Who: Luke, Jack + Max What: Luke and Max are worried about the newly not-dead Jack. Where: Monte Carlo. When: Reeeecently. Warnings/Rating: Lots of ~concern.
Hope was a fickle thing, fragile and weak, and it had been much, much easier for Luke to cling to while Jack had been gone. With no news at all, well, anything could be possible, and there was no hard fact or concrete evidence to prove otherwise. But now, now Jack was back, he was here, and it would be downright idiotic to forcefully remain blind to what was laid out right in front of him. Idiotic, and perhaps even dangerous.
Jack himself had admitted that he didn’t feel right. Even without what Max had said, even without the explosion and desire for revenge that was inevitable, that alone was worrisome, and it was enough to pop the bubble he’d been trying to hard to hide in since the entire ordeal had come to an end. In that way, Luke hadn’t really had a choice. Of course he would go. Even if it felt too much like they were laying a trap, almost a sort of betrayal, he couldn’t just sit around and hope that time would fix everything. By then it could be too late, and while he suspected Max might lure Jack to the hotel on false pretenses, their intentions were good. Surely, that had to count for something.
Gus was left with his sitter, and he’d instructed the woman to bring him to the Bellagio, to Wren, while he was gone. He might have considered bringing the boy along, since seeing him might help Jack, but no, that was a bad idea. Things could go wrong, and if they did, his son didn’t need to be there to see it. Technically speaking he was supposed to be ‘taking it easy’, and movement was still painful, but none of that mattered just then. Bruises and fractures would heal on their own, painkillers helped, and he could certainly make it to the front of the building and into the cab on his own. The ride to Monte Carlo passed by in a blur, and all the while he wondered what, exactly, Max intended to accomplish with all this. Maybe they could just talk. Yeah, just talk, and make sure Jack was alright, and not set to go off on a murderous rampage.
Time and rest had improved Luke’s appearance, and as he left the cab and entered the hotel he merely looked a little worn down in jeans and a loose shirt, a far cry from the condition he’d been in when he first crossed back from Gotham. He moved slowly, yet with only a hint of difficulty, and when he reached the room number Max had indicated his knock sounded just like anyone else’s would have.
Max hadn't actually lied. She hadn't told Corvus why she needed him back at the hotel right away, and she hadn't said anything about Luke being there or not being there. Maybe it was a crime of omission, but she didn't care much. Corvus hadn't told her about his intentions to murder anyone, and he hadn't told her he knew who was behind the explosion, and she was pissed off enough that she didn't care about crimes of omission just then. She'd made plans to break into the LVPD for non-published details about the previous arsons, and it was possible that she wouldn't need to do that now - she was counting on it. Oh, she intended to kill whoever had set that blaze, but unlike Corvus, she could get away with it clean, and no one would ever need to know.
She was at the window when the knock at the door came, and she didn't bother turning around before calling out that it was unlocked. It was either Luke or Corvus, and it's not like she intended to keep either of them out. And if it was anyone else, she felt sorry for them, especially in the mood she was in. She hadn't lost her shit yet about all this, about the fire, about Gotham, about any of it, but she was thisclose.
"I'm in a really shitty mood," she warned, finally turning around. She wore jeans and a black t-shirt, there were bruises and teeth marks on her throat, and she took one look at the kid and realized she wasn't the one that was the most fucked up in the room. "Sit down, kid," she said, immediately kicking into old-Seattle mode. She'd kept track of Luke's lethal career since New York, and she'd seen him from a distance when she was trailing Corvus, but it was different up-close like this. He looked older, but he still managed to keep that impossibly babyish face. She looked older too, and the lines around her eyes made it pretty clear that she was a woman in her thirties now. She crossed her arms over her chest, and she waited for him to argue with her about sitting his ass down. "Does he know you're coming?”
There was only a moment’s hesitation before Luke turned the knob and pushed, beginning to use his shoulder to apply pressure before realizing that was a bad idea and switching tactics. It resulted in the door being opened rather stiffly, but he managed to slip inside before it could become noticeable, and it didn’t hit him until just then that this was the first time he was seeing Max, face to face, since New York. Talking to her on the journals on one thing, but this-- this was different. He sucked in a breath, soundless, and looked her over for differences and similarities, gaze lingering on the marks that marred her throat. “I figured you wouldn’t be,” he offered with a weak smile, finally deciding that she’d changed, but not drastically. It was just time. She didn’t look old, but she was older. It made him wonder how Thomas looked, but he pushed that thought away before it had a chance to take root; this wasn’t about him.
