[Of course they're staying together. He'd been prepared to leave Mikasa and Armin behind if it meant keeping them safe. It isn't the same, here, there is no relative safety of the walls, no enemy as straightforward as a firing squad. All he can do is try to keep them close and keep them safe, himself. With his own hands, if he has to. (But even that is at the whim of their captors, in the end.)
He takes her by the shoulder, as if to push her out of the way, but he never actually gets around to doing anything of the sort.]
I won't—
[Won't what? Hide in here while those things get away? Let anything (anyone) take her from him? Those are easy claims to make. The how is much harder, sheer force of will only gets him so far. He doesn't have a good answer to any of that.
He hasn't backed off. He doesn't advance, either. Stuck in a useless and frustrated place between cowed and combative. Stiff and straight-backed and breathing sharply, teeth and fists clenched, spare inches away from her. Head bowed, eyes falling from staring her down to searching the darkness outside, visible over the hollow of her shoulder. Those harpy things had killed Sasha because he couldn't stop them. The CDC had taken Isabel away and reassigned her somewhere else before they even knew she was gone. There are people out there who are dead and they won't even know who they are or what had killed them until it's clear and light enough to count the bodies. There is little that he hates (and fears) more than feeling (being) helpless.
His jaw claps shut as something thuds against the hull of the rover again, one last time. His fingers on her shoulder draw tight. But already the uproar outside is tipping from attack to aftermath. It only takes so long to send a message like this one. The occasional sick slap of gore on the snow has slowed, the sound of something swooping by overhead is fading. They're too late and too little, and he hates it.]
I only have so many Mikasa icons???
He takes her by the shoulder, as if to push her out of the way, but he never actually gets around to doing anything of the sort.]
I won't—
[Won't what? Hide in here while those things get away? Let anything (anyone) take her from him? Those are easy claims to make. The how is much harder, sheer force of will only gets him so far. He doesn't have a good answer to any of that.
He hasn't backed off. He doesn't advance, either. Stuck in a useless and frustrated place between cowed and combative. Stiff and straight-backed and breathing sharply, teeth and fists clenched, spare inches away from her. Head bowed, eyes falling from staring her down to searching the darkness outside, visible over the hollow of her shoulder. Those harpy things had killed Sasha because he couldn't stop them. The CDC had taken Isabel away and reassigned her somewhere else before they even knew she was gone. There are people out there who are dead and they won't even know who they are or what had killed them until it's clear and light enough to count the bodies. There is little that he hates (and fears) more than feeling (being) helpless.
His jaw claps shut as something thuds against the hull of the rover again, one last time. His fingers on her shoulder draw tight. But already the uproar outside is tipping from attack to aftermath. It only takes so long to send a message like this one. The occasional sick slap of gore on the snow has slowed, the sound of something swooping by overhead is fading. They're too late and too little, and he hates it.]