agoodyarn | When We Were Monsters (Magnus 359)

When We Were Monsters (Magnus 359)

[ Death is a funny thing.

For normal people, it's an end. For people like them, like him and Jacobi and others... it's a choice. It's a moment when you decide whether you want to rest... or if there's something stronger in you. A need, a drive that's stronger than what your body can't handle. Something that defies the End, sends you towards a different path.

A path with teeth.

A path with claws.

A path that has him experiencing the most agonizing pain he's ever known, that has him burning and freezing and screaming wordlessly into the empty vacuum of space. Even the burn of the whiskey down his throat is lost in it, in all of it, flavor and meaning and words and thoughts and everything, everything lost to the drive, the need

the Hunt.

It's agony. Agony as he reaches and holds. Agony as he floats and burns and dies and does not die. And when the Goddard follow up crew finds him, moves to recover his body, he gives one of their officers the scare of their life when he sits up on the table.

Not for long, though, because their throat is in his teeth before he can even think.

Suffice to say, things on board do not go... peacefully.

But that's not really the important part. That's just the inbetween. That's just the how. It's not the why. It's not the what.

The what comes months later.

The what comes in a knock on Jacobi's door from a man in sunglasses and a Goddard Futuristics uniform that most people wouldn't realize has blood on it, but the man behind the door? There's no way he'd miss it.]

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Warren will return, still much more human than when he'd first come in. Of the clothes that had been in the suitcase, he'd chosen the most casual: a fresh t-shirt, worn in just right, with a blue flannel shirt and a pair of well-broken-in jeans. He'd skipped socks and shoes, leaving his feet bare as he walks over and settles beside Jacobi.

There's no room for Jesus there and he slings his arm behind Jacobi without hesitation. Fuck waiting. They can argue while his man is wrapped up in him just as well.

"Smells... delicious.". A pause. "Not to mention the noodles."

He elbows him in the ribs almost instinctively, mid-noodle slurp. The arm around him is new. The proximity is not. It had almost been a game for them for so long that Jacobi knows how to play, even with new rules. Pretend to not want it. Don't think too hard. Take it to bed or a shower later.

"There's enough for two if you want it," he responds as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn't been pinned to the floor earlier. "I was going to have leftovers."

He sniffs, leaning back with his feet on the coffee table. "What was that all about when you got here? A little dramatic, don't you think?"

Jacobi knows that when Warren's working and he sees nothing blocking him, he'll immediately go for what he wants, what he needs. He has no shame, no hesitation. The kind of considerations that most people make are so much air to Warren, even if he has his own; the myriad of motivations and plans and intentions are what make him cautious and subtle to move, nothing else.

Right now, he leans over and gets his nose in Daniel's hair again, nuzzling into the curls without an ounce of shame as he gives an 'eh whatever, maybe later' noise to the offer of noodles (Jacobi eats first, he'll eat what's left once he's properly sated) and he huffs in amusement at the question as he very reluctantly draws back to talk.

Ugh, being a person. He hadn't missed it in some ways.

"I've been stalking you for weeks. Or. hadn't you wondered why I knew your apartment. Dismantled your defenses. And. Obviously. Took up the job they were doing just in case."

He breathes out slowly, the deep sigh holding just a tiny little growl right at the bottom of the register but no more.

"If you'd closed the door, I'd have had to break it down. Breaking it down had a likelihood of needing repair to have a properly defensible door. Repair and reattachment takes time, effort, and supplies. Plus, there's the chance, however slight? Of attracting attention. Which I didn't want.

"So... we skipped that. And. I made sure no one else had... touched you. To. Settle."

He tilts his head just a little.

"...you've seen how I've... changed. When you first saw me was..." he presses his lips together as he clearly considers scaling accurately. "About the halfway point. Where now? I'm... as human as I'll ever be."

Edited 2022-08-29 16:56 (UTC)

"I assumed so," he tells him. "That you've been here before. You're the only person who could get past me without me noticing."

It's a point of contention for him and he still wants Warren to feel pride for him.

"And no one has - touched me. This is the most boring bachelor pad in the world."

He looks up to him. "So you're...settled now? You're not going to lose control?"

"Of course," and the words are offered easily; he knows how good Jacobi is. He knows how skilled, how observant. He is proud of him.

He died proud of him.

