Soldier: 76 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mylawn) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thisavrou_log2017-02-08 01:30 am
mylawn) wrote in thisavrou_log2017-02-08 01:30 am
a buddy of mine said that he saw jack morrison take his shirt off in the shower
Who: Angela Ziegler, Soldier: 76, special guest Solid Snake, extra special guests Reinhardt and Reaper and Mei
When: Early February
Where: The Ingress entrance to Eosoros and then some other places maybe
What: Basically the part of Undercover Boss where the boss stops being undercover, except with fewer monetary gifts
Warnings: Blood, medical business, an angry old man
[76 arrives on Thisavrou very, very angry.
He’s usually angry, but generally speaking, he manages to keep said anger to a low simmer if only to function on a day-to-day basis. Arriving on this new planet after the ordeal at the Midway Hub, finding that all he can really do is sit and wait for his number to be called means that anger gets the better of him, even as he attempts to settle in (but 'settling in' is for other people). 76 takes one of the security gigs on Eosoros in a bid to do something productive, and that's sort of when things come to a head.
He’s angry, and he screws up.
It’s not really his fault, he thinks. It’s easy to blame the client (too reckless, an idiot, doesn’t listen to him, gets them both in a bad situation), but probably 76 could have handled this better. He should have bailed when things started to go south or ditched the client entirely or not taken the job in the first place—the money for a security detail wasn’t worth any of that, but he’s still boiling over with ire about the whole situation and that’s enough to make him do very stupid things, like throwing himself down in order to save both their asses when the client proves too incompetent to make it through the stupid torture gauntlet.
Hindsight, however, is twenty-twenty, and he’s not exactly coherent as he drags them both back through the Ingress and is immediately sidelined for medical attention. 76, too angry to care about decorum or not making a scene, immediately makes a scene. Someone is trying to hold him down, if only to keep him from getting blood everywhere before a medic arrives. The Savrii, however, are hard-pressed to subdue an enhanced human like him, especially when he’s in absolutely no mood to listen to reason.
Under duress, 76 becomes all but feral, hissing and spitting and doing everything in his power to get out and away, even if that means ignoring the fact that he's wounded and throwing all his self preservation out the window (said like he had any to begin with). It’s only the nature of his injury that keeps him from making an effective escape, though that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to try.]
When: Early February
Where: The Ingress entrance to Eosoros and then some other places maybe
What: Basically the part of Undercover Boss where the boss stops being undercover, except with fewer monetary gifts
Warnings: Blood, medical business, an angry old man
[76 arrives on Thisavrou very, very angry.
He’s usually angry, but generally speaking, he manages to keep said anger to a low simmer if only to function on a day-to-day basis. Arriving on this new planet after the ordeal at the Midway Hub, finding that all he can really do is sit and wait for his number to be called means that anger gets the better of him, even as he attempts to settle in (but 'settling in' is for other people). 76 takes one of the security gigs on Eosoros in a bid to do something productive, and that's sort of when things come to a head.
He’s angry, and he screws up.
It’s not really his fault, he thinks. It’s easy to blame the client (too reckless, an idiot, doesn’t listen to him, gets them both in a bad situation), but probably 76 could have handled this better. He should have bailed when things started to go south or ditched the client entirely or not taken the job in the first place—the money for a security detail wasn’t worth any of that, but he’s still boiling over with ire about the whole situation and that’s enough to make him do very stupid things, like throwing himself down in order to save both their asses when the client proves too incompetent to make it through the stupid torture gauntlet.
Hindsight, however, is twenty-twenty, and he’s not exactly coherent as he drags them both back through the Ingress and is immediately sidelined for medical attention. 76, too angry to care about decorum or not making a scene, immediately makes a scene. Someone is trying to hold him down, if only to keep him from getting blood everywhere before a medic arrives. The Savrii, however, are hard-pressed to subdue an enhanced human like him, especially when he’s in absolutely no mood to listen to reason.
