"Yeaaah, that good," one Jamie answered with a small sigh. "Really good. Even if we're missing our bruises." "Thank God we're missing our bruises, all I need is my face pounding in time with my head." "Speak for yourself, I would've liked a nice manly shiner."
The four Jamies gave a quiet round of chuckles before all quickly diving back into their coffees. As different as each of the Jamie dupes could be, the need for caffeine to soothe a pounding head was universal. Except for that health-nut one who would be insisting on raw eggs, or some shit. Glad he was not out right now.
"Lucky you," one drawled at Logan saying he had forgotten hangovers. "It feels like hell." Then Logan mentioned a shot and beer and three of them groaned. The non-groaner gave a little quick heave and cupped a hand over his mouth. "No... no talk of booze, not right now." "No talk of pickles, either." "Pickles? Why not pickles?" "Ever tried to eat a pickle hungover? I'm feeling nauseous just thinking about it. The smell just..." "Okay! No more talk of pickles."
The four settled into an unhappy silence, one still looking a little green around the gills as they studied their coffee cups, one still fidgety around Logan. Then came the apology, or as close to an apology as Logan ever got. Two of the Jamies blinked and nodded, the third kept his eyes down and fidgeted more, apparently still uncomfortable around the feral. The last Jamie, Prime Jamie it seemed, nodded and did his best to look Logan in the eyes, in a non-threatening way. "I know. We know. Some of us are a little more skittish than others," he articulated that by giving the timid Jamie a shove, "but... it's past. We've all done things we're not proud of, that we didn't intend to do." He offered Logan another smile before taking a long, slow drink of his coffee. That felt better. Kind of.