A nap feels like a good idea. Part of Jaeger remembers the small shocks of adrenaline going off every so often from his armband, but it's been a while since he's felt that heart-jolting artificial spike. Instead, everything seems stretched paper-thin and brittle with exhaustion, distortion that keeps shifting at the boundaries of his perception. Coffee won't help, but maybe, just maybe, if he closes his eyes for a minute things will make sense again.
Except they have to leave, and quickly. As much as he wants to stay and talk, to tell her all the things that he wants to say, leaving is more important.
In this version of the world, Jordan isn't dead yet. He's here somewhere, an immediate and threatening presence around every corner, behind every door. There's no alert and the halls are quiet, but the menace is thick in the silence and Mercy's hand feels so small and fragile in his.
"Sometimes the right thing to do hurts," he says softly. "But I've tried to make it right. To make sure no one would hurt you because of me."
Jaeger pauses at the elevator as the car arrives and the doors slide open, one arm out to shield Mercy from whatever's on the other side. But nothing happens except the soft whirr and hush of the space, and after a moment he steps in carefully. Not entirely trusting it to really be here, but it is.
"I'm sorry. I'm very tired," he says then. The motion of the elevator feels like a head rush, his body standing still but his senses somewhere else entirely. He takes a deep breath, the way he's always trained himself to do. The air tastes bitter, sterile, an edge of metallic tang like fluorescent lights and thin razors of broken glass.
no subject
Except they have to leave, and quickly. As much as he wants to stay and talk, to tell her all the things that he wants to say, leaving is more important.
In this version of the world, Jordan isn't dead yet. He's here somewhere, an immediate and threatening presence around every corner, behind every door. There's no alert and the halls are quiet, but the menace is thick in the silence and Mercy's hand feels so small and fragile in his.
"Sometimes the right thing to do hurts," he says softly. "But I've tried to make it right. To make sure no one would hurt you because of me."
Jaeger pauses at the elevator as the car arrives and the doors slide open, one arm out to shield Mercy from whatever's on the other side. But nothing happens except the soft whirr and hush of the space, and after a moment he steps in carefully. Not entirely trusting it to really be here, but it is.
"I'm sorry. I'm very tired," he says then. The motion of the elevator feels like a head rush, his body standing still but his senses somewhere else entirely. He takes a deep breath, the way he's always trained himself to do. The air tastes bitter, sterile, an edge of metallic tang like fluorescent lights and thin razors of broken glass.