[ She studies him. Remembers when they had only just met and he was little more than a new host, and she was still... Surrounded with people she cared for, confused by the intensity of her love but alight with it, optimistic if uncertain. It hadn't lasted very long at all. Blossomed on Opia, and died there with the clutch of broken hosts they brought back here with them. But she remembers him, he had unsettled her, a darkness coming in to an otherwise lit world with a smile on his face. Poisonous and dark, addictive enough to wish to keep and dangerous enough that she should keep away. She had meant to, but then Anakin had died. But then her brood had failed to thrive. But then Ren receded from her. But then--

She'd fallen in for the comfort of it. Chafed at the comfort of it. Raged at the the comfort of it.

He seems tired to her now. Like she is. Just human, and tired. ]

What good will it do me.

[ She answers, tone flat from lack of emotion on the subject. They blame her. She may have managed to reconcile with Murphy on the spot, but he had articulated what the others must have been thinking -- he was rude and blunt in that way. That she had brought it all down on herself, when she knows for absolute certain that she told or asked every one of attackers to leave her be. She had warned Lexa more than once. She had asked Damon to go as well, before he grabbed her throat.

She can imagine it. People apologizing on her behalf because she was the unstable one. The one not to be trusted. The volatile piece left of Castor ruining sainted Steve Roger's name -- she knows now, thanks to Sam, who some of the hosts think her broodmate is. ]

I felt them reject you.

[ She says, in that train of thought. ]

I did not realize your brood was so petty, as to begrudge a drowning man.

[ But she shouldn't have been surprised. ]

You'd think they'd have known to blame me.