Martin opens his mouth and shuts it again, a bit shocked for no defensible reason. He had thought he might also do her the courtesy of asking what it was in the file, but he probably should've asked that first if he was going to. And there's really no use pretending he doesn't know, now. He didn't when she came in. If he had, that might've changed something. No telling now.
He lets his shoulders slump slightly as he heaves a sighs, not bothering to hide his guilt or the difficulty of this topic.
"Technically," he says, "the city itself is what got it. It was only delivered to us. We've been working at that place for some years now. The city, erm... as it takes us, it creates these files on us. I don't really know how. We've never been able to find out, even after we started keeping them. John and I, we thought it would better if they were in the care of, you know, us — people who were brought here — than the locals. So we set up The Archive for it, to keep everyone's files, keep them organized. We all have one. I have one."
One doesn't like to think about. He fidgets a bit, looking down at his hands. "A lot of them contain... personal things like that. Not always an actual document from our lives, though. Sometimes it's just... nonsense. Something that would only mean something to us, or something that just... feels personal even if it doesn't make sense. They aren't what I'd call helpful. Just a bit unnerving, really."
This is all avoiding the true source of his discomfort, which he can't beat around any longer. He lifts his eyes to meet Gwenny's. "Ordinarily," he says carefully, "we offer to make copies of them for anyone who wants. Or you can just look at it while you're there. We aren't trying to- to keep them a secret from anyone. We can't give away the files themselves, but..."
He trails off. It feels awful to say this. To essentially tell her that it could've been so simple, had she only asked, or had John not approached it like he did. Martin doesn't feel the blame lies with either of them, really. It's too complicated for that. But he's not in a position to defend John, either. If Gwenny needs to be angry, then she can at least direct her anger at him.
"I'm sorry," he says, "that it worked out like that. And that I didn't... do better at managing it."
no subject
He lets his shoulders slump slightly as he heaves a sighs, not bothering to hide his guilt or the difficulty of this topic.
"Technically," he says, "the city itself is what got it. It was only delivered to us. We've been working at that place for some years now. The city, erm... as it takes us, it creates these files on us. I don't really know how. We've never been able to find out, even after we started keeping them. John and I, we thought it would better if they were in the care of, you know, us — people who were brought here — than the locals. So we set up The Archive for it, to keep everyone's files, keep them organized. We all have one. I have one."
One doesn't like to think about. He fidgets a bit, looking down at his hands. "A lot of them contain... personal things like that. Not always an actual document from our lives, though. Sometimes it's just... nonsense. Something that would only mean something to us, or something that just... feels personal even if it doesn't make sense. They aren't what I'd call helpful. Just a bit unnerving, really."
This is all avoiding the true source of his discomfort, which he can't beat around any longer. He lifts his eyes to meet Gwenny's. "Ordinarily," he says carefully, "we offer to make copies of them for anyone who wants. Or you can just look at it while you're there. We aren't trying to- to keep them a secret from anyone. We can't give away the files themselves, but..."
He trails off. It feels awful to say this. To essentially tell her that it could've been so simple, had she only asked, or had John not approached it like he did. Martin doesn't feel the blame lies with either of them, really. It's too complicated for that. But he's not in a position to defend John, either. If Gwenny needs to be angry, then she can at least direct her anger at him.
"I'm sorry," he says, "that it worked out like that. And that I didn't... do better at managing it."
That, at least, he can readily apologize for.