She's still watching him and she's not acknowledging the tension. Her eyes are calm and steady.
"I think that it's easy to lose sight of pieces of yourself, when you get pulled into a facet as... violently as a soldier might be. But I don't think that's all there is left for them.
"For some, I think they might be able to find those pieces, with some help." She glances at the box of paint and paper. "For others, if they can't find the old, maybe they can grow something new."
There's something in what she says that feels... not off, exactly, but... like she knows things, things he hasn't said to her. He tries to recall if anything he said to John or Arthur might have brushed against the idea of mission objectives and found its way back to her, but.
Somehow not even remotely what he expected. The expression on his face is borderline comical in its surprise, with how different it looks from his normal neutral-to-cold friendliness.
"...Okay." A pause. "Is showing someone part of the objective, or...?"
It's adorable, and she can't even imagine how many people died in abject confusion staring into those eyes.
"Yes, it is," she says with a nod. "And that person can be me, or it can be someone else. But I'd like you to return here when you're done for a debrief. Sound good?"
He nods, slowly, a part of him he only half-knows feeling like should be able to manage with how many choices there are. He should be able to handle having options in the dining hall. He shouldn't be so relieved to have the clothes he came in fixed. He should be able to take things that don't look almost exactly the same out of the wardrobe.
"...What's the difference, between a craft and an art?"
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"I think that it's easy to lose sight of pieces of yourself, when you get pulled into a facet as... violently as a soldier might be. But I don't think that's all there is left for them.
"For some, I think they might be able to find those pieces, with some help." She glances at the box of paint and paper. "For others, if they can't find the old, maybe they can grow something new."
She meets his eyes again.
"We could try the painting together?"
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"I know."
She shakes her head.
"That doesn't exempt you from kindness."
She's helped people who've done a lot worse.
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He thinks, Doesn't it?
He thinks Shouldn't it?
He thinks Get too close, and it all happens again.
He'd prefer not to kill anyone else who wants to be kind to him.
"I don't know that I... I think possibly I should make it a solo effort at first."
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It's easier to grow from an offshoot. From a cutting. And some plants need trellises, a frame to grow on. She looks at him again.
"Not a bad idea." A pause. "Would it help if I gave you a-" another, shorter pause, "an objective?"
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Maybe she just knows soldiers.
"All right."
He could not sound more reluctant fam.
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"We'll start small: a picture you feel good showing to someone else. Just... one that you think is worth sharing. That's it."
She turns her hand.
"Maybe you like the colors. Or there's a shape that came out well. Maybe it just seems to evoke something. Whatever it is."
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"...Okay." A pause. "Is showing someone part of the objective, or...?"
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"Yes, it is," she says with a nod. "And that person can be me, or it can be someone else. But I'd like you to return here when you're done for a debrief. Sound good?"
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It's a more honest answer than 'sounds good.'
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"Great."
She glances over at the little bookshelf in the corner.
"Need any instructional books, you think? Or just going to wing it?"
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"Actually, I might look in the library. I, ah... I was..."
There's a real embarrassment in the words, even if he feels it more as sheepish than ashamed.
"I don't think I'd ever seen that many books in one place. I wasn't sure where to start."
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"...What's the difference, between a craft and an art?"