“I’m fine,” he protested, because it was practically instinct by this point. “Better than I was, trust me.” Still, sitting down was appealing, especially compared to standing, and he wavered between being stubborn and just giving in. He shook his head when she asked if Jack knew he was coming, and he honestly had no idea whether it was better or worse this way. “No,” he sighed. “I didn’t know what you were telling him, so I figured it would be easier if I didn’t have to explain why. I just hope he doesn’t take it the wrong way.”
She leaned back against the windowsill. "If you fall over before he gets here, then he's less likely to get pissed," she said, watching as he tried to decide between falling over and sitting his ass down. He'd always been stubborn, and they'd always butted heads because of it, even when he was just a kid. "Better than you were, that I believe. Fine is pushing it, kid. Sit down." She didn't move or raise her voice, but she didn't need to; this wasn't the time for a battle of wills. "He might do better with you here alone at first," she said, but there was reluctance there, because she really wanted to kick Corvus' ass for not telling her about the explosion, about knowing who set the thing.
She sighed, and she pushed away from the window and took a seat on the other bed, facing him. "I didn't tell him anything, just that I needed him to get here now, so we haven't lied about anything. That should count for something. Do you think you should talk to him alone first?" she asked, deferring to him, because the kid had spent a lot more time with Corvus lately than she had, moments on a staircase notwithstanding. "With the exception of last night, well, let's just say we didn't part so well the time before that," she explained.
“Less likely to get pissed is good, isn’t it?” It was a poor attempt at humor, though admittedly he wasn’t actually afraid of Jack. Afraid of what the Lazarus Pit might have done to him, yes, afraid that he wouldn’t be the same, but there was no fear for himself. He hesitated a moment longer, though her demand that he sit down would have raised his hackles years ago. Now, he only felt a faint spark of defiance, one quickly overridden by the physical desire to get off his feet. He sighed, an agreement without words, and made his way to the edge of the bed, where he eased himself down onto the mattress with only a whisper of pain crossing his features. Concern for Jack had brought him here, but he’d come without any knowledge of a plan, and sitting in Max’s hotel room alone when Jack would be expecting her seemed... questionable. Especially since he hadn’t said anything in advance.
Still, it was a fair question, whether it was better to start with one-on-one rather than the two of them present at the same time. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “He’s expecting you, not me. Then again, he’s probably not thinking you needed him here to talk. I... could try?” Not that he knew what to say, exactly, but he could make it up as he went along. “What happened the time before that?”
Jack had come back to the hotel quickly. His wallet had still been amongst his things back at the warehouse, so he'd been able to pay for breakfast and leave quickly. His things had been surprisingly unsinged, for which he felt a very distant sort of relief. Lost possessions didn't really matter much when a woman was dead.
He wasn't expecting Luke when he arrived at the hotel. Jack had told Wren he would try to visit them the next day, and he'd spoken to Luke on the journals. He thought they had talked things through well enough, and that perhaps the conversation about what had happened could be done, now. It was a woeful thought, but he wanted it to be true - that he could leave it all behind, if only he moved on quickly enough.
Max knew him far too well. Her lack of response after her insistence that Jack come did worry him. Not as much as it might have if she'd indicated there was some kind of trouble, of course, but after the explosion, it seemed like any horrific thing could take place the second he left. It made him regret leaving the hotel in the first place. What if something had happened, when he might have stayed?
Jack made it to the hotel room in record time. He didn't call out Max’s name as he unlocked the door, but quietly used the key and edged the door open, just in case there were unwanted visitors inside. But no - there was Luke, sitting on the bed, and Max standing beside him. "Luke?" he said. He slid into the room, shutting the door behind, his eyes darting from Luke, to Max, and back again. What was he doing here? Why had Max called him back?
Jack suddenly had a strange feeling that he'd been set up, somehow. It was just too strange, the two of them sitting there, like they were waiting for him to come back. He realized only then, standing in front of them, that Luke now had his first chance to get a look at him since he’d crossed back over. It almost made him want to leave the room. Strangely enough, losing the scar and the damage to his eye felt like almost as much a violation as being brought back from the dead. They had been a mark of what he'd been through, a physical reminder, every day, that what had happened to him was real. With it gone, it felt as something had been taken from him, a part of him stolen, forever.
Now, the lack of a scar was its own hallmark of something that had happened to Jack - that he was different. That something had gone wrong. That he wasn't the same, anymore. "Are you alright?" he began, to Luke, first. He didn't look well. Jason had seen that Bruce was hurt, but not how badly. Stupidly, so wrapped up in his own worries, he hadn't thought about how those injuries might have reflected on Luke until now.
