A Different Way to Be: Chapter 3
Title: A Different Way to Be
Author: Zippy88
Fandom: Lost
Pairing: Kate/Juliet
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Don't own anything
Spoilers: A little from season 3
Chapter 3: Rebels of the Rebel Scene
Your head is still revolving madly around the first encounter that you’ve had with the woman who’s consumed so much of my time in the last few weeks, as you make your way silently back to the small room you had left over an hour ago. There isn’t that awful hum echoing through the whole station, and when you approach closer to the metal door you realise with a soft smile that she’s given up on the idea of kicking the solid glass partition.
The scraping screech fills your ear drums, smashing viciously against them when the heaviness of the door finally yields. You juggle carefully the tray in your hands that holds a small plate of food and a simple bottle of water. Your eyes are deep in their search for the wild curls of her dark hair, but for a moment you’re sure that she is no longer in that room where you had left her. A tightening breath struggles in your throat and thrashes out at your parched lungs, until you finally catch a glimpse of her shrunken form behind the large, metal table, and you’re once again able to please your lungs with a fresh new breath.
You pause for a moment with a narrow frown painting itself across your forehead, dripping its concern like delicate drops of pain from your brow. She’s different to how you had left her. The determined energy that had gripped her whole demeanour before is completely ripped from her now. Her slumped figure is curled into a protective ball, hiding cleverly behind the table. Suddenly you grow regretful for making her stop her futile aims of rage at the glass. At least you could see her vent some sort of emotion, to know that she was the person in the file that you had read so much about. But this woman before you now doesn’t match any of the descriptions that present themselves inside that file. This is new and you don’t how to deal with this side of her.
Nervously you lick at your bottom lip, as you place the tray down onto the table next to you in your part of the room. Twisting one of the switches on the control panel that sits on its metal frame, you now know that she can hear you clearly when you next chose to spoke. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself for whatever would come next. “I have some food for you,” you say loud enough for the microphone to pick up your voice without trying to sound hostile. The irony of it makes you swallow down on a silent laugh. You’re already the hostile to her.
She doesn’t look at you. In fact she doesn’t do anything. She remains in her stillness that she’s created around herself. Your teeth play slowly at the insides of your lips nervously, as you try to contemplate on what to say next. “Can I trust you not to do anything while I bring in your food?” Again she’s blank. There isn’t even a flicker of acknowledgement in her eyes that she’s even heard what you’ve just said. You take it as a good enough answer. She’s not going to say anything more, no matter how long you stand there and ask, so you slowly pick up the tray and head towards the door.
The hovering nerves have come back to you, grasping at every inch of your hands and making them shake noticeably. This time there would be no glass. She would be before you without any sort of protection. Would you need the protection? She’s a murderer though, you remember quickly, and you swallow harshly at the galvanised fear that’s strengthened inside you.
Slowly the door opens with a similar squeal of friction between the joints, and you carefully make your way inside. You can see her much clearly now that you can see past the table. She’s still slouched against the wall, the back of her head teasing you into wanting to know what her eyes are saying, if they are saying anything at all. You place the tray down softly onto the metal table, grimacing slightly at the seemingly still loud twang as they hit each other.
You know you shouldn’t linger around any longer than you need to. Ben instructed you very strictly about that and you know he’s watching you from the monitoring room just down the hallway. But the complete stillness of her enthrals you to the point where your feet just don’t move. It’s now that you have the silent opportunity to study her calm figure. Her arms are wrapped around her across her stomach, her back is half pressed up against the wall and slightly turned away from you at the same time. Her pale trousers are pulled tight under her bent legs from where she’s tucking them under her. You’re amazed at how comfortable she looks in such an awkward and painful position.
“Juliet.” You reluctantly turn around, frustrated at being denied this one chance of being able to scrutinise her in person without her even acknowledging you doing so. You raise your eyes at Ben while you draw out a quiet sigh and he gestures quickly with his head that you’re to follow him instantly without question. To avoid any embarrassment on your part, you do as he says, not because you want to, but because you don’t want her to see the way he talks to you.
The door slams shut and the weighty bolt is replaced back to secure it. “We’re going to move her,” he says in a low but concrete voice. You feel your brow fall downwards slightly in confusion. “Why?” you ask, tilting your head to your right side a little. “Because we need her with Ford now,” he speaks simply, “and Shepherd will be moved into here.” There’s still a frown that tugs at your eyebrows, but not because you’re confused about the situation, it’s because he’s mentioned Ford.
