I'm good at shooting people, cracking wise, and pretending to know how to fight.

The news had come in last night, and by 'come in', Jack meant that a single text message had rolled in from Trent at around 3 AM. He'd been the only one to get it - which made sense, because he was the only one who was always awake at 3 AM and everyone knew about it. And then he'd laid there, on the vaguely comfortable hotel bed, staring at the ceiling.

Wondering if he should wake up Dane, or if he needed to come up with something to say to Trent on his own.

In the end, he just texted back. Something something sorry. And an offer, to which he'd gotten no reply.

So it wasn't until morning, with him and Dane stuffed into a booth somewhere in the hotel restaurant, that he ( said it out loud. )

[[ nfb due to distance, can be open for phone calls/texts. ]]

Yes, Jack believed all the Force users in the multiverse could use a few lessons in doing normal people things more often. He had frequently coerced, wheedled, and poked several of them into it over the years. But this? Making Lana Beniko, ex-Sith spymaster, man the merch booth?

Had to be his greatest achievement.

It maybe gave a little extra oomph to his performance that evening.

It was also when, after they were done, one of the first things he did was haul his sweaty ass back to the merch stand. "Sooo," he said, grinning. "How are we doing?"

[[ for a lana ]]

They'd finished recording a few days ago. Most of the band had been sick of being stuck inside, of juggling work time with recording time, and gone off to do their own thing. Not Jack, though. Jack had stayed behind to sit through the mixing.

He made it out to the skate park in the afternoon with his phone practically burning a hole in his pocket, but he forced himself to keep it slow and casual. No rush. And the likelihood of either Trent or Dane checking their phones was minimal.

( We don't like narc 'rents around here. )

[[ open for texts and calls and whatnot. ]]

( Sometimes mornings were nice. )

He grabbed a thermos of coffee on his way out, shoving half a sandwich in his mouth. Lana was probably not going to be outside at 10 AM on the dot, right? He would be that lucky?

[[ for her ]]

Coming here always made Jack restless - maybe because half the time, he was picking someone up from a different place and a different life, and as much as he was trying to do the healthy thing and not let the whole two-worlds-two-lives thing mess with his head, it still made him jittery.

Anyway.

It was just Cade. What was the worst that could happen?

(Probably a lot.)

He waited outside the station, wearing a jacket and hoodie and jeans and, probably, looking more genuinely relaxed than Cade had ever seen him. Even with the jitters. Even with the way his foot kept jumping.

Space. This was probably a bad idea...

[[ for that guy ]]

It wasn’t often that Dane got a weekend off– so they made good use of it. Which was to say Jack had found himself dragged off to a snowboard rink on Hunter Mountain, where he had been pressured - peer pressured! - into trying the whole thing himself. (“Why are we voluntarily rolling around in the snow again?” “Aren’t you from Space Canada?” “...Shut up.” “We can go home, if you want.” “...Nah.” “You can keep complaining if you want to.” “... Thanks.”)

He did keep complaining. But he’d also enjoyed it: it had been the first time in a couple of months it felt like they’d had real off time. It seemed like there was always something to do - at the metal clubs in the city, for their friends backstage, or in the recording booth. Jack hadn’t had to dip into his Jedi savings in a few months now. It felt weird.

But good-weird.

“How’s the shoulder?” Dane asked. Jack fiddled with the straps of his snowboard, attempting to wiggle his feet out of it.

This was the worst part. The being stuck in your stupid shoes.

“It’s stopped itching,” he said, finally righting himself. ( That's a good sign, right? )

[[ can be open for phone calls, etc ]]

It had been a pretty good year. Big early summer catastrophe notwithstanding. Weird to think about. Especially when so much had changed. And yet, here Jack was, sitting on the craggly couch of his own apartment on this far-flung world, staring out the window at the rain with a mug of coffee in his hand, and he felt... pretty good.

"I think I'm getting sentimental," he muttered.

"Shit," said Dane, half-bent over his guitar, writing down a few notes without looking at him. "Need me to call 911?"

Jack let out a noise he hoped fully communicated his displeasure. He sipped his coffee. "We should go for a walk or something," he said. "I mean. Not right now, but in a couple hours. Maybe get out of the city, before the parks freeze over."

"Hm," Dane said, righting himself. "Thought you were helping out at Duff's?"

"Not today. This weekend," Jack corrected absently. Though who'd have known his schedule would fill up this quickly, even without a job? And half the people who were asking him for help had actually offered money? He was still doing the math on how much, but it looked like they weren't going to have to dig further into his Jedi savings this month, and that felt weird as hell. "And you're off tonight, so..."

He made a vague gesture with the mug.

"Works for me," Dane said, looking at him. "Glad you finally have the itch back."

"Don't call it that," Jack muttered. "I just want to get some exercise, that's it. I'm not planning to get back into the van just yet."

"Maybe next year," Dane said.

"Maybe next year," Jack agreed.

"...Definitely next year."

"Yeah, definitely."

[[ open for phone calls et al ]]