How Green Becomes Wood

"I am not dangerous." Dark said but nonetheless signaled to move over. He really did not want to let her out, he did not think it was safe to let even Ciara, with all the training he knew she must have, out on the street alone at this time of night, but he also did not like to make a habit of holding women against their will. And her demand he let her out stung deeply. It was distressing to learn she knew so much about him. Anyone would be distressed. But it made her feel safer to not be in the car with him.
 
"I never said you were," Ciara said, her tone slightly clipped. "This conversation, on the other had, is. Where do you think it will lead if you continue down this path? Do you think there will be any satisfying conclusion? Any answer I could give you that would make you more comfortable with what I know? The fact is that I know a lot of things about a lot of people, and not one of them is happy about that. Or would be if they knew about it, which most of them do not. It is my job, the hazards of my job, and a job I am very good at. I understand that makes you uncomfortable because you like your privacy even more than most, but it is not something I shall apologize for, because what distresses you makes other people safe."
 
"But I am innocent." Dark said, pulling the car to a stop in a nearby parking lot, "I have not so much have gotten a speeding ticket since I was twenty-two. I did minor shoplifting in high school and bought alcohol underage. So you do a background check, fine. Any job I have ever worked has too. But my twenty years of adulthood, going from when we met, without criminal history or any known affiliation to criminals, was not enough, your organization had to look at when I was a child? All because the aunt of the children I took in happened to work for the FBI? I go from presumably not being on their radar at all to having a dossier of my most intimate, private details all because you did not choose a different career path? Do you earnestly believe every word, every sentence about myself and Daizi was so necessary for national safety?"

Even though the car was stopped, he still gripped the wheel tightly, and he shut his eyes gave himself a couple moments to breathe. It was true he was upset with her, but it was not exactly like anger, and he needed to at least try to sort through his emotions. Finally, he raised his eyes and at least looked at her, the glow of the streetlights making his eyes glint almost yellow, "It is not your fault. I understand it is what your job requires but..." He gestured with one hand and then dropped it down to his lap, "I like you, Ciara. I enjoy spending time with you. Daizi loves you. But since we met you have had us at a disadvantage. You know, or have access to, the depths of our lives. But you do not share half as much with us. Before you even met us, you knew almost more than what I prefer to tell my closest confidants, but we had to, and have, trusted you at your word. And we did, and we do, but... We cannot know you like you know us."
 
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Ciara said nothing to Dark's sudden rant. There was no answer she could give that would satisfy him. He had been on a few people's radars when he was younger simply thanks to the circumstances, but quickly lost through the cracks. To his last question, the answer was Yes. Because you did not know what may or may not be important until you learned about it. It was the things people did not want you to know that were the things that were really needed. It might make him feel better to know that they actually had very little information on Dark's childhood. Only a couple of facts, and Ciara had choosen not to read about that.

Dark continued, telling her that she had them at a disadvantage. That was something she was used to. Something she'd heard before. So much of what he said was what she'd heard before, and it hurt something deep and old. She didn't say anything, but neither did she move to get out of the car.

"What do you want to know?" she finally asked quietly.
 
"I do not know," Dark replied, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing his hands over his face. He didn't. And he hated that he felt like he should apologize when he was the one whose history had been needlessly torn into. It was so tiring to have the world constantly treat him like he must secretly be criminal. Wasn't he allowed to be upset by it? Shouldn't he be able to call it ridiculous? Why was it always his job to be gracious and forgiving? "I do not want to fight with you. I do not want to upset you. I meant it when I called you a Citadel. I meant it kindly, but you Are so secure, and private, and impenetrable. And that is fine, I am too. But I do not even know what to ask you because I do not know where to start."
 
"There is very little to tell you that you do not already know, but if you think of something you would like to ask me, I will try to tell you," Ciara said quietly. She did not feel like a citadel. She felt like a forgotten monastery; secret and private, not because she was intended to be that way, but because everything had faded away.
 
"Is there not?" Dark replied, looking at her, "I do not believe that. Surely you have dreams for the future, or dreams you put aside, or," he gestured to the car's center condole, "a favourite music genre."
 
"Classical," she said without hesitation. "Vivaldi may be my favorite, but I enjoy multiple artists. I have no particular dreams for the future. I would like to retire someday, but I have not yet made any plans beyond setting aside some money every month. If I had dreams I set aside, I have forgotten them."
 
"What did you think of the music I chose?" He asked her, feeling an unexpected amount of pity for her when she said she didn't have any dreams, "I nearly put on Classical, but decided we were liable to get enough of it at your event."
 
"It was a horrible time of hormones, posturing boys, insecure girls, comparison, and more hormones," Ciara said, actually wincing in disgust. "I mostly focused on schoolwork and made my parents proud with perfect grades. Except for a brief moment when a boy turned my head with flattery, but it was short lived."
 
"Not particularly. Well," she hesitated, "I did try... hoop earrings with valour sweats for a while. My father did not approve, but he disapproved of Tara's chokers and rude graphic T-shirts more. My mother, on the other hand, had more to say about the valour."
 
"I was never, even at my lowest, quite that tacky," Ciara said frostily. She was not truly offended, but the thought of herself, even her teenage self, wearing something with "Juicy" on it in rhinestones, was... No.
 
"You would have detested me, anyway, because I would have detested you as being a terrible influence, and likely a distraction from my school work," Ciara replied. "I was loudly judgmental back then. Now I am only quietly judgmental."
 
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