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suitably_heroicThe last couple of days had been... weird. A tension in the air, that wasn't really Jack's to break, but that no one else wanted to break either. So he was glad when they finished their last show and piled up into the van. Relieved.
Many hours later, having been forcibly talked out of the driver's seat yet again, he found himself in the back seat. Still tense. Not sleeping.
Everyone else was silent. There was rain ticking against the windows of Trent's van. And he reached for his phone, and turned it on to the new Yellow Eyes album. Let himself get lost for a while, then.
It had stopped raining by the time they pulled into the Waffle House parking lot. That was probably a good thing. The dark, demanding drone of the music, along with the water pouring down from the sky-- it drew Jack back to Dxun, the Beast Moon, craters and crashed ships and death. It should've screwed with his head, but he'd embraced it.
Shadows of another life.
Trent wanted to drive and Dane wanted to stay awake, so after a few coffees, they wandered back out into the Waffle House parking lot with their old skateboards to do some ollies or whatever. Jack watched them go, his hand squeezing his own coffee a little tighter, and sighed.
"You know this one's no one's fault but yours, right?" Jill asked. She seemed more relaxed than the other three put together, her arm slung over the back of the chair. Her eyes were bright, but there were lines of exhaustion in her face. "Disappearing the day before Chicago was always going to be a shitshow."
"I came back as soon as I could," Jack retorted. "And before Chicago. I didn't think he'd lose it that fast."
Jill gave a faint shrug. "It's touchy. You know that. Especially with--"
"My track record, I know, I know," Jack retorted. "Space. You know this is supposed to be a two-way street, right? I do my part - I work on me, I stick around almost all of the time, he works on him and he quits the passive-aggressive poodoo."
"In an ideal world? Yeah," Jill said, lifting her Fanta. "In the real one we're living in, he just hit several triggers in a row and he's procrastinated on doing the work for so long, he doesn't have the tools yet."
Jack rubbed his face. "So I, what, tie myself to Earth for the next five years until he figures it out?" he said. And then paused. "Sorry. That's ungrateful. You know I'm happy to be here, right?"
Jill sipped her soda. Her expression said that she did not feel she needed to answer that clearly-rhetorical question.
"But I can't tell him I'll never do it again, because I might do it again, because sometimes Lana might need me, and because I don't want to start cutting limbs off just to make this work," he continued. "I don’t know why it has to be this damn complicated. Why can't it be like the holovids, you have the big kiss at the end and then you just handwave the happy ending forever?"
Jill tilted her head.
"Fine," Jack allowed. "I wouldn't know what to do with one of these that wasn't messy. It's just a pain in the ass, all right? All I can do right now - all I ever seem to be able to do - is wait it out."
"Wait it out," Jill agreed, "And stick around." She shook her head. "I've been his friend for twenty years," she said, "Trust me. I'm not pretending this is easy. It's been hard on me sometimes, too. But sometimes you have to make the hard choices. That's all."
She shrugged. She took another big sip of Fanta - that was mostly ice cube slush at this point. Jack looked at her, and thought about hard choices; about Trent's stupid idea to go full-time with the band when they didn't even know if they could hack it yet, and Jack refused to be his weird newly-rich friend's paid project for the rest of his life. About how Jill liked her life partitioned, the comforting drudgery of the every day and the excitement of the band in the night time.
Should he bring it up?
No.
Not fair to her.
He collapsed back into his seat and let out a loud sigh - frustration and conversation ender both. "So," he said, "Have you heard Confusion Gate yet?"
The exhaustion lines vanished from her face as if by magic, and she sat up. "Holy shit, right?"
"Holy," Jack agreed, "Shit."
"They're never going to get it."
"They definitely aren't," he said, grinning at her. "But we do."
She'd hated him two years ago, for being unreliable. Hadn't trusted him. Now, when Jill opened her mouth and started talking about percussion and texture, he realized that there was no tension here. That it had cleared an age ago, and it hadn't descended on them - not on this point of connection. Because there were multiple. And they all mattered.
For a guy who'd long let himself revolve around a single anchor point - or none at all, that was a revelation.
