"Ah, fuck," Dylan sighs, not loud enough for Jack to hear. Something in his expression changes, however -- he looks all at once exhausted, old and yet relieved, somehow, like he's been supporting the weight of the world for the last several months and it's just been lifted from his shoulders. Much as this is a wrench in the machine, a part of him is glad to have been caught, and that's why he lets Jack see that relief, see him, not bothering to try and recover.

While he doesn't immediately pull his poker face back into place, however, he does move, slipping the cuffs magically so he can scramble to his feet, reach for Jack. He knows Jack's closed him out of his head, but that doesn't stop him from seeking a connection as he touches him. He wants to ask him to trust him, so he can pull him into a headlock so he can actually talk without giving up on the show. Whether or not that actually translates, or if Jack's still deflecting, he has no idea, but either way, he still manages to get his arms around him, pulling him back against his chest. And as he leans into Jack's ear, no louder than before but much more audibly, he breathes, "Yeah. Yeah, it's me. I'm ... "

Voice breaking, he gives up on words. The answer is clear, he's sure.