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Posted: Fri May 16, 2014 10:47 am
There we go.
While Jack didn't have his finger on the pulse of his group's happenings, he did like to think he had gleaned enough to discern bits and pieces. He most certainly knew what would throw Lina into a loop like that--he had witnessed just the same look when her mother died--and given the collection around her the one time he saw them in the infirmary, it was easy to narrow down.
Nevada. One of the first few people Jack had met on the island. He had kept her briefly captivated by a facade of courteousness, but it had fallen through so quickly he didn't know why he had bothered in hindsight. Maybe he had foolishly believed second chances were real; he didn't change, nobody did. Or maybe it was that he had wanted to try it out, getting more with honey than vinegar. He hadn't always been so bitter. Nevada had cornered him soon after she'd learned he was Lina's ex, like mere existence had somehow made him dangerous, and threatened him with violence like she had with Finn. As far as he had been concerned, she was a crazy one-eyed b***h who was way too attached to Lina and definitely had to have something wrong with her if she thought dating Chel was a great idea.
And now Nevada was just dead, and Jack felt nothing. So he let the thoughts fall back to the bottom of his mind to pick up again later, if he felt like it. It explained the odd text exchange with Lina at any rate.
This Finn thing made Jack's brows rise in actual surprise. What the ******** was going on with everyone lately? "Finn's shameless, but I didn't think he was into cheating," he said, frowning. Then he waved it off. "Look, a ******** kiss doesn't screw it up, Ian. If it did, a lot of us would be royally screwed. And quite frankly, I'm still under the impression that, while hurt, he'd forgive you." Because love makes people spineless.
He shifted in his chair. "Explain to me what you mean by protecting him from yourself."
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Posted: Fri May 16, 2014 10:12 pm
The word cheating made him flinch, Ian pressing his lips together. "Technically it wasn't cheating because I'm not with Shiloh now," he pointed out, though it was cold comfort because he felt like it had been, regardless of the situation. "Finn's not with Fini anymore either."
They felt like excuses, and shitty ones that that. Ian sincerely regretted ever letting himself get that far, the medicine mostly dulling his anger at himself and turning it into a flat frustration, a terrible sadness making his heart ache along with the rest of his bruised and broken body.
"Are you including yourself in the royally screwed category?" Ian mumbled, wishing for water again. He licked his dry lips and sighed, leaning his head back against the pillow, and the movement made his throat throb angrily, pulses of pain shooting up and down his spine.
He wasn't sure he could say it; if he could tell Jack the one thing that he had clung to for so long that it had become a crutch. Jack wasn't exactly made of warm fuzzies, and opening his heart like that - being as open as that - was monumentally frightening.
But still. Jack was here, and he was listening, and maybe that was all he needed.
"When I was in college, I had a best friend," Ian said, his voice hoarse. He sounded tired. "His name was Patrick, and we were inseparable. We slept together a few times, but it was more of a soul mate thing that didn't need to be romantic, you know? I wasn't in love with him and he wasn't in love with me, and we were fine with that. He was basically my other half, and I told him I loved him. I didn't even say that to my parents."
His throat felt dry, his chest hollow.
"Patrick wasn't as happy with life as everyone thought he was - as I thought he was," Ian said quietly. "He killed himself a few days after that."
The memory still hurt, was still burned into Ian's mind as tangibly as if it had been only hours before. Ian longed to reach a hand up, rub his face, cover his eyes, but his hands were broken and battered, and he settled for closing his eyes instead, taking a deep steadying breath.
"Nevada was the second person I said I loved," Ian said flatly. "And she's dead too. Shy told me he loved me a few months ago, and I couldn't say it back because I was too afraid of putting him through the same agony that I went through."
He sighed again. "But he's stronger than he looks, and he can take care of himself, and he told me he loved me and I just...I threw it back in his face. I told him I didn't love him back and it was over, and now everything is royally ******** up."
His head had started to pound and he felt lightheaded, the cannula itching his nose.
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Posted: Sat May 17, 2014 12:32 am
Ian was met with a blank expression, followed by an inscrutable, contemplative one. Jack wasn't entirely sure how to take this news either, and these were people he actually knew. Part of him figure he ought to feel a p***k of guilt for not being more aware that there had been issues, but most of him was still just trying to process that yet another couple who, at least as far as his cursory presence told him, seemed pretty much good with each other had just broken it off. The initial question on his lips was, What the ******** is wrong with everyone? But he already knew that: relationships, among other things.