[[ nfb, nfi, unless you're dying to call him at 3 AM ]]
Many hours later, having been forcibly talked out of the driver's seat yet again, he found himself in the back seat. Still tense. Not sleeping.
Everyone else was silent. There was rain ticking against the windows of Trent's van. And he reached for his phone, and turned it on to the new Yellow Eyes album. Let himself get lost for a while, then.
It had stopped raining by the time they pulled into the Waffle House parking lot. That was probably a good thing. The dark, demanding drone of the music, along with the water pouring down from the sky-- it drew Jack back to Dxun, the Beast Moon, craters and crashed ships and death. It should've screwed with his head, but he'd embraced it.
Shadows of another life.
Trent wanted to drive and Dane wanted to stay awake, so after a few coffees, they wandered back out into the Waffle House parking lot with their old skateboards to do some ollies or whatever. Jack watched them go, his hand squeezing his own coffee a little tighter, and sighed.
"You know this one's no one's fault but yours, right?" Jill asked. She seemed more relaxed than the other three put together, her arm slung over the back of the chair. Her eyes were bright, but there were lines of exhaustion in her face. "Disappearing the day before Chicago was always going to be a shitshow."
"I came back as soon as I could," Jack retorted. "And before Chicago. I didn't think he'd lose it that fast."
Jill gave a faint shrug. "It's touchy. You know that. Especially with--"
"My track record, I know, I know," Jack retorted. "Space. You know this is supposed to be a two-way street, right? I do my part - I work on me, I stick around almost all of the time, he works on him and he quits the passive-aggressive poodoo."
"In an ideal world? Yeah," Jill said, lifting her Fanta. "In the real one we're living in, he just hit several triggers in a row and he's procrastinated on doing the work for so long, he doesn't have the tools yet."
Jack rubbed his face. "So I, what, tie myself to Earth for the next five years until he figures it out?" he said. And then paused. "Sorry. That's ungrateful. You know I'm happy to be here, right?"
Jill sipped her soda. Her expression said that she did not feel she needed to answer that clearly-rhetorical question.
"But I can't tell him I'll never do it again, because I might do it again, because sometimes Lana might need me, and because I don't want to start cutting limbs off just to make this work," he continued. "I don’t know why it has to be this damn complicated. Why can't it be like the holovids, you have the big kiss at the end and then you just handwave the happy ending forever?"
Jill tilted her head.
"Fine," Jack allowed. "I wouldn't know what to do with one of these that wasn't messy. It's just a pain in the ass, all right? All I can do right now - all I ever seem to be able to do - is wait it out."
"Wait it out," Jill agreed, "And stick around." She shook her head. "I've been his friend for twenty years," she said, "Trust me. I'm not pretending this is easy. It's been hard on me sometimes, too. But sometimes you have to make the hard choices. That's all."
She shrugged. She took another big sip of Fanta - that was mostly ice cube slush at this point. Jack looked at her, and thought about hard choices; about Trent's stupid idea to go full-time with the band when they didn't even know if they could hack it yet, and Jack refused to be his weird newly-rich friend's paid project for the rest of his life. About how Jill liked her life partitioned, the comforting drudgery of the every day and the excitement of the band in the night time.
Should he bring it up?
No.
Not fair to her.
He collapsed back into his seat and let out a loud sigh - frustration and conversation ender both. "So," he said, "Have you heard Confusion Gate yet?"
The exhaustion lines vanished from her face as if by magic, and she sat up. "Holy shit, right?"
"Holy," Jack agreed, "Shit."
"They're never going to get it."
"They definitely aren't," he said, grinning at her. "But we do."
She'd hated him two years ago, for being unreliable. Hadn't trusted him. Now, when Jill opened her mouth and started talking about percussion and texture, he realized that there was no tension here. That it had cleared an age ago, and it hadn't descended on them - not on this point of connection. Because there were multiple. And they all mattered.
For a guy who'd long let himself revolve around a single anchor point - or none at all, that was a revelation.
[[ nfb, nfi, unless you're dying to call him at 3 AM ]]
