He wanted to touch him. To reach out and comfort him, even with just a hand on a shoulder. It was instinct but he'd been screwed over by his instincts where touch was concerned these past few days and he wasn't sure if it would be comforting at all.

Jim was quiet a few minutes, letting the light spill brighter upon them, the tide lap at their legs. He'd be all wet but it didn't matter.

"For what it's worth, I've been there," he said quietly. "I understand." But part of what he understood was that it didn't matter how much support you had and how much trust and how much others were willing to share your burdens. The decision, the responsibility, was his alone.