Under duress, 76 becomes all but feral, hissing and spitting and doing everything in his power to get out and away, even if that means ignoring the fact that he's wounded and throwing all his self preservation out the window (said like he had any to begin with). It’s only the nature of his injury that keeps him from making an effective escape, though that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to try.]
indeterminate scrolling summary of battles fought and political highlights of note
...Jack, who has been crashing at her place and is finally getting a stretch of good sleep on her couch. He hadn't even made it to the bed, and what little rest she's found has been at his side, curled up in blankets either at his feet or in a nearby chair, largely content to just be in his space and know he's doing well. That he's still there, and waking up every time is a reminder that yes, this is real. It takes some getting used to, after you've mourned someone and buried their empty casket.
When Snake texts her, she doesn't hear the gentle buzz of the TAB on her counter over the gurgling of her espresso maker on the stove, and it isn't something she's even thought to check quite yet. Then she'd set about cooking, which explains the smell of dinner sausage and herbs and a buttery cream sauce lingering when he lets himself in, Eiger not even stirring to the knock at the door. He'd been tasked with nurse duty and remains curled up by the hearth in the living room, though he does raise his head when Snake enters and the soft swish of his tail over hardwood is greeting enough. Surely he wouldn't be so calm if anything was out of the ordinary.
What she does hear are footsteps padding quietly in the house, and Angela emerges from the bathroom still toweling her hair where it falls in loose waves to curl up at the ends, dressed for comfort in lounge pants and an oversized sweater draping off one shoulder (her own, decidedly not belonging to the man on the couch) with an exasperated warning soft on her lips.
(Here's your ! ) ]
I should hope you were careful getting up; if I have to bust out my suture kit agai—
[ Oh.
That is decidedly not the scarred white-haired man from her couch. Her eyes widen only for a moment, then she glances back at Jack to ensure he's still asleep and not edging on hostile at the presence of a stranger, then back to Snake with a (nervous?) smile and a crook of the finger, towel left over one arm. Her voice lowers from where it'd even been before, just loud enough a whisper to carry. ]
It's all right, he's an old friend. Are you hungry, dear?
[ Because she's tip-toeing right by him on her way to the kitchen and catching his hand on the way, where they'll still be able to see Jack through the open fireplace between both spaces but largely have the freedom to speak without disturbing him. Even if she knows she isn't exactly obligated to explain (and frankly, shouldn't be, not after Jack had requested her not to tell), she still wants to. She can see he's nearly bristling himself and Eosoros had only left them all further on edge. ]
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Snake's torn between moving to give Eiger some attention or creeping closer to the man on the couch to get a better look, but that's when he hears soft footsteps and turns to watch as Angela, who looks fresh out of the shower, steps into the room. That might explain why she didn't get back to him.
While she mistakes him at first, she doesn't look particularly upset or frustrated that he's here either. That's good, at least, but it doesn't explain her company. At first Snake's willing to assume it's a patient who she's decided to house here for one reason or another (couldn't afford his own place, maybe?), but then she gestures for him to move over, which he does.
An old friend, she says. If so, he's not a friend who Angela has ever mentioned before, and Snake frowns as his mind works to put all the pieces together. It only clicks when they walk past the couch on the way to the kitchen and Snake gets a better glimpse of the man's face—or rather, some facial scarring that looks all-too-familiar with that white hair.
Snake hadn't known that anyone here had seen 76 without his mask on, but it turns out there's still plenty he doesn't know about Angela. He'd been aware of the two of them coming from the same world, but hadn't ever thought to ask if there was a connection. He should have known—there's no such thing as coincidences.
Once they're in the kitchen, Snake tugs his hand away from Angela's grasp and leans up against the wall, casting a glance out to the living room before he speaks up in a quiet tone. ] He usually wears a mask, right? I've talked to him before—didn't know you two were friends. [ It's hard to imagine someone like 76 being friends with anyone, really, although Snake realizes the same could be said of him. Either way, he's ready for an explanation. ]
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Angela isn't bothered by his arrival in the least beyond the faintest hint of nervousness, which can easily be attributed to the fact that someone is in danger of being disturbed while sleeping after the dropped hint of stitches indicating injury, but it is truly less that and more that his identity is what's at stake— too late for that now, unfortunately, and she has no desire to keep Snake in the dark. Not after they'd agreed to take part in one another's lives so closely, and sees her TAB blinking on the counter once she's led them into the relative safety of the kitchen, slender fingers having found their way into his palm with ease that spoke of her comfort with his presence. Yet he tugs his hand away and takes up station at the dividing wall, and that's a firm enough "no" on food.
