[ It almost sounds like he's psyching himself up to read these, because in a way, he absolutely is. In truth, Jack hadn't been sure that he would be able to read them at all, or at least not for quite a while. There was something in the idea of doing so that, to him, felt like it would be accepting Elizabeth's death. It's irrational, and he even knew that, but there was some kind of insane hope there that it could still be fixed, as if there was just a way he could reach out and defy death.
So, when it turned out that was true? It absolutely made these something he could tackle. Not easily, since the pang of dread seeing Elizabeth floating by the viewport was still fresh, as was his madness not long after. For better or for worse, her contacting him had asserted the latter.
He reads the crumpled letter, and it doesn't take him long at all to smile. "You've shown me nothing but kindness," it says, and that smile is tinged with a distant sadness. It's dated, so he knows when this letter was written, but right away, that line really makes the contrast sink in. He knows that without even having to read the other, since it's been clear since Elizabeth learned about Angel that she wouldn't say this to him. Not anymore.
In fact... There's so much here as he reads that he has to wonder if she would say it at all anymore. That innocence and brightness is so clear in these words that it's almost painful, because ever selfish, Jack's thoughts here turn to himself. He'd noticed how she had changed, since it was hard to miss, but now, having this sharp of a contrast in mind, he can't help but wonder— Had that been his fault, in some way? Surely not completely. The alien, killing her friends, maiming them, that was most of it, he was sure. But still, she speaks so warmly of him here that it's impossible for him to dismiss that possibility, even though he'd certainly like to.
When he gets to the point where the picture is pointed out, he looks to it, since unlike the letters, that's been sitting on his desk. If he could, he would absolutely frame it just as he had the real thing, since it was now precious to him twice-over. But in lieu of that, it simply has its own place of neatness among the organized chaos of the rest of Jack's desk. It sits alone without anything around it, a tiny spot like a shrine among all his work and machinations.
By the time he gets to the end, Jack sighs, and the letter is neatly folded up again to be put back in the desk. ]
Guessing- the rest might, uh. Not apply. But, yeah, I like the drawing. Thanks for...
[ Jack pauses, then takes the time to try and smooth the wrinkles out of the paper before it's set back in the desk. ]
no subject
[ It almost sounds like he's psyching himself up to read these, because in a way, he absolutely is. In truth, Jack hadn't been sure that he would be able to read them at all, or at least not for quite a while. There was something in the idea of doing so that, to him, felt like it would be accepting Elizabeth's death. It's irrational, and he even knew that, but there was some kind of insane hope there that it could still be fixed, as if there was just a way he could reach out and defy death.
So, when it turned out that was true? It absolutely made these something he could tackle. Not easily, since the pang of dread seeing Elizabeth floating by the viewport was still fresh, as was his madness not long after. For better or for worse, her contacting him had asserted the latter.
He reads the crumpled letter, and it doesn't take him long at all to smile. "You've shown me nothing but kindness," it says, and that smile is tinged with a distant sadness. It's dated, so he knows when this letter was written, but right away, that line really makes the contrast sink in. He knows that without even having to read the other, since it's been clear since Elizabeth learned about Angel that she wouldn't say this to him. Not anymore.
In fact... There's so much here as he reads that he has to wonder if she would say it at all anymore. That innocence and brightness is so clear in these words that it's almost painful, because ever selfish, Jack's thoughts here turn to himself. He'd noticed how she had changed, since it was hard to miss, but now, having this sharp of a contrast in mind, he can't help but wonder— Had that been his fault, in some way? Surely not completely. The alien, killing her friends, maiming them, that was most of it, he was sure. But still, she speaks so warmly of him here that it's impossible for him to dismiss that possibility, even though he'd certainly like to.
When he gets to the point where the picture is pointed out, he looks to it, since unlike the letters, that's been sitting on his desk. If he could, he would absolutely frame it just as he had the real thing, since it was now precious to him twice-over. But in lieu of that, it simply has its own place of neatness among the organized chaos of the rest of Jack's desk. It sits alone without anything around it, a tiny spot like a shrine among all his work and machinations.
By the time he gets to the end, Jack sighs, and the letter is neatly folded up again to be put back in the desk. ]
Guessing- the rest might, uh. Not apply. But, yeah, I like the drawing. Thanks for...
[ Jack pauses, then takes the time to try and smooth the wrinkles out of the paper before it's set back in the desk. ]
Thanks for not getting rid of it.