Jake is (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} derelict) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} rooms, |
[Jake didn't figure on being believed either, but he figured lying on it was better than telling the truth because it was already real unmanly to be stood there looking like someone had just kicked his Sunday out of the week. But he was real sure on one thing: he couldn't go back. Not now, not when he'd chased her off as soon as he'd let her come close enough to catch the smell of her perfume. Because Clem's place? It smelled like his Momma had stood in the hall and soaked in it, magnolia and salt and ozone and he hadn't looped the two together because Clem had smelled like something different when he'd been young enough to hold onto his momma's tight enough to know.
Jake gave a tight little nod of the head, and he didn't care that he didn't know Jack any. Any place was better than a Gotham backalley, and any place was better than going home someplace that wasn't a home no more.]
Yeah. Think so. [Oblique, and he trusted Jack as easy as a child does, certainty that the man who'd stood at his back facing down ghosts wasn't nothing to go afearing. Trusting.]