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bakerstreet2016-06-06 01:44 pm
setlist) wrote in bakerstreet2016-06-06 01:44 pm
Redemption Romance
 Red's in your ledger or you're making your way towards a crimson page by your very nature. Did you simply do what you had to do in order to survive? No one could understand how you lived. That could be just what you tell yourself, though; really, you might have enjoyed your crimes. You're not proud of some of what you've done, no matter what, and there's a part of you that will probably never heal. If you were someone else looking in, you'd never be able to stand looking at you, much less stomach you. But someone does all of that willingly. They can look past the blood on your hands and the bad decisions weighing on your shoulders. It's you they care about, not your history. Actually, they may even love you, though you can't begin to fathom why.
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mercy ( overwatch ) OTA
ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ
76 doesn't ever bring it up, when they cross paths. It's better not to, for her safety and his, and he never stays long. That's for safety too, at least partially, but really it's just hard to face her--to keep asking things of her--after everything he's done and continues to do. He tells himself that he can't really be blamed for any irrational decisions made in the immediate aftermath of the HQ explosion, but the truth is that when the dust cleared, he made the conscious decision to stay dead. He left the rest of them to deal with the fallout on their own.
He spends a lot of time thinking about how he'd prefer it if she'd just hate him.
But it's good that she doesn't (or at least, takes her oath seriously enough not to turn him away when he really needs it), because he can't deny that sometimes he gets in over his head. Like tonight. He got in over his head.]
Heard you were in the neighborhood.
[Lucky for him. He shows up uninvited and keeps his voice low, quietly sliding into her medical tent long past acceptable waking hours. It's rude, maybe, but vigilantes don't exactly operate during the daytime, and the last thing an ex-Overwatch agent needs is to be caught palling around with the likes of him.]
Need a favor.
[Patch job, if the blood is any indication. Same favor as always.]
┗(ᐖ )┓
Though she did her best to take no sides, Angela had no interest in supporting Talon or its operatives, far shadier than those who founded Overwatch on the pretense of a united front of violence quelling the disasters of the world. She thinks about it often; the repercussions of her actions that day, how what had happened was equal parts mistake and tragedy. Choosing to save a life that has only gone on to take others so selfishly. On the opposite hand, choosing to be Soldier: 76's ally was something that had brought her no regrets. That her old Overwatch friends were alive and still fighting to bring balance and peace to the planet leaves her heart swelling with pride. Isn't it only natural that 76's presence would result in the same? Hate simply wasn't in her nature. Nothing good came of those who held fragile lives in their hands and made room in their hearts for hatred and animosity towards others. Distaste, though... he is always leaving too soon.
That familiar growl barely registers, preceding the sound of soft footsteps in the dirt causing more noise than was typical, causing her to rise immediately from her chair. Nothing in her demeanor suggests surprise, moving with an urgent bit of caution and one hand still on the back of her seat until her mind seems to catch up with her reflexes— and then she smiles, reaching for him in a friendly manner. ]
Of course, old friend. What have you gotten yourself into this time?
[ It's an effort not to say "Where does it hurt?" She has no problems taking him gently by the elbow and guiding him to her cot to sit down, eyes scanning his body in the dim light for the blood she can smell on him. Offering support should he limp, strong for as tiny as she may be compared to the others. The inherent trust in his ability to sneak around and her own discretion leaves her without a single worry of what he fears; no one would ever know a thing. ]
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Or, you know, maybe it's just the blood loss.]
The usual.
[Vigilante stuff. He grunts a little as she slides up next to him to offer support. 76 might be genetically enhanced, but he's still getting on, and he doesn't exactly bounce back from injury the way he used to. He'll let her guide him to sit, and once he does, he peels his hand away from his side. The glove is sticky with blood, a dark stain on his jacket to match it.]
All fun and games until someone pulls out a knife, right?
[He sounds mildly perturbed, like it's little more than an inconvenience--a testament to a sloppy night.]
