[Jack doesn't object to her touching him the way he might with, well. Everyone else, but it does take a moment for him to relax and let her pull his gloves off. He realizes all at once that he missed the feeling of skin on skin more than he thought, even if it's just the gentle resting of her hand on top of his without anything in between.
It's grounding, in a little bit of a surprising way. He's spent so long trying to cope with the dull ache of a fandom limb--the part of him that was hers ripped out and left raw and gaping suddenly filled again. Jack hadn't known how much he relied on her very presence until it wasn't there anymore.
Hands over his all of a sudden doesn't seem to be enough, but he'll let her talk, first. He'd asked the question, after all.
He thinks he imagined her saying something like this, but the way she voices the burden of taking lives perhaps surprises him. Not that she feels that way, of course not--they all wrestle with the complicated feelings of dirtying one's hands to keep others safe, but this sounds like something that had been eating away at her, and Jack isn't sure how to react.]
You could have told me.
[Jack will always insist that as commanding officer of her final mission, what happened that day falls squarely on his shoulders, but this seems to go beyond that. Something slow-growing and insidious. He knows now what it feels like to have those creeping doubts, and then be presented with the opportunity to vanish, but that doesn't stop him from wanting to try and salvage the pieces in front of him.]
I could've done something, I could've--helped.
[That's what he tells himself about most things, because hindsight is twenty-twenty. The thought that he could have been there for her if only he hadn't been so caught up in trying to hold Overwatch together. Wouldn't be the first interpersonal relationship he let deteriorate because of it. He's not sure which is worse--the thought that he didn't notice this happening, or the fact that she maybe felt like she couldn't talk to him about it.]
no subject
It's grounding, in a little bit of a surprising way. He's spent so long trying to cope with the dull ache of a fandom limb--the part of him that was hers ripped out and left raw and gaping suddenly filled again. Jack hadn't known how much he relied on her very presence until it wasn't there anymore.
Hands over his all of a sudden doesn't seem to be enough, but he'll let her talk, first. He'd asked the question, after all.
He thinks he imagined her saying something like this, but the way she voices the burden of taking lives perhaps surprises him. Not that she feels that way, of course not--they all wrestle with the complicated feelings of dirtying one's hands to keep others safe, but this sounds like something that had been eating away at her, and Jack isn't sure how to react.]
You could have told me.
[Jack will always insist that as commanding officer of her final mission, what happened that day falls squarely on his shoulders, but this seems to go beyond that. Something slow-growing and insidious. He knows now what it feels like to have those creeping doubts, and then be presented with the opportunity to vanish, but that doesn't stop him from wanting to try and salvage the pieces in front of him.]
I could've done something, I could've--helped.
[That's what he tells himself about most things, because hindsight is twenty-twenty. The thought that he could have been there for her if only he hadn't been so caught up in trying to hold Overwatch together. Wouldn't be the first interpersonal relationship he let deteriorate because of it. He's not sure which is worse--the thought that he didn't notice this happening, or the fact that she maybe felt like she couldn't talk to him about it.]