"Did something happen?" Jack asked, to both of them, then. He tried not to let suspicion creep into his voice. Whatever this was, he wanted to believe they had the best of intentions.
Earlier that morning, Max had, surreptitiously, already taken a long look at Corvus' face without the scar. Corvus had been asleep at the time, and she thought she'd looked long enough that she'd gotten used to it. But no, and maybe there was no getting used to something like that in a day, not after years. Still, she didn't stare when he walked in, and she just motioned to the bed across from her, over beside Luke. "He didn't fall over," she said of Luke, "which I think was an accomplishment, given how not alright he obviously is." She was worried about Luke more now than she had been before he'd walked in the door, and there was no hiding that. She'd spent too many years feeling parental toward the kid. Jack, even insane, was something she felt like she had a handle on, like she could manage. But Luke had slipped out of the nest years ago, only to kill his way across the country. Face-to-face, it was hard to forget that.
As for whether or not something happened, Max considered letting Luke make the explanations, but she decided she was better off being the bad cop in this scenario. "You didn't tell me you knew who set the fire, and you didn't tell me you were going after them," she said plainly. There was no point in beating around the bush. Corvus wasn't stupid enough to think they were all there to hold hands.
She stood, crossing her arms over her stomach, wandering back to the window and looking out at the Vegas strip. "I'm dealing with that," she said, one glance over her shoulder indicating that she meant it, that she wasn't joking. "The last thing you need is to be going after anyone right now." There, bad cop done, and she glanced at Luke and quirked a brow. Showtime, kid.
Unlike Max, Luke couldn’t help but stare. Hearing about the physical changes and actually seeing them were nothing alike, and while it wasn’t drastic enough to render Jack unrecognizable, it still drove home the fact that he was different. He didn’t yet know how different, but despite his fears, he was determined not to assume the worst. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. Maybe, with time, returning from the dead would be a distant memory, and he would still be the same Jack they all knew. Part of the reason he’d come, after all, aside from concern that he might do something impulsive and dangerous, was that desire to reassure himself that it was still Jack, in a way that words on a screen or page simply couldn’t.
“Hey,” Luke managed, after realizing that he was indeed staring and hastily attempting to backtrack to something less... expectant. “I’m-- I wasn’t going to fall over.” He gave Max a look, because really, he wasn’t that bad anymore, before turning back. “I’m better than I was. I’m okay, really,” he added. He wasn’t here to talk about himself, and Jack didn’t need to waste his energy on worrying about other people; right now, he needed to worry about himself. Fortunately he was spared explanations, since he wasn’t sure what he would have said, and he remained quiet while Max spoke. Part of him felt a little guilty, maybe, for the way this had played out, but despite the way it looked his intentions weren’t to force Jack into a corner or even force him into anything at all. In the end, it wasn’t just that Jack had come back from the dead; he’d killed someone too, and he had no idea that had been taken care of, so he was worried about him being out on the street with that hanging over his head.
Luke didn’t need to look at Max to feel her gaze on him, and he sighed inwardly. Yeah, no pressure. “She told me you were coming here,” he admitted. “I wanted to see you for myself, to make sure you were okay. I know how easy it is to say it without meaning it, I guess, just like I know that being told not to worry never makes anyone actually stop worrying.”
Jack saw Max's gesture, but didn't go to sit down. He did walk further into the room, though, and almost managed to conceal his surprise, and his betrayal, when Max related what she knew about the man who had set the explosion. He'd only told Luke that. Jack wasn’t stupid enough to think that she wouldn’t have found out eventually, but for her to know already, Luke must have been telling her while they were still talking. That had to set some sort of record. "I don't know who it is," he said, carefully, levelling his gaze at Max. "I have a lead, that's all." She could be bad cop all she wanted. He’d made his decision. If anyone knew what was good for him now, surely, it was him.
His attention shifted back to Luke. He moved closer to get a better look at him. Luke looked worn thin, but not like a physical wreck. "Did you see a doctor?" he asked. "I told Wren she needed to. She told me how badly Selina got hurt." It was a reminder that he would need to check in with both of them again and make sure they got checked out. No reason for one of them to hurt themselves even worse because they hadn’t gotten medical attention.
