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He snorted softly, but the humor made it a little easier to spill. "You frighten me sometimes," Jack began. "There are days where I can't fathom what goes on in your head, or why you do the things you do. I didn't understand why you were interested in me or why you tried so hard all this time, why you didn't just give up when I had tried to make it clear that I didn't want to do this—because I was afraid.

"You can laugh," he paused, saw someone who had drank too much and was getting a little wide in their movements, and turned them a few steps away. "It sounds ******** stupid, I know, I tore myself a new one just thinking it. But I liked you, in some strange way, because you were always putting yourself out there, damn the consequences, and that wasn't something I could do so wholeheartedly. And anyway, I'd done nothing to deserve that attention, much less anything positive. Hell, my first thought when I suspected you showed interest was, 'How can I use this to my advantage? What is she useful for?' I didn't want to think of people as people, I'd already settled into the mindset of tools and it was much easier that way." Not that this had stopped when they started dating, the scope of it had simply changed. "And I knew if I took this seriously at all, there wasn't any going back. Things like this, they just....change a person, I guess. And what I am here with you, it's so different from what I am anywhere else, and the dichotomy isn't easy to marry or manage."

He huffed a sigh and tried to pull back before it got too weird. "I'm ranting. In short, ah...the only thing I'm proud of concerning myself is not being stupid enough to let you go."

"Yeah, well, you made me a sentimental a*****e, so ******** you too." Some of Chel's casual nature had brushed off and was slowly becoming his more common means of retreat, an attempt to try and cover up the sap he had introduced like it was just a passing phase. Jack ******** Hawthorn, not an idiotically tall romantic that was supposed to be buried years ago. It didn't demean or stop the fact that he felt strangely vindicated, though, or that he wasn't pleased her troubles had stemmed from genuinely caring, that he meant enough to endure suffering.

Jack turned them slowly, ignoring that the song had long since changed to something with a faster tempo. "In a little bit," he murmured in her ear, lifting his shoulder just enough that Chel's head wouldn't roll off from their movements. He wanted to enjoy the moment and take his mental photographs. After a few circles, he added, "You won the bet, by the way," with a stroke of his fingers against her hip. "Am I doomed to rainbows and raccoon tails?"

"Biiiiiiiiitch," he sighed with wry and lazy affection, and then he leaned in, tapped their foreheads, and smiled a secret smile. One more moment, he told himself, just a little bit more. (Like a drug, one more hit, one more high, one more touch, one more thrill within this haze.) Cupping her cheek, he topped them both off with a longer kiss than previously and then let his fingers slide below her chin.

"Love you too," he replied without the ironic nickname, quiet and disconnected from the loud trap remix playing.

And then, more normally, "Now I'm going to get smashed, because I just remembered I'm stuck with you as my future ******** fiancee." Each word enunciated, important, complaints that they both knew weren't true complaints.

After a few drinks, he grew...not more tolerant, really, but more sociable, not necessarily happier but less inclined to feel bothered nevertheless. Certainly more prone to being influenced by Chel's behavior, as was witnessed on the dance floor. Without the formal attitude to stop him, Jack showed he could be a proficient dancer when he wanted to be--he explained it as wanting to be a triple threat, singer-musician-semi decent dancer. Competition was bad enough when you were only mediocre in the music business; every skill mattered.

He didn't remember when or how they got outside, but the cooler air was welcomed after the mesh of bodies and beats. Torn between leaning over the rails and taking a seat, Jack eventually let his laziness settle in, and he fell in beside her to let his feet rest. "Mm...Gonna guess really mad," he said sagely as he helped Chel with the strays hairs, though it was more excuses to caress than anything else. The half wild look was much more fitting than the neatly looking one. "Stains." He didn't sound completely unconvinced of the idea anyway; it was highly unlikely they'd ever approach this place again after tonight. "Fancy s'this place is, I'm not sure it's worth public indecency charges."

His arm slipped around her shoulder lazily. "We'll ******** later. Relax for a bit, babe."

He snickered and pressed his lips to her head since it was right there. Fictional officer or not: mine.

The sky was barely touched by the sunset now. More candles lit up the balcony, almost as if by magic. (But then, if there were other people he didn't take notice.) The city lights polluted most of the stars, but at least it was a clear night. Jack took a few photos of them and for once didn't have to be coerced to include his face.

He wobbled right after Chel, reluctant for distance now that they had gotten so cozy and the drinks had settled like purring cats. The vista below messed with his perception and had him gripping the railings even tighter lest he fall over, but the view really was nice beyond that. Not a star-lousy sky in China, but little steps.

"'Course I do," he replied, eventually just taking a seat instead. Tucking his coat under him, he just barely slipped his long legs in the space under the railings, riding his pants legs up but not particularly mindful of his appearance right now. That was his own little secret to display: he wasn't so afraid right now.

He kept his gaze outward for the same reason she didn't look him in the eyes. It was always more comfortable that way. Assign one building out there, imagine one room, three people, small hands bandaging with a shake, small fists balled and relaxed, bright blue eyes steady. He had nothing to compare them to: if anything, he had been the one to neglect his parents, not the other way around, and there hadn't been a very strong bond to begin with for them to destroy. So he played with the words and the images in his head, and his gaze grew distant.

"Maybe," the thought was slow to form, impulsive yet somehow difficult to translate correctly, "it's less that I'm afraid of you, and...more that I'm afraid of what you could do."

Only then did Jack chance a glance at her, subdued and thoughtful. "Why doesn't he know about it?" he asked. And then, "Because he couldn't stop it anyway?"

He was quiet for a while, giving her the space to clean it up. And then he said, "Thank you for trusting me. Us. G-man says..." He paused, trying to filter out the giant's words through his murky state of thought. "Somethin' about plucking your scars out like splinters."

He rapped his knuckles against the bars and watched cars zoom by below. The smells and the sounds were so out of place in his ears after months of Deus' silent landscape.

"You should know I," and he hesitated because secret for a secret was fair, but shouldn't be afraid of the ones you love, so he switched, "I goaded your cousin to beat the s**t out of me after I put you in quarantine. I said whatever s**t came to mind hopin' he'd just ********'..." Jack wrung the bar's neck. "I s**t talked you, said I didn't give a damn if you lived in there, safety hazard, ********, I don't remember. Because I wanted t'be punished. 'Cause I said I wasn't going t'do it again, I wasn't gonna start liking some ******** suicidal b***h, not again, not ********' again. But I was, I was—pullin' shitty stunts just t'keep you alive. I couldn't ********' get away either."

More in a murmur, he continued, "So I thought, stupidly, maybe I could get it beat outta me by someone better. He cared, he had more've a right to it."