[ if she had the ability to take a step out of herself in this moment, she'd realize how her reaction could come across. there is an immediate guard, an instant wall that she puts up for her own sake, more than anything specific logan has done. or even said.
he reacts in turn, though she isn't yet capable of understanding fully why. his guard seems to go up just as much as her own, which... isn't what she expected. there's a part of karen that is trying to piece together what she knows about logan, what small pieces he's let out for her to pick up, and what it might all add up to. the space between her brow wrinkles, the slightest bit, while she waits for an answer, because she doesn't know what he might say.
there is no masked man who saved her life. no secret identity that she knows about, running around. every interaction they've had has seemed so clear, so simple, that the concept that she could (once again, again-) be so blind as to miss the signs-
she's at a loss, suspended in the passing moments, while she waits for logan to answer. she tries to prepare herself for the impossible (I'm a murderer, I'm a killer, I've done terrible things to good people, I'm a liar, I'm a thief), but even then none of them seem to quite fit. not fully, not completely- but still karen wonders what it could be.
( and then, as a next thought, she wonders what answer he might give- no, what answer he might owe her like he seems to think he does- that would change how it is she thinks about him.
nothing comes to mind, but still she waits, knowing that she's been proven wrong before. )
she waits, still tense, still unsure, but not leaving. her eyes stay on his face, dropping down to his hands only when she notices them moving. his fingers curl slowly into fists, and karen very nearly tilts her head at him, very nearly asks what it is he's doing, when something moves.
it's hard to describe what it is that karen sees - because in one moment she is looking down at calloused hands, curled tight into fists. and then, in a smooth movement, there are three what look like knives sliding between his knuckles. briefly, she thinks back to the glint of silver she'd seen in the diner, how she'd assumed he kept knives on him, how this somehow feels like a confirmation that she hadn't been imagining that. somehow, without karen really understanding why, the tension starts to ease out of her - slowly, but surely.
it doesn't... it's odd. it's different. it certainly isn't anything that she had expected to see slipping through the knuckles of logan's hands (hands she'd held, if only briefly. hands she's thought about). but it also isn't-
it isn't what she thought. no- it isn't what she'd feared.
her shoulders relax, her eyes going from his hands back to his eyes, that guard she'd put up just a few moments before slipping away. what replaces it is a kind of hesitant curiosity, uncertain if she's crossing some kind of line, but unable to truly hold it back. hesitantly she lifts her hands to his, but stops with a safe enough amount of space between them. her request might be obvious, but even so, she still asks- ]
Can I...?
[ see them, touch them, get a better look. how logan interprets it is up to him, while karen waits to either be told to fuck off, or... maybe something else. ]
no subject
he reacts in turn, though she isn't yet capable of understanding fully why. his guard seems to go up just as much as her own, which... isn't what she expected. there's a part of karen that is trying to piece together what she knows about logan, what small pieces he's let out for her to pick up, and what it might all add up to. the space between her brow wrinkles, the slightest bit, while she waits for an answer, because she doesn't know what he might say.
there is no masked man who saved her life. no secret identity that she knows about, running around. every interaction they've had has seemed so clear, so simple, that the concept that she could (once again, again-) be so blind as to miss the signs-
she's at a loss, suspended in the passing moments, while she waits for logan to answer. she tries to prepare herself for the impossible (I'm a murderer, I'm a killer, I've done terrible things to good people, I'm a liar, I'm a thief), but even then none of them seem to quite fit. not fully, not completely- but still karen wonders what it could be.
( and then, as a next thought, she wonders what answer he might give- no, what answer he might owe her like he seems to think he does- that would change how it is she thinks about him.
nothing comes to mind, but still she waits, knowing that she's been proven wrong before. )
she waits, still tense, still unsure, but not leaving. her eyes stay on his face, dropping down to his hands only when she notices them moving. his fingers curl slowly into fists, and karen very nearly tilts her head at him, very nearly asks what it is he's doing, when something moves.
it's hard to describe what it is that karen sees - because in one moment she is looking down at calloused hands, curled tight into fists. and then, in a smooth movement, there are three what look like knives sliding between his knuckles. briefly, she thinks back to the glint of silver she'd seen in the diner, how she'd assumed he kept knives on him, how this somehow feels like a confirmation that she hadn't been imagining that. somehow, without karen really understanding why, the tension starts to ease out of her - slowly, but surely.
it doesn't... it's odd. it's different. it certainly isn't anything that she had expected to see slipping through the knuckles of logan's hands (hands she'd held, if only briefly. hands she's thought about). but it also isn't-
it isn't what she thought. no- it isn't what she'd feared.
her shoulders relax, her eyes going from his hands back to his eyes, that guard she'd put up just a few moments before slipping away. what replaces it is a kind of hesitant curiosity, uncertain if she's crossing some kind of line, but unable to truly hold it back. hesitantly she lifts her hands to his, but stops with a safe enough amount of space between them. her request might be obvious, but even so, she still asks- ]
Can I...?
[ see them, touch them, get a better look. how logan interprets it is up to him, while karen waits to either be told to fuck off, or... maybe something else. ]