Re: luke/jack
[Jack looked at Luke. They did have that in common, and strange as it was, it felt somehow appropriate, a different kind of commonality than just friendship, something more like brothers, then.
Did he look better? He expected he must. He had examined himself in the mirror a day or two after arriving here, trying to see if he could find what had changed, if it was visible. There was nothing to see but good health and a depth behind the eyes that he imagined would make some people a little uncomfortable. Normal, outwardly. If there wasn't so much risk right now in going back to the city without at least an attempt to disguise himself, he would have been able to pass for human in a crowd with no problem. Not everyone had that luxury. He'd seen that much in the facility. Some of those who had fled would have to hid somewhere deep and dark, or somewhere remote enough that they would never be found. He hoped, quietly, that they made plans too. If he met any of them on his way to find the man from the observation room, he would gladly share in the spoils of revenge. Seemed only fitting.
He looked at Luke for a moment.] I don't feel human. [That same thick voice, and articulate eyes. He wondered if it was only him, or if it was the same for anyone else. He couldn't ask Max a question like that - she'd brush him off, most likely. It was odd, feeling so grounded in sensation and yet so distanced from what you were. The two would eventually reconcile, but for now, he felt like a stranger to himself.
He considered the offer.] Left all my things. Back home. [He hadn't gone back to the apartment, hadn't been able to afford the risk or the pain of being in the city, yet. All his clothes, his guitar, his books, everything. Would he ever be able to go back?
Rachel Summers. His eyes sparked with recognition.] Met her. [His small smile was knowing.] Gets into your head. [He had to assume she'd done the same to Luke as she had to him, climbing in and building a shared space of memory and words. There was nothing less articulate or aware in his expression than there had ever been, despite the clipped sentences and the way each word seemed like a challenge. All the same speed of thought was running through his head, just without the outlet. In its way, it was a relief not to even be able to describe how things had been or what he was feeling, but it was more a frustration. He had always relied so much on speech, and it felt like his crutch had been kicked out when he was still trying to get back on his feet. Summers had cut through that with her direct connection to his mind, and disconcerting as it had been to be connected to on such a level, the brief freedom had been a release.]