I was dragged into it; neither of us have the courtesy of making that decision anymore.
[There was just something about getting in front of these people - of him, of her mother, of Reinhardt - that made her acutely aware of her faults and limitations. She burned with pride. She stands up straight and reaches up to rub her temples, taking a moment to compose herself. She knew she wasn't the only one Reaper had targeted, but she didn't get where Jack was claiming this was his fight when there were so many other people involved.]
We don't always get what we want.
[It's not something she wants, not like this, but it's something she feels inexplicably part of ow whether he cares to admit it or not.]
[He'll give her credit--it takes some real guts to tell Jack Morrison of all people that he can't always get what he wants, like he hasn't spent his entire adult life sacrificing every last part of himself for the greater good. He leans back in his chair and laughs, but it's probably not the sound she remembers--it's something altogether more exasperated and bitter.]
This is not about you, Fareeha. [It never was.] It ain't gonna be about you just because that's what you decided so you could feel sorry about yourself.
I think you don't know what to actually do so you pushed people away.
[That laugh. It reminds her, almost, in a sickening way, of the last time she'd talked to Reaper; about how he'd laughed at her mention of family in a similar fashion. That alone left a sour taste in her mouth, but Jack goes on to insult her personally, and she stiffens. Her voice drops to that dangerously low and tight register.]
No, it's not about me. It's about making this world - any world - we live in, a better place. And if I have personal experience to pull from to help me, I will.
[She stands up straight, looking drained; this was supposed to have been a moment of healing and understanding. She did get an understanding, but it wasn't at all what she'd been expecting.] The only person I feel sorry for here is you. You're not any different than Reaper, you just strike with words instead of fists.
[What she even wants from him. She hasn't changed his mind. She hasn't even proven that she grasps the situation at all--it keeps coming back to something so unrelated that he wonders why he's even trying. It's clear she's written her own narrative, and anything he says to her will bounce right off because it doesn't fit neatly into her self-centered misconceptions.
Jack is old, and tired. He put too much of himself into Overwatch and now there's very little left--certainly not enough to be at all affected by her words and not enough to continue going around in circles when she'd rather put her fingers in her ears. She needs someone to blame for her own insecurities (though he's not sure why she has them in the first place--she's a thirty-three year old adult with a career; she'd made her own way even before Overwatch fell). Fine.
Maybe one day she'll learn. He just wishes it didn't have to be the hard way.]
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no subject
[There was just something about getting in front of these people - of him, of her mother, of Reinhardt - that made her acutely aware of her faults and limitations. She burned with pride. She stands up straight and reaches up to rub her temples, taking a moment to compose herself. She knew she wasn't the only one Reaper had targeted, but she didn't get where Jack was claiming this was his fight when there were so many other people involved.]
We don't always get what we want.
[It's not something she wants, not like this, but it's something she feels inexplicably part of ow whether he cares to admit it or not.]
no subject
[He'll give her credit--it takes some real guts to tell Jack Morrison of all people that he can't always get what he wants, like he hasn't spent his entire adult life sacrificing every last part of himself for the greater good. He leans back in his chair and laughs, but it's probably not the sound she remembers--it's something altogether more exasperated and bitter.]
This is not about you, Fareeha. [It never was.] It ain't gonna be about you just because that's what you decided so you could feel sorry about yourself.
no subject
[That laugh. It reminds her, almost, in a sickening way, of the last time she'd talked to Reaper; about how he'd laughed at her mention of family in a similar fashion. That alone left a sour taste in her mouth, but Jack goes on to insult her personally, and she stiffens. Her voice drops to that dangerously low and tight register.]
No, it's not about me. It's about making this world - any world - we live in, a better place. And if I have personal experience to pull from to help me, I will.
[She stands up straight, looking drained; this was supposed to have been a moment of healing and understanding. She did get an understanding, but it wasn't at all what she'd been expecting.] The only person I feel sorry for here is you. You're not any different than Reaper, you just strike with words instead of fists.
[And it hurts a hell of a lot more.]
no subject
[What she even wants from him. She hasn't changed his mind. She hasn't even proven that she grasps the situation at all--it keeps coming back to something so unrelated that he wonders why he's even trying. It's clear she's written her own narrative, and anything he says to her will bounce right off because it doesn't fit neatly into her self-centered misconceptions.
Jack is old, and tired. He put too much of himself into Overwatch and now there's very little left--certainly not enough to be at all affected by her words and not enough to continue going around in circles when she'd rather put her fingers in her ears. She needs someone to blame for her own insecurities (though he's not sure why she has them in the first place--she's a thirty-three year old adult with a career; she'd made her own way even before Overwatch fell). Fine.
Maybe one day she'll learn. He just wishes it didn't have to be the hard way.]
I think maybe you should go.