[ She expects him not to take it. Because it's Jason, and it's painfully obvious ( especially because it looks like he's not trying to hide it ) that her being here isn't exactly helping. But at the same time, it shouldn't. She shouldn't look like anything more than a meal to him, more or less, and she understands it; but she chooses to ignore it, too. It's her holding on to the hope that she might not be, not yet, and that maybe, just maybe, she can keep him from the effects of the virus for just a little longer.
Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst — he's the very person that told her that.
So, when Jason's hand reaches back, hesitant at first, desperate a second later, her eyes widen. But she doesn't let go ( that'd defeat the entire purpose ), instead gripping back; at least it's helping, even if he doesn't verbalize it. Her expression only shifts from neutrality to ... a mixture of pain and a desperate wish this wasn't happening — a feeling she's familiar with, but not an expression she's comfortable with anyone seeing. A moment of weakness, in some ways, before she steels herself again so that her face isn't betraying too much. Her free hand raises just slightly, almost reaching out to his shoulder — but it pauses mid-way, returning to her lap again.
She spends the remainder of the silence just watching him, only relaxing her hand once he begins to do the same; only, even when he relaxes, there isn't much for her to do. A part wants to keep the silence for as long as she can, to not disturb the peace, but at the same time... ]
... [ Are you alright?, how are you feeling? — the words get stuck in her throat, whether it's attempts at comfort or questions of concern. None of them would help, anyway ( what he needs is a cure, this isn't enough ). So the silence stays; in its place, her second hand joins the first, covering the back of his hand with her palm. Increase the output of oxytocin. A small compromise, of sorts. ]
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Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst — he's the very person that told her that.
So, when Jason's hand reaches back, hesitant at first, desperate a second later, her eyes widen. But she doesn't let go ( that'd defeat the entire purpose ), instead gripping back; at least it's helping, even if he doesn't verbalize it. Her expression only shifts from neutrality to ... a mixture of pain and a desperate wish this wasn't happening — a feeling she's familiar with, but not an expression she's comfortable with anyone seeing. A moment of weakness, in some ways, before she steels herself again so that her face isn't betraying too much. Her free hand raises just slightly, almost reaching out to his shoulder — but it pauses mid-way, returning to her lap again.
She spends the remainder of the silence just watching him, only relaxing her hand once he begins to do the same; only, even when he relaxes, there isn't much for her to do. A part wants to keep the silence for as long as she can, to not disturb the peace, but at the same time... ]
... [ Are you alright?, how are you feeling? — the words get stuck in her throat, whether it's attempts at comfort or questions of concern. None of them would help, anyway ( what he needs is a cure, this isn't enough ). So the silence stays; in its place, her second hand joins the first, covering the back of his hand with her palm. Increase the output of oxytocin. A small compromise, of sorts. ]