Jack knew that Luke had good intentions, and that, as he said, nothing Jack could tell him would keep him from worrying. He tried, though, all the same. “I’m fine,” he said, and paused. No, Luke wouldn’t buy that. "Or I will be, given a little time." It hadn't even been a day since he'd been back, and already they were both here, expectant, like they were waiting for him to lose it and kill a bystander on the street if he went out on his own. He stayed still, and fought the sudden rush of anger. He wasn't used to it anymore, wasn't accustomed to the strength of it. He had capped it down at a slow burn for years, and the intensity of the flaring of rage in him now, at even small provocations, was overwhelming.
But Jack couldn't show that. That would be a sign that something was wrong. He couldn't let that on, the same way he couldn't think about what had happened through the door, or what that man had nearly done to Max and Amanda, what he had done to an innocent woman. He needed to remain as level as possible, and acknowledge that both of them were trying to help, in their own ways, even if coming here and facing the two of them felt so very much like a two-pronged attack, a plan to swaddle him in cotton and lock him up somewhere, keep him under observation.
Max was quiet at first, just watching the exchange and not getting in the way. She knew Corvus would respond better to Luke than he would to her, just like the kid always responded better to Corvus. She wasn't going to fight what worked, not if she could help it. She listened to Corvus mother the kid, which was actually fairly reassuring, and she didn't say anything about his claim not to know who'd set the fire - not yet. She didn't even roll her eyes when Corvus insisted he was fine, but she might have if he hadn't followed it up with that caveat. She sat there for all of that, and then she got tired of the tiptoeing and the bullshit. She sucked at tiptoeing and bullshit, especially when she gave a damn. And, here, she gave a damn.
"If we're all done pretending?" she asked, a lift of brow and her voice calm, as if she hadn't just called bullshit on the entire conversation until this point.
"Corvus, you're pissed. Go ahead and say it. You think we're watching to see who you kill next, and you're not being honest with us about whatever is going in your head because of it. Guess what? Not going to work," she said. She might have wanted to know about the arsonist so much that her skin itched with it, but that wasn't the main thing here. "The kid will probably try to hug you better, but I just want to know what's going on, so we can all be on the same page. Let's face it, any of us could end up in that pit thing, so don't think you're doing anyone favors by sparing us." She almost left it at that, and maybe she should have, but diplomacy just wasn't her strong suit. "So sit your ass down and tell us what's going on."
She glanced at Luke. Good cop?
Under different circumstances, Luke wouldn’t have said a word about Jack’s knowledge of the explosion and what he planned to do. But these weren’t normal circumstances, and considering that emotional involvement might compromise him when he was thinking clearly, it could only make things worse now, when he had absolutely no idea what or how Jack’s thinking was. Faith and trust only went so far, and rising from the dead meant that old rules didn’t apply. If protecting him meant that he’d had to betray his confidence, well, so be it. Better safe than sorry. He stayed quiet when he insisted that it was just a lead, because he was more worried about impulsive actions than whatever knowledge he might have, and he simply nodded when asked if he’d seen a doctor. “Yeah,” he said. “We both did. I looked a lot worse before I went, trust me. This is an improvement.” He managed a weak smile, though his inability to make it truly genuine had nothing to do with his current physical limitations.
Jack was right to think that ‘I’m fine’ wouldn’t cut it. He’d said the exact same thing so often that it had practically come to mean the opposite, and whenever he said it now, no one believed him. There was a certain appreciation, and relief, in that hint of honesty, and if Max hadn’t been there he probably would have left it at that. He wasn’t good at head-on confrontation, not when it came to people he cared about, and despite having come to find out if Jack was okay, he didn’t actually want to hear that he wasn’t. That he would be okay, that was enough. He could sense that he was angry, and to be honest, he didn’t blame him; he wouldn’t have liked the situation any more had their positions been reversed. He began to agree, maybe even to apologize, but then Max started talking, and it shut him right up.
Realistically, he shouldn’t have been surprised. This was Max, after all, but he was anyway, and it showed in his expression for a moment before he pushed it away. He didn’t interrupt, but he hadn’t come here to tag-team Jack, and part of his concern was that it would seem like they were ganging up on him. He didn’t want to prove that, or to make it seem like they’d had a plan beforehand. “It’s not that I think you’re going to kill anyone,” he protested quietly. “That’s not what this is. I-- we’re worried. I know you probably don’t think we have any reason to be, but if I was in your position, or Max was, you would be too. Maybe it’s too soon, and you’re right, you just need time.” He paused, wincing a little as he shifted on the bed. “But maybe you’re not, and I just think-- I think you should take it easy for a while. Don’t do anything impulsive. Please. And if you are pissed,” he added, “don’t keep it bottled up. I would be too. I’m not going to tell you to sit your ass down, but... talking about it might help.” It was almost a question, and yeah, he was unsure about whether pushing him was the right idea or not. He gave a sort of half shrug and looked down, because really, he was terrible at this kind of thing. Always had been, and some things didn’t change.
