[ No, not exactly. Perhaps if she were able to get anyone's time for more than a passing message they would have discussed it; someone could have pried her suspicions from her, flimsy though they'd felt, and she could have seen if anyone felt the same. If her concerns were justified.
His hands steady from their shaking but he'll feel the finest tremors in hers, this close, pressed atop his for so long— they come in waves, with every exhale that wants to sing between her teeth, instead slowed as she breathes through her nose. She wishes she could offer him more. That he's panicking, in her presence, when he should rightfully know better, upsets her the most. She wishes he could trust her. That she could keep herself in check a little longer so those hot tears weren't staining his pants, falling right into his lap as they make a concerted effort to ease the mask away from his face.
Her eyes trace the ragged scar bisecting his brow, over his nose and down one cheek, and as soon as its revealed his entire face, white whiskers and scarred mouth and all, there's one soft hiccup out of her as her chest tightens violently when he won't meet her eyes, forcing the air from her lungs. She presses her brow to his, feeling the twist of scar tissue against her skin, and the mask is lowered to his lap, fingers twisting in his.
Then it's set aside completely and she's reaching to unlatch the mount to unwind from about his neck, where it covers his ears— it's warmth and protection is replaced with her hands instead, pressed to his cheeks and fingers slender where they brush over his ears, nails skimming through his hair. For all the colors swirling in the maelstrom within her, she would never greet someone coming back into this world with fury or disappointment, and though she's hurt, she's also achingly glad to see him. Have him here between her hands, where she can feel out the person he's become after all these years and simply appreciate his presence. He isn't dead. That's all that matters. ]
You say that as though you'd been planning on telling me eventually.
[ Jack doesn't need to lie. She knows that likely hadn't been in the cards. But she's not chastising him, and her voice is steady despite the tears already slowing. A little splash to keep from overflowing, some pressure released so she wasn't on the verge of bursting. ]
Come on, let's get you patched up. Lie on back for me.
[ She'll keep a hand at the nape of his neck to ease him down gently, head resting back on the pillow while the other slips away to nudge his legs up onto the table. She can't keep being selfish with his time, not when he's hurt this badly. ]
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His hands steady from their shaking but he'll feel the finest tremors in hers, this close, pressed atop his for so long— they come in waves, with every exhale that wants to sing between her teeth, instead slowed as she breathes through her nose. She wishes she could offer him more. That he's panicking, in her presence, when he should rightfully know better, upsets her the most. She wishes he could trust her. That she could keep herself in check a little longer so those hot tears weren't staining his pants, falling right into his lap as they make a concerted effort to ease the mask away from his face.
Her eyes trace the ragged scar bisecting his brow, over his nose and down one cheek, and as soon as its revealed his entire face, white whiskers and scarred mouth and all, there's one soft hiccup out of her as her chest tightens violently when he won't meet her eyes, forcing the air from her lungs. She presses her brow to his, feeling the twist of scar tissue against her skin, and the mask is lowered to his lap, fingers twisting in his.
Then it's set aside completely and she's reaching to unlatch the mount to unwind from about his neck, where it covers his ears— it's warmth and protection is replaced with her hands instead, pressed to his cheeks and fingers slender where they brush over his ears, nails skimming through his hair. For all the colors swirling in the maelstrom within her, she would never greet someone coming back into this world with fury or disappointment, and though she's hurt, she's also achingly glad to see him. Have him here between her hands, where she can feel out the person he's become after all these years and simply appreciate his presence. He isn't dead. That's all that matters. ]
You say that as though you'd been planning on telling me eventually.
[ Jack doesn't need to lie. She knows that likely hadn't been in the cards. But she's not chastising him, and her voice is steady despite the tears already slowing. A little splash to keep from overflowing, some pressure released so she wasn't on the verge of bursting. ]
Come on, let's get you patched up. Lie on back for me.
[ She'll keep a hand at the nape of his neck to ease him down gently, head resting back on the pillow while the other slips away to nudge his legs up onto the table. She can't keep being selfish with his time, not when he's hurt this badly. ]