[ The way she moves with the sword is both familiar and foreign all at once. It reminds him of late nights back on the Mother of Invention, waking Maine in the middle of the night, when he'd follow him ( not without grumbling ) to the training room. It reminds him of watching Carolina when she trained, practicing the same movements to meticulous perfection, over and over, never good enough, push herself further, even further. But it's different, the way any of them fight compared to this, graceful and flowing like a dance, something lethal and ruthless but meditative all at once. Then there's a silence, a pause, a break in the dance, Lakshmi spinning back towards him, the sword gleaming as she brings it up towards him.
Wash does move to defend himself, one hand lifting, blocking the blade, catching it against his palm. His eyes do go wide, but there's a notable lack of actual surprise.
Part of him had expected this. It's hard not to expect it out of someone when he's been pulled somewhere out of the crowd, quiet and alone, when he'd just handed a weapon over to someone who has every reason to despise him. He saved her life, yes, but what does that matter in the face of sitting aside and watching and listening as she was made to spill all her secrets out across the floor for all to see? How good of a friend can he be to Maine, if he'd tried to kill him when he first saw him?
She asks him if she knows. He does know, of course he does -- and he also knows that for the sting against his palm, the cut it leaves, the trickle of warm blood he feels against his skin, if she'd really meant to strike him it would've cut far deeper than that. ]
I know.
[ There's a real threat and danger in her eyes, this is not an empty gesture, even if she stopped short. Wash's eyes are the same, unfettered determination, hard and focused to a point. There's a lot that he should have died for, and he's survived so much that he never should have survived, that he never deserved to survive -- but here, he has another chance, with Maine, with York, with the people he's failed. Nothing will get in his way.
They will get out of here. And for that, he needs to trust her.
He wants to trust her. ]
The name's Washington. [ He isn't pushing the blade aside, just leaves his hand where it is, stays where he is, his eyes never leaving her. No details. The more he tells her, the more risk there is, what if they drug her again, to see what more they can find out? But here is his own purpose for getting her alone -- he needs to trust her enough for that, needs her to trust him enough for that. They won't be leaving without her. ] When the time comes, we're going to need your help.
[ Not we're going to help you. There's a difference -- she's far from helpless. ]
no subject
Wash does move to defend himself, one hand lifting, blocking the blade, catching it against his palm. His eyes do go wide, but there's a notable lack of actual surprise.
Part of him had expected this. It's hard not to expect it out of someone when he's been pulled somewhere out of the crowd, quiet and alone, when he'd just handed a weapon over to someone who has every reason to despise him. He saved her life, yes, but what does that matter in the face of sitting aside and watching and listening as she was made to spill all her secrets out across the floor for all to see? How good of a friend can he be to Maine, if he'd tried to kill him when he first saw him?
She asks him if she knows. He does know, of course he does -- and he also knows that for the sting against his palm, the cut it leaves, the trickle of warm blood he feels against his skin, if she'd really meant to strike him it would've cut far deeper than that. ]
I know.
[ There's a real threat and danger in her eyes, this is not an empty gesture, even if she stopped short. Wash's eyes are the same, unfettered determination, hard and focused to a point. There's a lot that he should have died for, and he's survived so much that he never should have survived, that he never deserved to survive -- but here, he has another chance, with Maine, with York, with the people he's failed. Nothing will get in his way.
They will get out of here. And for that, he needs to trust her.
He wants to trust her. ]
The name's Washington. [ He isn't pushing the blade aside, just leaves his hand where it is, stays where he is, his eyes never leaving her. No details. The more he tells her, the more risk there is, what if they drug her again, to see what more they can find out? But here is his own purpose for getting her alone -- he needs to trust her enough for that, needs her to trust him enough for that. They won't be leaving without her. ] When the time comes, we're going to need your help.
[ Not we're going to help you. There's a difference -- she's far from helpless. ]