"Ah," was all he could think to say, because for once he didn't want to be an a*****e about it.
Jack then moved on by scoffing and giving a small, wry grin. "I'm at the ******** queen level of royally screwed if that's the minimum," he told Ian. "But I'm going to hell either way, so it's a moot point. Good thing my last mission gave me a teaser by burning the s**t out of me, because I get to look forward to experiencing it thousands more times." Clearly this was what anyone needed for a bit of cheering: the image of Jack in pain.
Owain made a disapproving noise in his head, sad and sympathetic. But Jack didn't need to be told that for once he needed to drop the attitude once Ian started up again: even someone as robotic as him could hear the specific inflection cuing him to the fact that Ian was pulling out something normally close to the vest. Interesting. Jack wasn't used to playing the part of confidant. He still believed nobody honestly thought of him as anything more than a bag of dicks on long legs (and it was much easier that way), so to him this was merely like asking for a tool: Ian needed a warm body and almost got one. Then Ian needed a pair of ears, and here they were.
Past today he doubted it would matter afterwards. As before, Jack would help patch someone up, make sure they were stable, and then see them out of the infirmary without a backward glance. He was as much a tool as they all were, and the cogs in the machine would continue turning once the obstruction was removed. The only difference him and them was that he didn't ******** break.
(And he never would, because he knew what would happen if he did: not a goddamn thing.)
Jack's eyes fell closed as he listened, silent and still. When Ian finished, he remained like that for just a little longer, mulling over the information. Did he believe in soul mates? No, but then again he barely believed love really existed either. Bias, yes, favoritism, yes, cravings, yes, but not love (he kept repeating).
(( Jack. )) Somehow, Owain was able to turn his name into absolutely anything he wanted: in this case, a gentle nudge. Ian needed help.
He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled through his nose.
Realizing it had been a while since he had offered, Jack opened his eyes leaned forward, offering to let him drink from the bottle again. If it was possible, the man's rough edges seemed softer, though it was hard to tell how or why it seemed so. Even his voice sounded a little more hushed between them.
"I'm the last person anyone should talk to about relationships," Jack said, idly running a hand through his hair. "Jesus, it's bad I'm even trying. But I learned this much: if you've got something good, like . . . honest to God good for your sorry-a** self? Even lines and even numbers and matching puzzle pieces good? The only way you can really ******** something like that up is if one of you gets incurable cancer or something and dies. And that didn't stop either of you when Shiloh had his Casper capers."
He pointed the bottle at Ian to emphasize his words. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Ian, but what did start this whole thing was you deciding you'd rather be a coward because love hurts." His words didn't drip sarcasm in the slightest. "I get it. Opening up is ******** scary, let alone to three people. Stupid s**t happens when you get scared or get hurt, and really stupid s**t happens if it's both. But really stupid s**t is different from royally ******** up."
He stated this like he was the expert in this field of science.
"Here's how we'll find out what it is. Do you regret lying to Parish?"
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Posted: Sat May 17, 2014 11:33 pm
He wondered if Jack would actually give him good advice, or if he'd just snort, say that's life, and let him go back to sleep. Sleeping sounded highly appealing at the current moment, since Ian's thoughts were a jumble of tangled wires and frayed nerves and confusion that had been muddled and muffled by the heavy doses of pain medication he was currently on.
Jack was silent for a little too long, which made Ian suspicious; but Jack had stood and was holding out the bottle, and Ian took a grateful few swallows before he shook his head, giving the other man a curious look, eyes slightly narrowed. This was certainly a side to his friend he'd never seen, and he wasn't sure whether it was a positive thing, or a negative thing - at least not yet.
"You're not wrong," he said. I was a ******** coward."
His tone was slightly wary. He wondered where Jack was going with this.
"Yes," said Ian flatly. "Yes, I regret lying to him; it's one of the biggest regrets that I have right now. But it's not like that'll change anything. Even if I apologize, I'm sure he's moved on by now."
