04-10-2025, 10:15 PM
((This thread is meant to take place the morning of "We dont want to anger morven" ))
Jay said it again before she could even ask. “I’m fine.”
He always said it first—cutting her off at the pass, like it was a script they both memorized. But Natalie never looked at him with pity. Not once. Her gaze was something else entirely. Grim determination. Like she believed if she stared hard enough, if she willed it strongly enough, she could patch the fractures together and force him back into sanity.
"I’m not insane", he told himself, looking in the bathroom mirror. "Just had a moment."
"A moment? Hell, Rasputin had a moment. What you had was Chernobyl with a side of sarin gas."
"It wasn’t a meltdown", he argued with himself. "Just... a weak spot. Brittle. Tape it up. Duct tape. Good as new." He grimaced as the razor knicked a chunk out of his jaw.
"Yeah? All the duct tape in the world won’t glue back together what you broke, dude."
"Yeah, well—fuck you."
"Fuck you."
He tapped the razor against the edge of the sink. Too hard. The plastic handle snapped and the blade went skittering across the tile with a sound like teeth breaking.
He gripped the counter. Hung his head. Breathed deep. Tried to shut the screaming part of his brain down—the part that ran reruns of the worst nights on full volume.
This was how mornings went now. Cold. Regimented. Fractured. A battle before the sun even cleared the horizon.
In the kitchen, he fastened his uniform jacket between bites of toast and mouthfuls of coffee. He eyed the bourbon bottle on the top shelf and, for a second, actually pictured it. A splash in the mug. Liquid courage. Liquid forgetfulness.
But no. Not today. Not yet.
“I’ll be at the Garden today,” he said when Natalie entered. She was barefoot, wrapped in a robe she never seemed to realize made her look like home.
He hadn’t left since Jared’s wedding. Just stayed. Moved in like fog. They hadn’t talked about it, hadn’t needed to. She never asked questions, and he never offered more than the daily itinerary—where he was headed, what he thought he’d do. A performance of normalcy, and she never called him out on how much it all smelled like bullshit.
Adrian had gone quiet after their last encounter. Eerily quiet. Jay told himself that meant he’d finally given up. Whatever fantasy he’d been entertaining, whatever plan had involved Jay being part of it. So far, no search parties. No demands. Not even a text.
Until they noticed he wasn’t showing up for that particular duty, he was going to do exactly what he wanted. Even if it wasn’t anything at all.
“Supposed to meet some ambassador or diplomat or somebody,” he muttered, rinsing his mug and leaving it in the sink like a breadcrumb trail back to his version of stability.
He passed her on the way out. “Talk to you later. Be good.”
And then, soft, almost automatic, he kissed her cheek.
Like he was still the man she thought he was.
Jay said it again before she could even ask. “I’m fine.”
He always said it first—cutting her off at the pass, like it was a script they both memorized. But Natalie never looked at him with pity. Not once. Her gaze was something else entirely. Grim determination. Like she believed if she stared hard enough, if she willed it strongly enough, she could patch the fractures together and force him back into sanity.
"I’m not insane", he told himself, looking in the bathroom mirror. "Just had a moment."
"A moment? Hell, Rasputin had a moment. What you had was Chernobyl with a side of sarin gas."
"It wasn’t a meltdown", he argued with himself. "Just... a weak spot. Brittle. Tape it up. Duct tape. Good as new." He grimaced as the razor knicked a chunk out of his jaw.
"Yeah? All the duct tape in the world won’t glue back together what you broke, dude."
"Yeah, well—fuck you."
"Fuck you."
He tapped the razor against the edge of the sink. Too hard. The plastic handle snapped and the blade went skittering across the tile with a sound like teeth breaking.
He gripped the counter. Hung his head. Breathed deep. Tried to shut the screaming part of his brain down—the part that ran reruns of the worst nights on full volume.
This was how mornings went now. Cold. Regimented. Fractured. A battle before the sun even cleared the horizon.
In the kitchen, he fastened his uniform jacket between bites of toast and mouthfuls of coffee. He eyed the bourbon bottle on the top shelf and, for a second, actually pictured it. A splash in the mug. Liquid courage. Liquid forgetfulness.
But no. Not today. Not yet.
“I’ll be at the Garden today,” he said when Natalie entered. She was barefoot, wrapped in a robe she never seemed to realize made her look like home.
He hadn’t left since Jared’s wedding. Just stayed. Moved in like fog. They hadn’t talked about it, hadn’t needed to. She never asked questions, and he never offered more than the daily itinerary—where he was headed, what he thought he’d do. A performance of normalcy, and she never called him out on how much it all smelled like bullshit.
Adrian had gone quiet after their last encounter. Eerily quiet. Jay told himself that meant he’d finally given up. Whatever fantasy he’d been entertaining, whatever plan had involved Jay being part of it. So far, no search parties. No demands. Not even a text.
Until they noticed he wasn’t showing up for that particular duty, he was going to do exactly what he wanted. Even if it wasn’t anything at all.
“Supposed to meet some ambassador or diplomat or somebody,” he muttered, rinsing his mug and leaving it in the sink like a breadcrumb trail back to his version of stability.
He passed her on the way out. “Talk to you later. Be good.”
And then, soft, almost automatic, he kissed her cheek.
Like he was still the man she thought he was.
Only darkness shows you the light.