, another small nod, and he pushes off the kitchen counter. ]
Okay.
[ Back to the doorway, where he thinks about whether or not he should take off his shoes, a fleeting hangover of long instilled conscientiousness about carpets. Clarke hasn't, so he probably shouldn't. It's a stupid little thing to have come to mind, slipping in between the checkboxes of every real concern he should be keeping at the forefront of his thoughts.
But for all the things he's trying to think through, he's calm. It's how he gets when he's committed to seeing a decision through. His doubts don't ease, his pulse doesn't slow, but they fade into a static he can tune out.
He flashes her a smile when she comes out of the bathroom, clean and easy reflex. Crossing over to the couch is just a few steps. Taking a seat at her invitation doesn't feel like crashing into the earth. ]
Can't be too careful.
[ Maybe that's another joke, lightly said as it is. He's not dwelling on it. The butt of his gun is digging into his hip. He adjusts so it stops. ]
She's good with computers. [ Funnelled cash, background research; he doesn't know how much of that was true, but it was enough. ] Better with information.
I know who she is. [ As if it's not obvious, but it's better to be clear. ] Back where we came from. Which is a problem, because I can't tell you how. And that's why I'm hoping you're still keeping an open mind, even though this sounds like a load of absolute bullshit.
no subject
Okay.
[ He says to himself, drowned out by the rush of water. A deep breath to fill out his lungs, another small nod, and he pushes off the kitchen counter. ]
Okay.
[ Back to the doorway, where he thinks about whether or not he should take off his shoes, a fleeting hangover of long instilled conscientiousness about carpets. Clarke hasn't, so he probably shouldn't. It's a stupid little thing to have come to mind, slipping in between the checkboxes of every real concern he should be keeping at the forefront of his thoughts.
But for all the things he's trying to think through, he's calm. It's how he gets when he's committed to seeing a decision through. His doubts don't ease, his pulse doesn't slow, but they fade into a static he can tune out.
He flashes her a smile when she comes out of the bathroom, clean and easy reflex. Crossing over to the couch is just a few steps. Taking a seat at her invitation doesn't feel like crashing into the earth. ]
Can't be too careful.
[ Maybe that's another joke, lightly said as it is. He's not dwelling on it. The butt of his gun is digging into his hip. He adjusts so it stops. ]
She's good with computers. [ Funnelled cash, background research; he doesn't know how much of that was true, but it was enough. ] Better with information.
I know who she is. [ As if it's not obvious, but it's better to be clear. ] Back where we came from. Which is a problem, because I can't tell you how. And that's why I'm hoping you're still keeping an open mind, even though this sounds like a load of absolute bullshit.