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[He seems like a guy so fucking weighed down by everything, by breathing, that seeing that abated for a memory that's comparatively light is nothing short of a miracle.

He's not like Joel. Joel-- she's still trying to figure out how she feels about some of the shit he's done. But Joel is... there's something different about the way he carries his bullshit. This Mark guy strikes her as a lot more sad and somber. Older and younger than Joel at the same time, in ways she's not sure she can articulate. Like... paper that's been drawn on and erased until it's worn thin and almost translucent, and the old lines are overlaid and the whole thing's a mess.

She thinks they'd probably hate each other, though, that one's certain. Not that Joel likes people to begin with. Or Mark does, for that matter.]

Sounds like it was a nice place. I mean... who doesn't like free pie?

[Now that he's thought about her, he wishes he could remember her name or even what she looked like. But the only part of her that he still has is the smell of freshly baked pie and loopy handwriting telling him to wash out the dish and leave it outside her door. It feels wrong that he doesn't remember more of her than that.

His brow furrows just slightly and he shrugs, it's not something he can talk much more about without giving away how little he knows about his own past.]

You look like you've been having pie, that's for sure. Other stuff too, you've grown evens since I met you.

[That just gets her to laugh a bit, not even remotely self-conscious.]

I know, right? It's wild. My pants barely fit and I swear I've grown a fucking inch.

[Still no boobs though. Okay, yes, she's disgruntled about that one. One day, boobs. One day. Skeleseer's quiet spirits can kiss her fucking ass about that one.]

Joel told me that people used to try to be skinny on purpose. [A laugh.] Can you fucking imagine?

[She can't even imagine a world like that. Where being thin is a luxury. The only person she's ever met with a paunch is Bill, and fuck knows how he managed that much.]

Yeah, I come from a place like that.

[Sort of. His few memories of growing up were of the tail end of the Depression and the war, where nothing was plentiful and people were definitely not skinny by choice. But now that he's broken free of HYDRA, he'd have to be blind not to see the advertising everywhere he goes.

Not that it has anything to do with him, if there's one thing definitely not on his radar, it's how he looks.]

It's a good look on you, eating well.

[Joel she would have elbowed in the ribs. This guy, however, she just sort of nudges gently. Know your audience.]

It's a great fucking look on me, jerk, get it right.

[A beat. Then,]

I kinda feel guilty about it, though, you know? There's a lot of people back home who won't ever get a chance to know what this is like. Just... eating whatever you want, whenever. No consequences.

[He nods, tensing just a little when she elbows him, though not enough to move away or be anything more than an instinctive reaction. He's not going to give her some useless platitude about how it's okay, because it's not. And that guilt probably won't go away any time soon.]

You're right, they probably won't get a chance to know what this is like. But you have, and you didn't screw any of them over to get this chance, so don't waste it.

[But it all ties back into the same issue, with her. She lived, Riley died. She lived, Tess died. She lived, Sam and Henry died. Joel almost died. Sometimes she just feels fucking cursed, like death just follows her around and touches everything she's ever cared about.

She's dedicated so much of her life to living for other people. Even her mom, whom she barely knew. The idea of not wasting her chance is something she struggles with every fucking day. She wishes she believed in god, or something. Maybe it'd make it easier to accept that she just can't seem to get her ticket punched. I'm still waiting for my turn.

Her shoulders hunch.]

Yeah. [It takes reaching down into some impossible reserve and pulling a tattered thread of optimism out of the pit of her fucking soul before she can add more to that:] And hey... maybe one day it'll be the same back home again, you know? Cheeseburgers for everybody.

[She fidgets a bit. Kicks her feet.]

I think you're right, by the way. I should try to find a cure here.

Edited 2017-04-11 12:02 (UTC)

[He doesn't bother to squash on her hope that maybe one day things will be better in her world, though he doubts sincerely that it would ever be in her lifetime. Even if a cure was found, even if civilisation started to rebuild, that sort of thing took generations to stick.

So he just nods to her judgement, not questioning it. It's her choice, not his.]

There's a lot of good tech here. Maybe even if you're not a cure yourself, the key to it might still be found in whatever made you immune, could be a good place to start.

[Better there than diving right into magic and all that nonsense.]

I'll keep my ears open.

[There's not really any hope to squash. She can talk a big game, live and breathe optimism, but Ellie can't even imagine a world that's any better than the one they've got. It's just... it's nice to dream.

(Poetic. 'Let's lose our minds together'.)

She gives him a wan little smile.]

Thanks. You're a good dude.

[A beat. Then,]

Do you know how to do that whole... anonymous bullshit on the network? Like whoever asked about ghouls?

Yeah.

[He didn't figure it out until he saw that post being made, and he was sort of angry with himself that it took that long, but he knows how to do it now.]

You want me to show you?

[It's easier to focus on this than the compliment she just paid him that he has no idea what to do with.]

Sure. If you don't mind.

[She pulls out her tablet without fuss and holds it out for him. Trusting that he's not going to do any shady shit with her identity.]

[He's careful to keep her tablet angled towards her so that she can see everything he's doing, slowly and methodically setting up an anonymous feed and then back to normal, and then once more to make sure it's been demonstrated properly. Then he holds the tablet back out to her.]

I'm not sure how secure the network is, even under a filter like that.

[It's why he doesn't use it unless he has to.]

Thanks.

[A beat.]

I don't really care. If somebody knew it was me, I mean. It's just...