Right to the point, then. He's suspicious or worried or both, she can only guess, so she'll take the moment to check her TAB— a message from him and one other, less important notification, and her brows draw up apologetically. She'd never been the type to have technology attached to her hip, but she'd forgotten it in the kitchen altogether, without even bothering to check before she'd hopped in the shower. ]
You messaged; I'm sorry I missed it. I'm glad you came anyway.
[ She watches him peer over at Jack before he speaks, and she's depositing her towel through the fridge handle for now, gathering up a cup of coffee for herself and fishing the cream from the fridge to splash in. ]
He does, yes. To be honest, until the other day, I didn't know we were friends either. [ It's spoken with a sense of uncertainty and softness that could only be called residual wonder, as if she still doesn't believe it's real. In some ways she doesn't, though it's growing firmer as the hours tick by and he's still there. She takes a seat at one of the stools nearest him, parked at the little island and mug set on whatever this world's equivalent of granite happened to be, crossing one leg over the other. ] I don't believe I ever had the chance to speak of my commanders in depth to you, from Overwatch. Yet you've seen the pictures I had around my desk. Would you be able to recall them, and if I were to tell you to imagine that man on the sofa being blond?
[ Angela isn't actively trying to be obtuse, but she doesn't want to drown him by pouring out information, either. She'll begin with a framework, building it up around him. Allow him to decide where the doors and windows will go if it gets overwhelming. ]
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He shakes his head when she apologizes, since it's not like he expects her to have her phone on hand at all times or respond to him right away. It had just been a special circumstance. ] I was in the area, that's all. [ The sencs he has tucked into his back pocket are proof of that. Which is good, since he still needs to go furniture shopping.
(It's surreal that he has to think about things like furniture shopping at all, but that's a subject for another conversation.)
Angela's first statement about her mystery friend on the couch sounds purposefully vague, though it doesn't take her too long to clarify. They'd already talked about Angela's commanders before, though that time they'd been huddled around a campfire, discussing their futures. Gabriel Reyes had been the subject of conversation back then. Now Snake's received another piece to the puzzle that's Angela's past, because apparently 76 is, in fact, her other old commander.
Well, that makes everything make a lot more sense. Reaper's intense grudge against 76, along with a lot of the other cryptic things he'd said. What the hell happened between all of them? It's getting exhausting just trying to keep up.
Another glance out to 76, and then Snake settles his attention back on Angela, letting out a hum of contemplation. ] Yeah, I can imagine it. So he was hiding his identity from you this whole time? [ Apparently the visor hadn't just been used for its function as an environmental scanner, not that Snake's too surprised by that. Most people aren't going to cover the majority of their face unless they've got good reason for it. ]
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Had she had perhaps a few days to properly formulate her thoughts and feelings on the matter, she would've been telling him anyway. She just has to take her time to think about her words here and now, without that sort of careful preparation. ]
You know you're always welcome; that's why you have a key, Snake.
[ And no one else does. The only people she's told about the spare in the lantern base beside her front door are in this very house right now; no one else has been invited or notified. She should eventually notify Jesse and Reinhardt at the very least, but for now, this is fine. Comfortable.
The topic of commanders had, admittedly, largely glossed over Jack, but he had at least been given by name and noted as the blond man in her photographs so that she could expound on Gabriel, and perhaps it's for the best. If he had received the sort of diatribe she'd given Ahab about the man on the couch instilling such a strong sense of morals in her, guiding her approach to the world with such an open mind— because really, who better to model oneself after to be accepting of Omnics than those very men who ended the war against them? who still welcomed them into their lives and their society?— she'd be even further embarrassed than this lingering sensation of guilt.
It still comes out, and Snake acknowledges it with the question after it just as sharp. In fact, her fingers twitch where they've wrapped about her mug for the warmth to seep through her hands, one brow furrowing down even as she smiles— a wry little quirk of a thing. Still fresh, still aching, and he hits that nail right on the head. ]
For one reason or another, yes. The world has changed him. A lot has certainly happened, but he's still the same Jack I knew. The shape of him is as I remember it, and the way he looks out for others. I can't even wrap my mind around it yet, but for now, I'm just thankful.
