#controlledrage

;a knife to the throat

He laughs, almost breathless from a small adrenaline high. Even when the mind was unconcerned, the body feared the worst. “This isn’t how one makes friends.” 

He lifts his chin the same fraction he lifts the corner of his mouth into a smirk. Just enough to look down his nose like the haughty, overconfident bastard he is, wearing the smile one takes to a grave. He grins, all teeth. A dare. N’edeemi. His chin raised just enough to allow light to fall on the faint scar running high around his neck—a neat path for the blade to follow.

Etain blinked and started to shake her head, but even that was enough to make her skull pulse again. Resigning herself to sitting very, very still for the next few moments, she closed her eyes, waiting for the slight ringing in her ears to desist.

“Let’s hope they think so, too,” she said hoarsely, “I was starting to run out of ways to throw them off the trail.”

She swallowed. Her mouth and throat were almost unbearably dry, but somehow the thought of reaching for her almost depleted canteen still made her stomach churn. Instead she leaned back and flicked a hand vaguely in Sev’s direction, still not looking at him.

“Ha.”

His voice is rough, ragged as he speaks. It’s clear that the clone was under some distress recently but now as sits up from the bed he was in–one way too comfortable to be a hospital bed, that’s how disoriented he was–he attempts to regain his composure. Some form of control over his own body.

“Being shot through the chest only knocks me down for a day or two, max.”

It’s been a week.

He looks over at Etain, a sharp smile coming to his face at that.

“Helps that we have some healers as well.”

Etain frowns ever so slightly. “Take it easy. The bacta might make everything bright and breezy right now, and Bardan did his best, but you should take things slowly.”

Of course, Sev probably knows that. Etain doubts this is the first time he’s been injured enough for the bacta tank. But if he’s still feeling the effects of the painkillers, then she supposes in still bears repeating. She had seen the wound, and it was far from simple. No point taking chances.

Besides, she recognizes awkwardly that she’s somewhat at a loss for what else to say. Conversation has never been easy between her and Sev- she’s aware she asks too many questions he’d rather not have to put up with- but the sight of all that blood had thrown her in a way she wasn’t expecting.