Re: B&B: Cat & Jack
"Oh? I never learned that lesson." Cat was comprised of scars and falls, but she was different than the man sharing the ill-memoried room with her. She couldn't imagine him taking blind runs on rooftops, and she couldn't imagine him pouring his soul out to a stranger, and Cat thrived off doing both of those things. These days, she was more guarded, but she still loved the thought of it, of the abandon that came with that rush of adrenaline. She had a place in the Capital to indulge in that desire, and she was doing it more and more frequently lately. And, too, she was hoping her new military existence would inject a fair amount of danger back into her life. At her age, she was finally willing to admit she was adrift without it. As much as she enjoyed small-town socialization, there was a part of her that itched for a cowl and claws.
"Loving another person is weakness, it's risk, and it's not the kind of risk I'm interested in any longer." She wasn't just saying words; she meant it. Spend twenty years pining? And you got tired of that particular sliver. "Why didn't you have children?" Oh, not that children didn't bring their own heartache, and Cat knew that better than most. But it was a different kind of love, too, in her experience. "Careers." She scoffed. "You can't love a career, Jack. It won't ever love you back."
She chuckled when he asked what she was risking, and she watched his absent affection toward Bukowski. Her smile, in that moment, when he turned and returned with the blini, was honest. Warm and lush, a lift of lips and eyes crinkled at the corners. "Are you running from the law? That's one thing. But running from yourself?" She tsked. "Never works." She picked up a blini with her fingers, every inch the guttersnipe. "I think you let the poetry speak for you. That's my opinion."