[ Jaime watches her carefully, fretfully. He knows how much pain her powers give him but he wishes he had the same for just a moment, just so he could figure out what the heck is happening, what's actually in that card he shoved at her, whether or not it's helping or if she just needed an extra moment to regain her equilibrium. That had been too much for whatever Jaime can provide to help with - really, what Ruka needs is a metric ton of therapy, a suggestion he's not sure would be taken well by someone who habitually holds others at arms length - but he wants to know if it had at least helped a little bit.
It's awful, just standing by and watching, knowing that doing anything else will only make things worse. But no matter how much he tries to sift through his options, there's nothing that will make it better, or will even make it a little less terrible. He's just got to wait it out. So he does.
Instead of doing much at all, Jaime grabs a box of tissues from the cupboard and hands a couple to her, brow pinched, tension wound up in the way he holds his body, as though he's spent the last few minutes in a state of suspended motion, liable to spring into action at any moment. For this, it's all preparation and no catharsis; there's nothing to do, even if his body is in crisis mode.
This would be a lot easier if there was someone he could punch. He tends to prefer his problems as resolved by beating up giant robots. ]
No, it's -- you don't have to apologize for stuff you can't control. Especially not something like this. [ He wants to ask what exactly's going on, but the question dies in his mouth. That's what spurred this whole thing on in the first place. He's not used to seeing her like this, raw and exposed, like all those little things she's tried so desperately to hide away ever since they first met, years ago, had all come out in a great big flood. ]
I don't mind. I mean, I mind, I don't want you to suffer, but it's not -- um -- I mean, it's okay with me that if it happens, it's...
[ He runs a hand through his hair. He's bungling this up. ]
no subject
It's awful, just standing by and watching, knowing that doing anything else will only make things worse. But no matter how much he tries to sift through his options, there's nothing that will make it better, or will even make it a little less terrible. He's just got to wait it out. So he does.
Instead of doing much at all, Jaime grabs a box of tissues from the cupboard and hands a couple to her, brow pinched, tension wound up in the way he holds his body, as though he's spent the last few minutes in a state of suspended motion, liable to spring into action at any moment. For this, it's all preparation and no catharsis; there's nothing to do, even if his body is in crisis mode.
This would be a lot easier if there was someone he could punch. He tends to prefer his problems as resolved by beating up giant robots. ]
No, it's -- you don't have to apologize for stuff you can't control. Especially not something like this. [ He wants to ask what exactly's going on, but the question dies in his mouth. That's what spurred this whole thing on in the first place. He's not used to seeing her like this, raw and exposed, like all those little things she's tried so desperately to hide away ever since they first met, years ago, had all come out in a great big flood. ]
I don't mind. I mean, I mind, I don't want you to suffer, but it's not -- um -- I mean, it's okay with me that if it happens, it's...
[ He runs a hand through his hair. He's bungling this up. ]
...did that help?