ultraviolence.

     ‘ oh my GOD ! this is like the second time i’ve been accused of PEDOPHILIA for no reason. i’m moving out. i’m leaving valdez and going somewhere where people are nicer and don’t make the word “ syphilis “ sound even more disgusting than it is. ‘

               "—you’re breakin’ my heart, ken. i’m trynna propose somethin’ here, and you’re fuckin’ around.” 

                 "— got me a couple good jobs, yeah,“ he jokes, lips pursing as he huffs a small laugh through his nose. hopefully it’ll get her laughing, too. or, at the very least, he’s wishing for a smile. he knows all too well he can’t rest on jokes, however. a calloused hand gently squeezes her shoulder to stop their procession before alex turns to face her, his expression gentle. “look, i’m not sayin’ forget about it, or shove it down, okay? i’m just sayin’— y'know. you let that fear get to you and it’s gonna rip you up faster than anything we go up against out there. you’ve gotta get it out and move on…,” he can tell that he’s probably not coming across clear enough still– which is fucking obnoxious, so after scrubbing a hand across his face, alex re-groups and tries again. arms wind around kennedy’s torso to over-lap behind her back, and he pulls her to him. rests his chin on her shoulder while he waits for any sort of reaction.

               it does elicit a chuckle, but more of for him than her. he’s trying----- and it’s appreciated . . . but laughter can only cure the symptom. hugs do not cure cancer.LOVE cannot, by itself, conquer ailment.and it doesn’t. support is important . . . but when you’re your own worst enemy, the possibility of achievement becomes a very long hallway. but she listens; not to respond, but to absorb. to listen. because she knows as well as he does, he needs this just as much as she does. she sees his demons, sees the internal struggle, knows the internal struggle. knows what it’s like to have to talk in third person so that the reality of hurt isn’t so real. and so, when he reels her in, as much as she wants to flee, to compress her palms against his chest and wiggle away, out of her chains, she wraps her arms around him in a stiff but firm hug. there, there.

    her head moved in a nod. sucking on her bottom lip as eyes never looked away from the sleeping girl. it never got easy for her. isobel felt responsible for each life that passed through her hands. ‘ doesn’t matter. thank you for —- bringing her in. ’ she finally found it within herself to look over to the girl again, offering a small smile that could barely be seen. and as she raised a hand to wipe away the sweat she saw the blood on it. without another word she moved out of the room and towards the source of water. ‘ you seem to like the word “ fuck “ quite a lot, miss —– ’

             "oh, you fucking wish,“ he laughs— god, she’s so unabashed. it’s ridiculous, and what’s worse is that he buys into it. this girl is dangerous. ”NO, i didn’t go cheese off after you bruised my face, y'punk,“ he pauses to roll his eyes, before teeth rake in his bottom lip, and ocean hues meet her hazels. "but it did get me thinkin’….”

he knows what she’s talking about. been in the same boat before. there’s just something about near-death that doesn’t hit him quite as hard as it does her.but this isn’t the time to bring that up. instead, alex wraps an arm around her shoulder. it’s friendly– but someone’s bound to read it as otherwise, and maybe he’s hoping they do but whatever. “you made it out, ken. dwellin’ on it’s just gonna fuck you up next time. process it and move on. whatever time we got here’s too short to freak out, y'know?” and where… with other people, his tone might have been dismissive, he’s trying his best to comfort whatever unease he knows is sitting in her chest.

                she thinks to shrug it off------- and she wants to, truthfully. she’s never been one to gravitate to the communication of touch. of feelings. close proximity has never translated well, and probably never will. the idea of a gun and badge has always proved more comforting than the idea of a man holding her when she’s scared, the thought of being alone more soothing than the monotonous and typically unsolicited two cents of some two-bit companion. even when she was kid, she did not, by any means, enjoy being touched . . .  ‘but this is nice.’ casual. completely devoid of expectations. times are far too tough for ulterior motives of the sexual persuasion, one must assume . . . at least for the woman with the sex appeal of a baby gorilla..