Jason Todd is (thelazarus) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2013-05-09 12:38:00 |
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Entry tags: | batman, red hood |
Who: Luke and Jack
What: Jack arrives at the house and packs to go on his magical journey, Luke attempts to deal with the crazy.
Where: Luke and Wren's house.
When: Recently.
Warnings/Rating: None
His hope that Jason would somehow managed to remain unaffected by whatever was plaguing Gotham had been slim to begin with, and really, Luke wasn’t surprised. It seemed the only surefire way to remain sane was to not be there, and he was simply fortunate that Bruce’s absence had coincided with whatever this was; though it was probably intentional on Crane’s part. Part of it was, admittedly, selfish, because if Jason was fine, then Jack was fine, and that was one less thing he had to worry about.
But no, he wasn’t surprised. He’d stopped expecting the best. Hoped for it, yeah, but he didn’t expect it.
Max being gone was yet another blow. Fortunately, Wren seemed to be returning to normal, which brought a whole host of new problems in its wake--they still hadn’t talked about Thierry--but that could wait. One way or another, he’d keep Jack contained, and he and Wren could sit down and he could reassure her that nothing had changed once he let Bruce through the damn door to start fixing things before Gotham destroyed itself from the inside out. Gus was with the neighbors and their child, happily oblivious and enjoying some sort of vacation, which meant Luke was currently alone, awaiting Jack’s arrival and contemplating what he would do if his friend refused to stay. He couldn’t let him run, and he couldn’t call Max and have her send some agent over.
He’d have liked to think it would be fine, but he knew better. Instead he simply waited; no use in getting ahead of himself.
Jack came through the door without bothering to knock. It was unlocked, so he just walked in, spotting Luke as he went through the living room. "Hey," he greeted, and he seemed normal enough, smiling at his friend as he moved past.
He didn't stop to chat, didn't sit down for a long conversation. Instead, he went directly into his room, pulled out a weatherbeaten duffle bag from under the bed, and began to diligently pack it with clothes. He didn't know if Luke had trailed along after him into the hall, but he called back. "I have to stay until Max gets back. But she's going to be back soon."
In some ways, all seemed normal. If anything, he seemed so much more at ease than usual, so comfortable, even happy. He folded each article of clothing, in no rush to be done. He was going to leave, but in his own time.
Perhaps the real sign that something was wrong was the determination of it, his apparent unwillingness to accept that any other future awaited. He had made the decision to leave Las Vegas, and to quit the CIA, so he was going, and he was quitting, and no one could stop him. The thoughtless single-mindedness of it all was just this side of eerie. It was a little like watching a bird throw itself against its cage bars as if it couldn’t comprehend the existence of the bars, over and over and over, until it was bloody and broken. He would go through, and be free, and be someone, and have a life. He would take Max with him, and Wren and Luke would be perfectly happy and fine without him there, and Gus would be fine, and Cerise would be much better off with him gone. He would never need to kill anyone he didn't want to ever again.
Of course, there would be more dead before he stopped entirely. He had a gang boss in Seattle to see, and to kill, and the other two to wait out until they were released from jail. But everything would come in due time, and meanwhile he would find a real place in the world. He wouldn't feel guilty about the things in the past, and he wouldn't let that prospect of forgetting frighten him. He wouldn't worry about his friends. He wouldn't worry about Max. He would be unafraid, and normal, and have a good life, the kind he had wanted when he got married. Maybe he would go back to being a musician - but there were so many things he could do, now, that it was hard to choose just one.
"How is Wren?" Jack asked, toward the doorway he had his back to, still folding, folding, putting away.
The worst part of all this, Luke thought, was that on the surface everything seemed so normal. Wren had appeared happy, unconcerned, and perfectly fine, after all, and he’d never have been the wiser if he hadn’t seen what she’d done to Thierry and, afterward, observed her total lack of care. Some might have thought the absence of fear was a good thing, but there was a reason people were wired to care. There was a reason for worry, for guilt, and even for fear; it kept people from doing stupid things, from doing horrible things, even, and without it, the risk of harm (to others and themselves) was frighteningly high. Jack was in no state to comprehend the consequences of quitting the CIA right now, and if Luke had to resort to drastic measures in order to protect him from himself, well, then so be it. Better that than any of the alternatives.
He looked up when Jack entered, and he stared, managing a small smile. Pretending with Wren hadn’t gone well; he wasn’t doing much better now. “Hey,” he echoed, watching as he kept moving past him, into the hallway, before he stood. Max might have thought she’d talked him into staying, but the truth was that he didn’t trust Jack to stay put. There was no logic to keep him from deciding to leave as soon as he was unsupervised, and even asking Wren to watch him wasn’t a guarantee. “That’s good,” he said, as though he was glad. “You won’t have to wait long, then.” He moved as he spoke, pausing once he’d reached the bedroom and leaning against the doorframe.
