When Albert mentions his hands, it's as though a trapdoor has been sprung beneath Sigma's feet. He stares numbly at his cybernetics before closing his eyes to commit it to memory - but with a head full of static, it just won't stick. Come on. Albert could do it. He had to respect his decision: holding a trigger steady for nine minutes would require little to no effort for a sophisticated cyborg. To kill a person in that chair would have to be entirely intentional...
And then comes the rest of his sentence. Sigma's eyes snap open and he searches Albert's face for grief, amazed at how trivial a self-sacrifice seemed to him. Regardless of whether or not his partner was truly afraid, things were, at last, decided. Sigma chokes out a sigh of relief, arm drawing over his forehead to wipe the sweat from his eyebrows. His gratitude is powerful enough to drown out old grudges and he suddenly wishes, with all of his strength, that they could start from the beginning.
"Thank you, Heinrich."
When he gathers the courage to lift his head, his expression is twisted with a lifetime's worth of suffering. If he could still fight tooth and claw through physical pain, he has reached the limit of his endurance for emotional torment. "...I know how this must look to you. I must seem like the worst sort of coward, huh? It's just that I'm... so tired of these games..." The hundreds of lives he remembers, the hundreds of death games he has played, make him feel as old as dust and just as useful. Dying and screwing things over, the greatest talents of the king of infinite time. An immortal, omnipotent failure.
"...But you said you were willing to trust me. The last thing I want is for you to regret that." He wants, if only once, for someone's trust in him to be validated. This gives him the strength to make his way over to the chair and run his fingers over the crown of the machine, the way Diana did in his place years ago. She and his spectral form, they are both ghosts, buried in a simulated Mars. "You won't get hurt. That's a promise." He'll pull the trigger as steadily as he can whenever Albert is ready to sit.
no subject
And then comes the rest of his sentence. Sigma's eyes snap open and he searches Albert's face for grief, amazed at how trivial a self-sacrifice seemed to him. Regardless of whether or not his partner was truly afraid, things were, at last, decided. Sigma chokes out a sigh of relief, arm drawing over his forehead to wipe the sweat from his eyebrows. His gratitude is powerful enough to drown out old grudges and he suddenly wishes, with all of his strength, that they could start from the beginning.
"Thank you, Heinrich."
When he gathers the courage to lift his head, his expression is twisted with a lifetime's worth of suffering. If he could still fight tooth and claw through physical pain, he has reached the limit of his endurance for emotional torment. "...I know how this must look to you. I must seem like the worst sort of coward, huh? It's just that I'm... so tired of these games..." The hundreds of lives he remembers, the hundreds of death games he has played, make him feel as old as dust and just as useful. Dying and screwing things over, the greatest talents of the king of infinite time. An immortal, omnipotent failure.
"...But you said you were willing to trust me. The last thing I want is for you to regret that." He wants, if only once, for someone's trust in him to be validated. This gives him the strength to make his way over to the chair and run his fingers over the crown of the machine, the way Diana did in his place years ago. She and his spectral form, they are both ghosts, buried in a simulated Mars. "You won't get hurt. That's a promise." He'll pull the trigger as steadily as he can whenever Albert is ready to sit.