Re: Shiloh & Kit: the B&B sitting room
Shiloh could acknowledge that Kit was telling him the truth now, about the mentor, the lab. He'd heard about the facility that no one knew about, because things no one knew about were always the most talked about things. There was truth, he thought, in what Kit was saying. But what did he know? He'd believed lies his entire life, and he'd thought himself much too wise and observant to be lied to. It had turned out to be hysterical, really, his certainty, and while he thought there was truth to what Kit said, he knew better than to trust his own judgement.
He stood there, now, angry and the vein in his neck throbbing, and his angular jaw taut as he grit teeth that were perfect-dental white.
Another betrayal, another friend who'd led him wrong, another secret; he was growing intensely angered by what he perceived as machination.
His hands closed on the back of the chair, both of them closing around it, and he leaned forward slightly. Perhaps like this, it was obvious that he was still having some neurological problems; his fingers shook on the chair's back, and he had trouble maintaining the more challenging posture. His center of gravity was thrown, but he did not straighten. "He owns the tech store," he said of Mal. "Though why, I have no fucking idea, since no one here employs his services. So perhaps go speak to him, meet him, ask him about his false hand and how it came to be. Offer him your services. Poke into someone else's life. I have need of neither of you."
He pushed away from the chair, and the chair's legs clattered on the floor. "I don't your help," he reiterated. It was a lie, of course, and he did need the medicine Mal provided, but fuck this. Another person trusted, another betrayal, and Mal joined Father in the list of the wronged. He didn't care why Mal contacted Kit. He cared about none of it now, in this moment and in this mood. And he was aware that he'd just betrayed Mal, but he'd done the same to Chris and Mickey once. Shiloh, the scorpion, strikes again.
"Good day, Kit." And unsteady, but chin high, he turned and fucking departed.