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week 6 - friday after murders
[ With all the excitement said and done, Jack had grabbed what he had actually gone to the medical bay to get and bid everyone adieu. At least, metaphorically speaking. It was really much more like a "fuck off and leave me alone," but for once, his foul mood isn't completely unfair.
He hadn't been kidding when he had said it wasn't the first time he had gotten stabbed, but that doesn't exactly make it any more fun. Jack is the type of person to put on a big show when he's actually bleeding, when the knife is still in his gut, but later? Later is when he pisses and moans about it without end. The fact that in the process of this he'd lost his mask only made things worse. It was purely aesthetic and he objectively knows that, but he still can't help but feel incredibly exposed without it. And not in the good, sexy way.
As such, once he had grabbed his tools, he had immediately left the medbay to head towards his room to patch himself up, but each step was a painful jab in his side. He'd opened the damn thing back up like an idiot this morning after all the trouble of trying to roughly bandage it, so he guess he did deserve this. But still. It sucks. And eventually, it sucks enough that he gives up on making it to his room.
The parlor ends up being closer, so Jack heads inside to take a seat somewhere where he's liable to not bleed all over the place. That, and unless someone really did steal all the booze and not return it, it also has alcohol, which will be a very basic, but blissful painkiller. He'll pour himself a tall glass of whatever is the strongest and take a seat, because this isn't exactly going to be fun. He takes off his shirt, then goes through the process of threading the surgical needle, though when he actually looks down at the wound— Okay. It's fine. Totally fine.
At least, until he starts to actually stitch it closed. At that point, anyone that might be wandering by is liable to hear Jack before they even get to the door. ]
Son of a taint!
He hadn't been kidding when he had said it wasn't the first time he had gotten stabbed, but that doesn't exactly make it any more fun. Jack is the type of person to put on a big show when he's actually bleeding, when the knife is still in his gut, but later? Later is when he pisses and moans about it without end. The fact that in the process of this he'd lost his mask only made things worse. It was purely aesthetic and he objectively knows that, but he still can't help but feel incredibly exposed without it. And not in the good, sexy way.
As such, once he had grabbed his tools, he had immediately left the medbay to head towards his room to patch himself up, but each step was a painful jab in his side. He'd opened the damn thing back up like an idiot this morning after all the trouble of trying to roughly bandage it, so he guess he did deserve this. But still. It sucks. And eventually, it sucks enough that he gives up on making it to his room.
The parlor ends up being closer, so Jack heads inside to take a seat somewhere where he's liable to not bleed all over the place. That, and unless someone really did steal all the booze and not return it, it also has alcohol, which will be a very basic, but blissful painkiller. He'll pour himself a tall glass of whatever is the strongest and take a seat, because this isn't exactly going to be fun. He takes off his shirt, then goes through the process of threading the surgical needle, though when he actually looks down at the wound— Okay. It's fine. Totally fine.
At least, until he starts to actually stitch it closed. At that point, anyone that might be wandering by is liable to hear Jack before they even get to the door. ]
Son of a taint!
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You really— [ Don't have to do that, but the words stop abruptly once her hand sits against his leg. It's very clear that he's not quite uncomfortable, but it's more that he's not sure what to do with this. It's strange to him, but that probably fits fairly well with what Elizabeth knows of Jack so far. He's a much more closed off person than his extroverted personality implies.
He might have focused on that, but as with many things, his attention is stolen away by something else. As soon as Rhys comes into the conversation, it's much easier to identify the emotion that bubbles forward for that. It's definitely anger, and a bitter one at that. Her concern about him being able to stitch up his wounds is pretty quickly discarded as well. ]
Oh, of course he's with Fiona. That-- No, no, not gonna lose my temper, not now, but that asshole? Friggin' shows up to my goddamn door, stabs me, steals my mask. I'm— Ohhhhohoho I am definitely gonna have to control my temper to not put my hands around that scrawny little neck of his...
[ Sadly, this is Jack controlling his temper, though this one also seems a bit more venomous than his other outbursts. There's something about this that's much more personal, and it's not hard to take a guess at what would cause it. Though that guess may not capture the full picture. ]
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[ If anything that she can consider herself good at, it's bringing people back from the edge of no-return. This was different than helping Booker get on his feet and bandaging his wounds. She slaps his knee extra hard, defiantely trying to keep him on her. She wanted to ultimately just try and stop him from hurting himself in anger. ]
If he attacked you, ...y..you could have... [ She doesn't see it the way Jack does and that's her number one mistake. He can see her eyes immediately begin tearing up and tears roll down. ] It could have been you too. Hancock... Light...