[ That he's alive despite it all. That the empty coffin she'd worked to have interred at Arlington was now simply the proof that he is, in fact, a hero. Her eyes are down in her mug, the crema still thick despite her added cream, resting atop the espresso in a silky froth. ]
You said you've run into him before? I hope he hadn't threatened you. [ There's a little more amusement to her tone, with that. And she does mean more than just camping in each other's vicinity, which they have all been doing. ]
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They're not at a point where they're actually sharing living space, despite his misplaced assumptions back at the Midway Hub, but they might one day reach that point. Except that he still hasn't told Angela so much, and there might come a day where she finds her trust had been handed out in error. Or that she doesn't want a man like him setting foot in her house anymore.
(Again, that's a conversation for another day.)
There's really no reason for Angela to be embarrassed by any of this. The fact that at least one of her superiors didn't betray her in the most cutting way is surprising enough. Snake can't say he can claim the same, unless he counts Miller. The rest of the people who he'd reported to over his long career, though, had always ended up disappointing him. Even if 76 had kept her in the dark for what must have been months, Angela still speaks about him with the highest regard. Snake catches that little smile, though, the one that's more pained than anything else. His stomach clenches with anger he can't actually do anything with, and he breathes out.
It's true that 76 had seemed to have other people's well-being in mind, even with all of his gruffness. The help he'd offered to the slaves back on the mini colony, and even the extra effort he'd put in to gather supplies on the Midway Hub, it had all spoken to someone who gave a damn at the end of the day.
Snake nods when Angela questions how he knows 76. Or Jack, as she called him, though just because he has a name doesn't mean he wants to go by it. ] Yeah, we worked together a few times. No threats. [ Not that Angela has anything to worry about there. 76 might have some special enhancements, but Snake is still perfectly capable of holding his own, had anything happened.
Angela says she's thankful, but Snake doesn't know if it should be that simple. Maybe it's that protectiveness rearing its head again, but he can't stop himself from questioning what she'd said. He straightens his shoulders and tries to find her gaze, tipping his chin down slightly. ] For one reason or another? [ He echoes her own words back at her. ] Seems like it'd need to be a pretty good one.
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And Gabriel had made his decision months back; her trust is not so easily given over again, once lost. He certainly won't be welcome in the quaint little cottage; Snake would be right to assume as much in that regard. Who she invites into her home is one thing, but who she shares it with is another, and Snake has been invited to share. So far he's alone in that, which should go to show exactly how highly he's placed in her life, to someone who values her privacy as much as her friendships and company. He's free to intrude on a whim, without prior notice or request no matter what may have happened of late. That should speak volumes. He could be privy to her every moment of downtime, walk in on any emotion or level of exhaustion otherwise hidden from others, or for that matter, any company. He has free reign.
It's a scary thing, isn't it? That sort of trust in your hands.
A few months here is a drop in the bucket to the fifteen odd years she'd known him, before he'd officially been killed. And that was personally; everyone knew of Jack Morrison and the other five heroes of Overwatch. The tales were told to all children, and they'd been all over the news even when she was young. She'd been seven when she lost her parents to the war Overwatch had won, and from that point forward they were everywhere. Even having worked alongside him to know exactly how normal a man he often was, it's difficult to shake that long-standing regard held for someone who has been one of your heroes for so long. (And to be further lied to by those heroes you can never quite put on the level of 'normal', even knowing better? Being a grown woman. That is far more difficult, perhaps.)
The sliver of pain in that smile still runs miles deep, brief though it may be, and Snake's deep exhale draws her attention back up from the froth in her coffee to the man listening to her, all the minute ways his anger comes through in the tension at his shoulders, in his hands at his sides, the alert curve of his spine and his attention on her nigh on predatory, watching for the slightest sign of weakness, though not to pounce. Whatever had bothered him about her statements or demeanor, she doesn't want it to continue and she almost looks apologetic, but he's still rooted to his post as he splits his attention between herself and her commander. (Don't be mad on her behalf for extenuating circumstances!) It's something that will pass for her, given time; as of now she's only into the second day or somewhere near enough. Their time resting has been a series of naps and she's losing track. ]
For that I'm glad. When we had all first arrived, you know, I'm certain he threw punches at just about everyone he encountered. The initial panic, I imagine. He'd never been that way before— so quick to lash out. When had you worked together?
