While she was a city girl, she wouldn't have minded a quiet life on the moors with a white picket fence and a couple of brats running about... Okay, so the kids could come way later when she was more mature but the cute house and pure freedom? That was always a nice fantasy.
Her eyes fell on Cathair and there was a darkness to them... Like a horrible storm just waiting for the first wave of thunder so the whole thing could explode. She pulled at the neck of her shirt and brought it down in a rather painful sort of way so the scar tissue from the bullet wound was visible... It was small but it was very clearly there, <"I don't have to put myself in your shoes. Had quite enough of the view from this side.">
Except that she didn't really remember it. There'd been a lot of beeping and a lot of blurry whiteness. Murmurs and words she couldn't remember, voices she recognized and voices she didn't. None of them had been very soothing outside of Cathair's.
<"They will care. They'll be a mob. We'll be the first they accuse and then when it all bubbles over it will be many against two. And I've not got a Gatling gun."> Not that she ever had one but damn did she always want one. <"Bloody stupid bastards...">
When she turned her head to look at Cathair again, it became clear why she had been hiding her face - there were tears. She couldn't hold them in but she managed not to sob outright. <"I hate you so much, Cathair Delaney,"> which was kind of like saying she loved him because if she really hated him, she'd have killed him ages ago.