[ The second letter is the one that he knows will be harder. That's pretty obvious just from the length, because he hadn't scanned any of the others for content, but it was easy to tell that this one was the longest. It's not a surprise, not really. He knows that her thoughts about him have to be as complicated his were for her. Though it does dawn on him that there's a difference there. He doesn't think he would have ever put those to paper, or to his datapad, or anywhere at all. But that's a thought he doesn't want to dwell on. At least, not right now.
He reads, and his smile quirks slightly as he sees that very set of thoughts relayed, but it's short-lived. His posture tightens defensively as he reads, because her words aren't new to start, but just as when she had told him as much in person, there's a defense, an excuse waiting. It is for the greater good, he thinks, it is something to take pride in. Just as he's justified to himself a thousand times before, it's just a lack of knowing his vision. But the mention of Rhys brings back the memory of a video and the beginnings of the realization that had come with it.
It gets that tension to abate, physically, but also mentally. Those excuses and defenses are harder to hold up in that knowledge that if not now, then one day, Helios would be no more. That may seem like the wrong thing to focus on, but for Jack, Hyperion was opportunity. It always had been. It's why, in the face of many a board member not so subtly implying that the name was stupid, Jack had insisted on his first step to that idyllic world bearing that name. As soon as he'd realized that he was inside Rhys's head and what he had become, or was, or whatever, then it was obvious. Return to Helios, and there, he'll find his way forward.
So, without his path forward, what did he have left? It wasn't his friends. He'd long since abandoned them or even killed them himself, because they couldn't be trusted. Even a friend was an obstacle if they got in the way of his goals. And, as he continues forward, his expression finally falls. When he reads Angel's name, it's a reminder that it wasn't family either.
He was at the point where all of that was lost to him. He's not sure when that happened, and he doesn't really want to know, either. Maybe it'd been lost for a long time, back when he first realized that he had no option but to keep his daughter away from the world. Maybe it was when the thought had crossed his mind that she could help him, because surely she'd want to do that. Or maybe it was just recently, because was nothing more than a copy of the person who these memories and experiences belonged to. That was hard for him to decide, and much like the when, it's not particularly something he wants to know.
For every day of his life, as she says, he might wonder, if only for a moment. But that moment will always be brief, because it'll always be buried away. Whether it's an excuse, a justification, or a simpler want to not think further on it, it'll never be considered again as much as it is now. Jack can have a realization that strips some of his delusions away so that he has to look at the truth in all of its ugliness, but it'll never stop him from picking up masks to obscure it. Some things can never change.
For now, though, there's not a mask to collect.
It's easy to see how his jaw tenses and his posture stiffens, but it's in a different way from the start. It's subtle, the kind of difference that's hard to put into words, but at the start, it was like Jack had been bursting to try and explain, to let something out, but now, he's keeping something in. "Jack... she was your daughter," and it starts to crack, just a tremble and glassy eyes, but it's as he reads Elizabeth's explanation and experience that it shatters. It's a sharp intake of air, a hoarse, harsh sound, and Jack puts down the letter as he bows his head forward into his hands.
Even with his face obscured, it's easy to see that there's nothing short of anguish on his face, but this isn't the sort of mad, manic energy that he'd shown at Elizabeth's death. It's a true grief, and it's all mixed up so deeply that he couldn't pick it apart even if he had a want to. It's the grief of ambition at the death of his dream, of a hero for moment of doubt where he's truly failed by not making that dream a reality, and most of all, for a father who had lost his only child. The circumstances didn't even matter, because he'd never allowed himself that moment to grieve at all, being promised her life by so many people.
But, he's always selfish.
Because that grief is just as much for the feeling of being alone in this moment and for that realization that all he had was what was here before him.
