darling it's better down where it's wetter

[did_unkindly]

It's been a day, it's been a day, it's been a whole damn day -- as near as it's possible to tell in this soggy excuse for a city. It's been a day since he killed Fontaine. And Jack is no closer to getting out. He's still down here. He did everything he was supposed to do and he's still down here.

All he's found is locked-down bathyspheres. Broken submarines. Even the goddamn boats are out of service. Where's Tenenbaum? Where's his fucking rescue?

Jack stares about into the greenish gloom, checks the ammo in his pistol, and then kicks and yanks off the rusting panel of a vending machine. His hands are soon full of little wires and pipes. A few seconds later, he straightens up with a grunt, and the machine gives him a tidy discount on a couple glowing hypos of EVE.

With his visit extended indefinitely, he's begun to wonder how many of them are left.

Now arbitrarily divided into chapters!
Part One: A Scene at the Rapture Adoption Agency ~or~ You Found [Pot of Ham]!
Part Two: Come On-A My House, I'm Gonna Give-A You Candy ~or~ Sinclair? More Like Sin Pantalones!
Part Three: Dream Sequences are a Fresh New Concept in Fiction ~or~ It's My Existential Trauma and I'll Cry if I Want To
Part Four: Southern Education Jokes ~or~ Engineer, Engifar, Engiwherever You Are ~or~ The Grave Escape
Part Five: Golfing Accident Memoirs ~or~ Mom... Dad... I'm Immortal ~or~ How To Make Friends And Immolate People
Part Six: Is It A Pie? Is It A Plane?? ~or~ Two's Company, Three's a Row
Part Seven: Escort Missions! In Rapture! Council's In An Uproar ~or~ Bioshock: Cheesecake Edition
Part Eight: Bread, Milk, BATTLE! ~or~ Pleasant Conversations, How They Bore Me
Part Nine: Choices, Schmoices ~or~ Baby's First Moral Philosophy ~or~ Go Away I Want To Take A Damn Bath
Part Ten: A Man Snoozes; A Slave Delays ~or~ The Four Second Rule Applies To Drugs
Part Eleven: A Hearty Meal ~or~ Skeletons In The-- That's Not A Closet
Part Twelve: We All Live in a Secret Submarine ~or~ Plasmids: Not Even Once
Part Thirteen: Paging Dr Tenenbaum To Surgery ~or~ Bribery And Deduction
Part Fourteen: The Prodigal Son Returns

Comments

[did_unkindly]

"Can I," he asks quietly, "have a hug?"

He doesn't realise that that's an odd question to ask, for a six foot something machine of a man who's apparently in his mid-twenties.

[modestman]

...Well that was not something Sinclair expected. He hesitates for a moment

and then another moment

and probably another moment or two more before he says anything.

"Don't think I'll be able to bend down there with my leg, sport," he says. A good, non-committal answer. Not a yes but not a rejection either.

And there are those questions again. The ambiguous feeling that there's something really big here that he's missing. He's going to need to figure it out eventually. Not right now, but soon.

[did_unkindly]

Jack can fix that problem! He slowly stands up, and bunches his sleeve over his wrist to wipe his nose again.

...jfc Jack stop being so tall and hulking, this is going to be like getting hugged by a big daddy

[modestman]

And the next best non-committal thing Sinclair can do is stand there and leave himself open for a hug without actually initiating it. It's not that giving Jack a hug is the last thing he wants to do or anything like that, in fact looking at Jack now he feels a great sympathy for the kid. He's not sure what he would have done at Jack's age, early to mid-twenties, forced to fight for his life and kill his own father. He's not sure he would have made it out of a situation like that with his sanity 100% intact.

But Jack is still technically a stranger, despite saving Sinclair's life. And the trust that Jack is apparently willing to place in Sinclair already, while it should be considered a win on a business front, is actually somewhat disarming. This doesn't have anything to do with business, but it has everything to do with a scared, lost kid who doesn't really know what else to do. How can he not feel sorry for him? So sure, if Jack wants a hug, why the hell not.

[did_unkindly]

Carefully, not sure if Sinclair is actually down with this or just tolerating it, Jack approaches and puts his arms around the other man. Just drapes his arms around him and rests his forehead on Sinclair's shoulder.

He's tense, he can't help it, it's been a long time since he was this close to someone without bloody murder taking place. But the presence of someone friendly reassures him a bit. Banishes the dream a little further.

[modestman]

Sinclair responds in kind, getting his arms around Jack and patting him gently, but earnestly, on the back. "It's alright, kid," he says quietly. "It's okay."

[did_unkindly]

It reminds him of being held by his mother, and for a few moments he feels better.

Then he remembers what's wrong with that statement.

And despite his best efforts, the muffled sobbing starts again.

[modestman]

He can feel Jack tensing up, shaking, and before he knows it he's sobbing all over again.

"Hey now, come on," Sinclair says. "It was just a dream, you're alright."

It was obviously more than that, but he knows better than to try and get information out of a man when he's an emotional wreck. At least not when he's at his lowest point, as Jack clearly is right now.

This sort of openness has always made Sinclair relatively uncomfortable, but he's trying here.

[did_unkindly]

He shakes his head against Sinclair's shoulder. This isn't even really about the dream any more; the dream only illustrated and made more vivid the things he's learned and been unable to deal with over the last two days.

But he doesn't know how to explain. If he says all the things that are really bothering him -- well, he's afraid of the repercussions. From Sinclair, from himself. It'd make it all too real, somehow. He doesn't have a family, he doesn't have a past, he's hardly done anything himself. People just point him the way they want him to go and fire. He's a made thing. He's nothing more than a walking, talking security bot.