[She huffs. It's ridiculous, and she knows it, but...]

I just hate the idea that people are going to pity me for the shitty place I come from. Like... I get it, it fucking sucks, but I don't need anybody else rubbing my nose in it, you know? It's hard to talk to normal people who've never lived like that.

[Which is probably why she gravitates towards people like 'Mark'. Ones who've seen enough shit of their own that one teenage girl being a shell-shocked killer who has too many nightmares about too many things isn't anything out of the ordinary at all.]

[It's not a good thing that he can understand her situation, objectively he knows that means she's lived a horrible life and he should pity her for it. But he doesn't. He's just kind of amazed at how strong she is to have stayed so relatively optimistic, and if she's cautious and needs to carry a weapon then that's just sensible survival strategy.

So he just nods, not offering any sympathy, and sinks down to sit on one of the nearby logs.]

Shared experience isn't an easy thing to find.

[He knows he's well and truly screwed on that front. Not unless he somehow gets past the weirdness of there being another him here.]

Show them how strong you are, teach them how to hunt and shoot, how to survive in the wilderness. Nobody pities someone they see as strong.

[She shakes her head.]

But even that's like-- hey, let me wave this freak flag over here, you know? I don't really want people to know I'm good at that kind of thing.

[Because as far as she can imagine, it leads back to the same thing in the end. Sure, they might not pity her for the shithole world, but they'd find something else to coo in sympathy over. She'd rather they all think she's from some awesome future with flying cars and no disease, that everyone's happy.

She doesn't say that it's also a good thing to keep that shit under her hat in case she needs to kill somebody. Being underestimated in a fight is a fucking lifesaver most of the time.]

[He shrugs, it's up to her what she wants to tell people and he can understand wanting to have the element of surprise. That never really exists for him, the serum and his training have given him pretty obvious muscles, and that makes it hard to pretend to be as wholly harmless as a skinny teenage girl can manage.]

Better pity than hatred.

[Trust him.]

But you don't have to tell anyone shit, some things are better left unsaid.

[She scuffs the toe of one shoe (it's getting a little small but the discomfort doesn't register as something fixable, just something to be endured) against the laces of the other and doesn't look up at him.]

You think so?

[Because she doesn't. She's dealt with both, and she'd prefer hatred by a wide, wide margin.]

Hey-- anyway, enough about me. What've you been up to? Make any new friends?

[Sorry, there's an unspoken implication there that that's exactly what you are to her.]

[He's not an idiot, he can see that she's just trying to deflect the conversation onto something else, but he'll let it go. He's pressed her enough on this, the decisions she makes regarding what she tells others will always be her own.

The choice of subject change, though, does make him raise an eyebrow. He gets the implication, but he's unsure if he's actually read that right. Friends? Him?]

No.

[At least that's a safe answer, though he's looking at her warily now.]

I don't talk to anyone if I can help it.

[She catches that wariness, ducks her head like it's something she can actively defend against.]

You talk to me. And I like that you do. I just think you'd have a lot to offer the other people here if you ever felt like-- you know, talking to them too.

[It's not like she's going to push him into it, or threaten to drag him shopping or something, but. She doesn't see a reason he shouldn't be surrounded by decent people who care about his wellbeing, either.]

[He shakes his head, fingers clasping subconsciously over his left arm.]

You understand.

[How to not make sudden moves, why conversation can be stilted, why being alert is always a good thing, and that leaving suddenly shouldn't cause offence.]

Besides, I couldn't help but talk to you, you pointed a gun at me when we met.

Mm.

[It's not really agreement or disagreement. It is hard to talk to normal people, where 'normal' entertains a certain value of ignorance to some of the shit they've both seen. His tolerance for it doesn't have to be as high as hers, because there are still plenty of days she wants to run away into the woods and scream her fucking head off.

His next statement, though, gets a startled laugh.]

Is that how you make friends? They have to point a gun at you first?

[He shrugs, a little awkward at the open sentiment. It might not be a big deal to most people, but this is a bit overwhelming for him.]

Considering you're my only one, odds look good that way.

[Steve. Clark. His brain whispers the two names at him, but he pushes them back. Clark isn't a friend (yet), he's a safety mechanism for if he goes nuts. And Steve-- Steve is a tangled knot that he is so not ready to unravel.]

[Pal, you weren't supposed to take that quite so seriously. Ellie's expression goes through an interestingly sympathetic contortion before it settles back somewhere around neutral, and then she just leans briefly into his space, against his shoulder before she pulls back.]

Well. I guess I don't have to share.

[He snorts very quietly. This is so bizarre, to think of himself actually having a friend. There are a few long beats of silence, before he offers her proof of that friendship in a low voice.]

James. My name is James Barnes.

[She always figured 'Mark' was a lie, but she also had no real expectation that he'd tell her for real. Her only real surprise is at him choosing to tell her about it.

She does, however, give him a bright smile.]

James. You know? I kinda like it.

[She had a book of names, once. Winston used to find things in the old mall, and sometimes he'd give them to her on the sly. Ellie being Ellie read even that dusty old thing about a hundred times. Books were so precious and rare, she treasured every one.

James is one of those weird names with a few origins, but one of the ones that stuck out to her was may God protect. You don't run into names very often where the meaning is either on the nose, or so obviously contrary. Like the rest of life, most people sort of fall in between.

She sort of toys with the fraying flap of her backpack. It's not a nervous fidget.]

Hey. Do you like music?

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