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Jordan froze completely when he felt the touch. But the tears weren't done with him, and he couldn't help shaking with it again, all the suppressed stress and horror and fear and fury of the past weeks expressing themselves in one huge, ugly spasm of emotion. It was coming out whether or not anyone was there, and he bowed his head and let it.

Eventually he stilled, exhausted and feeling hollow and nauseated. "Sorry," he said into his hands, not looking up, a sense of slow shame at his breakdown creeping in like ice.

"It's a lot of s**t to deal with," Jordan agreed. "Just feels like everything's falling apart lately, and I don't know why, and there's ******** I can do about it." He leaned his elbows on his knees and let his hands hang limply. "Thanks," he said, quietly.

He managed half a smile at the reminder. "You turned out to be a good man," he said. "Thought you might."

"No. I don't think so." Jordan rubbed his hands over his face, grimacing at the not-quite-gritty feel of mostly-dried tears. "I guess I can see why you guys get annoyed with Suns, breaking s**t all the time." He sighed. "It gets better, and then it gets worse, and all anyone else ever sees is the worse part."

"Harrison grumbles about having to repair things a lot. But Harrison grumbles a lot anyway," Jordan admitted. He looked out towards the horizon, watching the ocean for a minute.

"I think half the problem is we've all been trapped in close quarters for months." He sighed again. "Makes everything worse, and there's nowhere for it to go. There's a difference between being in a room with a closed door, knowing you can get out when you want to, and being locked in."

"I know." Jordan closed his eyes and leaned back on his hands, his expression flinching into something pained. "But it's repeat the excuses or say no, I give up, there's no hope, he's irredeemable. I've seen. I was there on his promotion mission. Last time he ******** up." His lips twisted. "For all that I can tell, he regrets it immediately, instantly. But it's that snap point that's so dangerous, where he loses control, and it drags us down with him."

He opened his eyes again, staring off into the distance. "I visited him. I talked to him. I hoped he was going to lie low for a while. Let things start to mend. I didn't expect him to lash out immediately. Maybe I should have." He took a careful breath. "If he ******** up again there won't be another chance. We -- talked about that. If he didn't take it in, then. If he can't get it under control, then, well, there's no hope."

Tracey will help.

How can you be so sure?

Tracey will help, Ferros repeated, and there was a certainty and blind faith in his tone that Jordan recognized and hurt for.

I hope you're right. For both of us. All of us.

"It is," Jordan agreed tiredly. "And I can't think of a damn thing to do about it. I've done what I can. I will continue to do what I can." His right hand flexed into a fist, then relaxed again. "There aren't any adequate excuses. If he won't change, he'll die for it."

He looked away again, his lips set into a firm, grim line. "If that's not enough, I don't know what is."

Manliness was put on hold temporarily; Jordan leaned on Dakota for a moment, grateful for the support. "I'll try not to die," he said. "I'm not done here yet."

"Thanks," and he sat up again, composing himself. "I mean -- seriously, thanks, man. It's been a really rough couple of weeks. You're a good friend."