[Well. Given Veld's secretive nature, It'd been some years before Vincent had even found out he had a (somewhat estranged) wife. Much less a child, tucked away in Kalm. The sacrifice he spoke of was likely to be that marriage. He couldn't relate, having nothing of the sort. But the knowledge? It was there. Sympathy, given what had just happened? Yes. ...A great deal of it.
As for the President, Vincent didn't know the man. While he could accurately read the (regrettable) personalities of the Board members thanks to the fact their protection usually fell to him, Veld's senority meant that he was the President's detail. Only he would know the nature of the man. Maybe the President had changed along the way. Or maybe he hadn't. Maybe greed and evil were just the opposite side of the coin to the President's bold and uncompromising nature. Maybe Veld only noticed when he was the target. ...He didn't know.
His eyes do raise to Veld at the cracking of his voice, though. There's emotion there. And it's pitiable. So. He takes a long inhale, leaning in to both pass the other the bottle- and to move closer. His hand hovers for a long (terse) moment- before his fingertips (tentatively) glide unto the longer section of his hair in some small degree of comfort. As the pads of his fingers move against the other man's scalp, he can't resist turning some of the auburn strands over once something catches his eye.
Is that ash, from the fire? No. Of course not. Vincent had taken the time to get him, and keep him, clean while he'd been out of it- even dragging him to the shower, unconcious, some days. And what he sees is more silvery than dull. He's going grey.
Surprising, at his age. But unsurprising, given what he'd been through.]
We've got a week. [A last week to live. Probably.] ...Starting tomorrow, We're going to have to push your recovery. [And Veld's likely going to hate him for it.] I need to know you'll be strong enough to survive the flight.
[Veld hates being so weak physically but he can recover from that, wounds and burns will heal. He doesn't care about scars and though it will take time to adjust to losing one arm since that is something that he can just overcome with enough time.
He won't give himself any other alternative. He doesn't protest when Vincent says that they will have to push Veld's recovery since he can handle that. Granted, he's never been this injured but that doesn't matter, it doesn't change anything.
But it's the emotional pain he struggles with. He learned how to compartmentalize his emotions separate from his work, even when it came to his failing marriage and not being able to spend a lot of time at home with his daughter.
His first instinct is to push Vincent away and insist he's fine to shut the emotions down deep again. But the medications and the raw pain make it impossible to push all that down when Vincent runs a hand through his hair, taking the bottle from him.
He takes a long drink, still not pulling away as he allows Vincent to run a hand through his hair. It was comforting, something he hadn't had in a long time. He had told himself that he didn't need this weakness of needing someone to let his guard down even for a bit.
He takes another drink from the bottle, taking a shaky breath. There are no tears, he's sure that he lost the ability to cry decades ago when he had to learn hard lessons decades ago in order to survive in the world.
He can't reply for a while, not trusting his voice to not break again. He doesn't notice when Vincent pauses when he sees the grey hair, still emotionally overwhelmed.
But the moment finally passes and he finally dares to say something.]
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[Well. Given Veld's secretive nature, It'd been some years before Vincent had even found out he had a (somewhat estranged) wife. Much less a child, tucked away in Kalm. The sacrifice he spoke of was likely to be that marriage. He couldn't relate, having nothing of the sort. But the knowledge? It was there. Sympathy, given what had just happened? Yes. ...A great deal of it.
As for the President, Vincent didn't know the man. While he could accurately read the (regrettable) personalities of the Board members thanks to the fact their protection usually fell to him, Veld's senority meant that he was the President's detail. Only he would know the nature of the man. Maybe the President had changed along the way. Or maybe he hadn't. Maybe greed and evil were just the opposite side of the coin to the President's bold and uncompromising nature. Maybe Veld only noticed when he was the target. ...He didn't know.
His eyes do raise to Veld at the cracking of his voice, though. There's emotion there. And it's pitiable. So. He takes a long inhale, leaning in to both pass the other the bottle- and to move closer. His hand hovers for a long (terse) moment- before his fingertips (tentatively) glide unto the longer section of his hair in some small degree of comfort. As the pads of his fingers move against the other man's scalp, he can't resist turning some of the auburn strands over once something catches his eye.
Is that ash, from the fire?
No. Of course not. Vincent had taken the time to get him, and keep him, clean while he'd been out of it- even dragging him to the shower, unconcious, some days. And what he sees is more silvery than dull. He's going grey.
Surprising, at his age. But unsurprising, given what he'd been through.]
We've got a week. [A last week to live. Probably.] ...Starting tomorrow, We're going to have to push your recovery. [And Veld's likely going to hate him for it.] I need to know you'll be strong enough to survive the flight.
no subject
He won't give himself any other alternative. He doesn't protest when Vincent says that they will have to push Veld's recovery since he can handle that. Granted, he's never been this injured but that doesn't matter, it doesn't change anything.
But it's the emotional pain he struggles with. He learned how to compartmentalize his emotions separate from his work, even when it came to his failing marriage and not being able to spend a lot of time at home with his daughter.
His first instinct is to push Vincent away and insist he's fine to shut the emotions down deep again. But the medications and the raw pain make it impossible to push all that down when Vincent runs a hand through his hair, taking the bottle from him.
He takes a long drink, still not pulling away as he allows Vincent to run a hand through his hair. It was comforting, something he hadn't had in a long time. He had told himself that he didn't need this weakness of needing someone to let his guard down even for a bit.
He takes another drink from the bottle, taking a shaky breath. There are no tears, he's sure that he lost the ability to cry decades ago when he had to learn hard lessons decades ago in order to survive in the world.
He can't reply for a while, not trusting his voice to not break again. He doesn't notice when Vincent pauses when he sees the grey hair, still emotionally overwhelmed.
But the moment finally passes and he finally dares to say something.]
We'll start tomorrow.