andhiswife | (Reply)

Helplessness has never been a feeling that's sat well with Sam. He's been that too many times in his life, and buried it by doing instead of feeling, interrupting ENCOM events and fucking with their releases for his father's sake, getting on his motorcycle and driving as fast as he possibly could, chasing anything off with an adrenaline rush. Jordan, of course, has changed that — for her sake, he has to be careful — but those instincts haven't gone anywhere, and the weight of something like this leaves him desperately restless. Sitting here and holding her seems horribly inadequate, even if he also couldn't pull away, couldn't leave her to deal with this on her own. As far as he can tell, she's been doing that for plenty long enough as it is.

God, if he'd known, if he'd tried to track her down instead of just wondering—

He can't change that now, though, so he stays put, breathing deeply, trying not to let himself grow physically tense in his need to do something. That can wait until later. Right now, she needs— Well, he can't assume she needs him, but she needs someone and he's the person who's here, arms around her, one hand moving absently over her back, even when she draws back enough to speak. When she actually does, though, when her words sink in, he stays close but stills, unable for a moment to understand her meaning, apparent as it might be.

On one count, she's not wrong. He's lost so goddamn much, and young as she is, Jordan has started to, too, an indisputable fact no matter how much he hates the truth of it. He knows it, has known it for most of his life, and for a long time, kept everyone at arm's length in an attempt to keep it from happening again. That, though, he can't manage anymore, hasn't been able to since sometime before Jordan was born, and if only for her sake now, in the aftermath of losing Andrea, he's forced himself not to fall back on old habits. Isolating himself was one thing; isolating her would have been another entirely, and not fair in the slightest.

For that alone, he could never take her up on that offer, frowning as he looks down at her and shakes his head. "Whatever... happened, back there," he says, slowly, carefully, "it doesn't make a difference here. If you disappeared, you'd be gone either way. And seeing less of you..." One corner of his mouth lifts, then, though it's an expression nowhere close to a smile. "It's not like that would be much better."