For a few moments he watched him pack in silence, and his single-minded determination, the conviction that he could leave the CIA and he could leave the city striking him as terribly sad. Jack should have been free to have a life, to be happy and free and not be tied down by anything or anyone. But life simply didn’t work that way, however unfair it might have been. “Wren is fine,” he said. “You’re really not going to leave until Max gets back? You mean that?” Not that his word would mean much, but if he promised, maybe he’d actually stand by it.
"Of course," Jack said lightly. He finished packing the duffle bag with clothes, since there weren't many to pack, and went in search of his toothbrush in the bathroom, brushing past Luke in the hall. "I told her I would just meet her somewhere, but she wouldn't do that. So I can wait for her to come here, it's fine." No inconvenience to him, really, he just knew he couldn't stay in Vegas for too long before he ran the risk of jail, and while that didn't worry him in the way it should, it would be disappointing. He had things to do that couldn't be done if he was in jail.
"Worried about me?" Jack asked, with a small smile, as he pulled his things out of the medicine cabinet. His eyes reflected in the mirrored cabinet, doubled in the mirrors, were placid. Everything was as simple and easy as a walk on a fine spring day, and everything was going to be fine. For the first time in a very long time, everything would be fine. And he wouldn't need to fight to keep it that way.
While it was clear that Max had enough sway to get him to agree to stay, Luke wasn’t sure how long that would last. He didn’t think the fact that Jack was packing now boded well, though he made no move to stop him. “Good,” he said, attempting to mask his apprehension behind relief he didn’t actually feel as he turned and followed behind. “It’s better if you stay here until she gets back.” And yet, he wasn’t reassured. Maybe it was leftover from what MK had told him, that Wren wanted to leave, and the fear that the past would repeat itself if he wasn’t careful. It would be so easy for Jack to leave, and then it would be out of his hands.
He thought about denying it, but why? Feigning Jack’s kind of calm was downright impossible. “Yeah,” he admitted. “You know me. I always worry.” These days, he felt like the only one left who did. He tipped his head to the side, and he thought, and then he decided to just ask. “You’re not going to do anything else until she gets back, right?”Wren had been happy, perfectly normal, with no lingering desire to hurt anyone; but that had come after Thierry, and Luke had no idea if Jack had similar intentions.
"Not unless they come for me here," Jack said, just as calm as before. He went back into the bedroom and put his things inside the duffle bag. He slid his hands into his pockets and looked into it for a moment, before, satisfied, he turned toward Luke, still at last. "In which case, I'll just kill them." He looked toward the closet to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything. "You do always worry," he said, with fondness. "Why are you worried about me, though? Things are going to be better from now on."
For a moment, Luke was silenced. He hadn’t considered that the CIA might come looking for Jack here--he assumed that was who ‘they’ were--but Max hadn’t said anything, and surely she would have, had it been a valid concern. Once she got back, everything would be fine. There it was again, that simple rationalization, but it was all he had. Jack couldn’t actually quit, right? So as long as he didn’t go on the run, or kill anyone, there would be no reason for anyone to come after him. No reason for him to kill them either, and he paled at how calmly that was stated. The lack of emotion was unsettling, to say the least. “No,” he said in alarm. “No one’s going to come. You can’t kill anyone, okay? Max-- she wouldn’t like it if you did.” Which wasn’t a lie, though what Max would think was the least of his concerns. As for why he worried, he just shrugged. “Because you’re my friend, and I care about you. I worry about almost everyone I know.”
"Max knows I'll do what I have to," Jack said, in his mind another unalienable truth. "But they should know better than to come in the first place." The implication there was distinctly ominous, but it seemed as much so to him as packing his suitcase had, or promising outright to kill anyone who tried to take him back to the CIA again, or to put him in jail. When looked at from a perspective of calm, everything that had made him fearful and crippled emotionally seemed distant and ridiculous and easy to dismiss.
"You do," Jack said. "That's a shame. Look, I feel better than I have in ages. Years. You should go through the door. I was worried about everyone too, and it was such a waste of energy and time."