The question gets a low chuckle, though, and he'll give Daniel a squeeze before he leans back against the couch and puts his own feet up.

"I never lost control." A pause. He'll be more truthful than that. "Well. Since I've been on earth. That's... not a concern. But I was... on a Hunt until I finally got to you properly. And you're... mine. Which is also important."

"I'm not yours," he says automatically. "You don't get to claim me after everything that happened."

He sets down the food on the table and gets up to get a drink. Because boy does he need one.

He lets him go, and he watched him move to get the drink. He says nothing for a moment, clearly working through what he wants to say.

He pointedly stays seated.

"I say what's true. What you did. What I did. It doesn't change that. Nothing... Can change that. And you knew that. even while I was dead."

He tilts his head.

"I wasn't just checking because I'm possessive. Though. I am. But. I had to know that you still knew.

"And you do. So let's talk about the real issue."

He pointedly returns to the couch in exactly the same place, right up against him, cold bottle in his hand.

"The real issue. Yeah."

He takes a long drink. "Before you say anything...I know. I know what you did."

"I figured. Hera would know. And she wasn't cruel."

And Jacobi would need something, traveling alone with those people. Hera would know that best of all.

"Exactly. And after what happened to - Eiffel and Pryce, I think they forgot what I did."

He clicks fingers against his bottle. "So what do you want to say about it?"

Words are hard.

He's quiet, but not because he's gathering his words. They both know he has his arguments prepared. He's giving it the gravitas it deserves.

"Everything I was. And everything I am. Loves you. And Maxwell. And it never. even. occurred to me. That you wouldn't know that. That your points when we spoke after her death were... real. Because I thought you'd know. Believed. Iron-clad. That you knew. That my... ruthlessness. In the light of her death. Was because Hera was listening.

"That they didn't deserve to see my pain. And. That. Like hell. Was I. Going to give them an inch. After what they took."

He looks over at Daniel.

"I kept the information from you because Pryce was looking for any. excuse. to get into Maxwell's head. Need to know... was a protective action. For you. and her. And I didn't. And don't. See where that information would have saved her life."

He makes sure he has his eye as he finishes.

"The decision I made was... in my mind? Between saving us all, losing one, and losing all of us. Because Minkowski was the soft link. Between Lovelace, Hilbert, and herself. That she'd gotten a call to earth... We missed that. And it threw off my estimation. When I ran the numbers?"

He breathes out.

"I made the decision I believed Maxwell would want. And I accept responsibility for that."

Every time he says her name, Jacobi flinches inwardly. It's like a jolt, straight through him, piercing that part inside of him that had pushed her down and away so that he could just function. In his weakest moments, he thought about carving it out himself. Not feeling again because it didn't. Fucking. Matter.

He's glad he didn't.

"I - was angry. At you. At the others. At everything. I knew. I...know. What you felt. I've had months to reflect on that. To look back on it and lock myself inside."

He looks at his hands. "And now you're back and that barrier isn't there. It's broken. It's all broken. I'm not...yours. I made that choice when I put the gun in her hands. I didn't think I'd ever get the chance to walk that back. But you've..always been mine."

If he wasn't, then Jacobi wouldn't have bothered. It was love, possession, passion, that concocted that whole plan. Not the absence of it.

He knows. He always knew. Not what Jacobi knew. But that all of it came from love, devotion, connection.

He reaches over and slides his fingers in between Jacobi's, curls his around Jacobi's hand.

"I never acknowledged that break. I never. accepted. that you weren't mine. The idea of it. The very concept? Is... not. Happening.

"It might be broken. But it's still between us. It's still ours. We still... are."

He leans closer.

"I've dragged you out of yourself before. I'll do it again."

His hand tightens around Warren's, just briefly. He remembers those clawed fingers the way that they wrapped around his wrists. The feeling of him close and how Jacobi had despaired, in that moment, not out if fear but out of anguish. That he couldn't have him back.that something else had come in his place to torment him.

He puts the bottle down and turns in a swift movement, sliding into his lap.

He's spoken more truth in the past half hour than he has in months. And now he's tired of it. There's only one mode of communication that has worked effectively between them, and that's this. Touch. Actions. Words confuse. They're for directives in front of others and clarification.

No questions. No complaints.

He kisses him again, fingers in his hair.

There's only one truth that matters: that Jacobi is in his lap. That Jacobi is kissing him. That they... are.

