Work Text:
She hated the rain. If she ever loved it before being assimilated Seven couldn't remember. But she focused on the way it fell because it was easier than paying attention to her stinging cheek.
Wilma Shaw had lost her only son and wanted someone to blame. She blamed Seven. "He cared for you and you got him killed," those words ring inside her head as walked through the rain in the graveyard.
Coming to his funeral was a mistake. Seven wasn't welcome by his family and friends. People Shaw had never spoken about. People she'd never bothered to ask about.