There's that one particular word, bringing a smile to Nick's face: love. For as terrifying as it can be to love, and to risk losing it, Nick will argue it's worth reveling in while possible every time. For all the resentment and anger buried within him regarding Jenny's murder -- regarding the friends he's made, Undine, Rey, and what the gods have put them all through -- he knows the pros will always outweigh the cons when it comes to being able to truly feel. Love, empathy, concern for one another and the bonds formed between people -- they're what separate folks like them from the Null. They're what made Rey and Nick who they are, more than just the tools they were created to be. They're what living is all about.
And he might not be much more than a machine, but there are times Nick feels truly alive, like he's more than just some escaped construct of the Institute with a head full of memories that aren't his and a lot of problems with his own identity. He feels it when ire rises in his gut at the thought of injustice; he sees it in the way people come together for a common cause in a place like Hadriel, making the town a better place bit by bit, making it home. Most of all, Nick hears it when Rey says his name, when someone who has been through Hell and back is still willing to admit what they share, despite everything.
That feeling of life, of being alive, is worth it every time. She's worth it. What they have together -- the home they've made -- is worth it. Nick's grasp on Rey's hand is gentle, but encouragingly firm. He won't let her go through this alone. Not now, not ever, and he has no doubt in his mind that she'd do the same for him. It's what family does.
"Someone has to watch your back," he returns, that somber grin still worn into him in spite of the grim scene. "You're always keeping me in one piece, so let me do the same for you this time around."
He keeps his hand around hers as she closes her eyes, letting her rest fully against him, reminding himself that no matter how real this feels, help is on the way, and this is just a memory -- she'll pull through. She's always been stronger than she'll give herself credit for.
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And he might not be much more than a machine, but there are times Nick feels truly alive, like he's more than just some escaped construct of the Institute with a head full of memories that aren't his and a lot of problems with his own identity. He feels it when ire rises in his gut at the thought of injustice; he sees it in the way people come together for a common cause in a place like Hadriel, making the town a better place bit by bit, making it home. Most of all, Nick hears it when Rey says his name, when someone who has been through Hell and back is still willing to admit what they share, despite everything.
That feeling of life, of being alive, is worth it every time. She's worth it. What they have together -- the home they've made -- is worth it. Nick's grasp on Rey's hand is gentle, but encouragingly firm. He won't let her go through this alone. Not now, not ever, and he has no doubt in his mind that she'd do the same for him. It's what family does.
"Someone has to watch your back," he returns, that somber grin still worn into him in spite of the grim scene. "You're always keeping me in one piece, so let me do the same for you this time around."
He keeps his hand around hers as she closes her eyes, letting her rest fully against him, reminding himself that no matter how real this feels, help is on the way, and this is just a memory -- she'll pull through. She's always been stronger than she'll give herself credit for.