This kiss is sweeter, softer, no less heated and intense and needful, but in an aching, quiet way. His arms wrap around, pull him closer, one hand sliding up into his hair to cup the back of his head so gently.

He lets the feeling linger for a while, losing himself in that touch so he doesn't have to worry about the outside world that had been so, so brutal and cold and unwelcome. He had been in a fog, unable to relate to anyone around him and unwilling to coexist with the only other people who could understand.

But he does. Warren does.

He pulls away, catches his breath, and slides his hands down to his chest. "So...do I have to worry about you manhandling me like that on a regular basis?" he wonders. "Because I'd like a warning next time."

He tilts his head just the once, considering how to answer that. He's still smiling, a curl on the side of his lips.

"Tackling you? Probably... not." Because it would only happen if they were separated again for a long time or he had to hunt him down and that's not happening. "But... I fully intend to pick you up. Hold you. Move you around."

He frowns, then decides to commit.

"Pin you to a wall and fuck you. Throw you down on a bed and... I'm sure you see where I'm going." Beat. "When we get there."

He is a trained goddamn agent and nothing flusters him. Nothing...except those words. He tries not to show it.

"Yeah, you're going to have to try harder than that. I suppose I'm letting you live here for the time being, too? You stopped being my superior officer a long time ago and so I have full permission now to just tell you to fuck off."

He's sitting on what is, in many ways, a werewolf. He can try not to show it all he likes. That nose? Knows.

But he just waits out Jacobi's bit of bluster, curious and attentive, and leans in to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He'll nuzzle against Jacobi's jaw as he speaks, letting the vibrations of it thrum across the skin of his throat, every word dark honey.

"If you like. If... you want breakfast in the morning. A warm body in bed with you. To sleep the dreamless sleep of the utterly exhausted."

And then he draws back a little and it's much more matter of fact.

"Or I go bunk up in one of my safehouses in this city. Either or. You do what you want."

He doesn't even have to consider. There's a missing part of his soul right here in front of him. To lose it again would be devastating in the worst way. Even just for a night.

"I want an omelet. With spinach and cheese."

And he leans back and turns, plucking his drink from the coffee table to finish it.

He leans in again, because he likes having his nose up against Jacobi's skin, or in his hair. He likes that scent in his lungs.

"Do you have eggs? Or spinach?"

Cheese is a given.

"Nope, but that stuff can be delivered. We went to space for so long and come back to a more convenient world."

He moves out of his lap as easily as he moved into it, propping his feet back up on the coffee table.

"So what else can you tell me about this...new you? Because, frankly, I've lost all my tolerance for surprises."

And this isn't just temporary. This is who he is, and Jacobi is used to him being a certain way. That all has to go out the window now.

Warren doesn't like him leaving but he watches him instead of following him, and there's a definitely feeling that he could Be wherever he needed to be in this room within a heartbeat. For all that he's reclining, there's a certain big cat energy to the whole thing.

"Not much different from the old me. Just. More." A tilt of his head as he reconsiders that. "And... no more Goddard. No more... command structure. You'll see... more. I'm a little less.

"Subtle. Some of my patience is gone. Not. for you? For... nonsense." His eyes turn towards the window of the room they're in, almost like he can see his targets out there. Maybe he can.

"Also? I. firmly intend. to hunt down. every. single. member of the Goddard governing board. and c-suite. And tear out their skeletons for every.one to see.

"Emotionally. Financially. Socially. And then... physically."

Jacobi had given up on that dream a long time ago. Much like 2011, he spiraled out into nothingness, content to live this life of absolute drudgery because, well, what else can he do. But there's something in Warren's tone that brings the passion back to life. That anger reignites.

"Good," he says softly. "I want to help."

The rest of it is inconsequential. The differences between Warren then and Warren now? Something to examine for another day. Jacobi knows he will have to see it, to experience it, first.

And he's back beside him, as close as he can manage. Because, as he's starting to see, he can.

"I thought you might want a part of it," he says as he tugs Jacobi into his lap, or if he was already there? Just a little closer. And he'll bury his face in Jacobi's curls for a moment, breathing in.

"...I never... liked violence. Before. I reveled in... success. In... dismantling. In pulling apart each. individual. piece. Repurposing it for my use. My goals. Reusing."

He presses a kiss to the back of Jacobi's jaw.

"That's different now."

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