[Ana takes a moment simply to observe Jack, to take him in properly. The scars, the lines of age, the sinking of his shoulders. Everything that's changed since she left all those years ago.
She sighs.]
Look at you. All these years and you still refuse to let anyone but yourself take the blame.
[It'd be funny, if she wasn't still being struck by the image he cast now, old and worn and tired. Both of them older, but the years have been far less kind to Jack than they have to her. Or perhaps he hasn't let them be kind, too focused on his self-perceived war. She wouldn't be surprised if that were the case.]
I am sorry I hurt you. But surely you realize how hypocritical you sound.
[She thinks of Reinhardt, the way the old knight had struggled to deliver his eulogy for an old friend, one whose body he didn't have the benefit of burying. She thinks of Angela, so young and awed by the three of them, how she must have suffered.
She thinks of Fareeha, the holodisc that contains her picture burning at her chest. There's a brief, hot welling of anger in Ana's chest, aimed at both herself and Jack, but it's gone as soon as it had come.]
Do you plan to tell them, or are you content continuing the same mistake that injured you so?
[Her tone isn't accusing or unkind. She's not trying to twist the knife. But she hadn't been Jack's second for coddling him, and she's not about to start now.]
no subject
She sighs.]
Look at you. All these years and you still refuse to let anyone but yourself take the blame.
[It'd be funny, if she wasn't still being struck by the image he cast now, old and worn and tired. Both of them older, but the years have been far less kind to Jack than they have to her. Or perhaps he hasn't let them be kind, too focused on his self-perceived war. She wouldn't be surprised if that were the case.]
I am sorry I hurt you. But surely you realize how hypocritical you sound.
[She thinks of Reinhardt, the way the old knight had struggled to deliver his eulogy for an old friend, one whose body he didn't have the benefit of burying. She thinks of Angela, so young and awed by the three of them, how she must have suffered.
She thinks of Fareeha, the holodisc that contains her picture burning at her chest. There's a brief, hot welling of anger in Ana's chest, aimed at both herself and Jack, but it's gone as soon as it had come.]
Do you plan to tell them, or are you content continuing the same mistake that injured you so?
[Her tone isn't accusing or unkind. She's not trying to twist the knife. But she hadn't been Jack's second for coddling him, and she's not about to start now.]