you play the victim with your finger on the trigger

VESPER

Vesper huffs a small, humourless laugh, one hand lifting to ruffle through his pale hair as if the motion might dislodge the particular discomfort of The Ark from wherever it’s settled beneath his skin. "Will she now," he murmurs, though the edge of it dulls when Jack adds that he gets it, causing something in Vesper’s posture to ease by a fraction. Concern had sat there without announcing itself, too well-hidden to be offered and too present to be nothing, because refusing The Ark’s deck could too easily look like refusing what Jack had made of her, or worse, what she had become. But if anyone in the world was going to understand the ugly little shape of it, though, the privacy and invasion and embarrassment tangled through a telepath’s bones, it’s Jack. Vesper nods,  the gesture small but deliberate. "Thanks," he says, softer than the rest of it.

When the conversation turns celestial o lord, heal this bike, one brow lifts slightly. "I’ve got a quest to turn in to Safrin," he says, the faintest sigh threading through the admission, because late is too gentle a word for how long he’s let that particular obligation sit unfinished. Still, the thought steadies into something useful quickly enough, and his gaze returns to Jack over the barrel-fire. "I’ll mention it to her, see what she makes of it all."

And it's all my fault that I'm still the one you want
So what are you after? Some kind of disaster?

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!