Ben’s already informed you of the reasons surrounding the capture of these three people. But it still somehow startles you to know that she’s got some sort of feelings for both of the men that are being held prisoner. Something turns in the bottom of your stomach, a sort of disappointment that she won’t be kept on her own for you to visit just her. You don’t know why it’s there, why it’s taunting you so with its devilish thoughts of not being able to see her alone.
“But it’s too soon,” your desperate words spill out before you have a chance to think, and you can see that it catches him off guard because his eyes widen slightly. You rush yourself to cover up your brazen mistake. “I thought you wanted to keep them separate until they grew desperate,” you copy his words that he told you days before the capture of them, hoping that it convinces him.
You watch him warily as he lifts his head slowly to the right with an air of thought surrounding him. “And you don’t think that’s now?” he finally asks, his faint eyebrows rise up slowly. You narrow your eyes a little at his clearly irritated tone, before you dare to answer him truthfully, “no, I don’t.” He draws in a deep breath through his nose, as he glances away from you, and you know he’s meticulously thinking about what you’ve said. “And what makes you say that?” he stares back at you with a new intensity burning in his widened eyes. “Because she no longer asks for them,” you automatically say without having to stop and ponder too much. You know now how to play his game. His eyes soften slightly in the dim orange glow of the hallway; his head lifts slowly before falling again while his mouth makes no sound just a gentle shape of an O. “And how do you suppose we make her start asking for them?” he smiles contently at himself, as his words tumble out with an air of knowingness. It pains you to say it, but it’s the only way you know to stall his major plans for the brunette. The harrowing guilt is already sliding up your throat as you let the words leave your mouth with a strong determination. “You’d keep them isolated,” you make sure that you use only his proclaimed pronoun; you don’t want to include yourself in this awful mess, even though you’re sinking deeper with every moment. “Then you’d push them until they asked for their friends,” you continue as strongly as you can, “then you can move them.”
For a moment you think he’s only allowing you this one chance to question his decision because he knows he’s going to cut you down and embarrass you, but to your surprise he nods his head and speaks the word you never thought you’d hear him say, “okay”. He must see your bewilderment at his minimal answer because he gives a coy smile at you, “this is part of the reason why I chose you for this project, Juliet.” You’re at a lost for words, you hadn’t expected him to agree with you, quite the contrary; you had been expecting to challenge him with a full argument. “You can deal with Austen for the time being,” he added. You nod absentmindedly, not fully taking in the whole situation. You have full control over her case; you’re the one who’s responsible for her, but why? Has he guessed? “You can make her talk,” he concludes your thoughts, obviously seeing the questions form in your expression, “just make sure you get results, Juliet.”
You don’t waste anymore time in speaking to Ben, in fear that he might change his decision in a cruel turn of events, you rush towards the door to the room opposite her holding cell with a vigorous stride. The clang of metal as the door opens barely touches your ears this time, you’re too eager to see her to care. But your eyes fall with disappointment to see her still sat in the same position as you had left her only minutes before. The lightly grilled sandwich still sits untouched on the plate and the screw top on the bottle of water remains unbroken.
“Kate,” you try softly, hoping that her name would catch her attention, but it doesn’t, she stays lifeless behind the disguise of the table. You breathe in quickly, steadying yourself, “you need to eat.” There isn’t a single murmur that filters in through the glass barrier, and you begin to wish that she would just stand up and start kicking it violently again. You find yourself actually missing the rebellious streak in her nature.
You can only assume that Ben is still in his little monitoring room just down the hallway, his widened eyes are probably soaking in every detail of your failing attempt to entice a reaction for the brunette. A small shudder pulls at your shoulders at the very thought of it. You can feel the wandering nerves still vividly mounting themselves within your veins; they’re fighting to spill out of you and betray the frosted expression that you’ve managed to keep rooted to your face.
“You must be hungry,” you surmise, hoping that she would finally give up the relentless fight of not eating anything. You’re well aware of the lasting effects of the small sedative that she had been given, only having to remember back to the day that you climbed out of the submarine. At first the hunger won’t seem to matter to her, but you know that the dyer thirst will come with vengeance quicker than she will expect it to.
