( It's right on the tip of her tongue. "Even still, you're a dear friend to me and you deserved more of my attention.", "Maybe things would have gone differently." But it's a moot point now, and so what she offers instead is her head at his shoulder and the cover of her right hand over the back of his, even as she hugs that arm to her with the left, and: )
Thank you, Jesse.
( For no hard feelings, even when she thinks there would have been some. Maybe there had been and they'd just faded over the years; it isn't for her to pry. She takes him at face value, and that's quite a lot of trust, coming from someone so used to doubting everything one says about their state of mind and body and continues to look for the fissures, surrounded by stubborn soldiers eager to dip out of the medbay.
And she's glad the clench of his fist gives way to her touch and he relaxes before continuing. The nudge forward of that metal arm catches the firelight, and she holds out her left hand for it. If he gives it to her, she'll be lacing her fingers through metal ones and easing it closer to her, turning his wrist with the twist of her own to get a proper look over it and leaning forward just enough to see where it connects to his body, how well (or badly) it had been done, watching the joints and feeling every scrape of grit in any ball joint or hinge. )
What happened...? If you don't want to talk about it yet, we don't have to. I just need to know if it causes you any problems or pain. The rest can wait.
( It looks like the tech from South America— a bit crude in some ways, but heavy-hitting. Sturdy. She's so used to the streamlined European/Asian cybernetics that it seems dilapidated in comparison, but it seems to have held out well for him. At least a few years old, given the wear and tear on it. Dents and divots, scratches. It's been through quite a lot with him already, hasn't it? There's an appreciation in the way she looks his new arm over, at least. For taking care of him all this time. She isn't being terribly critical, just curious. )
no subject
Thank you, Jesse.
( For no hard feelings, even when she thinks there would have been some. Maybe there had been and they'd just faded over the years; it isn't for her to pry. She takes him at face value, and that's quite a lot of trust, coming from someone so used to doubting everything one says about their state of mind and body and continues to look for the fissures, surrounded by stubborn soldiers eager to dip out of the medbay.
And she's glad the clench of his fist gives way to her touch and he relaxes before continuing. The nudge forward of that metal arm catches the firelight, and she holds out her left hand for it. If he gives it to her, she'll be lacing her fingers through metal ones and easing it closer to her, turning his wrist with the twist of her own to get a proper look over it and leaning forward just enough to see where it connects to his body, how well (or badly) it had been done, watching the joints and feeling every scrape of grit in any ball joint or hinge. )
What happened...? If you don't want to talk about it yet, we don't have to. I just need to know if it causes you any problems or pain. The rest can wait.
( It looks like the tech from South America— a bit crude in some ways, but heavy-hitting. Sturdy. She's so used to the streamlined European/Asian cybernetics that it seems dilapidated in comparison, but it seems to have held out well for him. At least a few years old, given the wear and tear on it. Dents and divots, scratches. It's been through quite a lot with him already, hasn't it? There's an appreciation in the way she looks his new arm over, at least. For taking care of him all this time. She isn't being terribly critical, just curious. )