[ marta knows it's an unfair question the moment she asks it; the look in his eyes when they meet hers is just a punctuation on a very condemning sentence. she honestly regrets asking, and she very nearly takes it back, laughs it off, only holding off with the knowledge that doing so would only make the situation more awkward than it had started. kovacs has nothing to answer for, and marta has no business asking.
she half-hopes he tells her as much, but what he does end up saying winds up feeling far, far worse.
marta had never been very good at guarding her emotions. what you see is what you get, and no amount of working by his side for two months has done anything to teach it out of her. so he's privy to the way her expression shutters, lashes fluttering against an invisible blow that leaves her standing shock-still, breathless.
jesus christ, she thinks to herself, a distant, shameful voice. get a hold of yourself. ]
no subject
she half-hopes he tells her as much, but what he does end up saying winds up feeling far, far worse.
marta had never been very good at guarding her emotions. what you see is what you get, and no amount of working by his side for two months has done anything to teach it out of her. so he's privy to the way her expression shutters, lashes fluttering against an invisible blow that leaves her standing shock-still, breathless.
jesus christ, she thinks to herself, a distant, shameful voice. get a hold of yourself. ]
Sure.
[ she can't dread losing what she's never had. ]
Here?