He asks, inviting her into the story, easily. He's a parent, he knows something must have been rather intently wrong for her to feel that way- but he's a parent, so he's also not particularly judgemental or horrified. Sometimes things don't feel the way society tells you they ought to, and he's stopped getting bent out of shape over it, over the years.
She nods and crosses her legs, not quite looking at him but not avoiding
him either.
"We did. We were still talking, but he didn't know that I wanted to bury
the hatchet, so to say."
A truth she isn't telling him: the fact that they spoke when the
communicators were glitching, and he'd told her she lived, and that
she'd asked for him to come back.
But that isn't reconciliation. Not the way she needs it.
"For me, it was a matter of forgetting about him."
He admits, resting his chin on his hand, and admitting;
"For me, I had to take the year to look inside myself and find what aspects of my life I truly felt uncomfortable with. The places where once upon a time, I'd made a moral compromise, picked the lesser of two evils, maybe, and it had never quite recovered. It was a process of breaking and re-setting badly healed bones."
"It did it for me. But it wasn't peace- just. It was peace, and resolution to change. I had to take certain steps towards doing better. Knowing what I wanted to be, and becoming it."
But it was obviously a powerful journey. It shows, in a kind of serene light in his expression.
"It's very easy to get caught up in all the cold war dogma."
"Your graduation was that tied to the War?" Like it's a surprise. She's curious about it, more so than about his steps towards redemption. She knows that isn't what would work for her, because she's very happy with what she is.
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He asks, inviting her into the story, easily. He's a parent, he knows something must have been rather intently wrong for her to feel that way- but he's a parent, so he's also not particularly judgemental or horrified. Sometimes things don't feel the way society tells you they ought to, and he's stopped getting bent out of shape over it, over the years.
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She nods and crosses her legs, not quite looking at him but not avoiding him either.
"We did. We were still talking, but he didn't know that I wanted to bury the hatchet, so to say."
A truth she isn't telling him: the fact that they spoke when the communicators were glitching, and he'd told her she lived, and that she'd asked for him to come back.
But that isn't reconciliation. Not the way she needs it.
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He agrees, quietly.
"I was the same. All the wardens kept trying to tell me I could go anywhere in the universe, be anything-"
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"I just want to be home," she agrees, and now she takes a good, long drink.
"But I don't know if I ever can. It's some motivation, but it's not enough to know what the Admiral wants."
What with her habit of killing her old, rich husbands, you know.
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He admits, resting his chin on his hand, and admitting;
"For me, I had to take the year to look inside myself and find what aspects of my life I truly felt uncomfortable with. The places where once upon a time, I'd made a moral compromise, picked the lesser of two evils, maybe, and it had never quite recovered. It was a process of breaking and re-setting badly healed bones."
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"And that's what did it? Having peace with your own wrong decisions, and forgetting about what the Admiral wants?"
She doubts that's it. Because there's very, very little that Elizabeth regrets like that.
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But it was obviously a powerful journey. It shows, in a kind of serene light in his expression.
"It's very easy to get caught up in all the cold war dogma."
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He admits, face going a little warm.
"It was to the skills I worked on- that charisma, for the war."
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God, the conversations she has sometimes, she can hardly believe herself.