[ She didn't think Rhys would have done something like that - their relationship had always been lukewarm. He's abrasive and honestly, she thinks he's more abrasive than Jack. ]
We need to tell someone. If he'd do something like that this week, if he's innocent, he can do that next week. You - or anyone - won't be safe.
[ Ha... what is safe here? ]
I can't lose you too.
1/2
Ahhh, shit.
It's all he can think, because he's definitely not sure how to comfort her. He wasn't even good at comforting his own daughter when she cried for chrissake. That had always been something that-- Well. There used to be someone that was better at that than he was. His rage simmers down in the face of her own tears, though it's not quite out of empathy so much as awkwardness. ]
Geez, Liz, that's-- C'mon, y- you think—
[ He starts to interrupt, because it had never quite occurred to him that he could have died. It simply wasn't a possibility, because he was Handsome Jack. And if anyone was going to take out Handsome Jack, it certainly wasn't going to be one of the jackasses that worked for him, and it wasn't going to be Rhys. Even now, after getting stabbed, he doesn't think Rhys was trying to actually kill him.
But he falls silent for the rest. At first, it's just something different to latch onto, a concrete plan of action that he likes, but then... That last little sentiment is different. When he hears something like care, empathy for him it's his immediate instinct to reject it. Jack doesn't trust people. He doesn't trust peoples' intentions, because he has many, many cases in his life where he's seen that words like this were a way to get closer to him. You let people close, and that's always a risk, and it's the one he never felt he could afford to take.
If this were Helios, he would kill her. He could never trust something like that coming out of a Hyperion's mouth, and it may as well be a sign that they've gotten sloppy. Like, good job, asshole, you were too obvious about your clever plan, and now you've gotta die. But. She's not Hyperion. This isn't Helios. So for a solid few moments, his stare turns frighteningly intense, as if she's said exactly the wrong thing. His hands relax at his sides, and the hand that's not holding the needle reaches out to her. ]
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Hey— Listen, Li- Elizabeth. I'm not goin' anywhere.
[ He gives her cheek a little squeeze as a physical encouragement, but a smile finally quirks. ]
I mean, I'm a hero. Heroes never die, y'know? Lots of near brushes with death, I- I mean, hell, technically? Already died once, but I'm here. So-- Listen, you're not gonna lose me, because I'm gonna figure out a way off this ship. I promise. So... It'll be all right. Don't need to cry over me.
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Elizabeth is selfish.
Elizabeth is so naive that she twists his well-being about her. It's not even intentional or with ill-intent. He's one of the few people she's latched onto and it's disgusting in reality that she sees him with a respect akin to an older man. A father figure. Her lip barely was healed from last week but it trembles, bouncing as she begins to softly sob.
Her entire being was in pain, unable to let the frustrations and grief of losing Hancock go. The fear of losing Jack too. Who next? Fiona? Jason? Jessie? Give a girl some companionship for the first time in 18 years and then take it away? It was cruel.
Blinking through tears and sucking the air in as if she's labored to breath, Elizabeth's slouched and completely vulnerable. That's when a brief second of fear washes over her when he jets his hand forward.
The vibration of her voice when she cries his name out - Jack, not Mr. Jack - immediately but carefully snatching her arms around his neck. Luckily, the blood was avoided as she buries her face against his collar and just cries. His words weren't soothing her. They can't. Not when Hancock said the same thing and was gunned down. ]
You need to - uhgn.. [ Elizabeth says with a heavy breath. ] You need to tend to your wound but we can't trust anyone now. Rhys was - how could he do something like that to you? P-Please... please don't die. Please.
[ She can't keep a straight thought, her eyes stinging. ]
We... we have to do something. This can't happen again. I won't allow it!
>:]
Geez-- You gotta be more careful, kiddo. Could've got you with the needle.
[ He's joking and teasing, since he's not sure how else to respond to this. Even as she cries, he's not sure, and the jokes, the smile, they're just masks to cover up that awkward inability he sometimes has to truly feel for other people. He doesn't see it that way, since Jack just sees this as feeling awkward about a girl crying on him, but it runs just a little deeper than that.
But he still knows the right motions. He lets the needle go carefully, trying to shift so that she won't touch that wound on his side, and tenuously, he reaches out to place a hand on her head. It's a heavy, comforting weight, though with some hesitation, he strokes her hair just as he would for Angel. It's all he knows to do. ]
Yeah— Yeah, we can't. Sucks, but that's just a fact of this shitty situation. You can't trust anyone. Not really.
[ :) ]
So-- We'll work it out. Dunno how, not yet, but I think... I think there's a way to do this. So, hey— I promise, for real. I'm not gonna die that easily. You and me, we'll figure this out.