She laughs, then realizes he's being honest, and her laughter dies in her throat while she stares at him. What the hell was she supposed to do with someone like this? Her fingers flex, itching to be wrapped around the hilt of her sword - things made sense when she focused on violence. It was simple, straightforward.

Like Wing, she thinks, but in an entirely different way.

He, at least, has not called her crazy once. Which is better than some of the people she'd grown to tolerate and watch for clues on how to interact normally. "It helped me think," Arcee hazards, before her voice regains the strength she's used to speaking with. "I'm not-- whatever they say. If you ask. I know exactly what I'm doing and why I'm doing it."

Arcee shrugs, and feels the conversation has drawn to an end. Or if it hasn't, an end she's going to make. He doesn't need to know more about her than what she's offered. And she doesn't feel any inclination to know more about him. She doesn't feel that towards anyone, so Wing shouldn't take it personally.