Jack leans back in his chair, a frown now a solid fixture on his face. "You know well enough that this is different. There's a difference between fighting to make something happen and fighting to-" He doesn't even want to say aloud what he's thinking. Was Anne picking a fight with a madman because some part of her wants the worst possible result?

He glances down at his hands, thinking of sitting next to Anne following his fight in the vanguard. She was right to chastise him then, for being reckless, for being too ready to die for Charles' memory.

"Darling, It doesn't matter if you held your own against him. You shouldn't have asked him to begin with." He sighs and lifts a hand up to rub at the side of his face. "Jesus, Anne, have you seen your face? This isn't nothing."