[He might not have, otherwise - naturally he wouldn't have, but Beckett is making a conscious effort not to pull back. So he grimaces, fangs showing, when Angel says the name, Handsome Jill. However many crimes of history he's encountered, they're still an affront, and this is really very personal.
He has never in his life wanted to hug anyone more. The feeling is mildly terrifying in its intensity. He wants to wrap her in his arms like they're another world, a just, a kind one.]
No hero writes their own story. [He speaks more quietly, almost an undertone to Enoch's more personal, emotionally clearer words. That's Enoch's gift. His is just knowledge.] That's the irony of history, I suppose, that it's written by the people who are best at silencing and erasing everyone else. You can't know what it'll say... and you can't know if you really have made a difference in the long run. Not really. You act in the moment, do what... [He glances down at his hands] what you think is right.
[Come on, though, Beckett, you know that's not a comfort. You know.]
You have to - I'm sorry, Enoch, you might not like where this will go but I'm going to say it - you have to account for yourself. What you know about yourself and what you've done. Whether in your world or... what you plan to do here. You can't determine success or failure, only whether you did what you had to to be able to look yourself in the eye after. And whatever it must be, if there is still something left - I will respect it. Because I love you. Because I want you alive, but not more than I want you whole.
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He has never in his life wanted to hug anyone more. The feeling is mildly terrifying in its intensity. He wants to wrap her in his arms like they're another world, a just, a kind one.]
No hero writes their own story. [He speaks more quietly, almost an undertone to Enoch's more personal, emotionally clearer words. That's Enoch's gift. His is just knowledge.] That's the irony of history, I suppose, that it's written by the people who are best at silencing and erasing everyone else. You can't know what it'll say... and you can't know if you really have made a difference in the long run. Not really. You act in the moment, do what... [He glances down at his hands] what you think is right.
[Come on, though, Beckett, you know that's not a comfort. You know.]
You have to - I'm sorry, Enoch, you might not like where this will go but I'm going to say it - you have to account for yourself. What you know about yourself and what you've done. Whether in your world or... what you plan to do here. You can't determine success or failure, only whether you did what you had to to be able to look yourself in the eye after. And whatever it must be, if there is still something left - I will respect it. Because I love you. Because I want you alive, but not more than I want you whole.