Alex doesn’t realize how much he’d been bracing himself for Clara’s reaction until he locks eyes with her and the visor isn’t between them anymore. She doesn’t recoil. She talks to him like normal. She searches his face and whatever she sees, she seems to be mostly okay with, if that slight quirk of her mouth is anything to go by. He’d like to say he relaxes, but he doesn’t: rig he’s in is as rigid as before.
His eyebrows draw together as he thinks back. “Coming home, tucking David into bed. About to,” he pauses, not feeling like he’s down with discussing their sex life right now. “Kissing you. The damn car was acting up again, so I went outside to deal with it. Why?”
It’s pretty cut and dry, except he doesn’t see any kicking point where he could get so badly injured he’d need some Star Trek suit to stay alive. Or how they stuck him in this thing and then shipped him off to a place that looks like it’s on another planet. Granted, he could’ve been sedated for that last bit, but still. If Clara is doing what he did when he woke up in the Capitol, trying to sniff around for patterns, clues, she won’t get anything all that helpful from his end. Alex glances out the window, where the dirt on the glass is at its thinnest, and all he can see is fog and more fog. The few times he gets the impressions of shadows flitting past makes a muscle in his jaw tighten.
The other Tributes are still out there. And according to some of the footage he’s seen of the past Arenas – he wishes he hadn’t – any of them could easily take out his wife.
Alex moves to stand between Clara and the window. As creepy, uncomfortable and plain weird as this suit is, the one thing going for it is that it’s built like a tank.
no subject
His eyebrows draw together as he thinks back. “Coming home, tucking David into bed. About to,” he pauses, not feeling like he’s down with discussing their sex life right now. “Kissing you. The damn car was acting up again, so I went outside to deal with it. Why?”
It’s pretty cut and dry, except he doesn’t see any kicking point where he could get so badly injured he’d need some Star Trek suit to stay alive. Or how they stuck him in this thing and then shipped him off to a place that looks like it’s on another planet. Granted, he could’ve been sedated for that last bit, but still. If Clara is doing what he did when he woke up in the Capitol, trying to sniff around for patterns, clues, she won’t get anything all that helpful from his end. Alex glances out the window, where the dirt on the glass is at its thinnest, and all he can see is fog and more fog. The few times he gets the impressions of shadows flitting past makes a muscle in his jaw tighten.
The other Tributes are still out there. And according to some of the footage he’s seen of the past Arenas – he wishes he hadn’t – any of them could easily take out his wife.
Alex moves to stand between Clara and the window. As creepy, uncomfortable and plain weird as this suit is, the one thing going for it is that it’s built like a tank.