"There was only one other exception to the kill order besides me. And that was Kepler. Because I- well, I told him once that if I was going to have him killed, I'd do it myself. That was the mistake I made the last time. I had someone else point the gun to his head."
He leans back.
"I am sorry you got hurt, Tim."
He isn't sorry that he did it yet. Not for the right reasons, at least. But he is starting to apologize for the splash. Little by little.
"I'll let you hit me, when I get out. If that makes you feel better. Once. After that? All bets are off."
He snorts, and immediately winces, bandaged hand moving to grip the opposite ribs. "Think I might have to get in line," he says flatly, but there's half a grin on his face despite the aches. "Rita looks like she wants to kill you herself first. And probably me if she catches me here."
"Oh, it's going to be a goddamn party out there," he tells him. "People just lining up to shank me, I'm sure. Or that one little girl with the bugs."
He shrugs, then adds: "At least I don't have a warden to revive me since my temp fucked off. So if I die, I can just have a nice nap for a while until someone misses me."
"Oh, definitely, she got killed during all that. Nasty headshot." Which is totally just casual information he for sure didn't get first-hand. "Why even bother with bulletproof armour when they can just aimbot you between the eyes?"
Jacobi groans. "Cool. I've always wanted to know what it's like to have death by bugs. That's not a whole nightmare."
He sighs.
"Well, there's a whole lot more to the story than that, but that's the essence. Everything suddenly sucked a whole lot more than before, so I blew it all to hell in the vague hope that I'd be so hated they would send me back."
He grins, and there's no humour in it. "We ever get the chance to take a wander through each other's memories again, come visit mine. You wanna know how I got these scars?"
Passing out with limbs full of flesh-eating bugs is a delightful memory.
"You know, the impression I've gotten is that it's actually really hard to get people to actually hate you if they're determined enough. Or just stupid, but they tend to insist it's the former."
"Ew. I'll swap you the story of hearing the sound of my own screaming because a star decided to spit out a body double of me with all my memories. Or maybe when I was brainwashed into being a super duper compliant zombie?"
He rolls his eyes. What does it matter?
"Everything goes to shit, Tim. I thought that maybe something would change, but it didn't. So here I am. Stuck in here. And I don't even get a goddamn shower for a week."
"God, Jon would have a fucking field day with the shit that's happened to you."
Probably not the best thought to voice out loud but he's very sore. Whatever.
"Gotta say, though, hacking HAL to eject everyone for you feels... I dunno, hasty? It's like blowing your load because you couldn't be arsed waiting for a better moment."
"Yeah, Jon already knows," he tells him, and there's a significant sort of weight to the statement.
"But Connor just seemed efficient. I don't exactly have enough C4 to get the job done here, and there's no telling what physics-breaking shit would follow."
Tim just nods. He is extremely familiar with what that tone means.
"Suppose I can appreciate you not blowing everything to kingdom come and out the other side. It's not like some of us need another existential crisis about it."
He leans back, elbow shifting the notebook a bit and if Tim is still being nosy, he'll be able to read what looks like a letter to someone. It doesn't have a name at the top, but it's clearly an apology of some sort.
There's also a note in the margin. It reads "Jon Mean Girls." No other context.
"Yeah, so really, if you think about it, you should be grateful. Honestly."
"You think I look any better? Just because I make the scars work doesn't mean I can rock bruise couture." Even if it's not really a black eye, it's just the side of his head.
But that's a fair enough request to him. "Far as I'm aware, you'll want to add Jon and Taylor to your list. He's fine, bloody spooky X-man, but Taylor got sniped in the head, and she already hates you."
"I've already talked to Jon," he tells him. "Or rather, he's already reached out to bitch at me. And Taylor's definitely going to kill me if she sees me. But she's a kid, so what am I going to do? Stab her? Yeah, my stock's already in a free fall; that's just DOA."
He isn't pleased by hearing any of that. "Who else?"
"When I've gone and found more out I'll let you know. Sounds like a few more people got offed too but I don't really know anyone well enough to ask for the names. Rita thinks I'm an arse."
But so far she doesn't know he's friend with Jacobi, which is probably the only thing keeping her attitude to him above sub-zero.
"Yeah, thanks," he tells him. "I can ask Jon, too, I guess. I'm not asking Rita. I'm trying not to bother her too much. Part of the Plan," he says, emphasizing the word. Making it sound significant.
"Have you ever...tried to undo something this big? With - people?"
He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly as he considers it.
"Not really. I spent most of the last year going downhill until I got to finish it all off with the plastic explosives." He shrugs one shoulder. "Haven't really needed to apologise for that, given the circumstances."
He sighs. "I just - have to do better, then." And Jacobi can do that. He's done that. It's just like what he talked about with Jon. He just has to Do Better.
"You shouldn't ever apologize for plastic explosives," he smirks, looking up. "Not when you mean to. But - what happened? Why did you blow up a circus? And keep it light on the existential horrors, if you can."
"Mate, you've known Jon how long and you think a spooky circus from our end of things isn't gonna be an existential nightmare?"
