The intent registers, even if the action does not. John inhales, grip flexing on the crutch. Attempts at persuasion spin desperately through his mind but for the moment, they settle. He meets Flint's gaze, expectation and apprehension obvious on his face.
There is an urge in what somehow feels somehow both like a surge of relief and a moment he won't easily capture again to say, Let us pretend that nothing happened. He could be blind to what had happened in the road; he could will himself to say I will forget this and we can go on just the same. There are men who would do it, who can be told to swallow pieces of themselves and do it, and they belong in places like this one.
So: "We have come all this way together. You must know that I wouldn't lie to you now. So when I say that I will protect this, know that I will go forward and do so to whatever extent I am able."
What shape will his actions be forced to take in order account for it? What effect will that have on their positions here and the people cinched tight about them by necessity? That he doesn't yet know.
The white-knuckled grip on his crutch loosens. John doesn't lean back against the table, but the tension passes from his body. He doesn't say anything for a long moment, holding Flint's gaze before he inclines his head.
"It won't interfere with our business," John repeats. Every other response is inadequate in the face of what Flint has offered to him. (I believe you. Thank you.)
There is some instant, involuntary flexion in the lines of his face - the flash of something brittle - and a hesitation he can't mitigate before it happens which says, It already has.
There is truth in that reaction. It's nothing John knows. He has become a certain kind of liability. He is quiet for a long moment, feeling the weight of that settle onto his shoulders.
John will manage it. He has been managing this secret for most of his life, and all that's different now is the stakes associated with failure.
"If what we've done pays off in Nevarra, you're right. This place will ask more of us."
If.
"I would not see us give up our investment here."
Now more than ever, the time spent here has to bear some reward. John has given this place a year and some odd months, and now his dearest secret. It cannot all come to nothing in the end.
"Then we're in agreement." He sounds very certain even as his thumb has set at the edge of one of his rings, unconsciously contemplating turning it around and around on its finger. "That's all I needed to know - to verify that we continue to drive this thing rather than be driven."
Decisions can be made as they create the circumstances which require them.
Flint's certainty echoes in John's voice. It has been many months of them speaking together, seeing the places where the world bends to meet them. But now the foundation has been shaken. There is some price to that, even if John cannot see the shape of it beyond this moment.
"If there's nothing else, I'll see to Mr. DeGroot."
There is something else. It must show in him somehow - in his face or in the small undecided motion of his hands or by the line of his shoulder angled away from the jutting pain in his side. His hand on a stone, measuring the effort and time it will take to turn over. Why isn't a question he can ask, but there are twenty more which occur to him just in the context of this room. But are any of them fundamentally different from that one, though? Don't they all point in that direction?
"See that the launch is made ready as well. I'll be off as soon as it is."
If he is patient, more productive questions will make themselves known.
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So: "We have come all this way together. You must know that I wouldn't lie to you now. So when I say that I will protect this, know that I will go forward and do so to whatever extent I am able."
What shape will his actions be forced to take in order account for it? What effect will that have on their positions here and the people cinched tight about them by necessity? That he doesn't yet know.
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"It won't interfere with our business," John repeats. Every other response is inadequate in the face of what Flint has offered to him. (I believe you. Thank you.)
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"Of course."
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John will manage it. He has been managing this secret for most of his life, and all that's different now is the stakes associated with failure.
"If what we've done pays off in Nevarra, you're right. This place will ask more of us."
If.
"I would not see us give up our investment here."
Now more than ever, the time spent here has to bear some reward. John has given this place a year and some odd months, and now his dearest secret. It cannot all come to nothing in the end.
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Decisions can be made as they create the circumstances which require them.
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Flint's certainty echoes in John's voice. It has been many months of them speaking together, seeing the places where the world bends to meet them. But now the foundation has been shaken. There is some price to that, even if John cannot see the shape of it beyond this moment.
"If there's nothing else, I'll see to Mr. DeGroot."
As if this is any other conversation.
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"See that the launch is made ready as well. I'll be off as soon as it is."
If he is patient, more productive questions will make themselves known.