[ There is a pointed lift of the brows at Wynonna's little interjection there — Miss Earp, please — but he's unable to look at her shortly after that, eyes down, shoulders heavy, weighted rather than released by the things he admits out loud. 'You didn't fail me' she says, and in his peripheral he can see the subtle movement of her arm in gesture, and he can't help wincing again, sharp, like it all hurts. He thinks he did, he can't stop thinking that he did, fail her, the way he continually fails everyone here. And he knows she's right about parts of it — he wasn't even there, what could he possibly have done?
(But perhaps, if he had not been.... maintaining distance... if he had not put up a particular wall towards Wynonna Earp, he might have been with her. She might have come to him for help. Perhaps she wouldn't have — but maybe she would. And maybe he could have persuaded her from the task at all. Or at least, gone with her. And then maybe it would have been him to take the brunt of an attack, a bullet to the arm; she's smaller, thinner, it would have been better in all regards if it were him.
But even then, a voice might whisper, even if you were there, you aren't enough to do much of anything. A greater man than himself should be here in this place, protecting these people. A man who doesn't freeze in the face of horrors, a man who knows what decisions to make, a man who can be trusted wholeheartedly.)
....These are all thoughts that he's nursed again and again in the days since, with a tight heaviness inside of him growing tighter and heavier. He did fail her, he thinks, though it wouldn't be... very proper of him to insist such a thing, so he just keeps his eyes down, mouth tipped open a little, uncertain what to say or how. It all feels so.... defeating.
'Look at me.'
And he does — at her hand first, surprised to see its sudden proximity to his face, even if Wynonna's fingers curl back and her hand lowers, doesn't touch him. It's enough to catch him, eyes sweeping from that hand to the blue-grey pair that seek his out; he won't run from them, though he's bashfully keeping his head down as he looks mournfully at her. But now he stays looking at her as he listens, and it's so easy to hate himself when he's alone and the only voice he can hear is the one in his head — his own voice, deep and disapproving — but when she's with him.... Ah. It's so much easier to be reassured, to feel a certain stability, because she makes him feel stable. He believes her. Even if he doesn't understand everything — 'it's what I'm trained to do' — trained, as in... some sort of service. (What is it that Wynonna Earp does, back home? An heir, a gun the likes of which he's never seen, the ability to hold her own against grown men — for she had known how, he'd seen her fighting, punching, kicking.)
Who is she?
Right now, she's someone who's smiling at him even after all of this, the way he'd seen before. Amused, and warm, and it shows in all of the parts of her face. Eyes and mouth and the small little dot in one cheek. Again, again — no one's ever really smiled at him like that. Not him. And this time, there's no dreary lull coating everything in a pleasant, safe glaze. He should look away again, he thinks, unsure if he can — but then she almost-laughs, and it gives him a chance to almost-laugh too, nervous and amused, soft and fast, like the sound came from him without his meaning for it to, tumbling forwards. It makes his eyes crinkle up a bit too, and he lets it even if one half of his face still hurts. ]
I cannot say that I have. Such things are typically considered ruffian behaviour, you know.
[ Even if he were to need to subdue a fight, as an officer, striking someone wouldn't be proper at all...! He can't even imagine it...! It's almost funny, but what's horrible about all of it persists, and he... falls quiet again for a moment, thinking about it. What she says, what she means. Angry, for his sake. (Protective, maybe. Maybe there's a lot that could be said in response to this, but he swallows some things back, and finds himself wanting, instead, to reassure her.) ]
Perhaps I'm harder to kill than one might think, as well.
[ Though it's an almost playful thing to voice, he says it quietly and sincerely, with a little tug at his bottom lip for just a moment after. 'What on earth possessed you to try and break up that fight?' Perhaps, it's the same thing that would have possessed her to go after that large man with the... disconcertingly strong swing, should something worse have happened to him. ]
I couldn't have looked away if you were in danger. Even if you're quite the formidable opponent to witness in person.... I'll help you.
