(no subject)
It's what he does. Out on the raggedy edge, they take what work they can and they do it as well as they're able and, somehow, they get by. They move on. Stay free. Still, before ever job, he gets this flicker of trepedation. Because they are all so very, very human and that makes them so fragile. And he's seen what happens to fragile, out on the edge.
He sits. He takes his gun apart with practised ease. And he cleans it.
It's not love. Not anything approaching love.
He takes care.
He sits. He takes his gun apart with practised ease. And he cleans it.
It's not love. Not anything approaching love.
He takes care.