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The cell is cold; not quite enough to be unpleasant, but enough that there are faint goosebumps on any exposed skin. The air seems heavy, almost stifling with banked fury and exasperation.

"I don’t know what to say, Devon. I suppose it would be too much to ask for a little gratitude." Crossing his arms over his chest and shaking his head, the man's mouth draws into a hard, piqued line. Disappointment turned frustration. "Do you know how much work it took to get you out? How much money?"

At her dismissive snort, his frown pulls even tighter. "You didn't seem to have an issue with it when that money kept the trial fast, or your cell the most comfortable possible."

Her head jerks up at that, surprise showing clearly for just a moment before it's wiped away in favor of expressionless dislike again. It's a quick moment, but not quick enough he misses it, and his own anger crumples in favor of frustration and a gnawing need to have all he's done acknowledged by the woman he’d once understood. "Is this not good enough? You murdered someone. Did you really think that would lead to the kind of life you've been living since you were convicted? I saved you from a life of misery— "

"Saved me?" Resnik's mouth pulls into a mocking simper, laugh disbelieving. "You think you saved me? Take a look around, Jason. I'm still in a cell. Still a prisoner." Clearing her face of anger and schooling it back into neutral lines takes effort, but finally she relaxes back into her seat and shrugs. "All you've done is move the location of where I'm locked up."

That breaks Gallagher's calm, and when his fist hits the table the thump is loud in the otherwise silent room. His voice rises with a cast that’s almost desperate in its retaliation."How could I have left you behind? You're my wife— "

"Ex," she interjects, shrugging again and making a little mocking 'go on, then' gesture with her hands when his breath catches on wounds re-opened.

"My wife, but I can't pretend you're in the right. I've done all I can. I want to understand, Devon, I do. But you're a prisoner because you committed a crime." Sitting back, he smooths down his uniform front, letting all the air out of his lungs in a controlled, unhappy breath. He gathers captaincy back around him like a buffer against her words even as his tone gentles, words all the harsher for the lack of anger in them. "I wish I could have done more for you. I would have. You can say whatever you'd like about being brought along against your will, but the truth is you're here because you killed a man. Hate me all you want, but that won't change."

Hair obscuring her expression as she looks down at her lap, the anger that fueled her drains away slowly and leaves behind a different, more painful kind of quiet. After a few long moments of silence, she lays her hands flat on the table and takes a breath, finally looking up again with an expression that makes him pull back in his chair as if struck. "I know that. But I'm not your wife anymore, Jason. That ended. You had no right to take me with you on this." Slower, now, more purposeful: "No legal right, either."

Leaning back in her chair, she watches as a brick-red flush rises from under the neck of his uniform, a harrowing kind of anger thinning his features down to all edges and angles.

Finally, he swallows, the slant of his mouth lopsided and insincere with words unsaid. "Yet here you are." His chair scrapes harshly along the floor as he shoves it out, then again as he repeats the harsh movement pushing it back in. "The first jump is in five days. I'll come see you again afterward, and we can have this talk again. Let’s see if we can get through it without resorting to sniping then."

The slight whoosh of air as the door closes behind him covers the sound of her sharp, furious inhale.