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They don't speak much while they go. They don't need to. Not in the casual way that two friends who are still mostly strangers might chat with each other, about innocuous things, safe things. They are both soldiers fighting their own wars inside and out, and they know that words are sometimes at a premium, to conserve them until they're needed. He's content to let it continue, and she gets that he's not a talkative person. (She almost misses York for this. Annoyingly talkative, but adorably talkative.) She turns on the radio, he filters between the static and the stations to one that's steady and reliable, the background noise of their universe that they only just ignore, so long as it's not distracting. It comfortably fills space, as they comfortably fill the seats of Carolina's truck.

They stop for gas, not in an idyllic middle of nowhere, but a busy town that acts as a stopover, a go-between for cities, the suburban commuters paradise. Malcolm wipes down the windshield; she fills the tank. They lean against the truck's dusty exterior, considering what kind of terrible pit stop foods they could pick up inside the little store.

"It's not running away."

Simple as that.

He tilts his head askew just enough to catch a glance at her. Her arms are loosely crossed, and she's looking in Malcolm's general direction.

"Not unless you need it to be."

That she gives him the option, without judgement, is a kindness he sometimes forget she's capable of. They can keep going, keep on going until the next stop for gas, or for food, or for sleep. They've a destination in the far distance, beyond the horizon, and there maybe they can both find answers, find some sense. Or there they can be far away from their problems. They could go on forever if they want to. Even in so few words, he can hear that she wouldn't be opposed to the idea, has considered it herself. This is to reassure, reaffirm them both.

"When I figure out what I need," he suggests with a smirk, "you'll be the first to know."

He turns to go back to the passengers side, to climb in. Carolina pauses, watches after him, before sharing the look in wordless approval. Enough to say, without saying, 'same here.'