That tease is heard, and answered by another flare of red that she might miss as he turns his face away from her completely, nearly cross-eyed at this point and cursing his inability to say almost anything to this young woman that doesn't wind up half-twisted in ways he doesn't mean it to be. Whether it comes out sounding like some demented innuendo or just that he's a braindead lummox, Clint doesn't like the way that he keeps making an idiot of himself. He unfortunately has a tendency of doing that around cute girls - most of them don't take it as well as Laura is, which is a small comfort, but still. Not what he's going for at all.
But then she changes the subject, or reverts it back to a previous topic, and that's just as bad in a different way because he doesn't really want to talk about it. There's too much shit and even trauma tangled up in why he left the armed forces for him to be comfortable talking about it, even in this town where people are generally very welcoming of soldiers, grateful for their sacrifices and the risks they take every day. But it's a town where they don't really seem to know how to deal with injuries fighting can cause, especially if they're not an "obvious" injury like a missing limb. And the darkness that lurks in the mind... forget it. It's barely even something soldiers talk to among themselves, let alone anyone else, despite recent movements in psychiatric fields that are showing it's just as much of an injury as anything that leaves a scar. People don't want to believe their heroes can break.
"There was a grenade," he says, picking up his prybar and starting to remove the molding around the window carefully, the very short nails easily popping out of the wall. It gives him something to do that doesn't involve looking at her, because he doesn't want to see the look on her face when he tells her that he's damaged, that pity and uncertainty of what do I do with this now that he's seen a lot in the last three years. He's also not about to tell her nearly everything, and though he can easily keep a straight face, it's always easier to change a topic when you're not looking a person directly in the eye. "It got me and Derek - one of my groupmates. He could go back, I couldn't. Got somewhere you want these?" he asks, the first strip of molding coming loose in his hand.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2017-12-14 10:19 pm (UTC)But then she changes the subject, or reverts it back to a previous topic, and that's just as bad in a different way because he doesn't really want to talk about it. There's too much shit and even trauma tangled up in why he left the armed forces for him to be comfortable talking about it, even in this town where people are generally very welcoming of soldiers, grateful for their sacrifices and the risks they take every day. But it's a town where they don't really seem to know how to deal with injuries fighting can cause, especially if they're not an "obvious" injury like a missing limb. And the darkness that lurks in the mind... forget it. It's barely even something soldiers talk to among themselves, let alone anyone else, despite recent movements in psychiatric fields that are showing it's just as much of an injury as anything that leaves a scar. People don't want to believe their heroes can break.
"There was a grenade," he says, picking up his prybar and starting to remove the molding around the window carefully, the very short nails easily popping out of the wall. It gives him something to do that doesn't involve looking at her, because he doesn't want to see the look on her face when he tells her that he's damaged, that pity and uncertainty of what do I do with this now that he's seen a lot in the last three years. He's also not about to tell her nearly everything, and though he can easily keep a straight face, it's always easier to change a topic when you're not looking a person directly in the eye. "It got me and Derek - one of my groupmates. He could go back, I couldn't. Got somewhere you want these?" he asks, the first strip of molding coming loose in his hand.