Jack didn't sit down. Instead, he visibly bristled when Max accused him of lying. She read him fairly well, and her guesses weren't totally inaccurate, but it stung a little to be caught out. The thing that registered most with him when Luke spoke was that wince, that he was still hurting despite visiting the doctor. These things on the other side of the door were going to kill them all, eventually. "No one else is going in the pit," he said, staring back at Max. Something black yawned behind that gaze. "No one," he added. He would see to that personally. Whatever Jason had to do to shut that pit forever, Jack knew he would do it, and Jack would help him in any way he could.
Jack took a careful breath. This wasn't the time or the place to start biting their heads off, no matter how cornered they'd made him feel. "It's not impulsive," he said. "It's a necessity." Someone had to take care of the arsonist, and it wasn't going to be Max. End of story.
But Max and Luke were clamoring for Jack to talk through his feelings, to flay himself open and dissect what was wrong. To be out of this room. To not be having this conversation. "You want to know what’s going on in my head? Alright. I'm angry. Angrier than I've been in a long time. I get more from Jason than I used to, not just experiences, but thoughts, emotions, things like that." He slid his hands into his pockets. "I feel different, but I couldn't tell you how." And that was a lie. But it was private, wasn't it? Didn't he have a right to have privacy about anything? "Coming back in the pit was terrible, and I felt it. The antidote was almost as bad. And that's all I'm going to say about it, because there are some things, I promise you, that you don't need to know more about. I could describe them to you, but all that's going to do is take me back there so you two can feel like you did everything you could to help once I eventually go over the edge, and I'm not going to do it. I almost punched a hole in the wall at Passages, and every time I think about that arsonist I can’t think about anything else, and I know I won’t be able to until that piece of shit is DEAD.” He’d ended up shouting, somehow. How had that happened? “You want to know about the toxin, too? Well, when it started to take effect, I saw Helen. She was there, in the dress she died in, covered in blood. She was with me, all that time, pointing me where I thought I needed to go, reminding me of the cost of everything, what every life was worth. She promised she wouldn’t ever leave again. And then when Jason was stabbed, when I died...”
Jack trailed off. His breathing had gone ragged, his voice rough. She hadn’t been there. No one had.
It hadn't been intentional, that lashing out, and when Jack was done his face changed. It had gotten past him again, the anger, and he closed up as tightly as he could to prevent a repeat performance. The accusation toward them had been harsh, and guilt crept in. He hadn’t meant it, really. But he was so angry, still, angry he was there, angry he wasn’t dead, angry at what he’d seen - what he hadn’t seen. Anger, the word, didn’t cover it. It was a licking, ever-present feeling, just below the surface, with peaks and valleys, highs and lows, flares of temper that came quicker now than they ever had before. The ceiling for that blackout edge, beyond which there was no return, seemed so much lower, now. It wouldn’t take much to crest past it. And he was afraid of what would happen if it did.
"I wish you would have just asked me about this on the journals," Jack said. He stared at the window, rather than looking at their reactions. He was tired. Swallowing his rage was so much harder than it used to be. Maybe his first instinct had been right. Maybe he ought to go somewhere, far from here. It might be best not to let the people he cared about most stay in range.
"You don't get to make choices about the pit, Corvus. I get that Jason went through hell, but we don't live over there. It's not our call," Max said, and she tried to stay calm in the face of that mounting vitriol. Part of her considered just backing up, backing out of the room and letting the kid deal with it, because she would put money on the fact that she wasn't actually going to make anything better here. She didn't like the people on the other side of the door, and she didn't want anyone in Vegas dying because of them. It was as simple as that, which meant the pit stayed, as far as she was concerned. As for the toxin, she just nodded at Luke. "Talk to him about the toxin and the antidote. I don't think you're alone in either of those experiences, so just calm the fuck down, alright?"
She dragged a hand through her hair, fingers tangling up before she reached the clip holding it in place. She knew better than to actually think anyone was going to calm down just then. She was just waiting for the kid to start up, and her temper was on a string anyway. She'd been too calm since the explosion, since Amanda almost died. No, this hadn't been a good idea. She couldn't argue with that truth just then.
