( the time and space for words has gone. the second asuka whimpers around the word don't, any and all empty attempts at comfort die in clarke's throat. in the wake of waves of emotion — bitter, tragic, empty — her resolve only strengthens; that residual ache in her chest shoved down even deeper so as to become the rock in this desperate situation. she pays special mind to keep her features firm and composed, but not unkind; open and understanding enough that if asuka wanted to cry and scream about just how unfair the world was, clarke would listen intently and feel for her.
but that doesn't seem to be the type of person the girl was. not when it really mattered, not when screaming so loudly her voice shook the tent canvas might actually help ease the pain in her heart, or shake the numbness from creeping up her fingers. clarke's own hands twitch, and she busies herself collecting asuka's dirty riding clothes and stooping to lay the collective bundle somewhere off to the side of the nearest bed roll. and coming up with a blanket instead.
the sweat would dry, then cool. and while a far cry from a shock blanket, the weight of being wrapped up in constricting fabrics could be enough to keep the world from tilting off its axis and plummeting through space. sometimes, at least. clarke returns to asuka's side and hefts up the quilt over the younger girl without preamble or explanation; tucks it around her shoulders, and uses the motion as an excuse to take her gently by the shoulders and guide her next to a bedroll, then down into a sitting position.
and clarke settles down next to her as well, close and present. one arm still draped across asuka's shoulder blades, physical contact playing the role of an anchor between reality and all consuming grief.
she still harbors the burning desire to seek out her friends and fret over their well being, but that could wait. )
no subject
but that doesn't seem to be the type of person the girl was. not when it really mattered, not when screaming so loudly her voice shook the tent canvas might actually help ease the pain in her heart, or shake the numbness from creeping up her fingers. clarke's own hands twitch, and she busies herself collecting asuka's dirty riding clothes and stooping to lay the collective bundle somewhere off to the side of the nearest bed roll. and coming up with a blanket instead.
the sweat would dry, then cool. and while a far cry from a shock blanket, the weight of being wrapped up in constricting fabrics could be enough to keep the world from tilting off its axis and plummeting through space. sometimes, at least. clarke returns to asuka's side and hefts up the quilt over the younger girl without preamble or explanation; tucks it around her shoulders, and uses the motion as an excuse to take her gently by the shoulders and guide her next to a bedroll, then down into a sitting position.
and clarke settles down next to her as well, close and present. one arm still draped across asuka's shoulder blades, physical contact playing the role of an anchor between reality and all consuming grief.
she still harbors the burning desire to seek out her friends and fret over their well being, but that could wait. )