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"Only want the good s**t," he argued as his arms settled around her in their usual niches. Only like this could Jack's mood settle some; the contact was important, or at least had come to be the longer they were together. "And I've always been smooth, thanks."

Pausing, he then lifted his hands and cupped under Chel's jaw, rested them there for a few moments, moving back and through her hair until they returned to their original spots. "Thank you," Jack said abruptly.

"For trusting me," he answered simply and sincerely, because he did take this seriously.

"In general. With anything, really."

It was hard to explain the feeling that had prompted it, or rather the bundled mix of emotion and belief and internal strife: even though it wasn't his body to lose in the end, Jack had had to experience acceptance of death, the doom lingering over his head with grim certainty. It wasn't that Deus wasn't the same way—how many jokes were often about a trainee's survival chances?—but the job and circumstances were completely different. He, or the at least the knight whose mind he had occupied, had volunteered knowing it meant complete annihilation. It went completely against Jack's general survivalist and pragmatic nature, but the memories were impossible to ignore. So too was the notion that there were things that would get left unsaid, no matter how obvious.

"I wanted you to know," he replied. "Your trust means a lot to me." More than important, but he was still tired and couldn't bother to explain everything in his head. The more he thought about their knights, the more thankful he was that the bond he had with Chel was much stronger. (The worse he felt, paradoxically, because once again he was in the awkward position of admitting to himself how much one person could mean, the danger it meant to put himself in again, the thrill of it.)

"Hence the thanks," he finished a little stiffly as he draped an arm around her. "Not many people really can trust me, to be fair."

He would have joked that that was a big mistake, but for once the words gave him relief instead of dread. Happiness instead of something more jaded. Maybe that was the tiredness talking, maybe that was her touch, maybe it was both and more, but Jack grew soft in turn. Gathering Chel up into arms, he pulled her up until he could bury his face in her neck. It was a rare and quietly emotional moment, and while he did loathe himself for having them, this time he couldn't stop it; he hadn't lied, this was very important to him.

(He wondered how many people thought he was the lucky one. For all the times he joked and called himself a monster, a god, something more, it was these humanizing moments where he could find honest definitions of himself.)

"I want to talk about them," Jack murmured eventually, turning his head enough to speak clearly. "We have to. When you're ready." Because as disturbing as he found the Great Knight's life, it was nothing compared to what Chel had gone through. Those visions, he was sure, had affected her a lot more strongly because of it.

(Or maybe, again, he was just denying his own feelings as he as used to doing.)

Unconsciously, Jack sank against her a little more; he knew this was a sensitive topic. "It's tempting," he admitted quietly; whether for himself or for her or both was unclear. "But us staying safe is more important than ending one dumb b***h." They had gone through enough trouble and still had plenty waiting for them on the horizon as it was.

Pulling away but keeping his arms around Chel, he continued, "I promise I won't stupidly sac myself." Not strictly a crystal vision, but an important promise nevertheless.

If I die. There were far too many conditions he had to stick on that simple statement for this time of night and mood. For now, Jack brushed those thoughts away and smirked a little. "I'd be very disappointed if you didn't try at all to bother me," he replied. "I scouted Parish's ghost before, so I already have experience, too. Easy."

(He tries not to think about his running joke of always being haunted by someone.)

"Babe," unironic this time, "I care that it affected you that much." And other words besides, but he was growing tired, and the initial shock of the dreams and nightmares was being gradually softened by Chel's presence. A hand slipped under her shirt and rested near the small of her back, and Jack pressed a short kiss to her. "You tell me if anything gets that bad, alright? You're my battle partner: no-one else can even come close to that."