[ Jesse reaches down to untie his shoes. They're not much. Beat up sneakers that have seen better days, but it's something. It's something he can offer when he wants to offer the world, but can't. This is what he has. He sets them down by her bare feet, nodding his head towards them. He won't be offended if she declines. They probably stink. Long days working in the lab. Unlike her, he never sees the inside of a house. The best he gets is a cold spray-off with the hose, clothes and all. It's no comparison, though. He sees Nancy come back a little more broken every day, and he knows that he doesn't want whatever 'inside the house' entails.
He watches as Nancy nods, shifts towards him--gives him all of those minute signs that he picks up like breadcrumbs, following the trail. He reaches out to embrace her, but the chains around his wrists pull tight, reminding him that he's never free, even when he's not up there with them. He sighs, but finds a workaround. He lifts his arms up over her head, looping them around her, his shackles containing the both of them now. He pulls Nancy into his side like it’s the only thing he knows how to do anymore. Maybe it is. Maybe being something soft for her to lean against is the last good thing he’s got left. His hands tremble, but his hold is steady. Protective. Human.
They didn't give me anything. The words break something in him--the way she sounds disappointed. He knew before she told him because he knows what people are like when they're hopped up on crank. He knows what she's like. This isn't it, and he can't tell which version of her is more heartwrenching. He lets the silence sit for a second. Lets her cry if she needs to. Lets her be small and tired and broken in his arms, because he understands. God, does he understand. The way your soul starts peeling back when they keep stripping you of everything, piece by piece. The way you can feel yourself dissolving and aren't even sure you would recognize your own reflection in a mirror anymore.
When she says how, his jaw tightens. Not at her. Never at her. But at the weight of that word. How. Like it’s a puzzle anyone could solve with enough time and air in their lungs. Like they aren’t trapped under layers of concrete and cruelty and madness. Anger flares in his chest at the thought of what he would do to them if given the opportunity. Things that would give serial killers nightmares, he's sure. Does that not make him as bad as they are?
I don’t know. [ Jesse admits, voice low. Raw. Honest. ] I don’t have a fuckin’ clue.
[ He tilts his head until it rests against hers, hair matted with old, dried blood. Dirty. But warm. Close. ]
Know what I do know? [ A pause, as he struggles to find the words, brain working slow like rusted gears from the head injuries and the malnutrition. ] I see you. Every time they throw you in here, I see you. And as long as we’re still seeing each other, we’re not gone yet. That means I can't give up. Not 'til I figure a way out of this shit.
[ He huffs a breath through his nose. It’s the ghost of a laugh that died weeks ago. Almost bitter, almost a joke. ]
Besides, I still owe you a real meal. When we get out, you’re getting pancakes. Big fuckin’ stack of ‘em. With strawberries, and whipped cream. And coffee that doesn’t taste like dirt.
[ It’s a stupid promise, and it makes his stomach growl audibly. But it’s all he has to give. Something to hold onto in the dark, besides him. ]
no subject
He watches as Nancy nods, shifts towards him--gives him all of those minute signs that he picks up like breadcrumbs, following the trail. He reaches out to embrace her, but the chains around his wrists pull tight, reminding him that he's never free, even when he's not up there with them. He sighs, but finds a workaround. He lifts his arms up over her head, looping them around her, his shackles containing the both of them now. He pulls Nancy into his side like it’s the only thing he knows how to do anymore. Maybe it is. Maybe being something soft for her to lean against is the last good thing he’s got left. His hands tremble, but his hold is steady. Protective. Human.
They didn't give me anything. The words break something in him--the way she sounds disappointed. He knew before she told him because he knows what people are like when they're hopped up on crank. He knows what she's like. This isn't it, and he can't tell which version of her is more heartwrenching. He lets the silence sit for a second. Lets her cry if she needs to. Lets her be small and tired and broken in his arms, because he understands. God, does he understand. The way your soul starts peeling back when they keep stripping you of everything, piece by piece. The way you can feel yourself dissolving and aren't even sure you would recognize your own reflection in a mirror anymore.
When she says how, his jaw tightens. Not at her. Never at her. But at the weight of that word. How. Like it’s a puzzle anyone could solve with enough time and air in their lungs. Like they aren’t trapped under layers of concrete and cruelty and madness. Anger flares in his chest at the thought of what he would do to them if given the opportunity. Things that would give serial killers nightmares, he's sure. Does that not make him as bad as they are?
I don’t know. [ Jesse admits, voice low. Raw. Honest. ] I don’t have a fuckin’ clue.
[ He tilts his head until it rests against hers, hair matted with old, dried blood. Dirty. But warm. Close. ]
Know what I do know? [ A pause, as he struggles to find the words, brain working slow like rusted gears from the head injuries and the malnutrition. ] I see you. Every time they throw you in here, I see you. And as long as we’re still seeing each other, we’re not gone yet. That means I can't give up. Not 'til I figure a way out of this shit.
[ He huffs a breath through his nose. It’s the ghost of a laugh that died weeks ago. Almost bitter, almost a joke. ]
Besides, I still owe you a real meal. When we get out, you’re getting pancakes. Big fuckin’ stack of ‘em. With strawberries, and whipped cream. And coffee that doesn’t taste like dirt.
[ It’s a stupid promise, and it makes his stomach growl audibly. But it’s all he has to give. Something to hold onto in the dark, besides him. ]