There's much she'd do to thwart anyone who tried to prize that fully-formed dreamworld of their life for six years—the one that Jack was sometimes present for and most of the time not. The one Jack finally remembered bare slivers of a few weeks ago, but this Jack, plucked from the timeline long before those weeks, does not. Not their life. Their marriage. Their children. The truth of what she is. What she did to reach him, to bring him there to her even then.
Her preferred reality. The coal at the center of her being. The flower garlands she'd strung on her prison.
He'd been there some. Not enough. Not consistently. And she knew, in the center of her, every day, it was not real.
(And Jack, her Jack, hadn't even had that much of a mast to cling to during those six years. He'd built a wall to hold her behind him. To drown her out, lest the loss of her after two decades steady would drown him completely. In that, he might have well exceeded her in how relieved and overjoyed, forever in shock, he was to have her back suddenly.)
"Yes. He was taken, too." Sabine's expression finally makes the first truly finitely formed shift. A stately semi-blank remove. A consternation well-lined. Yes, it would take more than one new predatory world, archaic eldritch beings havoc wrecking, or a new deck of old gods to thwart Jack Townsend, who Was and Should Not Be. But it was mixed with her deep annoyance about his removal from where he's supposed to be, what he has to do (what he already did from where she's come). "He's been improving steadily and slowly."
Even if Jack was better prepared to endure that than any else, she'd heard of yet.
"Has there been any further information on why it happened?"
no subject
There's much she'd do to thwart anyone who tried to prize that fully-formed dreamworld of their life for six years—the one that Jack was sometimes present for and most of the time not. The one Jack finally remembered bare slivers of a few weeks ago, but this Jack, plucked from the timeline long before those weeks, does not. Not their life. Their marriage. Their children. The truth of what she is. What she did to reach him, to bring him there to her even then.
Her preferred reality.
The coal at the center of her being.
The flower garlands she'd strung on her prison.
He'd been there some. Not enough. Not consistently.
And she knew, in the center of her, every day, it was not real.
(And Jack, her Jack, hadn't even had that much of a mast to cling to during those six years. He'd built a wall to hold her behind him. To drown her out, lest the loss of her after two decades steady would drown him completely. In that, he might have well exceeded her in how relieved and overjoyed, forever in shock, he was to have her back suddenly.)
"Yes. He was taken, too." Sabine's expression finally makes the first truly finitely formed shift. A stately semi-blank remove. A consternation well-lined. Yes, it would take more than one new predatory world, archaic eldritch beings havoc wrecking, or a new deck of old gods to thwart Jack Townsend, who Was and Should Not Be. But it was mixed with her deep annoyance about his removal from where he's supposed to be, what he has to do (what he already did from where she's come). "He's been improving steadily and slowly."
Even if Jack was better prepared to endure that than any else, she'd heard of yet.
"Has there been any further information on why it happened?"