It's been playing on his mind for a while, but he's been busy staying alive. Now it's all coming together at once.

[modestman]

Jack shakes his head and it's a confirmation, no, it's not just a dream.

"Yes it was," Sinclair assures him, "we're gonna get you outta here as just as soon as we can, I swear it. You're not gonna be stuck here as long as I have anything to say about it."

And just like that, the situation becomes something he can handle. He has an objective: laying the groundwork for a future conversation, if he can't get it out of him right now.

[did_unkindly]

Man, at least one of them knows what the hell he's doing.

Jack holds his breath, hiccups out another sob and tries to believe him.

"What if... there's... nothing up there?"

[modestman]

Sinclair pulls back, holds Jack by the shoulders. "You've only been down here a few days, son, what do you think could've happened?"

Wow, Ryan must have gotten to him big time. A few days in this city and already the kid's afraid of the apocalypse.

"I'll tell you one thing. Whatever's up there?" he adds, pointing to the ceiling, "There ain't no way it's anything worse than what we're living in right now."

[did_unkindly]

He went on Journey to the Surface, that shit really opens your eyes man

Jack swallows and nods, staring into Sinclair's face and telling himself to trust what the man is saying. It does have to be better, it really does. Jack doesn't know which of his memories to trust right now, but Sinclair's been there for sure, so if he says it's better then...

There still won't be a family waiting for him up there.

His face crumples again, but he makes himself think about how it'll be better it'll be better, and he manages to hold back from crying this time.

[modestman]

"Alright?" Sinclair says, shifting for a moment so his weight is just slightly more on Jack's shoulders, relieving the strain on his leg. "Let's get a light on in here and I'll fetch you that wash cloth." After all, there's no way he's going to be able to fall asleep again after this, and he seriousl doubts Jack will be able to either.

[did_unkindly]

Jack doesn't speak, because he's in that choked-up and nebulous stage where you're not exactly crying but you still might start. He just nods gratefully, and wipes his nose again.

Uh, sorry about the snot on your shoulder, Sinclair.

[modestman]

It's okay, it's just an undershirt. Nothing a good run-in with a mob of splicers won't entirely cover up with blood stains.

Sinclair nods and leaves Jack in the living room, limping back through his bedroom to the bathroom and turns on the faucet to wet a wash cloth. It's a white one, and he's sure whatever damage Jack did to his undershirt, the wash cloth is going to receive at least three times that. But it's all he has, and honestly who needs a complete set of towels anyway? People who don't harbor emotional man children, that's who.

He wrings the wash cloth out and returns, handing it over to Jack and letting himself drop down onto the sofa.

"What do you want to do once we get out of here?" he asks. You know. Maybe it'll give Jack something else to focus on, or even better, something to look forward to.

[did_unkindly]

Jack has gone back to the sofa, and while he's sitting with his shoulders low, he's not the tangled heap of misery he was when Sinclair first found him.

He accepts the towel, smiles like a man in a concentration camp, and then blows his nose like a chainsaw.

"Eat a feast," he says, quietly but with a spark of enthusiasm. He's trying!

[modestman]

Well he certainly has the appetite of an entire pack of wolves. Sinclair wishes he had a little more food at his disposal, but things are in short supply these days. Even for a successful guy like himself.

A feast actually sounds spectacular right about now.

"When I was a sprout, my mama used to cook us this...huge supper every Sunday. Worked all morning and afternoon in the kitchen preparing it all. Ham and sweet potatoes and the best gravy in the whole southeast," he says. And jesus, what he wouldn't give for a meal like that down here. There was good food here and there, the expensive places, the Kashmir, Andrew Ryan's meetings. But it wasn't the same. Though he hadn't really thought about it until now.

[did_unkindly]

Jack bites his lip and tries to enjoy the anecdote for what it is -- be a big boy. Be a brave boy. He can't keep the Deep Hurting from passing across his face, but he can keep from blubbering.

He wipes the old tears and other crying gunk from his face with the towel, which he has at least folded in half since blowing his nose on it.

"When we get out," he says, "we should have a corn pie, and a turkey, and toffee apples, and ice cream, and sausages. A hundred sausages."

This is actually helping! Sinclair, you're the best.

[modestman]

"Kid, you can have all of that and more once we get up there. We're gonna be swimming in money, you won't even know what to do with all of it," Sinclair says, patting Jack's knee.

Okay, he's collected himself a bit more, that's good. That's progress. So Sinclair ventures a question.

"...Are you alright?" he asks. "I mean I know things are rough down here, I know you've had it rougher than most, but...are you sure there's nothing else?"

Don't get him wrong, he's not asking out of concern, though maybe (hopefully?) it sounds that way. There's something to figure out here and he very much intends to do just that. One way or another.

[did_unkindly]

Jack's face turns as blank as he can manage. Sure, Sinclair sounds concerned, but... they're back to that question, are they.

"...I still can't tell you."

[modestman]

Sinclair musters up a concerned look.

"If it's something I can help with, you should just say."

[did_unkindly]

"Only if you can change the past," he mutters to the floor.

[modestman]

"Well I can't do that," Sinclair frowns, "but I might at least be able to make it a little easier now. Besides, it's not healthy to keep these things to yourself. Weighs you down."

[did_unkindly]

Slowly, Jack shakes his head.

He's given Sinclair a lot of trust, but that's just with his life. He has plenty of those.

His past is more delicate by far.

And he has too much experience of people turning on him to encourage it with wild stories about how he's... something less than a man.

"Please can I just... think about it."