Re: The Lieutenant/The Daughter
His mom wouldn't tell him anything. She hadn't said much for a long time. She talked, but talking wasn't the same as saying much. He didn't think of her unless he needed to. His ex-girl had helped out with her a lot. His patience was thin with her, and his dad hadn't been a thing for years. He sent money home every month, paid the bills and bought the booze, and he considered himself a good son in the balance. He didn't blame her. Dad had died messy and she'd loved him, but the soldier's patience wasn't endless. He'd grown up and moved out and he'd been glad to get away from her cloying grip.
He wasn't really thinking about his mom as he stood there. He was thinking about what was happening, about what needed to happen. He was thinking about this girl and the fact that she'd read him on sight. He was thinking about the fact that people had gone missing and the train was going to be swarming with people looking for people. People looking for people could find things they shouldn't find, and that was where he came in. It was where she came in, too, actually. No one would think anything of two people of opposite genders in the dark somewhere. It might even keep them from looking too hard.
It didn't occur to him she might be afraid. For all of her fluffy skirts and curling hair, she didn't seem the type to simper and cower. Call that intuition or instinct, or maybe just chalk it up to the same thing that was making him feel weird while he stood there. But she opened the door and he was grateful. He took one step to follow, swallowed a mouthful of whatever she called that hairdo, and then she was stumbling and his hand was back on her hip. "Careful." He closed the door behind himself.