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Once he's seated, her touch slips up his arm before hesitantly turning away to gather up her supplies— the first of which is the only cup that'd been on her desk, topped off with hot coffee from a thermos. She'll pass that over to him before reaching for her medical kit, lamenting the distance between her and her suit and staff clear across the camp under guard. Any other time she'd appreciate the careful nature taken for her one and only suit, but this would be so much easier with her staff. Alas, they just had to go about this the old fashioned way.
Returning again with her bag and one of her tent's lanterns in hand to set beside him, Mercy kneels on the ground in front of him and sanitizes her hands before reaching for his own bloodied one to remove the ruined glove. Any evidence of his DNA and all bandages will be quietly burned in the nearest unattended campfire when he's left. Jesse would be proud to hear her say "This isn't my first rodeo". Perhaps she should have more tact in undressing a man, but she's quick to unzip his jacket and use his hand to guide him to hold his shirt up for her, adjusting the lantern to have a good look at the stab wound. ]
You are one of very few that would call this fun and games. [ A bit of prodding around, ever gentle as she cleans up the excess congealing blood to get a better look at the entry wound. There's a slight exit hole on his back to indicate angle, placement indicating nothing vital was hit. No bright blood; the relief is clear on her face with the way her brows relax, sighing softly as her smile returns with a little quirk of the lips. ] You have done well to live another day. You've stemmed most of the bleeding for now, but let's get you cleaned up.
[ Stitches would be necessary. He'd probably rip them in a few days, but that should be plenty of time for his body to heal enough that they would no longer be needed. She'll have to remember to use the disintegrating sutures; a sad part of her knows that he won't return for something as routine and simple as removing stitches. He takes a great risk every time he shows up to see her, but every time she's glad to see him, knowing he's still doing well. That he's safe. Alive. Somewhere out there he's still fighting for what they know is right. If only she could offer him some sort of safety and asylum to rest and recuperate, even if it lasted a few days. They weren't getting any younger; the truth of that lies before her, in how slowly his body reacted to damage these days. Even augmented genes break down with age. No one could live forever.
Cleaned and packed with some antibacterial cream, Mercy makes quick work of taping up the easier exit wound before moving back to the entry point, using a bit more care as she cleans congealed and dried blood from his stomach. Her touch is light, taking her time now that she's ascertained he's in no immediate danger to be thorough. ]
I do wish you would be more careful. There is no one out there to have your back these days.
[ Would that she could; but it isn't so easy to drop one's life work to become a vigilante. Even for a good cause. People all over the world still needed her, and the relief she provided far outweighed her selfish desire to be at his side. If only it weren't so. Her fingertips linger on his stomach, brows furrowed once again with a sad little look aimed at his wound. ]
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The staff would be nice, sure, but he didn't come here expecting an instant, painless fix. They're all doing what they can in a world that's getting increasingly more chaotic, and he has a high tolerance for unanesthetized procedures. He can weather a few stitches, especially under Angela's practiced touch. Still, the mask stays on. It's hard to look at her without it, like if he keeps it in front of his face, he can pretend that the man he used to be really is dead.
He knows he doesn't have to say anything, but he'll concede that he probably owes her a little bit of an explanation for busting in on her operation in the middle of the night with a stab wound. That, and maybe he just wants to fill the silence. It's a good distraction from the sharp pain of her needle and the sting of antiseptic.]
Weapons trafficking. Investigating a potential tie to Talon.
[And to add insult to injury, he'd mostly come up empty. Following those leads have been frustrating, but with recent news reports and the appearance of a certain mercenary, he has to grab at everything he can. Maybe that's why he'd slipped up. He'd been too busy looking past the immediate for something that might be there in the distance. Chasing ghosts--perhaps quite literally.
Here, in the light of Doctor Ziegler's lantern, he can re-focus. Concentrate and plan next steps, even if they don't (or can't) involve her. 76 winces and hisses in spite of his efforts, but tries to relax his shoulders as her deft hands flit over him. Talking (as much as he finds himself not so good at it anymore) helps disguise the involuntary growls of pain.]
Give yourself a little more credit, Doc.
