He knew that she wasn't sleeping, that the way her shoulders held some tension that she was completely prepared to defend herself against him if he let loose and slipped the restraint that he had on himself. He could go in there with full intention of killing her or getting killed by her, but that seemed a bit pointless. For all of his frustration, for all of the muddled emotions that swam through his blue eyes, for all the tension in his body, he never crossed the threshold of the bathroom. He stood in the doorway watching her.
Slowly, his eyes drifted away from where she was slowly sitting up and glanced at the bathroom mirror. He was close enough to see his own reflection, to see both men staring back at him, haunted and haggard as he had been when they had first met up with his mask removed. He remembered the vulnerability when he refused to complete his mission to Pierce. He knew his defiance would earn him nothing but pain; he was a beaten creature, tortured, remade, renamed.
"Just... don't think about dying. You're all I have left in this world. You're the only good thing anyway," he murmured softly, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He found his eyes straying to the metal arm attached to him before he shrugged. "Take care of yourself, but don't slip away no matter how much it might seem like a good idea."
Slowly, he withdrew from the bathroom, padding back to the bedroom that he had been given. He avoided the rest of the file, leaving it open on the bed as he did the only thing that struck him at something safe, not even realizing how childish and boyish it was; how often he had done it when he was little. He lay down on the floor and used his metal arm to hoist the bed up from the floor, sliding underneath it. It worked much better when one was a child, but the effect was the same as he settled in, near pinned to the ground as the wood and metal springs dug into his flesh. The pressure, the inability to avoid it was like a very cold hug, calming him even if the bed was distorted because of his efforts to just lay there under it.
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Slowly, his eyes drifted away from where she was slowly sitting up and glanced at the bathroom mirror. He was close enough to see his own reflection, to see both men staring back at him, haunted and haggard as he had been when they had first met up with his mask removed. He remembered the vulnerability when he refused to complete his mission to Pierce. He knew his defiance would earn him nothing but pain; he was a beaten creature, tortured, remade, renamed.
"Just... don't think about dying. You're all I have left in this world. You're the only good thing anyway," he murmured softly, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He found his eyes straying to the metal arm attached to him before he shrugged. "Take care of yourself, but don't slip away no matter how much it might seem like a good idea."
Slowly, he withdrew from the bathroom, padding back to the bedroom that he had been given. He avoided the rest of the file, leaving it open on the bed as he did the only thing that struck him at something safe, not even realizing how childish and boyish it was; how often he had done it when he was little. He lay down on the floor and used his metal arm to hoist the bed up from the floor, sliding underneath it. It worked much better when one was a child, but the effect was the same as he settled in, near pinned to the ground as the wood and metal springs dug into his flesh. The pressure, the inability to avoid it was like a very cold hug, calming him even if the bed was distorted because of his efforts to just lay there under it.