“It’s really not that bad of a sandwich,” you try to smile with some conviction, but it must look ridiculous through the coldness of your stare. You’re completely astonished that she’s remained within her cocoon of stillness for so long. You’re left staggering through your awe at her resilient cleverness. First she had tried to cause as much noise and as much nuisance as she possibly could; now she’s reverted back to the exact opposite into a bleak silence, hoping that this will somehow break down your defensives. It’s working. It’s the blankness of the silence that instils the fear inside you, the unknown thoughts that are flying through her head without any outward signs to warn you, to prepare you. There’s nothing.
There’s only one more attempt that you know of to try to coax her around to wanting the food, but you know it’s useless; she’s playing a stronger game than you are. “Please eat something, Kate,” you finally plead softly, “you’ve had a rather large dosage of sedative, and it’s making you dehydrated, and if you don’t eat or drink something soon -“ Your words suddenly trail off abruptly, as you watch her move slowly from her position on the floor.
You attentively hold your breath, slightly startled that it’s working and that you’ve gotten her to see sense in eating. You lift your mouth a little into a sliver of a smile at being pleased at your accomplishment. It hastily disappears back behind the frozen mask that you’ve perfected, as you watch her incredibly slow and stiffened movements. She even looses her balance for a moment, before she regains it with a renewed determination.
She hovers over the table, her hands sit palms down onto the metal either side of the tray and her sleek arms are visible due to the sleeveless blue top that she wears. Her head is carefully lowered, her eyes studying the tray with its tempting contents. She’s easy to read again, you know she’s thinking that she’s lost now that she’s accepting the food. If only you could tell her that she isn’t loosing anything that she doesn’t have to be on a specific side. But you can’t, not while Ben is listening.
Her head slowly lifts up slightly, as she allows her weight to rest on the strength of her arms. You feel a tiny fraction of your lips curl upwards again, but the thin line of your mouth tightens in the middle when you see the dangerous threat emanating from her eyes. She holds a deathly cold stare with you and as much as you try to defend your own tricks of intimidation, the nerves are rattling against your bones.
Somehow you manage to maintain your blank expression while you watch her take a part of the cut sandwich in between her fingers slowly. She raises it closer towards her mouth with a weakened hand and you finally feel satisfied that she’s going to replenish the energy that she lost through her act of disobedience, as well as the sedative that had been pumped into her. Your attention is trapped inside her pupils when her hand steadies and comes to a pause just below her mouth, with a crook of a smile appearing in the right hand corner of it.
You flick your head a margin to the right and back again in a silent question to why she’s delaying herself the sanctuary of food. Her arm flies faster through the air than you’re ready for, and before you’re properly aware of what’s happened, the sandwich is sliding gradually down the pane of glass that borders the centre of the room. Your mouth gaps open a fraction in bewilderment, as your eyes are drawn to the sticky mark that’s trailing behind the falling sandwich. You look past its greasy stains at her fiery eyes alive with a satisfied defiance.
Your mind falls into a numbed blankness not knowing at all what you’re supposed to do now. Before you’ve even got a chance to gather any words, you hear the deafening clatter as the white plate makes impact with the glass at the opposite end, allowing more of the sandwich to slip down its clear façade. There’s only a fraction of it that’s free from any slimy streaks, and behind it you can see her jubilant, smug smirk.
You realise that your mouth is still ajar, probably feeding her rebellious appetite even more, so you quickly close it and clench your jaw tightly in a self-assured response. Her daring smirk strengthens as she grabs the water bottle with the vivid black and white logo of the Dharma Initiative wrapped perfectly around it. You narrow your eyes in a mute threat to warn her away from what she’s about to do, knowing full well that your words are useless at this stage. She takes it as a challenge, and rising to it she twists off the unbroken seal and tosses it aside, before trusting the opened bottle at the section of glass unmarked in the centre from sandwich traces.
It smashes predictably with a loud thud before it falls immediately to the floor, creating another muffled thud. The spray of water has spilled out with such force that it’s now raining down the clear barrier, distorting her figure into just a blur of colours. You draw a deep breath of frustration in now that you’re hidden behind the droplet stained window and she can’t see you. But as much as you know Ben will reprimand you for allowing such audacious, childish behaviour, you can’t help but steal a little smile for yourself at the relieved sense that fills you knowing that she is still prepared to fight and that the rebel is still very much at the rebel scene.
