he didn’t almost kill, steal, cheat his way into notoriety, nor did he almost make the cut into blackwatch, even as some young, scrawny, scrappy thing with dirt on his face and dry blood under his nails. the strides he makes are in full, exhaustive and exacting. some folks plan for failure, he knows, preparing backups and auxiliaries before they’ve even tried their hand, but he doesn’t entertain thoughts of loss. too distracting, altogether tempting to accept notions he’s become familiar with. so he goes in thinking he’s already won, or that he’s on the path to victory, at least, smug mouthed and haughty, with words like near and close and nigh out of mind.
still. there are exceptions.
and they sound like angela coughing on cigar smoke, hand waving in front of her face as she chokes out a few reasons why he should kick the habit, nothing jesse’s never heard before but he smiles and hums like he agrees and isn’t wildly amused by her concern and disgust both.
he pops the cigar back between his lips and acts like he isn’t thinking about how it was just touching hers a moment ago. the wrapper is sweet, but that’s the taste of maduro for him, cloying and bitter. best of both worlds. it’s a flavor that demands attention, but so is she, apparently, and jesse feels ridiculous for coming back to this like he has so many times before over the years.
comfort is a fleeting thing ; it only served as reminder that she wished to be anywhere else in the world but back on the front lines for overwatch. yet for once, she might set aside emptiness. for once, with his hands at the small of her back and the murk of his breath moving in tandem with her own, she might bask in comfort. she allow herself to feel it again, and not let it go so easily. there is a purr in his voice that she missed dearly. a growl in the base of his throat that she had daydreamed of during her time abroad, reminiscing fondly over their spats and petty, misguided quarrels
━━━━━ over how she wished she could have told him then how achingly she would notice his loss in her life. this vacancy he would leave behind in her. she had thought, once upon a time, that telling him might have made him stay. that she might, with all her naivety and false hopes, tame the wilds of this man. silly girl she was.
when he looks at her, finally – really looks at her – she can feel her face flush with pink. the apples of her cheeks build to a bright red, and if it weren’t for pride sake, she would want the earth to swallow her whole then. ❛ oh, stop it. ❜ she bites at her lip to keep a giggle at bay, before gently tugging to lead him elsewhere. ❛ you have to tell me how you have been, bär. everything you have done, why you are back… ❜ she says this as though she doesn’t already know. as though his being here doesn’t put worry in the pit of her stomach, or spark anxiousness in the back of her mind.
❛ coffee? ❜
(SHE’S FULL OF QUESTIONS,and ten years ago, he might’ve preened under the attention, kicked his heels onto a table and regaled her with stories that were based in truth and heightened by incredible improbabilities. right now, he’s just glad she trails off into a welcome suggestion, lets him breathe a moment and cull the realities she’s better off not knowing from the blood bathed skeins of his recent past. jesse smiles and feels the heaviness of the motion at once. he tries valiantly to commit the sight of her teeth raking over a plump lip to memory before their reunion can be dragged abominably south by the airing of skeletons. )
❛ read my mind. ❜ ( she didn’t, not really. still, he has to pretend that his thoughts follow a regular clockwork. even if she knows him too well for the wool to be drawn over her eyes, he’s obligated to try. he lets her guide them without struggle and wonders if she feels as claustrophobic here, back at the old stomping grounds, as he does. it’s suffocating, how the empty spaces crowd and stack. ) ❛ —— far as story time goes, reckon it‘s only fair if you start us off, doc. ain’t much i’ve done that can top a heart transplant. ❜ ( he adds on with a wink, if just to be cheeky: )
❛ lately. ❜
she thought her eyes deceived her. at first, thought him only an apparition. a figment of her imagination, brought about by the exhaustion that cradled her limbs. and so, she jumped. spooked at his voice, at his form ━━━━━ was he even real? was he truly there?
elation begins ‘til it turns into a grin across the doktor’s face. it is only a second or two worth of her standing there and looking him over, relaying the younger man he’d been when he left, and seeing now this maturity that laced itself between the fabric of his boyish charm. she cannot help herself, nor the slight giddiness that fills the pit of her stomach. she goes to him quickly ; lift herself up on the tips of her toes, and wrap her arms around his neck to pull him close. it had been too long. much too long. ❛ jesse – ❜ angela breathes tiresomely in his ear, resting her chin against his shoulder for a moment. do not cry, angie.he lives, and he thrives after all. ❛ age does you justice, bär. ❜
(HE FORGETS HIS RESERVATIONS over touch for her, feeling her arms displace the hair resting against his nape and reveling — for once — in the weight put upon his shoulders, grounding in its familiarity, its candor. his weariness falls out of sight if never out of mind. there are ghosts in the dust-filmed walls of this base and each of its like, but jesse endeavors to think on little else besides the warmth that filters through his glove when he presses gently against the small of the doctor’s back. her breath is balmy on the shell of his ear, and with nothing more than a handful of words, she reminds him his name can be said with fondness. he tilts a smile into her temple, unwittingly grateful. )
❛ well now, sounds like you just stole my line. ❜ ( the reproach in his voice is playful, overflowing into the way he spins her for half a rotation before extracting himself slowly from their embrace, fingers enclosing around her wrists as he steps back once, twice. the lines surface at the corners of his eyes as he regards her face, the small details, the fresh changes wrought by the years. ) ❛ figured you robbed me blind, but i still see one cool drink of water. ❜
( his amusement effervesces from the chest, belly deep and warm and rumbling. he’d be lying if he said he didn’t intend to scare her, but he hadn’t quite expected her to jump, either. surprises all around, it seems. )
❛ if ya don’t mind me sayin’,
i make a fine welcome wagon. ❜
gasps gently,, may is one of my favorite ppl in this fandom,,, granted, i’ve only just begun talking to them this past week ( i think ) but they have very rapidly wormed their way into my cold unfeeling heart regardless. highkey i respect anyone willing to put themselves out there esp at the risk of having to deal with a dozen vague posts over the big bad Discourse™ afterwards. call me a dirty sjw for saying it, but damn, may, back at it again with the bravery and human kindness. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
if that wasn’t enough, their mercy is so Good. like Very Good. i follow a lot of fantastic mercy’s that i am excited to see every doggone day, but may’s is just??? chef kisses???? u know those folks who appear on ur dash and u just feel ur muse tug on ur sleeve and point like get me That One????? that is may’s mercy. she’s written v well and v beautifully ( stylistically speaking ) and i adore seeing her around so dang much. what a Treasure.
also, back to may themself??? super funny???? with a lot of great ideas??? i get so much muse just talking to them that i’m just super hella excited for future interaction tbh.
( he’d sing a higher praise if she were actually imbibing, but as it stands, his shot glass running clear as he slowly tilts his head back, emptying the bottle remains a solo pursuit. he’s making good time, at least, though he can’t help but feel there’s something regrettable about speeding through someone else’s cognac. but perhaps that thought is nothing more than dehydration gone hand in hand with the proof, messing with his faculties, because jesse savors oak and spice and honey all the same.
the company isn’t terrible, either.
his glass meets the table with a soft clink. he swipes the wetness from his lips with the back of his sleeve, manners shot and discarded for the night. angela’s seen him in worser spots anyway, woozy on medication and muddled with pain. as if a doctor’s stomach will churn at the sight of a man of poor habit when it won’t at wartime horror. jesse expects more, provides less. )
❛ hell, just for that — when i get ‘round to dancin’ on the counter, you’re welcome to join me. ❜