[ What starts with a touch of that familiar amusement turns softer and contemplative. Which goes to show that, yes, once she'd began sifting through his behaviors and all her interactions with him, she could find the hints peppered generously as to his identity— but also all the ways he's changed. What the world had taken from him, what he had tried to hide from them all. What he's likely still hiding. She knows he's still a good man from those very examples of deep-running morals and more, but it's difficult to frame with mere words. It's all a mess and she hadn't ever wished to drag Snake into it, yet here he is.
She isn't too worried about him physically (because anything that may slip past his abilities is something she can likely heal up without issue, should they go at each other beyond a few licks) so much as the core of the matter. If they've had hostile encounters thus far, it wouldn't be the best idea to have Snake around when Jack wakes, at the very least. It's conveyed in her certainty turned towards him, picking up his shift in her peripheral and feeling his eyes on her to glance up as well, meeting them.
There's a faint scrape of porcelain on granite as her cup shifts, unlacing one hand from the other to hold out to him. Her palms are flushed from the heat of the cup, but the tip of her head gives way to it being a request rather than an offer, the almost apologetic furrow of her brow that says she knows she's being a nuisance, but she'll still push on and be a little selfish. Come and sit with her, where she can twine her fingertips with his to pass over her head and draw him to the other stool beside her, wrap her fingers in his sleeve and brush her shoulder to his once he's sat down. Where he can smell the soft honey of her shampoo in damp hair and the lotion fragrant beneath clean clothes, and she can take comfort in the familiar touch of leather and the faintest notes of ash and tobacco.
At first all he gets is a hum to acknowledge, thinking on how best to answer. Should she start from the beginning? No, that would be silly; he's already heard about Overwatch and the Omnic War and her comrades, loose though the last had been. They hadn't had a terrible amount of time to waste on pictures and names and positions, and she begins with a slow breath. ]
I won't pretend to know everything that's happened, for him. But he's regarded as a hero and has been for thirty years. He poured blood and sweat into making Overwatch what it had been, into a force of good alongside those who believed the same. And then it was systematically ripped back apart with poor media coverage, slander, all the while agents were being taken out in the field and otherwise. He lost his Second in Command. His long-standing friendship with Gabriel deteriorated. And at the height of it there was an explosion— they were both presumed to be dead beneath the building that crashed down on them. We buried more empty caskets. [ She's twisting her mug back and forth in the hold of caged fingers, lifted a scant millimeter from the counter so as not to scratch the countertop. ] Overwatch was disbanded near-immediately. It was over just like that, and six years went by without a word. Instead there were the occasional news stories about a man breaking into the old bases and stealing weapons and supplies, others about a serial killer that left their victims completely exsanguinated. Even looking right at them you wouldn't have known who they used to be, Snake.
I can't even imagine watching that sort of life I'd built and believed in so doggedly crumbling to ash around me. The paranoia that anyone I'd recruited and trained, personally, could have had a hand in the downfall. Anxiety and trauma of the explosion itself and whatever injuries resulted— depression. Beating yourself up over everything you could've done differently, alone, with no one there to tell you otherwise. [ The more she speaks, the lower her voice drops, slowing. Her voice grows a little thicker, because imagining had been bad enough. Putting those theoreticals (which are likely not so theoretical in the first place) into words hurts. As if the act of saying it aloud brought those very options to pass, as if she's set them in stone now. It takes her a moment and a long, trembling breath to continue on, brief though it may be: ] I'm sure they were good reasons.
[ It's barely a whisper. ]
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As for secrets about himself, though, that's different. Angela knows a fair amount at this point, more than anyone else here who isn't from his own world, but there's plenty he's kept to himself too. It's not the sort of thing that you interject into casual conversation, even if it might be pertinent. ("By the way, I killed my own father and also his body double, the guy you happen to be friends with.") There's going to come a time where he'll have no choice, if she keeps tying herself closer to him, but this isn't about him. No, Angela's the one who needs his support now, whatever he can provide.
It is a scary thing, but he'll do his best.