Author: Zippy88
Fandom: Lost
Pairing: Kate/Juliet
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Don't own anything
Spoilers: A little from season 3
Chapter 3: Rebels of the Rebel Scene
Your head is still revolving madly around the first encounter that you’ve had with the woman who’s consumed so much of my time in the last few weeks, as you make your way silently back to the small room you had left over an hour ago. There isn’t that awful hum echoing through the whole station, and when you approach closer to the metal door you realise with a soft smile that she’s given up on the idea of kicking the solid glass partition.
The scraping screech fills your ear drums, smashing viciously against them when the heaviness of the door finally yields. You juggle carefully the tray in your hands that holds a small plate of food and a simple bottle of water. Your eyes are deep in their search for the wild curls of her dark hair, but for a moment you’re sure that she is no longer in that room where you had left her. A tightening breath struggles in your throat and thrashes out at your parched lungs, until you finally catch a glimpse of her shrunken form behind the large, metal table, and you’re once again able to please your lungs with a fresh new breath.
You pause for a moment with a narrow frown painting itself across your forehead, dripping its concern like delicate drops of pain from your brow. She’s different to how you had left her. The determined energy that had gripped her whole demeanour before is completely ripped from her now. Her slumped figure is curled into a protective ball, hiding cleverly behind the table. Suddenly you grow regretful for making her stop her futile aims of rage at the glass. At least you could see her vent some sort of emotion, to know that she was the person in the file that you had read so much about. But this woman before you now doesn’t match any of the descriptions that present themselves inside that file. This is new and you don’t how to deal with this side of her.
Nervously you lick at your bottom lip, as you place the tray down onto the table next to you in your part of the room. Twisting one of the switches on the control panel that sits on its metal frame, you now know that she can hear you clearly when you next chose to spoke. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself for whatever would come next. “I have some food for you,” you say loud enough for the microphone to pick up your voice without trying to sound hostile. The irony of it makes you swallow down on a silent laugh. You’re already the hostile to her.
She doesn’t look at you. In fact she doesn’t do anything. She remains in her stillness that she’s created around herself. Your teeth play slowly at the insides of your lips nervously, as you try to contemplate on what to say next. “Can I trust you not to do anything while I bring in your food?” Again she’s blank. There isn’t even a flicker of acknowledgement in her eyes that she’s even heard what you’ve just said. You take it as a good enough answer. She’s not going to say anything more, no matter how long you stand there and ask, so you slowly pick up the tray and head towards the door.
The hovering nerves have come back to you, grasping at every inch of your hands and making them shake noticeably. This time there would be no glass. She would be before you without any sort of protection. Would you need the protection? She’s a murderer though, you remember quickly, and you swallow harshly at the galvanised fear that’s strengthened inside you.
Slowly the door opens with a similar squeal of friction between the joints, and you carefully make your way inside. You can see her much clearly now that you can see past the table. She’s still slouched against the wall, the back of her head teasing you into wanting to know what her eyes are saying, if they are saying anything at all. You place the tray down softly onto the metal table, grimacing slightly at the seemingly still loud twang as they hit each other.
You know you shouldn’t linger around any longer than you need to. Ben instructed you very strictly about that and you know he’s watching you from the monitoring room just down the hallway. But the complete stillness of her enthrals you to the point where your feet just don’t move. It’s now that you have the silent opportunity to study her calm figure. Her arms are wrapped around her across her stomach, her back is half pressed up against the wall and slightly turned away from you at the same time. Her pale trousers are pulled tight under her bent legs from where she’s tucking them under her. You’re amazed at how comfortable she looks in such an awkward and painful position.
“Juliet.” You reluctantly turn around, frustrated at being denied this one chance of being able to scrutinise her in person without her even acknowledging you doing so. You raise your eyes at Ben while you draw out a quiet sigh and he gestures quickly with his head that you’re to follow him instantly without question. To avoid any embarrassment on your part, you do as he says, not because you want to, but because you don’t want her to see the way he talks to you.
The door slams shut and the weighty bolt is replaced back to secure it. “We’re going to move her,” he says in a low but concrete voice. You feel your brow fall downwards slightly in confusion. “Why?” you ask, tilting your head to your right side a little. “Because we need her with Ford now,” he speaks simply, “and Shepherd will be moved into here.” There’s still a frown that tugs at your eyebrows, but not because you’re confused about the situation, it’s because he’s mentioned Ford.