[She's spending time and resources on him when they could be going towards people who need it more. Associating with him at all has its own inherent dangers, especially with the UN's eye on ex-agents and the enemies he keeps making. As far as he's concerned, she more than has his back, even though he's positive he doesn't deserve it.]
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When he speaks, her attention shifts from her fingers automatically knotting a set of stitches to his face— mask, rather, tilting her head just so. ]
Another cartel trying to start up?
[ She shakes her head, sighing. The sound of his pain brings her back and she realizes she'd accidentally tugged on the string she'd stitched through his skin. She'll soothe the area with a light touch in apology and a little more antiseptic cream. Finished and satisfied, she'll lay a square of gauze over the fresh sutures and tape it down before reaching for the bandage wrap, winding it firmly about his middle to help with compression. It may not help much, but it'd keep him from ripping stitches in the first day or so. ]
I miss it. Being with everyone. Don't you?
[ And she'll touch his wrist to signal that he can lower his shirt, taking his hand in hers to clean any residual smears of blood off, giving it a little squeeze. It's a calloused hand, strong. Much like the man it's attached to. She'll rise and take a seat next to him on the cot, resting her head against his arm. ]
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[He'll spare her the details--she can probably make some educated guesses, given how his exploits are covered in the news. Taking into account her opposition to the more militaristic actions of Overwatch, he can only imagine what she might think about his current by-any-means-necessary methodology. He expects that shoe to drop some day. Despite the best of intentions, 76 knows he's become a rage-fueled revenge machine, even if he's sure she'd correct him were he to voice the sentiment. They both know he's toeing the line, but she wouldn't keep quiet about it if he really did something she didn't like.
That was always what he appreciated about her. Butting heads with Reyes about the the direction of his leadership was a power struggle, fueled by jealousy and not born out of a concern for Overwatch itself. Conversely, disagreements with Angela were about the betterment of the organization. Listening to Reinhardt's eulogy had been surreal for a lot of reasons (how many people get to watch their own funeral?), but being called the 'moral compass' has always stuck with him. He wouldn't have been half the moral compass he was if not for Angela. She reminds him that compassion has power.
He falls silent as she tapes him up, raising his arms a little so she can better wrap the gauze around his torso. The extra attention doesn't exactly go unnoticed--she doesn't expect him to come back. 76 feels another pang of guilt for only ever showing up when he needs something, but that's how this works, unfortunately.
When she's finished, he pulls his shirt down and scoots a little to make room for her on the cot, but stays comfortably shoulder-to-shoulder anyway. He's got no objections to her taking his hand or leaning against him. It's the question that follows that puts him on edge.]
Don't ask me that.
[It's unfair, because of course he misses it, but it's not going to do any good to sit here and dwell on the subject. What's done is done. He leans into her, resting his chin on the top of her head. The face mask probably makes it a little uncomfortable (he really should take it off), but he's trying to distract himself.]
You could always give Winston a ring. Tell him you'd love to get in on whatever it is he and Lena think they're doing. Foil some heists. Get thrown in prison when the UN finally catches up to you.
[Because that's the only place this is headed. He tries to put some humor in his voice, but it's hard to disguise how bitter he is. The recall, though well-intentioned, was a short-sighted decision that will only put everyone in jeopardy. It also makes his job more difficult, because Angela's the only one who knows, and the rest of them will consider him an enemy for breaking into their old facilities. Still, 76 can't tell if that's what he's really upset about. Maybe a part of him is angry that he can't be the one in charge this time, and he doesn't trust Winston (and all his boundless idealism) not to get burned the way he did.]
I OPENLY ACCEPT UR TYPOS TO MY BOSOM DON'T U WORRY
More worrisome was how much anger filled the man beside her. Jack was someone that needed structure and team dynamics and higher-ups to give direction. Without that framework to guide him and with only recent memories of disaster to fuel him, she can already see him going astray ever so slightly. If it got much worse, she certainly would bring him down a peg as kindly as possible, but for now, just holding his hand and feeling him ease against her sets her mind at ease. Compassion does have power; she's hoping to exercise that every time he appears and she selfishly steals more and more of his time, just like this.
