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[This is why he likes Ellie, and why the trust he has for her is only growing each time they meet. She knows what it's like to have a different self, a different life, and understands that sympathy isn't always the right response. What she says is unexpected, and just right, enough to draw the corner of his lips up into a tiny smile.]

Yeah, a real punk.

[He hesitates a moment, but she deserves to know why experiencing that happier past has messed him up so much at the moment.]

But him, who I was, he was taken from me. I don't remember a lot, and even after living it again, I still don't remember. Something here changed me and I couldn't fight it, I never want that to happen again.

I get that.

[She does. How awful it must be, to see a glimpse of some other - better? - time, only to have it ripped away. And having fucked up memories on top of it all...

There are only a few things a person ever has that make them human. She figures memories are probably part of that. It must feel awful, lacking those, being some-- fucked up creature of raw nerves and anger. It puts things in context for her, a little. Why he is the way he is, how long he's been hurting. Like a broken bone you walk on until you've ground down the jagged edges of the fracture into something manageable. You can use the limb: but at what fucking cost?

She sits down on a log, and opens up her pack. She brought food, of course - that's just ritual by now with him.]

You... wanna talk about it? Or would you rather just blow shit up? I may have liberated some C4 from the armoury... you know, for a rainy day...

[Does he want to talk about it?

No. Never. He's terrified to talk about it in depth, there are things that he fears will eat him alive if he lets them out of the dark recesses of his mind. But the basics, the truth, those are things she deserves to know from him. She's earned that level of trust, the one Clark has already reached.]

How much do you know about history before the outbreak?

[That is assuming they're even from comparable worlds.]

Heard of the Second World War? Adolf Hitler?

I know a little.

[Probably less than she thinks she does. War history was still taught in military prep, but Boston didn't exactly have any living historians. The version of history she knew was mostly distilled by the lowest common denominator, and mostly: nobody fucking cared. Ancient history didn't mean squat - even as far as learning tactics went - when what you were fighting in the now was a more clear and present danger.]

Uh... he bombed Pearl Harbour - Hawaii, right? - and America went and kicked his ass into next week.

[Because of course she only knows the Jingoistic version. She probably couldn't name the other allies if she tried.]

[Even if his memories of fighting that war are mostly gone, he still winces slightly at the utterly inaccurate idea of what that war was. He supposes it's not important for the narrative, and it's not surprising that history has been lost following such a cataclysmic event. Seems strange, though, that such a huge struggle of so many millions has become barely a footnote in history.]

That man, [He nods towards the photograph he showed her.] was a soldier in that war. Sergeant James Barnes, a sniper, until he-- I-- was caught by HYDRA, the deep science division of the Nazi Party, and experimented on. Didn't know it at the time, but those experiments saved my life when I fell from a train into a ravine later, lost my arm, and HYDRA found me half dead. They did things... made me into the Soldier. I forgot my name, I forgot everything except obedience. I was a weapon, and when I wasn't used I was put in storage. That's what I did for seventy years.

[That's glossing over huge parts of what HYDRA did to him, but Ellie's smart, she can probably infer the sorts of things needed to make a man become literally a shell of himself.]

A few months ago something-- happened, let me break the programming and I ran. I learned my name by visiting a museum, I still don't remember a lot of who I am, and I'm still dangerous.

[She can read between the lines. In this instance, they're drawn in blood, and she sucks in a sharp little breath between her gritted teeth. It's not quite a pained grimace, but it's-- something.

This is big, and bad, and way fucking worse than she was expecting. She's used to a world where torture is normal, where humans are barely more than feral animals snarling at each other over the ragged scraps of a dead world, but this. It's so cold and cruel and deliberate.]

Fuckers.

[It's her sole pronouncement on what she thinks of these people, clear and without ambiguity. She'd probably kill them if she had half a chance. She looks down at her hands, and rubs at a patch of scuffed-up skin, some sort of healing scrape.]

So... what's next? Just kind of... figuring things out as you go along?

Yeah.

[He wishes that he had a plan that was greater than that, but he doesn't. It's just to survive and keep himself from slipping into the weapon again.]

I know that some of what they put in my head is still there, it's why I keep myself away from people so that I don't hurt anyone that I don't mean to.

[He shrugs, like that's just a normal sort of existence.]

I'm making new memories, I'm making choices, it's something.

[She waves a chicken drumstick at him, trying to get him to take it from her. Will you sit down, you weirdo??]

It is something.

[And she bets it's hard. Sure, maybe she's never-- been through all that, but she's seen (and done) enough now that she can empathize it. Seems like it was one more awful chapter in a no-good very-shitty life. Her demons live in her head, too. He probably has to face his every fucking day.

(She tries to. She does. But sometimes it's too much, and in a place where she has the luxury of being able to stay in bed if she wants, she feels like sometimes she probably takes that opportunity too often.)]

