“you might have to try a little harder.” the tone is familiar but the words lack their usual heat, returned more out of habit than some distinct need to make a point. he’s not one for second-guessing himself; he’s not above admitting to his mistakes, but the guilt that comes alongside it is usually easily compartmentalized, stowed away for later examination. here, now, like this: jack staring at him across the desk, expecting an answer, something feels wrong and misshapen, unbalanced in a way things aren’t meant to be. he doesn’t do this, doesn’t ruminate on bad choices, problems gone wrong. he analyzes, assesses, takes what he needs from them to learn and adapt and grow. his mistakes don’t usually haunt him.
finally he scoffs and hauls himself up out of the chair, dismissed or not. “cost of doing business,” he concludes from the doorway, biting down hard on the way it grates down deep inside. innocent lives. people who had no choice on whether they were in the fight or not. he did his best, but sometimes even that would never be enough. “we aren’t here to be comfortable.” jack knows it better than he does, he’s sure, yet the words still come. “you’re in the wrong business if you think otherwise.”