Ben’s already informed you of the reasons surrounding the capture of these three people. But it still somehow startles you to know that she’s got some sort of feelings for both of the men that are being held prisoner. Something turns in the bottom of your stomach, a sort of disappointment that she won’t be kept on her own for you to visit just her. You don’t know why it’s there, why it’s taunting you so with its devilish thoughts of not being able to see her alone.
“But it’s too soon,” your desperate words spill out before you have a chance to think, and you can see that it catches him off guard because his eyes widen slightly. You rush yourself to cover up your brazen mistake. “I thought you wanted to keep them separate until they grew desperate,” you copy his words that he told you days before the capture of them, hoping that it convinces him.
You watch him warily as he lifts his head slowly to the right with an air of thought surrounding him. “And you don’t think that’s now?” he finally asks, his faint eyebrows rise up slowly. You narrow your eyes a little at his clearly irritated tone, before you dare to answer him truthfully, “no, I don’t.” He draws in a deep breath through his nose, as he glances away from you, and you know he’s meticulously thinking about what you’ve said. “And what makes you say that?” he stares back at you with a new intensity burning in his widened eyes. “Because she no longer asks for them,” you automatically say without having to stop and ponder too much. You know now how to play his game. His eyes soften slightly in the dim orange glow of the hallway; his head lifts slowly before falling again while his mouth makes no sound just a gentle shape of an O. “And how do you suppose we make her start asking for them?” he smiles contently at himself, as his words tumble out with an air of knowingness. It pains you to say it, but it’s the only way you know to stall his major plans for the brunette. The harrowing guilt is already sliding up your throat as you let the words leave your mouth with a strong determination. “You’d keep them isolated,” you make sure that you use only his proclaimed pronoun; you don’t want to include yourself in this awful mess, even though you’re sinking deeper with every moment. “Then you’d push them until they asked for their friends,” you continue as strongly as you can, “then you can move them.”
For a moment you think he’s only allowing you this one chance to question his decision because he knows he’s going to cut you down and embarrass you, but to your surprise he nods his head and speaks the word you never thought you’d hear him say, “okay”. He must see your bewilderment at his minimal answer because he gives a coy smile at you, “this is part of the reason why I chose you for this project, Juliet.” You’re at a lost for words, you hadn’t expected him to agree with you, quite the contrary; you had been expecting to challenge him with a full argument. “You can deal with Austen for the time being,” he added. You nod absentmindedly, not fully taking in the whole situation. You have full control over her case; you’re the one who’s responsible for her, but why? Has he guessed? “You can make her talk,” he concludes your thoughts, obviously seeing the questions form in your expression, “just make sure you get results, Juliet.”
You don’t waste anymore time in speaking to Ben, in fear that he might change his decision in a cruel turn of events, you rush towards the door to the room opposite her holding cell with a vigorous stride. The clang of metal as the door opens barely touches your ears this time, you’re too eager to see her to care. But your eyes fall with disappointment to see her still sat in the same position as you had left her only minutes before. The lightly grilled sandwich still sits untouched on the plate and the screw top on the bottle of water remains unbroken.
“Kate,” you try softly, hoping that her name would catch her attention, but it doesn’t, she stays lifeless behind the disguise of the table. You breathe in quickly, steadying yourself, “you need to eat.” There isn’t a single murmur that filters in through the glass barrier, and you begin to wish that she would just stand up and start kicking it violently again. You find yourself actually missing the rebellious streak in her nature.
You can only assume that Ben is still in his little monitoring room just down the hallway, his widened eyes are probably soaking in every detail of your failing attempt to entice a reaction for the brunette. A small shudder pulls at your shoulders at the very thought of it. You can feel the wandering nerves still vividly mounting themselves within your veins; they’re fighting to spill out of you and betray the frosted expression that you’ve managed to keep rooted to your face.
“You must be hungry,” you surmise, hoping that she would finally give up the relentless fight of not eating anything. You’re well aware of the lasting effects of the small sedative that she had been given, only having to remember back to the day that you climbed out of the submarine. At first the hunger won’t seem to matter to her, but you know that the dyer thirst will come with vengeance quicker than she will expect it to.