And she certainly feels him bristle when she brings up the inevitable. She'll reach up to touch his cheek when he rests his chin on her head, feeling the mask warmed by his skin beneath her fingertips but not moving to take it off of him. It's simply an assuaging little touch in silent apology. Urging him not to pull away from her. ]
I won't then.
[ For tonight, anyway. She makes no promises on reminding him of the past to protect his future. The bitterness in his following quip actually catches her off guard, brows furrowing where he can't see her expression and squeezing his hand, lacing her fingers with his and covering it with her other hand. ]
They're still young and idealistic. [ She hasn't quite decided yet whether or not to join them. It's easy to chalk up missing calls when you're constantly moving base, next stop: Iraq. (Where she'll inevitably take the call and be persuaded.) ] Yet they aren't necessarily wrong. If they really do make a difference, do you think the governments have any reason to touch them?
[ Someone would have to watch out for them all, after all. Her Valkyrie suit is still handy. They'd be traveling everywhere regardless— giving aid and chasing leads to every corner of the Earth. Could she not continue her personal mission in between those leads?
Would Jack let her go into the fray alone? She prays otherwise. There's no denying he's a changed man since the Swiss Headquarters, but his flame still burns bright. He's just layered it in armor and built callouses over it to try and bury it as deep as John Morrison's empty casket. ]
They won't be able to get far without us, you know. Experience and skills. [ Yet she doesn't sound entirely convinced. It would take time to warm up to her, even as she admits what is the cold hard truth rather dubiously. No, more importantly— ] Enough of that for now. Have you been eating? Getting enough rest?
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Thanks.
[For the coffee. For not pressing the issue, though it still weighs on his mind, like always. Jack Morrison made Overwatch the greatest peacekeeping force the world has ever seen, sure, but it crumbled under him as well, and he doesn't think he'll ever forgive himself for how blind he'd been. He'd known that Blackwatch couldn't be anything but a ticking time bomb, not when Reyes was so unhappy and seething with jealousy and increasingly unhinged. But they were friends, so Jack trusted him anyway, and never thought, even through all their many disagreements, that he'd do what he did.
It's easy to put all the blame for Overwatch's fall squarely on the other man's shoulders, just like it was easy to stay dead. Just because it's easy, however, doesn't mean it's right, and he knows now that he's just as much at fault. Should have shut down Blackwatch as soon as he uncovered it. Nipped it in the bud and put Gabe on the short leash, where he belonged from the start. Should have, but didn't, because they were friends, and he'd been too wrapped up in a grander vision for a better world to acknowledge or excise the slow-growing, cancerous sedition that tore them apart from the inside. Mutually-assured destruction.
Jack had been young and idealistic, too. 76 knows much, much better, and he knows that good intentions pave the road to hell. The collateral damage from his own inaction and mishandling of the situation was too great for him to not have this kind of kneejerk reaction to Winston's recall. He can only hope that the new Overwatch (such as it is) has the sense to learn from their old commander's mistakes.
There's a large part of him, he thinks, that's just scared Winston is going to do a better job than he ever did. That it will turn out the world never needed him after all.]
If the UN wants this stopped, they'll come up with a reason.
[That's what governments do. Lena will face prosecution and, at worst, go to prison. Winston is a super-intelligent gorilla from the Moon, so who knows what they'll do to him. Angela has the excuse of being a doctor, at least. She can go wherever people are hurting and likely won't be told to stop, but all bets will be off as soon as she's found to be actively aiding the ex-agents flouting the Petras Act. He can't stop her from joining them. He can advise against it, and he can adamantly insist that he won't be accompanying her, but he can't stop her. What he can say is that he wanted better than this for all of them.
He's about to make that clear, but her abrupt change of subject doesn't go unnoticed, and he regards her briefly with furrowed eyebrows.]
I can take care of myself, Angela.
[Geez, MOM. Said like he didn't just get stabbed, or something.]
