That's it. Matt's words slide beneath his skin the wrong way, and Tim's patience snaps. As soon as Matt's sitting up on his own, Tim stands up, moving away from the couch. His jaw is tight and his fingers push through his hair, agitation echoing in each and every movement. He tried so hard to stay calm and understanding, to just be happy that Matt was still breathing.
He realizes he's pacing, and he stops on the other side of the coffee table, staring at Matt. When he speaks, his voice isn't soft. It's louder, and angry, edged with sharp, harsh tones.
"So what am I supposed to tell them when you finally wind up dead? Or what am I supposed to tell my superiors when we've got you cornered and I can't pull the trigger? You have no idea what position this puts me in."
His jaw clenches again. He's proving Matt's point — it was easier when he didn't know. Not better. But certainly easier.
"How do you do it?" he asks suddenly. "You can't see. How are you fightin' crime if you can't see? Unless you were lyin' about bein' blind, too. Can't say I'd be surprised."
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He realizes he's pacing, and he stops on the other side of the coffee table, staring at Matt. When he speaks, his voice isn't soft. It's louder, and angry, edged with sharp, harsh tones.
"So what am I supposed to tell them when you finally wind up dead? Or what am I supposed to tell my superiors when we've got you cornered and I can't pull the trigger? You have no idea what position this puts me in."
His jaw clenches again. He's proving Matt's point — it was easier when he didn't know. Not better. But certainly easier.
"How do you do it?" he asks suddenly. "You can't see. How are you fightin' crime if you can't see? Unless you were lyin' about bein' blind, too. Can't say I'd be surprised."