JACK
There's certainly more weakness than strength in Jack for the time being, and he's going to be sore tomorrow as a result of trying to remind his body how to fight in ways that don't involve lances of ice or bolts of lightning, but it could be worse. He could be dead again. Inclining his head in thanks at the healthy measure of whiskey poured before him, the captain raises his glass for a grateful sip, the chill liquor turning into a slick and growing burn in his chest.
He eyes the Bastion's hand for a long few moments, feeling the cracks in the dam Remi had erected and observing it from behind his own fortress of tightly locked emotions. "I didn't do it for your thanks," he says, not that he isn't willing to accept it nonetheless. "I didn't do it for you at all."
And, perhaps a surprise to them both, he reaches out to clasp the other man's hand in his own, releasing the tide of cold fury and murky guilt at all that had happened, all that he'd been unable to do and the ways he'd failed behind the barrier Pierce had thrown up. There's frustration taking root in that guilt, thorns of it burying deep and turning it sharp, though it pales in comparison to the love that he wields like a weapon, honed and ready to strike. Every one of Flora's screams, every tear shed, every minute of broken sleep will herald a retribution the likes of which Jack hasn't even let himself imagine yet.
"You've got good taste in liquor," he mutters, letting Remi's hand go and sitting back to nurse the rum in his glass anew.
He eyes the Bastion's hand for a long few moments, feeling the cracks in the dam Remi had erected and observing it from behind his own fortress of tightly locked emotions. "I didn't do it for your thanks," he says, not that he isn't willing to accept it nonetheless. "I didn't do it for you at all."
And, perhaps a surprise to them both, he reaches out to clasp the other man's hand in his own, releasing the tide of cold fury and murky guilt at all that had happened, all that he'd been unable to do and the ways he'd failed behind the barrier Pierce had thrown up. There's frustration taking root in that guilt, thorns of it burying deep and turning it sharp, though it pales in comparison to the love that he wields like a weapon, honed and ready to strike. Every one of Flora's screams, every tear shed, every minute of broken sleep will herald a retribution the likes of which Jack hasn't even let himself imagine yet.
"You've got good taste in liquor," he mutters, letting Remi's hand go and sitting back to nurse the rum in his glass anew.
we've gone way too fast for way too long
and we were never supposed to make it half this far
and we were never supposed to make it half this far
- Secret Telepath
- Functionally Immortal (Forever 35)
- Two small star tattoos beneath his left eye
- Click for The Ark!
