no subject

( the other woman's first, rather blasé remark ruffles clarke's feathers to the point where, when misato reaches out to catch her arm, clarke physically and mentally bristles. clams up, walls pitched so aggressively skyward it's more offense than defense. and after the tense moment spent listening to misato's appeal, she wrenches her arm away with a sense of finality that brokers no argument, and no room for a repeat.

her tone remains, rather forcibly, diplomatic. a tad detached. she's filing misato's desires away to evaluate another time, the depths of her feelings unplumbed for now. )

( No, I don't. )

( and much like the implications of misato's words, any and all sympathy is also choked off and saved to dissect later. )