“But Max worries too,” he said, “and she’d prefer if you didn’t.” Any doubts Luke might have had about whether Jack really needed constant surveillance were eliminated then, and he knew being out there on his own would be very, very bad. No fear of consequences would make him reckless, dangerous, even. Someone could have walked in on Wren and Thierry, after all, and she wouldn’t have cared, even if it meant going to jail. “You’re right, though. No one is going to come.” And there he hesitated. The truth was that he just didn’t have the time to play babysitter for days, and he didn’t want Wren left behind to fill the same role. Jack didn’t want any CIA here to take him away, but what if they weren’t there to take him away? What if they were just... there? He didn’t need to know his handler was coming to keep him contained; the trick was coming up with a convincing enough lie.
There was, of course, no chance of Luke going through the door to willingly infect himself. When he did go through, it would be to fix the problem, not make himself and Bruce part of it. “Someone has to worry, Jack,” he said. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.” It might have been nice to not worry, but not in exchange for losing every ounce of concern he had for the people he cared about. No, he couldn’t do that. “Hey, listen, you’ve got friends in the CIA, right? People you like, I mean. If one of them came by, but not to take you back, you wouldn’t mind, would you?” Better to test the waters first, rather than say nothing and risk a surprise visit that might end very, very badly.
"You don't know that," Jack pointed out, a little amused that Luke kept insisting. That was ridiculous. Surely, even if Max hated him, she wouldn't want him to go to jail. She would want him to do whatever needed to be done to stay free.
Jack walked around the bed to the window while Luke was talking, just to make sure no one was coming up to the house. It was a move of curiosity rather than paranoia or worry. Really, people coming to take him away would only present a kind of challenge, a test of his skill. Like a game. "I do," he said. He looked back over his shoulder at Luke, amused again, like Luke was a misbehaving kid who just kept getting himself into scrapes no matter what Jack did or said. "No, I wouldn't mind. I just don't want to go back there, or go to jail." That seemed reasonable enough to him. "Like I said, if any of them tried to put me in prison, I could just kill them. Most of the people in the CIA I know who might call themselves my friends, they have injuries anyway. They don't move all that quickly." Jack went back to looking out the window again. No, no sign of anyone.
Luke just shook his head, remembering too late that arguing or trying to reason with someone under the influence of the toxin was practically impossible. All he’d managed to accomplish was to frustrate himself and, apparently, amuse Jack. He watched as he went to the window, and really, he was probably worrying enough to make up for everyone who’d suddenly become calm and carefree because of Gotham. “Yeah, no, I get that,” he said, admittedly relieved. That answer was good enough for him. He wouldn’t try to kill anyone unless they came to drag him back, or throw him in jail, and since neither of those things were happening, well, there was no problem. He had to bite his tongue to keep from protesting again that he shouldn’t be killing anyone, aware it would do no good. “Okay. No one’s going to try either of those things, though. I know they won’t.” He attempted a smile. “I’ll even try not to worry and say everything will be fine.”
"Good," Jack said, turning fully back toward Luke again. He was pleased by Luke's willingness to attempt to stop worrying. It would do him a world of good. "It will." Jack had never looked so sure of anything in his life, and he'd never felt so sure of the goodness that awaited in the future. He'd become accustomed to viewing everything ahead as a black pit. There were times when just the prospect of living into the next day, and all the days after, had felt like such a crushing weight that he could hardly bear it. Now there was no burden. "You know, I feel like I could sleep," Jack said, as if this was a revelation of a kind. "Without dreaming, without anything. I need to find whoever it was in the door that made this happen and thank them. I think this is the best thing that's ever happened to me."
Luke knew the effects would wear off eventually, and he thought that might be the hardest part, especially if Jack remembered what it had felt like to be unburdened and carefree. But there was no use in pointing that out now; might as well let him enjoy it while it lasted. It was hard to hear him say this was the best thing that had ever happened to him, when none of it was real, and just as it had with Wren, it made him sad. "If I ever find out who it was, I'll let you know," he said, though he already had a pretty good idea of who was behind this. "In the meantime, though, maybe you should try to sleep. Get some real rest."
Jack nodded. That was a very sensible suggestion indeed. He picked up his duffel bag and dropped it unceremoniously on the floor. "You'll call me if Max calls you?" he asked, utterly trusting that Luke would look out for him, utterly sure that Max would come, that she would call.
He wished he could tell Jack that he was sorry, though for what, he wasn't sure. For the life he wanted but couldn't actually have, maybe, or for agreeing to let his handler babysit him as though he was an unruly child. But now, Jack wouldn't understand. Later. Luke would tell him later. "If I hear anything from Max, I'll let you know," he promised, though he doubted he would. "Just sleep, for now. Everything will be fine." He'd never actually know what it felt like to believe that, but in the end, maybe that was better.