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At first, the only response Dawson received was:



He didn't see a need to work out as much - he was already so hot - but the real him did it religiously out of perceived necessity. So he had to. Mostly he ran, because if this worked out he'd be running for a long time. He didn't need to be strong - Chel would take care of that - he just needed to be able to get away and stay away.

He had to slow down and double over to catch his breath before he was able to text Dawson back properly. Even then, sweat got in his eyes and made it hard to properly see.

Chris straightened up and waved Daws over. His hands came up to his face in horror at the comment, he even paled a little. "Am I getting wrinkles? Dude I'm too handsome for wrinkles."

He was very serious.

He looked appropriately horrified. Wrinkles? On this face?

The horror was enough to distract him into the noogie. He laughed and pushed futilely against Dawson's arm. "It's a good smell! A manly smell! Smells like victory." He felt something like glee, being this close to Dawson. He could understand why the real him was infatuated. There was something captivating about the warm friendliness that Dawson put off. It was more than just a sense of brotherhood, it was comforting on a deeper level. All the stress from not knowing what Chel would decide or how he was going to complete his mission just melted away under the glow of contentment he felt being near Daws.

He wondered if he could take Dawson with them. Would he go? "What brings you out of the basement, bro?"

He looks alarmed for a brief second before he can school his expression back into calm. He should have sent Dawson away, he couldn't fight him. It would be too obvious if he did.

He laughed and tried to hide the nervous edge to it. "I don't even have my weapon back from repairs yet. You'd have the advantage even without an artifact. With it you'd slaughter me." He grabbed Dawson's wrist and turned it over, examining it. Maybe if he took it and gave it as an offering, they wouldn't complain when he took Daws with him.

"Little gaudy, but it looks good on you. Any idea what it does yet?"

Nosy nosy nosy. All anyone wanted to talk about was that mission. Was he so fragile that they assumed everything had damaged him even more? It was frustrating when he was the one that should be worried. He was trying to save them from the island. And from their early deaths.

"Nothing major, don't worry about it. It was just tight space and a lot of rock. Turns out she's useless on stone." He laughed as he tilted Dawson's wrist away again, squinting against the assault. "Hey, we can still do something fun though. I think Lydia's on duty, let's go back to my room?"

He had a half-formed idea and too much nervous frustration. Maybe he could do something good for the real Chris. Or for himself. He was attached enough to be okay with that.

"Oh don't worry bro. I'll take care of you."

He walked with an urgency that he usually didn't have when he was with Daws. Any time the other man began to slow or lag behind Chris grabbed his wrist with a toothy, charming smile and urged him on. When they reached his room he closed the door behind him with a decisive snick and locked it as inconspicuously as possible.

"I'm sweaty as hell from my run, is it cool if I change?"

Chris made a face at the back of Dawson's head. You weren't supposed to turn down a free show. He stripped off his shirt aggressively and stepped up close behind Daws.

"Dunno. We don't see eachother much anymore either." Who cares who cares who cares? He grabbed the hem of Dawson's shirt and pulled lightly. "You're sweaty too, you should take this off. C'mon."