For once, his pain isn't split by a smile or by a laugh. For a while, and certainly longer than he would personally like, Jack is simply overcome by that anguish of such a great feeling of loss, self-centered as it may silently be. He sobs in a way that's probably uncomfortable to watch, since it's so seemingly strange for a man like Jack, but eventually, he stops. Yet, it's probably no surprise that it seems to exhaust him, because it's only two quickly downed drinks and Jack heads to his bed to essentially pass out. The letter is left laying out, meant to be finished later. ]
i lied this is going to be 4
He reads, and his smile quirks slightly as he sees that very set of thoughts relayed, but it's short-lived. His posture tightens defensively as he reads, because her words aren't new to start, but just as when she had told him as much in person, there's a defense, an excuse waiting. It is for the greater good, he thinks, it is something to take pride in. Just as he's justified to himself a thousand times before, it's just a lack of knowing his vision. But the mention of Rhys brings back the memory of a video and the beginnings of the realization that had come with it.
It gets that tension to abate, physically, but also mentally. Those excuses and defenses are harder to hold up in that knowledge that if not now, then one day, Helios would be no more. That may seem like the wrong thing to focus on, but for Jack, Hyperion was opportunity. It always had been. It's why, in the face of many a board member not so subtly implying that the name was stupid, Jack had insisted on his first step to that idyllic world bearing that name. As soon as he'd realized that he was inside Rhys's head and what he had become, or was, or whatever, then it was obvious. Return to Helios, and there, he'll find his way forward.
So, without his path forward, what did he have left? It wasn't his friends. He'd long since abandoned them or even killed them himself, because they couldn't be trusted. Even a friend was an obstacle if they got in the way of his goals. And, as he continues forward, his expression finally falls. When he reads Angel's name, it's a reminder that it wasn't family either.
He was at the point where all of that was lost to him. He's not sure when that happened, and he doesn't really want to know, either. Maybe it'd been lost for a long time, back when he first realized that he had no option but to keep his daughter away from the world. Maybe it was when the thought had crossed his mind that she could help him, because surely she'd want to do that. Or maybe it was just recently, because was nothing more than a copy of the person who these memories and experiences belonged to. That was hard for him to decide, and much like the when, it's not particularly something he wants to know.
For every day of his life, as she says, he might wonder, if only for a moment. But that moment will always be brief, because it'll always be buried away. Whether it's an excuse, a justification, or a simpler want to not think further on it, it'll never be considered again as much as it is now. Jack can have a realization that strips some of his delusions away so that he has to look at the truth in all of its ugliness, but it'll never stop him from picking up masks to obscure it. Some things can never change.
For now, though, there's not a mask to collect.
It's easy to see how his jaw tenses and his posture stiffens, but it's in a different way from the start. It's subtle, the kind of difference that's hard to put into words, but at the start, it was like Jack had been bursting to try and explain, to let something out, but now, he's keeping something in. "Jack... she was your daughter," and it starts to crack, just a tremble and glassy eyes, but it's as he reads Elizabeth's explanation and experience that it shatters. It's a sharp intake of air, a hoarse, harsh sound, and Jack puts down the letter as he bows his head forward into his hands.
Even with his face obscured, it's easy to see that there's nothing short of anguish on his face, but this isn't the sort of mad, manic energy that he'd shown at Elizabeth's death. It's a true grief, and it's all mixed up so deeply that he couldn't pick it apart even if he had a want to. It's the grief of ambition at the death of his dream, of a hero for moment of doubt where he's truly failed by not making that dream a reality, and most of all, for a father who had lost his only child. The circumstances didn't even matter, because he'd never allowed himself that moment to grieve at all, being promised her life by so many people.
But, he's always selfish.
Because that grief is just as much for the feeling of being alone in this moment and for that realization that all he had was what was here before him.
For once, his pain isn't split by a smile or by a laugh. For a while, and certainly longer than he would personally like, Jack is simply overcome by that anguish of such a great feeling of loss, self-centered as it may silently be. He sobs in a way that's probably uncomfortable to watch, since it's so seemingly strange for a man like Jack, but eventually, he stops. Yet, it's probably no surprise that it seems to exhaust him, because it's only two quickly downed drinks and Jack heads to his bed to essentially pass out. The letter is left laying out, meant to be finished later. ]