“It’s really not that bad of a sandwich,” you try to smile with some conviction, but it must look ridiculous through the coldness of your stare. You’re completely astonished that she’s remained within her cocoon of stillness for so long. You’re left staggering through your awe at her resilient cleverness. First she had tried to cause as much noise and as much nuisance as she possibly could; now she’s reverted back to the exact opposite into a bleak silence, hoping that this will somehow break down your defensives. It’s working. It’s the blankness of the silence that instils the fear inside you, the unknown thoughts that are flying through her head without any outward signs to warn you, to prepare you. There’s nothing.
There’s only one more attempt that you know of to try to coax her around to wanting the food, but you know it’s useless; she’s playing a stronger game than you are. “Please eat something, Kate,” you finally plead softly, “you’ve had a rather large dosage of sedative, and it’s making you dehydrated, and if you don’t eat or drink something soon -“ Your words suddenly trail off abruptly, as you watch her move slowly from her position on the floor.
You attentively hold your breath, slightly startled that it’s working and that you’ve gotten her to see sense in eating. You lift your mouth a little into a sliver of a smile at being pleased at your accomplishment. It hastily disappears back behind the frozen mask that you’ve perfected, as you watch her incredibly slow and stiffened movements. She even looses her balance for a moment, before she regains it with a renewed determination.
She hovers over the table, her hands sit palms down onto the metal either side of the tray and her sleek arms are visible due to the sleeveless blue top that she wears. Her head is carefully lowered, her eyes studying the tray with its tempting contents. She’s easy to read again, you know she’s thinking that she’s lost now that she’s accepting the food. If only you could tell her that she isn’t loosing anything that she doesn’t have to be on a specific side. But you can’t, not while Ben is listening.
Her head slowly lifts up slightly, as she allows her weight to rest on the strength of her arms. You feel a tiny fraction of your lips curl upwards again, but the thin line of your mouth tightens in the middle when you see the dangerous threat emanating from her eyes. She holds a deathly cold stare with you and as much as you try to defend your own tricks of intimidation, the nerves are rattling against your bones.
Somehow you manage to maintain your blank expression while you watch her take a part of the cut sandwich in between her fingers slowly. She raises it closer towards her mouth with a weakened hand and you finally feel satisfied that she’s going to replenish the energy that she lost through her act of disobedience, as well as the sedative that had been pumped into her. Your attention is trapped inside her pupils when her hand steadies and comes to a pause just below her mouth, with a crook of a smile appearing in the right hand corner of it.
You flick your head a margin to the right and back again in a silent question to why she’s delaying herself the sanctuary of food. Her arm flies faster through the air than you’re ready for, and before you’re properly aware of what’s happened, the sandwich is sliding gradually down the pane of glass that borders the centre of the room. Your mouth gaps open a fraction in bewilderment, as your eyes are drawn to the sticky mark that’s trailing behind the falling sandwich. You look past its greasy stains at her fiery eyes alive with a satisfied defiance.
Your mind falls into a numbed blankness not knowing at all what you’re supposed to do now. Before you’ve even got a chance to gather any words, you hear the deafening clatter as the white plate makes impact with the glass at the opposite end, allowing more of the sandwich to slip down its clear façade. There’s only a fraction of it that’s free from any slimy streaks, and behind it you can see her jubilant, smug smirk.
You realise that your mouth is still ajar, probably feeding her rebellious appetite even more, so you quickly close it and clench your jaw tightly in a self-assured response. Her daring smirk strengthens as she grabs the water bottle with the vivid black and white logo of the Dharma Initiative wrapped perfectly around it. You narrow your eyes in a mute threat to warn her away from what she’s about to do, knowing full well that your words are useless at this stage. She takes it as a challenge, and rising to it she twists off the unbroken seal and tosses it aside, before trusting the opened bottle at the section of glass unmarked in the centre from sandwich traces.
It smashes predictably with a loud thud before it falls immediately to the floor, creating another muffled thud. The spray of water has spilled out with such force that it’s now raining down the clear barrier, distorting her figure into just a blur of colours. You draw a deep breath of frustration in now that you’re hidden behind the droplet stained window and she can’t see you. But as much as you know Ben will reprimand you for allowing such audacious, childish behaviour, you can’t help but steal a little smile for yourself at the relieved sense that fills you knowing that she is still prepared to fight and that the rebel is still very much at the rebel scene.