I'm glad that hanging out with me is a choice you're making. You know. For the record, and all.

[She wants to ask if the people responsible are dead, but she won't. That's a personal question. David's dead, but she doesn't want to fucking tell people that she did it, or how. She isn't ready to say I turned a guy into hamburger with a machete while the world burned around me. He doesn't have to say it either if he doesn't want. She can just be quiet and understanding, and maybe that's what friendship is. Maybe it's part of who she's becoming. She likes the thought that maybe it's something she can be good at, so far away from the ruined wasteland of her life.]

[He still feels the itching at the back of his skull for having told someone part of his secrets, like his survival instincts are questioning why he's adding another threat to the pack he already has to deal with, but it's not as bad as it usually is. Ellie understands, she responds the right way to keep his jagged edges hidden, and he appreciates it.

The tiniest of smiles touches his lips as he reaches out to take the drumstick finally, though he doesn't sit down.]

You need higher standards, kid.

[But he's pleased that it's a choice he's making too. Every time he sees her, sees anyone, and the interaction isn't violent or vicious, it's-- better, good, it reminds him that he is something more than a weapon now.]

My standards are just fine, thank you very much.

[She puts her nose in the air for emphasis, and fakes a bad British accent for that last bit for no real reason except that she's being a bit of a little shit.]

But seriously, though? I'd take you on your worst day over most of the people here on their best. And I mean that.

[She shrugs, the packs of her bag riding up on her skinny shoulders.]

[It's a kind thing to say, though he thinks she'd at least be sensible enough to fight back if she did actually come face to face with him on his worst day. He wouldn't even be himself if that happened.]

You're not bad to be around either.

[He means more than that, but can't really say it.]

It's good to have a friend.

[That gets the flickering, shy little smile of a little girl who hasn't really had enough people say nice things to her over the years. It's hard to realize you're missing something from the substrata of your life's essence until it's given freely.]

Yeah. [She rubs her nose on her sleeve.] Guess it is.

[He very nearly reaches out to rest a hand on her shoulder, but he's not quite there yet and so he turns the aborted movement into him getting up to his feet.]

I'll walk you back.

[She doesn't need it, but the offer is there.]

[She sighs in that put upon way teenagers have, and stands. Stretches her arms over her head, drops them back down.]

Okay, okay. Let's go.

[A little sideways look.]

One of these days, you should really come over for dinner.

You know that isn't gonna happen.

[He's not good at sticking in one place too long, and closing himself in with someone else's walls isn't going to sit well in his head.]

But you can bring dinner out here.

[Okay, okay, point taken.]

Have you at least been showering regularly?

[This is said with all the exasperation of a smol child to whom you are basically an embarrassing parental figure. Oop.]

Of course.

[He shrugs, like that much is obvious.]

Hard to hide when your smell might give you away.

[She points at him in that, ah-hah, got you sort of way.]

Unless everybody else smells as bad as you do. Not a lot of showers back home, so everyone was so busy being overwhelmed by their own smell.

Doesn't work that way here, though, people notice if a guy nearby is smelling fit to make you gag.

[So he keeps himself clean, just don't ask how he does it when he doesn't have a home.]

[She's not going to ask. She's just not that interested. As long as he's looking after himself, that's what really matters to her. She cares about him enough that she just. Wants him to be whatever passes for happy to him.]

Yeah, yeah.

[She waves a hand, accepting that particular response and then she turns her best puppy dog eyes on him.]

Can we at least stop and get ice cream somewhere on the way back? My treat? You can wait outside and case the place while I get it.

Edited 2017-09-25 20:07 (UTC)

[For just a moment Ellie's voice becomes a different one, layered over her own in a weird distorted and half remembered way. He gets a half smile at his lips.]

Sure. You sound like my kid sister, you know? She always used to bug me for treats.

[At least until she got old enough to be bugging other fellas for them.]

[Given what she now knows about his history... that hurts a little. Not in a bad way, just...

Hardship leaves a mark on people. It's only the really strong ones that can stay kind through it all, and he's been through a lot of shit. She bumps her shoulder against his arm playfully.]

Yeah? She swear like me too?

You kidding?

[He huffs what might almost be mistaken for a laugh.]

We'd have all been lammed if we swore like you do, our Ma didn't raise us to be disrespectful.

Oh.

[There is a moment of mulish, teenager-esque silence. Then, in one of those 'I'm more curious about this than I'm strictly letting on' type tones,]

Do you think I'm disrespectful?

[Not that she cares, really. Much. That often. Well, as long as he doesn't think she's being disrespectful to him.]

Edited 2017-10-01 23:02 (UTC)

No.

[It's softer, but genuine.]

Back when I was raised, it was real important to have good manners. You didn't swear, you treated a lady right, you acted proper. It's been a lot of years since then and I've learned that disrespect ain't in anything as simple as swearing.

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