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[ Wow he better have given that hand back to her once he's taken his mask off!! Even if not, she'll move one to rest her arm on his thigh and trace idle circles near his knee, fingertips skimming over the tough military twill of his pants as she avoids looking up or making any sort of deal out of him baring his face in her presence. She never did, even though she realized the weight of that trust. The burden he begrudgingly places on her shoulders with his identity. The slightest brush of his jaw has stubble scritching over her hair, and she wonders when he'd last been able to take a hot shower. Shave. Crawl into a comfortable bed and sleep easy, feeling safe. Like danger wasn't always right around the corner.
It is far from the first and last time she'd wonder where he holed himself up. It's clear he moved a lot just as she did. Perhaps tailing the military detail she moved with, at least part of the time, which made sense. It'd be a good chance at supplies and leads. They were always headed to problem areas, and if he stayed close and needed her, she wasn't a world away.
They'd all been young and idealistic, at one point or another. Angela was far from a founding member of Overwatch, but she had been there early on enough. They'd all barely been out of their teens when they'd been swept up in this grand plan for world peace— it took years to realize that the government had no intention of focusing on the peace portion. Enforcement through military might, relying on fear to keep crime and criminals at bay. It wasn't the future that any of them had envisioned for their group. And before long, it was no longer in their power to have much sway over. Jack shouldered far too much of the blame when it was equally on them all. Together, they had the power to protest and protect their mission.
Coming together had too many issues between them all, though. Eventually they'll have to share their feelings and get it all out in the air, but that time was still far off. Before they could all accept their wrongdoings to each other and as a whole. Angela wants so badly to take some of the burden from his shoulders and make him realize that the blame is shared, but he didn't seem ready to hear it. Everyone had their own pace with which they sorted through their feelings. All she can do is offer him asylum when he appears and make herself available to him and make her feelings known. She wouldn't push until he's ready to pull.
After all, it's John Morrison that kept her in Overwatch all those years when she was ready to leave and resume her previous duties. Made their resources available to her and supported her opinions and defended them in front of the higher-ups when she had issue with how they approached peace. He had been— is— a great leader. Her continued respect for him is only further proof of that. They had grown into adulthood together and fought for the world side by side, and now it's her turn to take the baton and give him some measure of reprieve. Allow him to sort his emotions and thoughts and where next to turn to, at this point in his life. ]
That is true as well; it will take a lot of thought. Time is valuable, but necessary. The world still needs Overwatch. [ The world still needs you, is the undercurrent of that statement. ] They'll find their way, much as we did.
[ His very slightly indignant response gets a soft smile from her, lashes fluttering closed as she leans back into him. When she finally looks up, all her confidence and courage and adoration is in them, seeing right down the tracks of that train of thought and trying to convey her certainty that he wouldn't let anything happen to Lena— or Wilson, or Lucio, or even Reinhardt. Mei or Jesse or anyone. They wouldn't let anything happen to one of their own. They were practically family. Estranged and odd and spanning generations though they may be.
She completely overrides his answer with such ease that it's clear she doesn't really believe him. ]
You should get some food and rest before heading back out. There won't be another soul around for five hours yet, and I will be up.
[ I'll watch over you. Her smile fades to fondness as she strokes his leg idly, eyes never leaving him now that she'd looked up. She could still see John Morrison beneath those scars, wrinkles, and stubble. There's isn't so much as a hint of gold left in his hair but his eyes are still just as blue, and he looks just as strong as ever. He'd come around, she knew. Grizzled and burned though he may be, he couldn't stop himself from helping others and making a difference. The furious rage would eventually fade as well. She could only hope it wouldn't be too late for him when they do. ]
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Guess I've got four hours to kill.
[With the fifth hour as buffer, just in case anyone's up early, though he's sure Angela will alert him to any unexpected activity in the compound. It's bit hard to say, because it involves overriding his instincts to slip back into the shadows, but when he shifts he feels the stabbing pain in his side and admits to himself that maybe he could use this.
He can't stay on her tail all the time, but he makes more excuses to detour than he'll willingly admit. She's probably figured that out by now. There are benefits to keeping her in his periphery, sure, but given his current status, it's dangerous to stay near anything military. Even so, when their activities and locations align, he takes advantage of it.
