He wasn't perfect, he knew that. If anyone had been stupid enough to tell him that when he was younger, he'd grant them wisdom and a broken nose. Nowadays, they'd still get that wisdom, but he'd seen too many broken noses to cause another one. Besides, he'd be the one fixing it later.
It wasn't so much the big things that bothered him. It was the tiny ticks that reminded him he couldn't fix everything.
When someone's arm shook just a little too much. A slight, stubborn limp. A face that didn't quite have all its color back.
And then there were the moments suffered silently.
When someone gripped the edge of a table just a little too hard. A sharp breath. A smile suddenly dropped to tight lips.
Worst of all were the times someone never got the chance to have to those moments.
It's then that everyone wishes they could tell him, "It's ok."
But every now and then, when the universe decides to celebrate Christmas, he can almost forget those horrible, guilty, awful moments, where he can't fix everything.
When someone holds on just a little while longer. A hail-Mary that works. A solution finally found at 4 in the morning.
It's then that he can almost say he's perfect
It's then that he can say, "It's ok."