When Jack said that going after the arsonist wasn't impulsive, that it was a necessity, that pushed Max right over the brink. "It is a necessity, but it's mine, not yours, Corvus. You're being emotional, and we already covered one murder on this side for you. The agency isn't going to do it twice. I'm handling this. Just hand over your lead, and let me take care of it," she insisted, and she sounded remarkably calm, given how tense she felt. But the truth was in the line of her shoulders, in the way her hands fisted at her sides. If Luke hadn't been in the room, this would have already turned into a shoving match. Bring it on, her body language said, and she cursed and moved to the opposite side of the room, where she was less likely to grab anyone or throw a punch.
"You wouldn't have told us shit on the journals," she finally added, more spit than words.
There was enough anger and tension in the room as it was that the last thing Luke wanted to do was add to it. Fortunately, he was doing pretty well at staying calm, and considering that he was usually the first to lose his temper, he was almost subdued in comparison. “Now isn’t the time to talk about the Pit,” he said, deciding to tackle that issue first. “None of us have been in it, not on this side or the other, aside from Jason and Jack. If anyone gets a say in what happens to it, it’d be them. They know what it’s like. We don’t.” Personally, he thought it should be a choice; if someone wanted to be put it in it, then so be it. If not, then their wishes needed to be respected, no matter how hard it was to accept their death. There was still a lot to consider, however, and if a decision was to be made, it wouldn’t be here, between the three of them.
Part of him didn’t want to hear what Jack had to say, because the truth was always hard, but there was no way to avoid it, not when standing was a feat in and of itself. All he could do was sit and listen, but he didn’t shrink back, and he didn’t cower. All that shouting, all that anger, and he still wasn’t the least bit afraid. It would take a lot more than this to inspire fear. He waited until the end, until Jack was finished, and then he shot a warning look at Max, because her body language was all too easy to read. “The journals aren’t the same, Jack. It’s just words. I should have told you I was going to be here, though,” he admitted. “We should have let you know what you were walking into. I’m sorry. And I-- I’m sorry for what you went through. I am, even though it doesn’t mean a damn thing, or change what happened.” That was, perhaps, the worst part. He couldn’t fix this. He couldn’t go back and stop it all from happening. With those options closed off, he had no idea what to do, how to help, and that frustrated the hell out of him. “And you don’t have to describe anything you don’t want to. I have no idea what it’s like to be dead and then not be, but you listen to me, because you’re not going over the edge,” he insisted, and even though it wasn’t quite anger, it was something, enough to get him on his feet. “I don’t feel like I’ve done anything to help, and I bet Max doesn’t either, but we’re both here because we want to. As much as you might want to go and find whoever’s responsible for the explosion, killing him and getting yourself arrested isn’t going to help. Do you really think it will?” Oh, he didn’t give a damn about the arsonist. Death was too good for him. But his life at the cost of Jack’s freedom, or even worse, wasn’t worth it.
Talking about the toxin wasn’t something he wanted to do, and Luke had intentionally left it for last. “I won’t pretend to know what you went through, but Bruce was infected too, and I saw things,” he said, suddenly quiet. “Things that are hard to forget.. Bruce saw his parents. I wish I’d seen mine. Instead I saw Jude, looking just like she did the day I killed her, and I saw--” He stopped, swallowed heavily, and forced himself to continue. “I saw Thomas. He told me he should’ve killed me himself, but he thought... he thought I might be a man and do it myself. So,” he said, on the tail edge of a sharp, painful breath, “I understand a little.”
Jack was about ready to walk out by the time Max was practically spitting at him in disgust, calling up the murder he'd committed while he was still under the effects of the toxin. He didn't know who he'd killed. He'd only been back a day, after all, first the warehouse, then the hotel, then his brief trip out. There had been no chance to find out, read the papers or ask Max. He would have to face it eventually, but right now, there was too much else weighing heavy on him for him to brave it yet.
Max's insistence that not being on the other side of the door meant they could have no opinion on the pit didn't help matters. "I died too," he said, his gaze sharp on her as she paced away, shoulders set and angry. "And I was brought back too." To his mind, that definitely allowed him an opinion on whether anyone should be put in that thing again.
He didn't mention the lead. There was no doing that without explaining why the arsonist had been prompted to target Max, and his only real lead was the man's connection to Cerise. There was no telling who might find out if he told Max and Luke. Luke would likely to keep quiet on it, but Max, she'd go after the arsonist and Cerise as well. Whether Jack could forgive Cerise remained to be seen, but she hadn't had the full story on his death, and she hadn't known about Amanda, or the woman who had died. She'd made a rash decision in the face of grief. He could be angry, but he could only judge so far, at least for now.
