He pauses at the hand on his face, and something tenses a little. Nothing bad, he just... isn't sure how well Jacobi might take it, now, but he still tips his head on that silent request so Jacobi can see it properly.
"Connor," he says simply, continuing to dry his chest. "When you hacked him. Pistol-whipped me out cold and shoved me in a closet with Taylor's dead body."
Funny, how when he says that, the scuffed skin seems to clear a little.
"Yeah, well, what's my life if I'm not being caught up in someone's horrible plans?"
There's no venom to it, though, and he tips his head into Jacobi's touch a little. "It's fine, Jacobi. It doesn't actually bother me at this point, you know, it's just. Something shitty that happened." He puts on a cheeky smile for him. "Suppose this means I can't use it in my wedding speech, then?"
"It's still there," he reminds him. "Alongside all the other horrible shit that happened to you."
He drops his hand to put his shirt and hoodie back on. As much as he doesn't mind the scars, now that he knows what their purpose is, he's less inclined to show them.
"But no. I'm writing your speech for you so you don't go rogue."
"Just means I'll have to beta it before I get up to the mic," he replies easily. Easier than discussing the rest of the bloody flood.
Hah. Literally.
"Think you can grab me a singlet and shirt while I clean up a bit?" he asks, glancing back at Jacobi. "Short sleeves, if you can, I'd rather not have any more write-offs."
By the time Jacobi gets back, Tim's finished cleaning up most of the mess, though another towel has had to be sacrificed to the run-off, and the bandages are more distinctly spotting now, though by no means soaked through.
"In my defence, it's hard to process something when you literally don't have the memories for it," he counters, giving his hands one last quick wipe before he takes the shirts.
Tim actually pauses with his shirt bunched over one bicep at Jacobi's comment on Jon, and the way his jaw suddenly sets as he clenches it for a moment says...
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"Connor," he says simply, continuing to dry his chest. "When you hacked him. Pistol-whipped me out cold and shoved me in a closet with Taylor's dead body."
Funny, how when he says that, the scuffed skin seems to clear a little.
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"I remember when you came to yell at me about it."
He doesn't remove his hand. "I'm sorry, Tim. That was...easily the shittiest thing I've ever done, you know. To Connor, yeah, but to you."
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There's no venom to it, though, and he tips his head into Jacobi's touch a little. "It's fine, Jacobi. It doesn't actually bother me at this point, you know, it's just. Something shitty that happened." He puts on a cheeky smile for him. "Suppose this means I can't use it in my wedding speech, then?"
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He drops his hand to put his shirt and hoodie back on. As much as he doesn't mind the scars, now that he knows what their purpose is, he's less inclined to show them.
"But no. I'm writing your speech for you so you don't go rogue."
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Hah. Literally.
"Think you can grab me a singlet and shirt while I clean up a bit?" he asks, glancing back at Jacobi. "Short sleeves, if you can, I'd rather not have any more write-offs."
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He leaves Tim for a moment to rummage through his closet. Singlet is easy. The shirt takes some thought.
He returns triumphant, finding a teal number he drapes over his arm. "Alright. Let's get you dressed and ready for the day, Mr. Unprocessed Trauma."
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"In my defence, it's hard to process something when you literally don't have the memories for it," he counters, giving his hands one last quick wipe before he takes the shirts.
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He says it with a bit of a laugh, but there's obvious worry and panic in his tone.
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"I'm still doing okay, Daniel. It's really not that bad, it just..." He glances down to his arms. "It looks worse than it is. That's all."
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He helps him with the shirt. "Will you go find Jon? I'm sure he's a goddamn mess and refusing to admit it."
Not that Jacobi has any idea just how bad it is.
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Well. A lot.
"Yeah. He is."
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He does help him with the rest of his shirt, though.