[ ....But look how that turned out last time, Little.... Still. It isn't even a question, to him. And here, he hesitates again, because... it feels inappropriate, somehow. But it's been there since the Forest Talkers — since his anger swelled and overflowed, and he wasn't able to say it then, but— take me with you.]
If there's some sort of trouble... if I may know in advance, if at all possible... I'd like to go with you.
FOLLOWS RIGHT IN YOUR FOOTSTEPS........
(But perhaps, if he had not been.... maintaining distance... if he had not put up a particular wall towards Wynonna Earp, he might have been with her. She might have come to him for help. Perhaps she wouldn't have — but maybe she would. And maybe he could have persuaded her from the task at all. Or at least, gone with her. And then maybe it would have been him to take the brunt of an attack, a bullet to the arm; she's smaller, thinner, it would have been better in all regards if it were him.
But even then, a voice might whisper, even if you were there, you aren't enough to do much of anything. A greater man than himself should be here in this place, protecting these people. A man who doesn't freeze in the face of horrors, a man who knows what decisions to make, a man who can be trusted wholeheartedly.)
....These are all thoughts that he's nursed again and again in the days since, with a tight heaviness inside of him growing tighter and heavier. He did fail her, he thinks, though it wouldn't be... very proper of him to insist such a thing, so he just keeps his eyes down, mouth tipped open a little, uncertain what to say or how. It all feels so.... defeating.
'Look at me.'
And he does — at her hand first, surprised to see its sudden proximity to his face, even if Wynonna's fingers curl back and her hand lowers, doesn't touch him. It's enough to catch him, eyes sweeping from that hand to the blue-grey pair that seek his out; he won't run from them, though he's bashfully keeping his head down as he looks mournfully at her. But now he stays looking at her as he listens, and it's so easy to hate himself when he's alone and the only voice he can hear is the one in his head — his own voice, deep and disapproving — but when she's with him.... Ah. It's so much easier to be reassured, to feel a certain stability, because she makes him feel stable. He believes her. Even if he doesn't understand everything — 'it's what I'm trained to do' — trained, as in... some sort of service. (What is it that Wynonna Earp does, back home? An heir, a gun the likes of which he's never seen, the ability to hold her own against grown men — for she had known how, he'd seen her fighting, punching, kicking.)
Who is she?
Right now, she's someone who's smiling at him even after all of this, the way he'd seen before. Amused, and warm, and it shows in all of the parts of her face. Eyes and mouth and the small little dot in one cheek. Again, again — no one's ever really smiled at him like that. Not him. And this time, there's no dreary lull coating everything in a pleasant, safe glaze. He should look away again, he thinks, unsure if he can — but then she almost-laughs, and it gives him a chance to almost-laugh too, nervous and amused, soft and fast, like the sound came from him without his meaning for it to, tumbling forwards. It makes his eyes crinkle up a bit too, and he lets it even if one half of his face still hurts. ]
I cannot say that I have. Such things are typically considered ruffian behaviour, you know.
[ Even if he were to need to subdue a fight, as an officer, striking someone wouldn't be proper at all...! He can't even imagine it...! It's almost funny, but what's horrible about all of it persists, and he... falls quiet again for a moment, thinking about it. What she says, what she means. Angry, for his sake. (Protective, maybe. Maybe there's a lot that could be said in response to this, but he swallows some things back, and finds himself wanting, instead, to reassure her.) ]
Perhaps I'm harder to kill than one might think, as well.
[ Though it's an almost playful thing to voice, he says it quietly and sincerely, with a little tug at his bottom lip for just a moment after. 'What on earth possessed you to try and break up that fight?' Perhaps, it's the same thing that would have possessed her to go after that large man with the... disconcertingly strong swing, should something worse have happened to him. ]
I couldn't have looked away if you were in danger. Even if you're quite the formidable opponent to witness in person.... I'll help you.
[ ....But look how that turned out last time, Little.... Still. It isn't even a question, to him. And here, he hesitates again, because... it feels inappropriate, somehow. But it's been there since the Forest Talkers — since his anger swelled and overflowed, and he wasn't able to say it then, but— take me with you. ]
If there's some sort of trouble... if I may know in advance, if at all possible... I'd like to go with you.