"Thank you," Jack said, "But you don't have anything to apologize for." It wasn't as if he'd had any control over what had happened, and he could hardly be blamed for it. In the end, Jack knew that Luke meant well, that he really felt he could grab him and keep him from falling if Jack started to topple toward the edge. He just didn't have the heart to tell him it might be too late for that already. "Help what?" he asked. He felt badly, for confronting him so directly when he was only trying to help, and a little of that guilt showed in his eyes. "To take him out of the world, it would be worth it."
As Luke related what he'd seen, Jack's expression softened somewhat. "I'm sorry." Now he was the one offering apologies for things he'd had no control over, but what more could he say? "Crane's going to be held responsible for this," he said. "Sooner rather than later." Jason would undoubtedly see to that, if no one managed to beat him to it.
Max waited until they were both quiet before speaking again, remaining quiet that long only by force of will. "Corvus. It's my problem to handle. You either accept that, or I'm out the door," she said. She just wasn't up for these games right now, for Jack protecting whoever he was protecting, while threatening to kill whoever he was threatening to kill. The kid could keep handing out hugs, but she wasn't up to that, and this entire thing was pushing her over the edge. This was why she'd failed the military psych eval, this tendency to go straight into business mode when she was pushed too far. The military had just taken that tendency and honed it. It worked on missions, but it wasn't the best for diffusing situations, and Corvus' reaction had combined with the stress of almost losing Amanda, of believing she'd killed him, to create a perfect storm.
She turned from her place across the room. "Well, Corvus? What'll it be?" She put a hand up, in case the kid was going to say anything. "If someone tried to kill your son, like hell you'd let anyone keep you in the dark."
Jack stared at Max. He knew why she was reacting this way. He knew she had a right to know. But he didn't want to see her killing Cerise for her mistake, either, or sending her off to some far away prison from which she'd never return.
"Promise me you won't punish the intermediary. I'll figure out what to do with them."
"The intermediary, did they hire the shitty arsonist?" Because in Max's mind, that made them guiltier than the arsonist. And then she smiled, and it wasn't a nice smile. Understanding, realization, and she should have fucking known. "Actually, you don't need to answer that, Corvus." She shot Luke a look, gave him a nod, and she turned toward the door. The kid would keep an eye on Corvus. She needed to go calm down, drink this out of her system, and figure out what she was going to do in the cold light of day, once she wasn't feeling so homicidal anymore.
Logically, Luke knew he wasn’t the one who needed to apologize. If anything, that was Bruce, but he wasn’t here, and Crane certainly wasn’t going to express any regret for his actions in the near future. Besides, it was easy to create reasons; he should have done more to help, to prevent this, rather than putting his trust in a man who had such difficulty trusting anyone else. In the end, he merely shrugged, because his fault or not, it didn’t change the fact that he was still sorry. It was all so unfair, and empathy was all he had to give in absence of the ability to change the past. As for what, if anything, it would help, he didn’t really know that either. “Help make it right, what was done, or help you feel... like you did before,” he said, an attempt to articulate what he meant, but it was easier to argue than to explain.
As for the consequences being worth ridding the world of this unknown arsonist, he shook his head vehemently, even though he understood what that felt like. Alexander came to mind, and maybe disagreeing made him a hypocrite, but he always thought differently about others than he did himself. “That’s the thing, Jack. It’s not worth it. I know it might feel like it is, but one person isn’t worth losing everything for, and you won’t realize that until it’s too late.” The proverbial ball hadn’t dropped for him yet concerning Alexander, and it might never happen, but living in fear of that was torture, and while he didn’t regret killing him, exactly, he did regret putting everything he had at risk to do so. He hadn’t shared his experiences to garner an apology, and he didn’t say anything about Crane either way, even though he should have protested, since dealing with Crane meant Sophie would suffer too. But maybe he’d been pushed too far to put one person’s life above the greater good, and so he just nodded. Crane did need to be dealt with, however that was done. Bruce had his chance, time and time again; maybe it was time to give someone else a shot.
He remained quiet until Max looked his way, not wanting to get in the middle of what he felt really had nothing at all to do with him. Then, as she turned towards the door, he eased himself back onto the bed, leaning back with one hand pressed firmly against the mattress to support his weight. He had no idea if this had helped, or just made things worse, and even if he could find the words to ask he wasn’t sure Jack would give an honest answer. “She just needs to cool off,” he said of Max, and offered an uncertain, almost apologetic smile. “If I haven’t completely pissed you off, you’re still welcome to come by and see Gus whenever you want.” Oh, he was still worried; that hadn’t changed. But nothing he’d seen or heard made him think Jack was unpredictably violent, and maybe it was blind faith, or too much trust, but as long as either he or Wren were around he didn’t think there would be any problems.
