08-15-2014, 08:13 AM
He frowned as she sat up and explained. He liked feeling her next to him and it felt like she was distancing herself. He didn't like that. But her words...they did mean something to him. They helped him. They made him think.
He was reminded of the fact that her job initially was for good old Uncle Sam, where you had to trust that your assignment was legit. Plenty of good people could do that sort of thing. Soldiers had to believe that what they were doing was right. Whether as an sniper or just as a regular boots on the ground guy, ultimately, they would be killing people based on the say so of another. That didn't mean they were inhuman or callous monsters. They had wives and husbands, children and parents and friends and were loyal to them. They were especially loyal to their brothers-in-arms. He knew from history that those bonds were among the strongest because they were forged in the heat of battle. So the ability to kill another human being who personally had not wronged you did not, in and of itself, did not mean that a person was inhuman.
It was merely a function of the human mind, a way to categorize people. Humans were good at putting people in the "people I care about" box and "people I can't or don't care about" box. It was human nature- and probably for good reason. Even aside from soldiers, doctors and aid workers and others who dealt with heart-wrenching situations and trauma had to turn off emotional reactions in order to deal practically with the problem at hand. Being emotionally distraught or worse paralyzed a person and was very counterproductive. He couldn't really fault her with being able to do that, to have that skill of compartmentalization. He'd certainly not thought about the man he'd killed, not considered his feelings or family. The man was evil, as far as he was concerned, and needed to die. He wasn't interested in his childhood or any abuse he might have suffered that might have made things more understandable. He didn't imagine the man as a kid with his own problem. As far as he was concerned, the man didn't deserve that kind of human status. In the box he went.
But her explanation showed that motivating her work was a desire to protect those she loved. She had been captured and blackmailed, her family's lives threatened. Her ability to do the job was an assett that she could use to protect them. Would he have done the same for Hayden? Probably. One was his son, the other a random stranger. As hard as it would be, he knew who he'd choose. Boxes, again. And as he thought about it, even once she gained her freedom, she still had the same ability. And while it was wrong, he could also see that it was the only thing she knew how to do, the only thing she knew how to control. It was the only way she knew to survive. It hadn't bothered her because she'd been trained that way. It was what she did. And in some way, it had been associated in her mind with protecting those she loved.
And she had given it up for him. She was working a waitressing job at a fairly average restaurant and going to school. She had made a incredible sacrifice for him. And he loved her for it.
"Now you are covered in blood, and it's my fault. But it wasn't me who hurt you, something else. Something that came because I didn't do something."
His heart ached for her, now laying on her back and looking up at the ceiling. He rolled onto his side and got close to her so it was his turn to look down at her, head propped up on his hand. He put his other hand on her stomach, feeling the flat coolness of her taut skin. He wanted to do the male thing, to get to the bottom of it, to figure out her problem, the why, and then come up with a solution. Instead, he stifled that feeling and just looked at her, smiling weakly.
"I'm sorry Ayden. I wish I knew what to say. But I'm here. Whatever you need, I'm here."
He just watched her, feeling her against him, hoping to somehow warm her up, that his presence might make a difference. "Whatever you need."
He was reminded of the fact that her job initially was for good old Uncle Sam, where you had to trust that your assignment was legit. Plenty of good people could do that sort of thing. Soldiers had to believe that what they were doing was right. Whether as an sniper or just as a regular boots on the ground guy, ultimately, they would be killing people based on the say so of another. That didn't mean they were inhuman or callous monsters. They had wives and husbands, children and parents and friends and were loyal to them. They were especially loyal to their brothers-in-arms. He knew from history that those bonds were among the strongest because they were forged in the heat of battle. So the ability to kill another human being who personally had not wronged you did not, in and of itself, did not mean that a person was inhuman.
It was merely a function of the human mind, a way to categorize people. Humans were good at putting people in the "people I care about" box and "people I can't or don't care about" box. It was human nature- and probably for good reason. Even aside from soldiers, doctors and aid workers and others who dealt with heart-wrenching situations and trauma had to turn off emotional reactions in order to deal practically with the problem at hand. Being emotionally distraught or worse paralyzed a person and was very counterproductive. He couldn't really fault her with being able to do that, to have that skill of compartmentalization. He'd certainly not thought about the man he'd killed, not considered his feelings or family. The man was evil, as far as he was concerned, and needed to die. He wasn't interested in his childhood or any abuse he might have suffered that might have made things more understandable. He didn't imagine the man as a kid with his own problem. As far as he was concerned, the man didn't deserve that kind of human status. In the box he went.
But her explanation showed that motivating her work was a desire to protect those she loved. She had been captured and blackmailed, her family's lives threatened. Her ability to do the job was an assett that she could use to protect them. Would he have done the same for Hayden? Probably. One was his son, the other a random stranger. As hard as it would be, he knew who he'd choose. Boxes, again. And as he thought about it, even once she gained her freedom, she still had the same ability. And while it was wrong, he could also see that it was the only thing she knew how to do, the only thing she knew how to control. It was the only way she knew to survive. It hadn't bothered her because she'd been trained that way. It was what she did. And in some way, it had been associated in her mind with protecting those she loved.
And she had given it up for him. She was working a waitressing job at a fairly average restaurant and going to school. She had made a incredible sacrifice for him. And he loved her for it.
"Now you are covered in blood, and it's my fault. But it wasn't me who hurt you, something else. Something that came because I didn't do something."
His heart ached for her, now laying on her back and looking up at the ceiling. He rolled onto his side and got close to her so it was his turn to look down at her, head propped up on his hand. He put his other hand on her stomach, feeling the flat coolness of her taut skin. He wanted to do the male thing, to get to the bottom of it, to figure out her problem, the why, and then come up with a solution. Instead, he stifled that feeling and just looked at her, smiling weakly.
"I'm sorry Ayden. I wish I knew what to say. But I'm here. Whatever you need, I'm here."
He just watched her, feeling her against him, hoping to somehow warm her up, that his presence might make a difference. "Whatever you need."