It strikes him that he did meet Jack in the red light district. At the time, it hadn't meant anything. After all, he'd been traveling through there as well, but not to partake in the people. Jack, however, has his urges and needs. It was initially a point of contention, as he recalls, but...of course he would.
It doesn't hurt, not in a way that feels like cheating. And it doesn't hurt in that Jack's more used to a time and lifestyle that means many people, human and alien and all sorts, in sometimes increasingly elaborate ways.
No, it mostly just aches that Jack has decided that's how to get the urges out, rather than cultivating deeper relationships with people that he also happens to sleep with. Maybe he does that on the side. Who is he to know, these days?
"Home," he says with a bittersweet smile. "Or somewhere better than here." Malcolm finally pulls his hand away.
"I don't know what to expect myself. I'm still sorting through memories that are coming back and yet have always been there, dormant. I'm not going to make any promises or expect anything of you or of myself. Not at least until I've got my own head sorted and my living situation, well, situated. For what it's worth--" And he's not sure it's worth anything at all, and his eyes drop to the table, a lick of his lips, one deep breath, then he looks back up. "For what it's worth, it was a mistake to leave."
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It doesn't hurt, not in a way that feels like cheating. And it doesn't hurt in that Jack's more used to a time and lifestyle that means many people, human and alien and all sorts, in sometimes increasingly elaborate ways.
No, it mostly just aches that Jack has decided that's how to get the urges out, rather than cultivating deeper relationships with people that he also happens to sleep with. Maybe he does that on the side. Who is he to know, these days?
"Home," he says with a bittersweet smile. "Or somewhere better than here." Malcolm finally pulls his hand away.
"I don't know what to expect myself. I'm still sorting through memories that are coming back and yet have always been there, dormant. I'm not going to make any promises or expect anything of you or of myself. Not at least until I've got my own head sorted and my living situation, well, situated. For what it's worth--" And he's not sure it's worth anything at all, and his eyes drop to the table, a lick of his lips, one deep breath, then he looks back up. "For what it's worth, it was a mistake to leave."