"What's one more layer of irony in our lives?" His tone was as dry as hers was dark, but so is the fact that there is real humor in it.

"They're afraid of us; we're afraid of ourselves. They hate us; we hate ourselves. They want you dead for not being 'normal', and you'd do anything to be normal." He snorted, inelegantly. "I wonder sometimes if they'd just left us the hell alone if we wouldn't have taken care of their problem for them."

And no, it wasn't the baggage she could shake. He got it. He knew it. His baggage was different, but there were still issues of seeing himself as dangerous and a lack of control and being a weapon for as long as he could remember.

It wasn't surprising, though, that at least three of the survivors were exactly that. People who saw themselves as weapons and had been used as exactly that. Some for good, some for ill, but. Weapons.