This comes with the further realization of how one-sided this has been so far. His injuries. His feelings about the recall. Whether or not he's taking care of himself.]
I didn't even-- [He drops his forehead onto her shoulder, genuinely apologetic.] --didn't even ask how you're holding up.
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[ Said with a bit of a wry smile, wistful in tone. If only there were more time. It's still a bit difficult to really specify a place where their relationship was, but she errs on the side of very good friends with medical benefits and a bit of inappropriate closeness. She takes advantage of it with the way she presses up against him, reveling in his warmth and solid presence, the roughness of his hand in hers. He's here. He's alive. And it means the world to her.
Mercy would've called the one-sidedness of their encounter only natural. She wasn't the vigilante on the run, presumed dead. She still had her job and her contacts and her friends; her life was not a particularly hard one. Sure, she could bore him with some of the relief effort stories she may have, but she isn't out there rolling around with gangs and policing streets. There was nothing of real import she would say without prompting, so she usually just avoids putting extra stress on 76 when he comes around. Anything she could usually say seems trivial compared to his life.
When he drops his head onto her shoulder and stumbles over voicing his error with such sincerity, she almost laughs with how sweet it was. Instead she'll bring a hand up to cup his jaw once more, nuzzling into white hair and holding him close. ]
You're perfectly all right. I've been well. Busy, as always; lately I have focused on prosthetics and nanotech restorations. Mostly, I am glad when you come around and I can see that you're still doing well yourself. It lifts a weight from my heart.
[ Angela brushes her fingers through his hair, guiding a stray lock back over his ear before stroking his temple. Her grip on his hand tightens and her cheek rests heavy on his head, listening to him breathe. Everything about him is still Jack to her; the way he smells, the feel of his hands, the sound of his breathing. Nothing much has changed. ]
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[He wants to give himself plenty of breathing room--she might be comfortable letting him crash for those few hours, but he's always on edge, even as he tries to tell himself that he's allowed to have a moment. No human (augmented or not) can do what he does forever, and sometimes he has to remind himself of that. If he pushes too hard, he'll be of no good to anyone, so it's okay be tired (he is so tired). Angela helps him stay grounded, even if only a little.
There's something to be said for being made to feel a little more human. He has more regrets than he'd care to admit, but one of them is perhaps never defining this relationship beyond "incredibly close friends with medical benefits and some degree of inappropriate closeness". It's not like he had much time for anything more than that. 76 has spent the last thirty years in a state of constant distraction from romantic relationships--not that those distractions were anything to sneeze at. The enhancement program led right into the Crisis, which led right into command of Overwatch, and after that there had been no time for anything but that. As Reinhardt put it, he'd given everything he was to the organization. What he hadn't said is that it didn't leave room for much else.
So maybe it's ironic that it took him dying in the public eye and becoming an internationally wanted vigilante to finally give him some time, even if it's only a few hours every few months. Even if he can't exactly sort out what this is, most of the time.
He focuses on the important things. She's doing well. That's good, though he wishes he could say he's surprised when she turns the conversation back around to him. He lets her scrub hands through his hair for a few long moments, but he shifts a little and presses lips to her forehead. It's forward of him, but they're this close already.]
I know I worry you. I'm sorry.
[He means that, but they both know he isn't going to stop.]
i apologize in advance but this is a mid-roadtrip phone tag so typos may abound
The time she gets with him is precious. It assures her that he's still out there doing good, and that he's still all right. It would take time for him to find his place in the world again; she only wishes she had a steady home to invite him to. Let him spend his days in peace where he could relax and feel safe.
That he allows such a touch only invites her to more, and when he presses a kiss to her forehead, she'll tip her head back and use her fingers in his hair to guide him down for a proper kiss, meeting his lips lazily, taking her time to linger and let him feel it out before pressing her forehead to his and looking up. ]
I do worry, but I believe that you will find what you're looking for. And I always believe you'll come back.
no problemo friend im on the ipad today so sorry for weird typos myself
He's prepared for her to capture his mouth with hers, so he doesn't flinch as he ordinarily might, leaning into her and letting his eyelids flutter shut. It's over before it really has a chance to begin, but he doesn't mind. They'll have time for more (just about four hours of it, if they really want). For now, he rests forehead to forehead with his eyes closed.
