He wakes from muddld dreams to hear her moving around. Slowly, he lifts his head off the pillow, peering in the direction of the noise through heavy-lidded eyes.
"A bit better." He leands his forehead against hers, closing his eyes. "I couldn't sleep last night, so I went back downstairs for a while. I ended up talking to Malcolm Crowe."
She strokes his face, the morning stubble rough against her fingers. The fact that he spoke to Malcolm has her hopeful but she's trying to remain neutral, easy to do when she's this tired. "How did that go?"
He gives her a weak smile. "It was...rough, but it helped a bit, I think. I've been feeling kind of...detached and dazed lately. Like I've been sleepwalking, and I haven't been able to shake it. I don't really feel that way right now."
"Sweetheart..." he says, moving so he can look her in the eye, "I'm sure it's no surprise to you that this isn't the first time I've reacted like this to something--usually it's more my choice, though. Anyway, there wasn't much you could do, except let me know you were there to listen, be patient, and not pull away. You did all three."
He lets out a long breath before closing his eyes and nodding.
He lies back, pulling her close and resting his head against hers. It's a convenient position; he wants her close, but this way he also doesn't have to look her in the eye as he talks.
"We all surrounded him together, but suddenly everything went black, and when the lights cam up again, I wasn't in the bar, and I was alone. You know that drawing by Escher, the one with the stairs that upside down and at right angles to each other, so that you don't know which way is up, down, right or left? Well, that's what this looked like.
"This child's voice kept coming from nowhere while I was there, trying to draw me through the maze. And every so often there were...things that was obviously an attempt by the Other to unnerve me," he says, his voice getting a little hoarse. This is starting to get to the difficult stuff.
"Like...like an illusion of Kim sinking into hot lava. Like a bag of heroin and everything needed to shoot up just sitting on a table in front of me. Like something pretending to be your father trying to keep the ceiling from caving in on him. Like..." his voice cracks and he swallows as a lump rises in his throat.
"The last part...the Other took on Angela's form; well, Angela in a few years. He said I had a choice. Either I could let him pass by, or...or I could shoot her. It."
He takes in a ragged breath, quickly wiping his eyes and blinking.
Chris feels her breath catch when Jack mentions her father, she sits up a little so she can look at him. A strange mixture of emotions come over her, a cold, sinking feeling of dread in her stomach when he mentions Angela and the need to hold him, reassure him when she hears the pain in his voice.
She leans forward, one arm lightly around him, the other supporting her weight and she lays a soft kiss on his cheek. Thast feeling of dread doesn't leave her though.
Jack keeps his eyes firmly fixed on the ceiling, putting an arm around Chris but not speaking for a moment.
Finally he says, quietly, his voice choked, "I couldn't just let it walk away." It's as close to saying exactly what happened that he can get at the moment.
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"Morning, honey. How're you feeling?"
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"Ugh."
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"Not much of one. I've dealt with more annoying drunks."
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"How are you feeling?"
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"Did you tell him about what happened?"
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"Thought you would be. I'm not sure Kim or Michelle will be able to resist saying 'I told you so', though," he says with a wry smile.
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"Sorry I've been so distant, lately," he says, quietly.
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But with his words she becomes more serious. "You don't have to apologize, Jack."
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"Can you tell me what happened when you fought the Other?"
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He lies back, pulling her close and resting his head against hers. It's a convenient position; he wants her close, but this way he also doesn't have to look her in the eye as he talks.
"We all surrounded him together, but suddenly everything went black, and when the lights cam up again, I wasn't in the bar, and I was alone. You know that drawing by Escher, the one with the stairs that upside down and at right angles to each other, so that you don't know which way is up, down, right or left? Well, that's what this looked like.
"This child's voice kept coming from nowhere while I was there, trying to draw me through the maze. And every so often there were...things that was obviously an attempt by the Other to unnerve me," he says, his voice getting a little hoarse. This is starting to get to the difficult stuff.
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"Things like what?"
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"The last part...the Other took on Angela's form; well, Angela in a few years. He said I had a choice. Either I could let him pass by, or...or I could shoot her. It."
He takes in a ragged breath, quickly wiping his eyes and blinking.
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She leans forward, one arm lightly around him, the other supporting her weight and she lays a soft kiss on his cheek. Thast feeling of dread doesn't leave her though.
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Finally he says, quietly, his voice choked, "I couldn't just let it walk away." It's as close to saying exactly what happened that he can get at the moment.
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