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[Something more than diving in to the fight itself. Jack closes his eyes, a hint of frost forming on the lashes as he briefly sinks in to a melancholy. Maybe he should have chosen that, for all the good he did. Maybe they won, but it's not as though they couldn't have won without him.

Did win without him.

He has to actually wipe at his eyes so that he can open them again, growling softly in irritation at himself.]

Yeah, well, no shortage of that around.

[Almost every problem that popped up here he had done nothing but dive head first in to the fight. Over and over again, had been the answer each time he was there. This.. This was the first time he'd fallen in to a different role without second thought of it.

.. It was weird, easily as he could have dived in shotguns first.

He huffed.]

Ana brought me over here when she discovered I was in a bucket, since she was calling to ask for help.

Help with what?

[Somehow he already has a guess, but. Has to ask.]

Taking care of things with you recovering.

[Not that Amari had time to finish telling him since he had told her he was having trouble himself.

In a bucket.]

Can't do much like this, however.

[Have a little snort]

Sounds like you're the one that needs a hand.

[He ~~scooches~~ shifts over to the side of the bed so that he can peer in to the bucket. What even is this sludge, man.]

This ever happened before?

Reason the bucket has a handle.

[It's quite the strange mass of black swirled with purples and reds, honestly. Like a liquid but not quite]

No, it hasn't. Smoke is one thing, this is... very new.

[He kind of wants to poke it.

He doesn't.]

Emotional bullshit.

[Aand another flop, staring pensively in to the mass.]

...probably explains a few things, honestly.

[He'd probably jiggle like slime, honestly.]

Emotional bullshit.

[Reason he suspected it had to do with how much negative energy he'd taken in just to keep what he was doing going.]

Tends to around here, but sounds like you've got something specific in mind.

[He's quiet for a long moment. The air about him grows chill, and a bit damp, as he considers. He's 'remembered', by now, or as much as he's going to - and he still hasn't told Ana the entirety. Just that he remembered trying to swim, not the conclusion he's come to.

And yet.

Here's someone he used to trust just as much. And now, maybe, might actually understand his melancholy. Jack lets out a heavy breath, and glances away]

...I think I died, Reyes.

[He'd.. honestly had his suspicions, from what Ana had told him about the state she'd found Jack in. How long he'd been gone and, well.

Who else would know what death had felt like than 'death' himself? Quiet as he was for a moment, even that idle drumming having stopped.]

Probably did. Death here is a lot like what happened to me, so I've gathered.

You come back, but what happened remains with you.

[He appreciates it being treated so casually, honestly. In a way, he desperately wants it to be - needs it to be.]

Just like anything else, huh?

[Anything else they've been through. That it's harsh for the first period of time, but gets easier to deal with. Like a first loss of a friend, a first loss, period, hell - a first near-death experience.

You get used to those. He's still waiting to get used to what happened.]

Almost, but not quite.

[He had danced around death so often it was familiar in so many ways to him, so many brushes, fighting to keep going so long as he knew he was needed. Risking so much just to...

Well.]

It leaves a deeper scar, and doesn't hurt in a way you can deal with like anything else.

[Couldn't just shoulder through the pain and act like it wasn't there until it stopped hurting.]

God damn it.

[The curse is exhaled as he reaches up to rub his face. Brushes with death he's familiar with. But now that he's experienced it? Now that he's felt what it's like for his lungs to fill with water, for the world to go black and not come back?

Before, he'd hate to feel weak in front of Reaper, much less display any sign of it. Now, he just grabs the quilt and secures it about his shoulders to keep that damp chill from piercing through to his bones.]

Do you go through this- have you gone through this more than...[he cuts himself off. Because as much as Reyes claims he's dead, he's...well, he's sure as fuck alive. Before this emotional bullshit, no less.]

Once?

Yeah. Not here, but... [He had died, and he came back because of what he'd allowed O'Deorain to do to him. How many experiments he lost count of, but after it all, well.

Maybe here he was more stable, but for a long time—]

Bone deep, creeping. Never forget every feeling, sometimes feel like it's happening all over again.

There are reasons I don't sleep, Morrison.

Edited 2018-09-17 20:59 (UTC)

[As his father said when he was young; r i p.