She's too good to him. He wants to promise that yes, he'll always come back, but there's so much uncertainty in what he's doing that he can't agree with her and mean it. One day, he might not come back, and there won't be anything they could have done. He can only hope he'll get to the bottom of what happened to Overwatch before then.
With the mention of what he's looking for, it's hard not to lapse into talk about business. He tries to frame it a little differently.]
I'm going to find him. [He says that darkly, with conviction. He doesn't need to specify who he's talking about.] I need to know what he's doing with Talon.
we're just relegated to typo hell and we need to accept it
It would be cruel to have him promise to come back; another weight of responsibility to weary him further, another expectation he'd feel obligated to uphold, but her belief stands strong and her faith in him will never waver. He will get the job done. If she convinces herself of that truth, perhaps it will be enough to will it so.
The dark turn of conversation has her pressing another kiss to scarred lips, hugging him close as fingers twist gently in his hair. ] And you will tell me when you do.
[ She shares a large part of that blame; they never should have considered such an experimental treatment, but it had still saved his life. At least halfway. Perhaps it will become a mistake, and she's willing to accept that. It only means that it is partially her fault that Jack is running around like this, chasing down leads and getting into deadly scuffles every time she turns around— and that is hard to accept.
Angela kisses him again. Urging the conversation away, moving back to rest and relaxation. This time she doesn't pull away, slow and easy, teeth dragging at his lower lip to urge him to join in. She guides his hand to her waist before wrapping both arms about his shoulders, nails scruffing in his hair and massaging his neck with the heels of her hands. ]
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[One way or another. Ideally, he'll be able to tell her in person, but there is a part of him that feels it won't be the case. When he and Reyes finally catch up to each other, he'll do whatever it takes to put him down for good, and he expects no less from his old friend. They'll take each other out, just like they did back at HQ, only this time it will be for good, and 76 thinks that's how he'll prefer it. If he sets the record straight on Overwatch, preserves his own memory, and clears the names of everyone else involved, he'll consider it all worth it.
There's a tightness in his chest, however, when he thinks of what and who he'll be leaving behind--this time, for good.
He recognizes he insistence in kissing him to be more distraction than anything--from the current topic of discussion, from his injury, from everything else that weighs on him. Ordinarily, he might call her out on the tactic, but she's done a good enough job tonight that he finds himself wanting it. He'll have to force down the urge to keep voicing his own regrets, but with every gentle touch of her hands and lips to his face, it gets easier.
Okay, he thinks, finally feeling himself relent as he turns to face her more fully and his hand (with her guidance) slides from her waist, around the small of her back and he takes the air out from between them. Okay. All of their problems can wait.]
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It is a very simple tactic after all, and she's glad he doesn't call her on it. She isn't sure what else she'd be able to do— it took everything in her already to get him to stay long enough to recuperate before moving on, much less get him to rest. Asking Jack to relax would be like asking a tree to move to the other side of a mountain. If he wants to voice his regrets, Angela would do her best to set them at ease, but she'd rather he take the time they have and rest up (and preferably eat before he takes off; she'll have to find something for him).
Instead of putting their problems on hold, they can just melt away. Her lips part for him immediately, giving him her air and taking from him, as if they could exist on their own right here with no outside force. In one smooth motion, never letting his lips pull from hers, she sidles right up into his lap and her touch at his neck slips down, massaging his shoulders with practiced hands. She likes being in his arms; there was nowhere safer in the entire world. ]
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Careful.
[It's more a reminder to himself.
76 carries more tension than is probably healthy in his neck and shoulders--Angela will have her work cut out for him as soon as she tries to rub away the knots there, but he appreciates the sentiment. Any sound of pain dissolves into a sort of involuntary grunt as she works her hands over him.
He parts his lips for her, drags hands down the curve of her spine as he pulls her close, deepening the kiss until it's hot and open-mouthed. Maybe they only cross paths every few months if they're lucky, but it's still like they haven't missed a beat.]
