[the truth is, she's never really found much use for god, religion, or anything of the sort. in a world where she's been made and unmade time and time again, where survival hinges upon circumstantial truths, where monsters and magic are more than potential threats, they haven't merited as much as a second thought, because they just don't hold a place. she puts her faith, instead, in the things she's found along the way - second chances, small pockets of trust, the pure love that comes from clint's children.
when everything has been turned upside down and nothing is as she thought it was, when lines have been blurred and she can't tell the difference anymore, these are the things that matter.
a chapel is just a building, and a building is temporary respite she'd be stupid not to take advantage of. rest, recharge, regroup - these need to be the immediate priorities if she's going to keep going. it's a list that continuously runs through her mind as she steps inside, but comes to a stop when her eyes catch a familiar (and somewhat relieving) sight at one of the pews.
steve's back is to her, but everything about his posture is a tell that he's lost in thought - hunched over, slightly, with his head turned up toward one of the windows. no, not just lost; he seems like he's a million miles away in thought, and she feels like she's walked into something private, something that she debates turning away from. but instead, she watches him quietly for a time, then walks down the aisle to the pew and takes a seat next to him, saying nothing to announce herself when she does.
even if none of this means anything to her, it means something to him; it isn't her place to intrude forcefully. she lets out a breath, lets some of the tension out of her shoulders, and allows the silence between them to linger.
ii
when everything has been turned upside down and nothing is as she thought it was, when lines have been blurred and she can't tell the difference anymore, these are the things that matter.
a chapel is just a building, and a building is temporary respite she'd be stupid not to take advantage of. rest, recharge, regroup - these need to be the immediate priorities if she's going to keep going. it's a list that continuously runs through her mind as she steps inside, but comes to a stop when her eyes catch a familiar (and somewhat relieving) sight at one of the pews.
steve's back is to her, but everything about his posture is a tell that he's lost in thought - hunched over, slightly, with his head turned up toward one of the windows. no, not just lost; he seems like he's a million miles away in thought, and she feels like she's walked into something private, something that she debates turning away from. but instead, she watches him quietly for a time, then walks down the aisle to the pew and takes a seat next to him, saying nothing to announce herself when she does.
even if none of this means anything to her, it means something to him; it isn't her place to intrude forcefully. she lets out a breath, lets some of the tension out of her shoulders, and allows the silence between them to linger.
he'll say something when he's ready.]