There's definitely pride there, but it's look what I did, not look who I am; a subtle difference for him to show, let alone for another to pick up on. He's proud to be a captain, to command the Federation's finest ship, because he genuinely understands, respects, and loves what it means. He can carry that kind of authority and responsibility even if he looks like he barely started shaving because despite his youth and the occasional missteps that entails, deep down inside, he's a Starfleet officer, born and then trained.
...And it's true. It's not a word he'd use himself, likely he doesn't even realize he possesses the right qualities, but Jim is also a sweet kid. A good-hearted young man, almost too honest and forthright for his own good, at times.
"People do go home," he agrees, smiling. "They even, unfortunately--and not to put a damper on your suggestion--come back. That happened to someone close to me." There is the barest pause before he adds, "My friend and colleague, who also ended up here. The Chief Medical Officer from my ship and my good friend."
It's funny, sometimes, how the tiniest things give so much away. Most people might not find the order of words, the information offered first, the tiny hesitation before more explanation is added at all significant. But some people are incredibly perceptive, some people just know how to read another person, and Irene is likely sharp enough to catch that, while everything he said is true, genuine, honest, it's also just possible that someone close to me is a very honest wish, too, and my friend, my colleague and so on are justifications for both why he feels that way and, perhaps, also why it's just a wish.
"But even him coming back," Jim carries on, because they're confidants now, he's comfortable with this, "tells me it's possible. That he left at all means we might one day leave for good."
His smile shifts slightly into the sort one wears when one feels like maybe they're talking too much, inadvertently dominating the conversation when they'd like to know more. "And I am doing all right, thank you for asking. I work as a consultant at Hellsing, and I teach self-defense lessons here and there. And I spend a lot of time learning about this city, as much as I can."
Jim settles back in his seat, regarding her across the table. "Now tell me about you, Irene. What do you do here? How long have you been here?" The and are you also all right goes unspoken but is probably plain from the way he studies her face.
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There's definitely pride there, but it's look what I did, not look who I am; a subtle difference for him to show, let alone for another to pick up on. He's proud to be a captain, to command the Federation's finest ship, because he genuinely understands, respects, and loves what it means. He can carry that kind of authority and responsibility even if he looks like he barely started shaving because despite his youth and the occasional missteps that entails, deep down inside, he's a Starfleet officer, born and then trained.
...And it's true. It's not a word he'd use himself, likely he doesn't even realize he possesses the right qualities, but Jim is also a sweet kid. A good-hearted young man, almost too honest and forthright for his own good, at times.
"People do go home," he agrees, smiling. "They even, unfortunately--and not to put a damper on your suggestion--come back. That happened to someone close to me." There is the barest pause before he adds, "My friend and colleague, who also ended up here. The Chief Medical Officer from my ship and my good friend."
It's funny, sometimes, how the tiniest things give so much away. Most people might not find the order of words, the information offered first, the tiny hesitation before more explanation is added at all significant. But some people are incredibly perceptive, some people just know how to read another person, and Irene is likely sharp enough to catch that, while everything he said is true, genuine, honest, it's also just possible that someone close to me is a very honest wish, too, and my friend, my colleague and so on are justifications for both why he feels that way and, perhaps, also why it's just a wish.
"But even him coming back," Jim carries on, because they're confidants now, he's comfortable with this, "tells me it's possible. That he left at all means we might one day leave for good."
His smile shifts slightly into the sort one wears when one feels like maybe they're talking too much, inadvertently dominating the conversation when they'd like to know more. "And I am doing all right, thank you for asking. I work as a consultant at Hellsing, and I teach self-defense lessons here and there. And I spend a lot of time learning about this city, as much as I can."
Jim settles back in his seat, regarding her across the table. "Now tell me about you, Irene. What do you do here? How long have you been here?" The and are you also all right goes unspoken but is probably plain from the way he studies her face.