He straightens up, shifting so he's resting his shoulder on the bars instead. "Circus of the Other belongs directly to the Stranger. They were doing their whole ritual to destroy the world, or remake or some bullshit, and we stopped it. With a bang."
He gives a light scoff. "If I'm remembering some of the old statements correctly? More or less. The lot of us work under the Eye, apparently, which got really damn good at screwing up everyone else's rituals to end the world on their terms. We got to personally interrupt one called The Unknowing."
There's something about Tim's statement that triggers a memory in his brain. Words that Jon had told him. What did he talk about -
God, he had been so drunk.
"Tim, I'm only asking you this because it seems like a touchy subject and I'm safe behind these bars. But - uh - the Circus thing. And the ritual. Did it have to do with your brother?"
What good humour was on Tim's face drops immediately, and he pushes off the bars to look down at Jacobi in a moment of open shock. But then it's gone, buried under a defensive layer of resentment.
He's going to smack Jon. Because it had to be him, he listens to all the tapes and Martin wouldn't.
"Not the ritual specifically, no." His voice is flat again, humourless. "The Circus, yeah."
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He leans back.
"I am sorry you got hurt, Tim."
He isn't sorry that he did it yet. Not for the right reasons, at least. But he is starting to apologize for the splash. Little by little.
"I'll let you hit me, when I get out. If that makes you feel better. Once. After that? All bets are off."
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He shrugs, then adds: "At least I don't have a warden to revive me since my temp fucked off. So if I die, I can just have a nice nap for a while until someone misses me."
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He sighs.
"Well, there's a whole lot more to the story than that, but that's the essence. Everything suddenly sucked a whole lot more than before, so I blew it all to hell in the vague hope that I'd be so hated they would send me back."
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Passing out with limbs full of flesh-eating bugs is a delightful memory.
"You know, the impression I've gotten is that it's actually really hard to get people to actually hate you if they're determined enough. Or just stupid, but they tend to insist it's the former."
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He rolls his eyes. What does it matter?
"Everything goes to shit, Tim. I thought that maybe something would change, but it didn't. So here I am. Stuck in here. And I don't even get a goddamn shower for a week."
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Probably not the best thought to voice out loud but he's very sore. Whatever.
"Gotta say, though, hacking HAL to eject everyone for you feels... I dunno, hasty? It's like blowing your load because you couldn't be arsed waiting for a better moment."
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"But Connor just seemed efficient. I don't exactly have enough C4 to get the job done here, and there's no telling what physics-breaking shit would follow."
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"Suppose I can appreciate you not blowing everything to kingdom come and out the other side. It's not like some of us need another existential crisis about it."
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There's also a note in the margin. It reads "Jon Mean Girls." No other context.
"Yeah, so really, if you think about it, you should be grateful. Honestly."
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"Yeah, let's not push my forgiveness that far," he comments dryly. "I'm still debating that punch in the face."
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"Hey. I said you could hit me. I didn't say you could hit me in the face," he protests. "I don't look good with a black eye. It's not cute."
He rubs the back of his neck. "Hey, do you think you could get me a casualty list? Injured and dead?"
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But that's a fair enough request to him. "Far as I'm aware, you'll want to add Jon and Taylor to your list. He's fine, bloody spooky X-man, but Taylor got sniped in the head, and she already hates you."
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He isn't pleased by hearing any of that. "Who else?"
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But so far she doesn't know he's friend with Jacobi, which is probably the only thing keeping her attitude to him above sub-zero.
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"Have you ever...tried to undo something this big? With - people?"
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"Not really. I spent most of the last year going downhill until I got to finish it all off with the plastic explosives." He shrugs one shoulder. "Haven't really needed to apologise for that, given the circumstances."
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"You shouldn't ever apologize for plastic explosives," he smirks, looking up. "Not when you mean to. But - what happened? Why did you blow up a circus? And keep it light on the existential horrors, if you can."
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"Mate, you've known Jon how long and you think a spooky circus from our end of things isn't gonna be an existential nightmare?"
He straightens up, shifting so he's resting his shoulder on the bars instead. "Circus of the Other belongs directly to the Stranger. They were doing their whole ritual to destroy the world, or remake or some bullshit, and we stopped it. With a bang."
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But he runs fingers through his hair, away from his face. "Isn't your world always about to end, though?"
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God, he had been so drunk.
"Tim, I'm only asking you this because it seems like a touchy subject and I'm safe behind these bars. But - uh - the Circus thing. And the ritual. Did it have to do with your brother?"
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He's going to smack Jon. Because it had to be him, he listens to all the tapes and Martin wouldn't.
"Not the ritual specifically, no." His voice is flat again, humourless. "The Circus, yeah."
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Oh well.
"To be fair, Mr. Grumpy Face, I? Was exceptionally drunk. And Jon was....drinking. Does he get drunk?"
Jacobi's always the first to go, so he never remembers. "He never said your name, but - " The detonator. Their relationship. It kind of makes sense.
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