TMA!Jacobi and Jon

[mrballisticsdummy]

"Are you sure this is the place?" he asks the driver, who was already speeding off, leaving Jacobi in front of the old building.

"Thanks for your help!" he calls out with false cheer, rolling his eyes before trudging his way up to what he had been told was the Magnus Institute. He doesn't even flinch at the screech of tires that comes from blocks behind him. He doesn't have to see the car erupt into flames as a very confused driver crawls out and phones for help. That's chaos for someone else.

Instead, he takes the steps up, backpack on his shoulder. He had flown all the way out here, so it's not as if he's going to be missing any leads. Besides. He has an appointment.

The closer to the door he gets, the more uncomfortable he feels about this. It's like a whisper of wind against his skin, a suggestion of something dangerous, but Jacobi's never let something like that bother him. He walks through, hands in his pockets.

Comments

[epistemological]

"She was taken by a Not!Them," he explains. "Which is part of why he died hating me."

[mrballisticsdummy]

"Was it your fault?" he asks, almost afraid of the answer.

[epistemological]

"I was in charge. Technically. So in his eyes, yes. But I don't know how I could have prevented it. She certainly didn't listen to me when I told her not to do something. So I think, mostly, it just... happened."

[mrballisticsdummy]

Well that sounds strangely familiar. The paperclip turns red hot as he continues playing with it.

"He - made the call that eventually killed Alana. But - I pulled the trigger."

[epistemological]

"Did you hate him enough for both?"

[mrballisticsdummy]

"I don't hate him more than I loved him," he confesses. "Whatever that means now. Exactly shit."

[epistemological]

"I don't know about Tim," he says quietly, "but that's how I feel as well."

[mrballisticsdummy]

"Well, it doesn't matter. They're both dead," he says automatically as the grief and the pain well up in him again. Choking him.

[epistemological]

He knows he's taking his life into his hand. But he thinks it might be worth it.

"Do you really think so?"

[mrballisticsdummy]

He sucks in a stuttering of a breath, hardly recognizing at first what had happened. But no words come at first. First there's a tear that falls, one that seems to evaporate into nothing before he even has a chance to brush it away.

"No. It's the only goddamn thing that matters, but I spent the entire trip home obsessing about it. Obsessing about them. There isn't anything in the world I want more than to have that connection, and the only two people I had it with are gone."

[epistemological]

He just... nods.

"I'm sorry. For... you. For them. I'm sorry for all of it."

[mrballisticsdummy]

He puts the paperclip on top of the desk and stands up, walking out of the office. He doesn't leave the building yet, but he doesn't want to be in that space any longer. He's dying to just stop thinking, stop talking about it, and Jon is apparently determined to do the opposite.

[epistemological]

Jon won't follow him. He'll just be down here for when Jacobi comes back.

[mrballisticsdummy]

He walks but doesn't snoop, hands in his pockets as he paces the hallways and planning every way that a building like this would fall.

And when he comes back, he sits in the chair again. "Did you get the information you wanted?" he asks bitterly.

[epistemological]

"I didn't want it," he says quietly, "but you needed to hear it. You needed to hear the truth."

[mrballisticsdummy]

He points at him. "You don't get to decide what I need to hear and what I don't."

[epistemological]

He looks back.

"In this one case, I'm sorry, but I had to insist."

[mrballisticsdummy]

"Well fuck you," he says, more defeated than heated. He sits back in the chair. "You can't help but meddle. I get it."

[epistemological]

"Duly noted," is his comment to that and he'll reach over and pull open a drawer before pulling out a glass of brandy and pouring out two glasses. "I can offer this, at least."

[mrballisticsdummy]

"Does that actually do anything for you?" he wonders, sitting forward. "I haven't had a drink since I got back."

[epistemological]

He shakes his head.

'At this point, absolutely nothing. But there's a certain psychological comfort to it."

[mrballisticsdummy]

"Well, then let's try it." He moves the chair closer to the desk so he can rest his elbows on it.

[epistemological]

At that point, he will pour out for them. More for Jacobi than himself.

And push over the glass.

[mrballisticsdummy]

And he'll take it, raising it up to him. "Cheers, I guess." It's the farthest thing from it, but it doesn't matter.

[epistemological]

He'll join him in the toast as they drink.

It doesn't do anything for him but hopefully it will for Daniel.