surfacage | trick or treat

Entry tags:

!ic,
!private

trick or treat

So of course, here's Jack, meandering down the corridors with a bowl of sweet candies in arm; every now and then he'd reach in blindly for one and eat it.

"Mister Ja~ack," he sings, apparently looking for that one Contractor counterpart of his - but he's just passing the music rooms here and then, perhaps looking to catch a certain someone.

[for

casse_sablier.]

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"I hate you so much," he snaps coldly, without thinking, like vitriol frozen in ice.

Glen doesn't snap back or make threats. He does not even glare. Instead, he looks at him blankly thinking how difficult it must be to love someone and hate them in equal amounts.

And he hates that look, too; it's worse than Glen smirking or snapping back. Because it means that Glen feels nothing for him at all, not deigning to let Jack see.

He lets his head fall forward on the sheets with a thump, feeling defeated.

"Really, Jack, you should make up your mind about me."

The bullying is actually making him feel better, not that it should have anything to do with his recovery.

"Why can't it be both?" He huffs, looking up with his chin on the bedspread instead. It was easy to forget he was terrified, sniping like this.

"Don't cry, Jack, really," Glen is frowning, but his voice is entirely unsympathetic.

His tears dry nearly instantly at the order, and he draws back, getting to his feet.

"You're just the same as him, aren't you?" He says, finally, expression blanking out. "I'll go get some more water."

"Am I?" He tilts his head to the side, bangs falling. "You thought I was different?"

"Yes," he answers, honestly, expression twisting momentarily into one of genuine sadness - before turning away to refill Glen's glass.

"How so?" He sounds serious now, not sure what to make of that. If this Jack was different, was the Glen from his world different as well?

Jack's tone is reticent, even as he pours water from the pitcher on the far side of the room.

"Do you still love her?"

"That's a foolish question, Jack. You consider me so heartless that the moment she leaves me sight, I no longer care? Do I love her? I will always love her . . . " Glen picks up the washcloth from his lap and wipes at his forehead. He had realized his love for his best friend long ago, a year ago was when it was first brought to his conscious mind, but he had likely loved him from the day they had met.

Jack only heard the first part, however, and his worst fears are realised: they're all the same. Every version of Glen he meets. The glass shatters on the wall above Glen's bedside table, water splattering on the wallpaper.

"I knew it," he breathes, hands shaking. "None of you would ever see me. None of you. I'm just always, always, always a replacement, why would I ever think otherwise - "

He'd done something like this to his own Glen before. It only earned him a laugh, like a parent finding a child being petty. He didn't wait for the laugh this time, crossing the room again for the door.

It was difficult for Glen to cross so quickly, but he managed, and pulled Jack's left arm high behind his back. Glen wrapped the other around Jack's body, sliding to the front to hold his chin up. He kissed the back of his neck once before whispering, "Did I say you could leave, Jack? You, after all, did say earlier that you clean up your own messes, did you not?" There was no malice, but there was no affection either. Glen did not want to show affection, even if it may have been tugging in the back of his mind to set Jack straight.

He was the same that way, too. Jack had learnt to be pliant, when Glen started touching him like this, tone similarly blank.

He instantly held still, breathing hard and terrified, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up at the touch. He was waiting for him to say 'Lacie' any time now, and he wished he'd stop trembling. Glen never liked it when he shook.

Perhaps the Jack glen is familiar does not do this, however.

Glen turns him, unsteadily, his brow knit in worry, "You're trembling, Jack." And suddenly Glen wants to hold him, because he is sure he made him this way. He regretted killing him the moment he realized he had died but he . . . he had never admitted to it, "I'm not going to hurt you, Jack."

Jack doesn't look at him, can't look at him, so he stares at his buttons instead.

"It's - it's okay," he said, quietly, hands white and pale. "I won't make any noise. It's okay."

"You're not listening to me," Glen doesn't want to be worried, but he hates seeing Jack so frightened, even this Jack.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I have no intention of harming you. I was-I had no right to purposefully goad you like that, and I apologize. I shouldn't have." It was practically a one-eighty, and Glen was sure he'd regret it in the morning, but right now he saw Jack, trembling, white-knuckled, and frighteningly obedient Jack.

"It's okay," Jack only repeated, shaking his head. "You don't have to - say those things to make me feel better, I'm - I'm used to it."

He lifts his gaze, and smooths out Glen's shirt, fingers steadying a little. "I'm sorry for yelling. You should go lie back down, this can't be healthy for you."

Glen feels like he has been here before, "Jack-hush."

He takes Jack's hands in his and pulls them down to rest at his side, "Who is this about? Him? Or Me?"

"I don't see why that matters, Glen," he answered, defeated. "Please go back to bed, you might strain yourself."

"We've been here before, Jack," but he did not argue and let Jack go. He would only chase so far. It was up to Jack to accept his kindness.

In bed, he spoke softly, "You tire me; you may leave."

"I'm afraid it's the only place we can be," Jack murmured, dipping his head down and taking Glen's hand to brush a kiss across his knuckles.

"I'll be outside; call for me if you need assistance." He smiled, again, genuinely - if not a little sadly. "Good night, Glen."

"Do not wait outside. Go to your quarters. We're finished here." Glen felt shot down and wasn't taking it well. He had done a great deal in actually apologizing to Jack for his behavior, and this was the thanks he received?

He did not look at Jack again, pretending to be fascinated at a painting on the wall of a Grecian landscape.

"I - "

Jack backed away, carefully, bowing low. Oh, god, he was in trouble, he had to bolt. He'd probably have to watch his step the next couple of days or so, he had to figure out what he did wrong in the first place. "I'm sorry. I won't trouble you again."

And he quickly turned around - some part of him hoped that Glen would stop him, ask him to stay, anything - but the man's word was his personal law. The door will silently close behind him, then.

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