[His hand settling on top of hers stops her withdraw and she pauses, measures, sifts through the fine sand to try to find the safe way through. For both of them. He's already taken off his mask, now she reaches out and begins taking off his gloves. It's a small thing - but its not small at all. He wears his armor as much to shield who he is as he does to shield his body. If she is going to expose her raw core to him - she is not asking for a fair trade. But she is going to ask him to give her something in return.
To see if he still will.
And because she needs the flesh of his hands when she tells this or she does not think she will tell it right. Or the entire truth of it. The starting part is easy at least and she can give that to him, gloves between them or no. Her voice has the slight lithe to it that she always used reading stories to her daughter at night. Can you tell me? he asks her. Giving her the extract point if she wants to slip away instead.
Except she has never been good at denying him the pieces of herself. And if she does not tell him now, she may continue to ghost away from it forever.]
It was my job to protect you. To protect all of Overwatch. I was your guardian. It was my job to end the threats before they could reach you, to keep you safe on your paths so that you could do what needed to be done. But I was choosing, each time, that your lives were more important than the lives of those I killed. I was making that choice for so many more than just myself. I was making that choice for the families and children of the people I killed as well as for the families and children of the people I protected. I was a very little god but my decisions were final and there was no mercy for them once they were made.
[Her good eye lifted to his face but it was not apologetic. It was simply full of harvested lives.]
I do not apologize for that. I have always been selfish. Your lives... your life... will always mean more to me and be more precious to me, than anyone else's. I will always make the choice to guard it at the cost of others. But I feel the weight of it, of all those families I have left alone, all the hearts I have left empty in my passing.
[It was the start - but not the root. Whether she pretended it ended there or not... well - perhaps it depended on if he gave her her pound of flesh. Or the equivalent of the weight of his ungloved, unguarded hands.]
no subject
To see if he still will.
And because she needs the flesh of his hands when she tells this or she does not think she will tell it right. Or the entire truth of it. The starting part is easy at least and she can give that to him, gloves between them or no. Her voice has the slight lithe to it that she always used reading stories to her daughter at night. Can you tell me? he asks her. Giving her the extract point if she wants to slip away instead.
Except she has never been good at denying him the pieces of herself. And if she does not tell him now, she may continue to ghost away from it forever.]
It was my job to protect you. To protect all of Overwatch. I was your guardian. It was my job to end the threats before they could reach you, to keep you safe on your paths so that you could do what needed to be done. But I was choosing, each time, that your lives were more important than the lives of those I killed. I was making that choice for so many more than just myself. I was making that choice for the families and children of the people I killed as well as for the families and children of the people I protected. I was a very little god but my decisions were final and there was no mercy for them once they were made.
[Her good eye lifted to his face but it was not apologetic. It was simply full of harvested lives.]
I do not apologize for that. I have always been selfish. Your lives... your life... will always mean more to me and be more precious to me, than anyone else's. I will always make the choice to guard it at the cost of others. But I feel the weight of it, of all those families I have left alone, all the hearts I have left empty in my passing.
[It was the start - but not the root. Whether she pretended it ended there or not... well - perhaps it depended on if he gave her her pound of flesh. Or the equivalent of the weight of his ungloved, unguarded hands.]