[Watching the steady move of his hands, efficient, controlled, takes her back again despite her resisting it, reminds her of a hundred places before, a hundred times, and how often she waited for this moment with him. When the day would be over and there could be a rest, a recovery, just the two of them. She remembers and it is a more solid feeling inside of her chest, pressed sideways against her heart, than so much else she remembers that should be more important.
They may have gone their own ways, been apart - but she finds that she can still hear all the words that whisper under the ones he says in their place, like a radio song in the apartment next door, like rain against the outside of a window. And it hurts, what she hears. She's never done well with his pain, always feeling it so much deeper inside her than her own. But - she left him. Or hid from him. The end result was the same. She took herself away from him and left him alone and his world went to hell. And he's been walking through it, because he can't be himself and do anything else, ever since.
Without her.
Until he came to find her.
Or she let herself leave the traces to follow to do so...
Her hand reaches out, covers his to stop the ordering of the supplies that are already neat on the table. It's not a firm touch. It's light, almost a ghost more than solid. But she has faith that it will still his reordering all the same.]
Jack...
[Except there's nothing inside of her to follow after that. No soothing words, no proverbs, no gentle dry humor. She says his name and the rest dries up. Just her fingertips barely on top of the knuckles of his glove for a long heartbeat. A second. And then, softly:]
no subject
They may have gone their own ways, been apart - but she finds that she can still hear all the words that whisper under the ones he says in their place, like a radio song in the apartment next door, like rain against the outside of a window. And it hurts, what she hears. She's never done well with his pain, always feeling it so much deeper inside her than her own. But - she left him. Or hid from him. The end result was the same. She took herself away from him and left him alone and his world went to hell. And he's been walking through it, because he can't be himself and do anything else, ever since.
Without her.
Until he came to find her.
Or she let herself leave the traces to follow to do so...
Her hand reaches out, covers his to stop the ordering of the supplies that are already neat on the table. It's not a firm touch. It's light, almost a ghost more than solid. But she has faith that it will still his reordering all the same.]
Jack...
[Except there's nothing inside of her to follow after that. No soothing words, no proverbs, no gentle dry humor. She says his name and the rest dries up. Just her fingertips barely on top of the knuckles of his glove for a long heartbeat. A second. And then, softly:]
Stop apologizing.