SAME THO TBH
Would you like something for the pain?
[ She likely already knows the answer; anything that could incapacitate his senses in any way would be turned down. But perhaps a mild painkiller, for just a few hours... she'll always try.
Likewise, she has no problems tackling tough projects. She'll keep at it as he deepens their kiss into something far more sensual, soft little sounds muffled between them until she's out of breath and filled with the taste of him, back arching up into him until her breasts press against his chest, molding up against him as best she can without aggravating his side. It's been far too cold as of late and he's far too comfortable to nestle against, the time between their visits having lapsed far and further into overdue. In a relationship of distance, she's confident they'd win the gold medal. The doctor needs to start charging him, honestly. Every time he showed up at her door, she was more than willing to welcome him home with her care and kisses and warmth.
Angela takes the moment to catch her breath again, one hand slipping down from his shoulder to stroke over his chest, feeling for his heartbeat. She could hear it better than feel it, beating strong. That is one thing she couldn't dream about, so it's easy to discern reality from the wanderings of her mind. Everything about her touch says "I miss you", over and over, with every pass of her hands on him or brush of her lips. ]
( ooc: HAHA JK I FORGOT I WANTED TO ASK IF YOU'RE ON PLURK I'm loving this too much, I wanna be ur friend..!! I'm at
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Maybe on the way out.
[That's about as much concession as Angela will get. She's correct in her assessment that he doesn't want anything that might cloud him, even if spending some of these four hours taking a goddamn nap sounds like a really great idea. He'll take the pills with him when he goes, if only to make her feel better, and then he'll have them available in the unlikely event he really needs them.
In the meantime, he can get creative and keep himself from putting too much strain on the wound--begrudgingly, he can be careful. He's had worse, and can most certainly weather this, especially if it means being with her.
76 uses their breaking the kiss for painkillers talk to drag his mouth up her neck, paying special attention to a spot right behind her ear. It's a good spot to whisper things while still keeping lips on her.]
How long've you been thinking about this?
[The question is sort of rhetorical, but he thinks he could stand to hear the answer anyway.]
(porqué no los dos)
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Scarred lips trailing up her neck leave her squirming over a broken little moan, knowing all her sweetest spots and nearly digging her nails into his shoulders with how quickly the pleasure washes over her, feeling a needy little throb for more. It's cruel of him to switch that on while knowing he'd be leaving in a few hours. Then his voice is in her ear, more hot air than anything, but it gives her chills all the same, nails scritching at his shoulders before resuming her massage. ]
Since before you'd even left two months ago. Have you even thought about it?
[ Not asked in a hurtful manner, mind you; but she's equally as curious, her voice already breathy, nipples hard where she presses up against him. All it took was one kiss and she was done in. His voice in her ear and she's lost at sea. ]
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She arches against him and it's very difficult not to get handsy, fingers worrying at the hem of her shirt.]
I think about it.
[Obviously he thinks about it, if right now is any indication. He thinks about it more than he'd care to admit. She knows he does. It's unfair for him to do this--get them both worked up and leave--but the whole situation is unfair, and this is a reprieve in its own way.
Still, if it hurts too much, he's not going to press the issue.]
I can stop.
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It hurts, but less so than having to go a few more months before the possibility of seeing him again even crops up. Perhaps it's selfish of her to think this way, but she wants to give him a reason to live. Even if it's just to come back to her. Some people would consider that enough. ]
Don't stop.
[ She'll raise herself up onto her knees to trail soft little kisses up his scar, lips teasing over his eyelashes until she can kiss his forehead and push her fingers into his hair again. Stress is getting to him quicker than age, but she still loves the feel of it in her hands.
On the same hand, though, she doesn't want him to hurt himself. Begrudgingly following: ]
Unless you're hurting.
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I'll take "where all the other iconable shit at" for 500, alex
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just. terrible icons for this. all around.
SAME THO FRIEND.... SAME... I FOUND LIKE TWO
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rereading that last tag like "say 'hips' one more time, me, SAY IT"
hips are important
I may have heard a rumor once that they don't lie
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