He's not sure if he was hoping for reassurance. It's reassuring, in its own way, that Reyes isn't softening the blow. Giving it to him straight without any lies or fake comfort - still, Jack feels cold, and he rolls over with a grunt in a not-sulk about the whole situation.]

That explains why you can be such an asshole.

[Y'know. Like how you used to shoot him in the past.

...in the past.

He glances back.]

Is it this place? [That's. Made him somewhat less of one. And, dare Jack think it, allowed just a bit of healing to happen between them?]

You never needed any help being one.

[No bite behind it, just that same tone in that nostalgic voice as everything else had been delivered with.

He said he could do it for a while, so when Jack did finally glance back it would be to the sight of Gabriel Reyes sitting beside that bucket, looking tired as all hell and hood pulled up, not in leather and claws, but in some soft fabric hoodie and fingerless gloves.]

Yeah. Because I'm not alone, and I don't hurt as much. I don't feel like I'm constantly dying every time I do anything. [He could just go somewhere and...]

I'm just... me.

[Well, the dampness is gone. The chill about Jack remains, but it's not...a biting one. It's like the calm cold of a pristine snowfall, as he just...takes in that sight of Gabriel pulling himself together in to a view that makes his heart so nostalgic, it fucking hurts for a second.

He takes a breath and slowly lets it out, getting a hold of himself. Of his emotions, of that fucking memory of how Gabriel used to be - both for better or worse. The juxtaposition of Reaper against Reyes, and this merger of the two that has settled in to this world.

When he speaks, his voice is rough. Almost raw.]

'Sgood for you. Always hurt when first thing we did was draw guns.

[holy fucking shit, real, brutal honesty from Jack Morrison.]

[Hands rested three on the table beside the bed on either side of him, one just behind the bucket he'd been a large amount of shadow slime in. Could only keep this up for a little while before he'd have to get back in it.

... Eh, maybe it was worth it. Head tilted to one side slightly.]

Yeah.

[Not.. clarifying what that agreement was for exactly.

He did lean forward, no enough to dislodge him, but just enough—]

You're not alone with this shit.

[And that feels like a mug of warm coffee on the porch while watching that snow. Smells like one, too, however faintly. ~~Emotional bullshit.~~

His lips tug to the side in a crooked smile.]

'Preciate it.

[a beat. And then a sigh.]

Now I just have to figure out how to tell Ana.

[There was a slight shrug of shoulders, corner of his mouth twitching a bit.

Before he reached out and let some fluttering butterfly-shaped light drop from his hand to crawl about Jack's hair. Some weird little comforting warmth to it.]

One dead man to another, I guess.

[A little rasp back to his voice, but not enough to not sound like himself still.]

Worry about how you'll tell her when you have your head wrapped around it better.

[Still tell her, but there'd be time.]

[...Gabe, that's not necessary. He's just gonna reach up and. Try and flick it. Say bye bye to coffee smell, hello slightly burnt smell of irritation?]

Yeah, yeah.

[Beat]

Maybe I should go out and get a new wardrobe all in black. Make it official. Where'd you get your mask, anyway?

[Enjoy that mix of cinnamon and marigold to have that bit of bitter with something warm, that twitched turned in to something of a shit eating grin.

A mild one, but there.]

Made it. Want me to make an outfit to replace that tacky ass jacket of yours? Update your look and bring it in to something that looks good?

I like my tacky ass jacket. [It's old and comfortable and at his age, he's allowed that.] And on second thought, a mask'd probably means I'd have to get rid of the visor. [which he also likes.]

So maybe I should just work on rebranding. I'll take some teaching from you in that, edgelord. How should I start acting, huh, act like I'm the next angel of death or whatever?

[This is nice. Reminds him of how they used to tease one another, really. He's even still smiling, rolled on to his side to watch Gabe]

You always did have strange taste. [Such as going around with his damned SEP number blazen across his back.] Maybe you should just paint skeleton teeth across your mask.

Try and play at being one of the cool kids. Going to start using slang and say shit's radical, dude?

Shake things up, without stealing my act?

How do you do, fellow mercenaries?

[said with a fingergun, no less.]

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