2/2 And there's the real kicker, right. Not a good enough reason. Not with them, where full disclosure and letting people do their own math was what respect meant. Ugh.
"Look, whatever happens, it's been - worth it. Really. You know that. Right?" He pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket and offered it up to her between them, raising his eyebrows just a little to indicate the mess of paint across her face. "I mean, I know some of it's been shitty. But - people talk about the stuff we do, the dinners and wine and the clothes, and all that, and they make noises about how it's empty. But it's really not. I had fun." His smile was more genuine now, still stilted, still with that tenuous edge it always had when he was trying to distract someone from the real heart of something - but real. "I lived my fucking life, and maybe I did it on their terms, but I still got it. And they can't take it away from you. It's like - they keep you on a leash, right? And for you, it's the work you do, and for me, it's this stupid thing," he said, tugging at his collar to glance down at his reactor, a look full of a certain fond contempt; like all good dogs, he'd learned to rather like his leash. "The stuff it pumps into me almost kills me every month or so, but you know what? The time that it isn't - it's not like they get that back. They can keep you on their payroll. They can keep you on the needle. But they can't stop you from loving every second of it. So we didn't …" His smile dissolved completely, into something softer. "We didn't waste anything. Whatever happens."
Maybe it had been fake. It had still been good. And maybe, if they didn't make it out, he'd never know the difference between those two poles that she was so keen to discover - but if he did, that was one more new thing to try on for size and cast it off if he didn't like the way it fit. It was worth hanging around to find out.