The thought of Shiloh moving on without him sent a pang of longing through Ian, gritting his teeth against a wave of pain from his neck. He wished he could move the cannula, or at least take it out, but every time he tried, he couldn't get the air into his lungs fast enough.
He was stuck here, in this damned room, until he could breathe properly on his own, which would be a problem.
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Posted: Sun May 18, 2014 12:25 am
"But that's 'I'm sure'. Not 'he told me', not 'he sent me a ******** text message like a twelve year old saying', not anything Parish has actually communicated to you." Jack tapped his temple lightly with the water bottle. "You've built this claim up in your head that everything has been ruined without sufficient evidence to support it. You're 'sure he's moved on by now' and that nothing will change in spite of your regret. The technical term for this is making a hasty generalization. The laymen term is self-defeating."
Which he supposed were both understandable, given Ian's condition and his apparent history.
"Here's the thing, Ian. You can sit and mope and nothing will change," Jack continued, propping his elbows on his knees and leaning forward. "That is still a definite possibility. You can keep feeling like s**t over something that's not resolved and keep flogging yourself like some damn martyr to stay away, but what's that going to prove? That self-flagellation and misery is the way to live? You're not made for that. If you were, suicide by cop wouldn't have crossed your mind in the Haunted House. Dying wouldn't have crossed your mind." He said this with confidence despite not knowing Ian as well as others did.
Sighing, Jack scratched the stubble around his chin. "Drawing conclusions before conducting the experiment is a horrible habit. Assumptions, Ian. You know what they say about those." He cracked a derisive, almost-smile. "What you have is a hypothesis--a shaky, weak one, but a hypothesis nevertheless. So, let's test it. I'm going to do what you didn't have the balls for, and you'll thank me one way or another because knowing the answer is so much better than never knowing, regardless of how much it might hurt. Trust me."
He began digging around for his phone.
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Posted: Sun May 18, 2014 1:51 pm
He was about ninety percent certain that Jack did not understand what went on in his head; but since Ian himself did not understand what went on in his own head, the point was relatively moot. Still, Jack was...trying...if that could be the proper word for it (if the word 'trying' meant 'still acing like an a** while spouting scientific advice meant to reassure').
Ian's expression darkened the more that Jack talked, pressing his lips together as a muscle tensed in his jaw. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he was being stupid about this; that he had no idea what Shiloh would do or say, and that what Jack was saying was all right and that he should listen - but at the same time, he couldn't possibly bring himself to face him, not after everything that he'd said and done to him. That moment in the belly of the beast had been fleeting and awkward and painful.
He couldn't do that, not again.
"It's fine," Ian mumbled, and his bandaged, splinted hands moved restlessly for the pain medication distributor, wincing at the way his fingers twinged in agony. "I'll be fine. I just need more ******** drugs and I'll be fine." He finally discovered it half buried beneath the blankets and pressed the button, which gave a small beep, the IV line clicking. It was a poor excuse for a conversation; in fact, he was running away from it, because he was terrified of Jack being right about everything.
"I've already solved the hypothesis," Ian muttered, as the medication began sweeping through him, making him feel blissfully groggy, his vision beginning to blur. "I...can't..."
He trailed off, his eyes fluttering shut.
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Posted: Sun May 18, 2014 5:26 pm
Jack looked vaguely unimpressed and very unsurprised at the same time as Ian began to fade out. "When it's my turn to be in that bed, then you can give me all the hell you want," he said to Ian as he found his phone and pulled it out, circulating through contacts. "Or if you still feel like it after you get out. I'll welcome either or."
The message was verbose and full of his usual attitude--no doubt a side effect of whatever that . . . moment was between them as Jack normally kept things concise. He'd spouted off a lot more than even he thought he ought to, but what was done was done.
sammpai Text to ParishIan is currently recovering in the infirmary. If you're so inclined you may visit starting tomorrow. I'd suggest forcing everything out in the open because your buttpirate is a stubborn ******** idiot. Do yourselves both a favor and talk about it. Be aggressive for once, Christ. There's enough misery in Deus without you adding to it. With his Good Samaritan deed done, Jack did his rounds one last time about the infirmary after another check on Ian (just to be sure he didn't overdose somehow, because wouldn't that just be their luck) before finally leaving the Life Labs, guitar in hand, humming "Dream a Little Dream of Me" under his breath.
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