Maeve
If she knew where Jata's thoughts were at, she would have told him that they hadn't been together officially all that time ago. That her nights with the Flood were while she was unattached, but she's not aware of this misunderstanding. The Madame doesn't know of this internal debate, too lost in her own emotions to see him wrestling with it, letting his words die instead of voicing them.
She knows he's likely right. That she can't fix things herself. That Locke likely needs to figure it out himself. That while she has her things worked out it doesn't mean that he does. Maeve sniffles, nodding sadly, hating the way it all twists in her belly into a nasty knot that she doesn't know how to untangle. What she isn't expecting is for Sunjata to suddenly reach forward, tugging her gently into his embrace, letting her curl against his chest. Maeve makes herself small, dropping her head against his shoulder, nuzzling there lightly as she lets the familiarity of it all soothe her. He's solid and warm against her and for the first time she breathes a little easier.
"Maybe." Maeve murmurs, voice rough and hoarse from crying, barely above a whisper as she draws in a shaky breath. She has more she wants to say, but she can't bring herself to voice anything else, instead simply taking comfort in his arms.
She knows he's likely right. That she can't fix things herself. That Locke likely needs to figure it out himself. That while she has her things worked out it doesn't mean that he does. Maeve sniffles, nodding sadly, hating the way it all twists in her belly into a nasty knot that she doesn't know how to untangle. What she isn't expecting is for Sunjata to suddenly reach forward, tugging her gently into his embrace, letting her curl against his chest. Maeve makes herself small, dropping her head against his shoulder, nuzzling there lightly as she lets the familiarity of it all soothe her. He's solid and warm against her and for the first time she breathes a little easier.
"Maybe." Maeve murmurs, voice rough and hoarse from crying, barely above a whisper as she draws in a shaky breath. She has more she wants to say, but she can't bring herself to voice anything else, instead simply taking comfort in his arms.
NO ONE WANTS YOU WHEN YOU HAVE NO HEART
AND I’M SITTING PRETTY IN MY BRAND NEW SCARS
AND I’M SITTING PRETTY IN MY BRAND NEW SCARS
