Carson had been trying to piece together why she'd been sleeping out in the rain, and he figured he had a pretty solid grasp on a handful of viable reasons. First and most likely in his mind, it was some form of suicidal self-punishment. Her brother was cold and gone, so she deserved the same. Second, she had gotten inebriated--because if humanity had clung to anything, it was chemical dependency--and simply passed out there. Third, there had been a disagreement severe enough and disruptive enough to drive her from her own home. When she spoke, however, he realized which one was much more likely.<br/><br/>He turned the heat lamps up a couple of notches and oriented them more toward her, allowing the dull orange light to bathe her legs and arms where she sat. "This is a good place for people who don't belong," he said quietly, nodding to the shack around them. "Me with my naive ideals of hope. You with your... grief, I suppose. You're in good company, if nothing else." He sipped from the soup can, this flavor much more appetizing than the last, and held it out to her. "You might want to drink some. It's hot--good for warming your core back up. Or else you might get sick."