If his goal was to avoid distracting her from the conversation, he's failed miserably: the second his hand touches hers, Ness's eyes snap to it, and a buzzing sound starts in her ears, low at first but growing. The last time she'd been touched by anyone as more than an introduction, or a bit of glancing contact—was it Cedric, a few weeks ago in the Quartermaster's office? Did that count? If it didn't count, it was Gwenaëlle, throwing herself into her lap in a fit of dramatics. And if that didn't count, it was Cedric again, months ago, when she was new to Thedas and still afraid of her magic. People don't touch her, they never have.
Stephen's hand is warm. She can feel the scars on his palm, the rough and damaged skin. It trembles overtop of hers, just a little, but he still squeezes so gently and hasn't let go. She's counted seconds, certain he'll pull away eventually, but second after second passes and his hand is still there. Eventually she has to actually engage with the conversation they're having, which necessitates navigating back through everything he said while she was desperately occupied.
"If I don't push myself through it—I'm only worth what I bring to the organization, Doctor. No one will care for me, about me, if I'm not delivering some kind of results."
The thing is, Ness knows how it sounds, even as she says it. Her face scrunches with a distaste for melodrama, for irrationally emotional thinking, but—it feels true, also, in a way most of her more melodramatic thoughts don't once she's said them out loud.
"Sarrux was..." she trails off, far away, before she abruptly forces herself back into the conversation again. "I can stop thinking about it. I'll ignore it. I want to keep my job, please."
no subject
Stephen's hand is warm. She can feel the scars on his palm, the rough and damaged skin. It trembles overtop of hers, just a little, but he still squeezes so gently and hasn't let go. She's counted seconds, certain he'll pull away eventually, but second after second passes and his hand is still there. Eventually she has to actually engage with the conversation they're having, which necessitates navigating back through everything he said while she was desperately occupied.
"If I don't push myself through it—I'm only worth what I bring to the organization, Doctor. No one will care for me, about me, if I'm not delivering some kind of results."
The thing is, Ness knows how it sounds, even as she says it. Her face scrunches with a distaste for melodrama, for irrationally emotional thinking, but—it feels true, also, in a way most of her more melodramatic thoughts don't once she's said them out loud.
"Sarrux was..." she trails off, far away, before she abruptly forces herself back into the conversation again. "I can stop thinking about it. I'll ignore it. I want to keep my job, please."