Max was already gone by the time Jack made it to the door, and he stopped there. This was a catastrophe. Because he'd opened his stupid mouth, Max was going to go after Cerise, now. He'd have to warn her, tell her to get out. He heard Luke's conciliation only distantly. It was so much worse than he knew. What was he going to do? He was furious with Cerise, but she'd made a mistake, done something out of love and a misplaced sense of vengeance. He didn't know yet if he'd be able to forgive her, but he didn't want her dead.
"It isn't about one person," he said, quieter than before, still facing the door. He turned, after a moment, back to Luke. "It's about the woman who died, and Max, and her daughter, and the nanny. And it's about the woman Max is ready to go kill right now." He sighed."I hope you're right. I hope she cools off. Because otherwise, I don't know what's going to happen." If Max killed Cerise - what would he do? His heart seized with fear, anger at Max, anger at Cerise, anger at himself. If he just had managed not to let himself get killed. If he'd been able to fight it, none of them would be here now.
"You haven't pissed me off," Jack said. He wanted to manage a smile, but he couldn't not with all the fresh worries weighing on his mind on top of everything else. "I'd still like to come by and see Gus. I'll call you and Wren, alright?" He had someone to go warn to run for their life. He softened, just a little. "I'm sorry, Luke." It was very much a real apology, weighty and true, grave on the tongue. "The last thing you need is another burden to shoulder." And if he sensed he'd become one, he would, without doubt, find some way to deal with his problems on his own. Perhaps a final way, if all else failed. He didn’t address Luke’s offer of help, but he acknowledged it, in that statement. The offer was kind, but Luke needed to spend his energy on Wren, and on Gus. He couldn’t afford to waste it on Jack.
The details might not have been clear, but Luke was capable of putting two and two together on his own from what he’d managed to gather. None of it added up to anything good, and he wondered if letting Max leave was such a good idea, but she wasn’t that impulsive, right? She wouldn’t go off and kill the arsonist, or whoever had hired them. Not after the spiel she’d given Jack on not doing that very thing. “She will,” he assured him, even though he felt like he had nothing at all to back up his convictions. “You can’t blame yourself, Jack. People overreacted, and they-- they misunderstood, and it’s not right, but you didn’t choose for any of this to happen.” That was, at least in his opinion, important for Jack to understand. Somehow, he’d make sure Max didn’t do anything stupid, even though it was an impossible responsibility to keep an eye on both of them in the midst of everything else going on in his life.
Getting him to see Gus was a minor victory, at least. The little boy would be a good influence, he was sure, and that was a start. “Okay,” he agreed, and while he’d initially intended to stay until Max returned, he felt confident enough that Jack wasn’t going to run off and kill anyone the moment he left. He forced himself back up into a standing position, finding the motion became easier each time he did it, and shook his head. “You don’t have to apologize, and you’re not a burden. You’d do the same for me,” he said simply, shrugging. Everything Evie had said about putting Wren first, he agreed with, but he wasn’t going to turn his back on one of the few friends he had in the process.
Jack moved toward Luke as he got up from the bed, ready to offer him support, but stopped halfway when he saw he was getting up on his own. He didn't look too stiff, at least. Small blessings. And he was right, of course. Jack would do the same for him. It didn't change, though, the fact that he would have to be careful about putting too much pressure on him or Wren, or Max, if things didn't go so horrifically in the next few days that she wasn't interested in speaking to him again. "No," he said. "But it happened all the same." He saw what Luke was going to do, appreciated it as well-intentioned, and tried to tell himself that he might actually be able to take it to heart, someday soon. It was simply too easy to lay the blame at his own door. Well, his and Crane's. It all went back to him. "I would," he admitted.
"Do you have a way home?" Jack asked. It was a sudden thought, in the midst of his swirling worries, his guilt, and his frustration. Those simple worries kept penetrating through the fog. Those, at least, those instincts to make sure everyone was alright, that everyone was safe - those remained. It was likely that nothing could kill them.
Maybe it hadn’t been anything of epic proportions, but Luke felt like they might have made a little progress. As for a way home, he’d simply intended on taking a cab, seeing no reason to inconvenience either Max or Jack when it wasn’t necessary. “Yeah, I do,” he said with a small smile. “Same way I got here. A taxi. I’ll be fine,” he added, cutting off any potential objections. “Just... take care of yourself, that’s all.” His only request before leaving, simply that.