His anger is something that he does his best to get under control, as there's no point to it right now and the last thing he wants is to give Angela the wrong idea, or make her think that she's burdening him with this. He is, of course, angry on her behalf. As someone who is the closest to being truly good, the last thing she deserves is how she's been treated by someone she clearly cares for a great deal.
Angela explains about 76's arrival and how he'd handled it (or not handled it, as the case might be) and it gives some insight. Lashing out like that is behavior that usually goes along with some sort of deep-seated trauma, and Snake's seen it enough times to know what she's getting at. He'd run into 76 after he'd already settled in at least somewhat, hence being spared that initial rashness. He shrugs when she asks for more detail. ] A little bit on the mini colony mapping out the tunnels to smuggle out the freed slaves. We also searched through the caves on the Midway Hub for resources. [ Oh, and that time that they'd both been transformed into monsters and had attacked each other, but Snake doesn't really count that against either of them. They hadn't been in their right minds. Beyond that? A few other conversations here and there, not to mention the run-in with Reaper, but Snake doesn't want to delve into that right now. Secrets upon secrets. Good thing that's more or less his trade.
If he and Jack were to get into it about anything, it would be the effect that his actions have had on Angela. Not that Snake would want to start that conversation in Angela's own home, but it's something he feels obligated to bring up all the same, when the time is right.
When Angela reaches out for him, Snake pulls away from the wall slightly and takes a look at her hand, at first like it's some sort of threat instead of simply a request for support. At length, he lifts his arm and takes it, letting her guide him over to the counter to take a seat at her side. It isn't often that Angela asks for anything. No, it's more in her nature to offer help to others. That's the main clue Snake has that this is something that's hurting her. At least this gives him the chance to make up for all the times she's been there for him without question.
Then she explains, and Snake leans forward to rest one arm on the counter, though he doesn't move enough that Angela can't remain up against his shoulder if she wants. Instead of looking at her while she speaks, Snake lets his eyes fall closed, a way to process the information as she feeds it to him.
Snake has some idea of what it's like to be considered a "hero," whatever that is, only to have people turn on you. Hell, he's even faked his own death, so he can relate on that point too. It had been out of necessity for him, but maybe it had been the same in Jack's case. After getting every single thing stripped away from you, was there even any point in acting like the same person? It still doesn't excuse what he's done here, both aboard the Moira and afterward. In close quarters with people who had spent years thinking him dead, he'd still gone through with the charade, and now at least one person is paying the price. Probably others too, but Angela's the one Snake is most concerned with.
Maybe the excuse is paranoia, as Angela suggests. Or maybe it was simply not being capable or willing to look at his old life head-on, all of those losses and failures shoved back in Jack's face. Angela empathizes, because that's what she always does, it's part of who she is and she probably can't stop it even if she tried. But that doesn't mean she shouldn't consider the toll it's taken on her, too. ]
Maybe they were good reasons, but that doesn't justify what he put you through. [ His voice pitches even lower; he realizes it's not exactly fair to speak badly of someone who's one room over. ] If he could trust anyone, it would be you. [ That Snake knows with certainty, even as someone who's an outsider in this situation. He shifts in his seat to face Angela more directly, carefully nudging her off of his shoulder so that he can instead reach out and grip hers firmly. He looks straight into her eyes, and while his voice is gravelly as ever, it comes out soft. ] My point is that you're allowed to be upset and hurt about this. You don't need to try and explain it away, or cut him any slack.
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Thankfully, because they'd promised to speak to each other and work on concerted efforts to grow closer, she knows she isn't burdening him. If that were the case he would likely be just as honest and not indulge her, or at least put up a fuss. Yet his focus remains on her and he listens to her every word intently, allowing her the time to place the pieces down where they make sense and tell the story properly. He is upset, yes, but he's still listening, remaining otherwise calm. Perhaps it strikes a familiar chord for him, or he's simply being protective of her feelings. Regardless, she can recognize it and she's only endeared further to him, especially once he's giving into her offered hand. (Even if he looks at it like she'll bite, for a moment.) ]
You helped him with the tunnels? I'm sad we missed each other; he called me to help an injured group escaping. I'd been swept up in assisting those experimented on in the creatatorium after, then later I was around the homeless colony. At least you were working well together. That doesn't seem to come very easily to him anymore.
[ It's a nice reprieve before she really delves into detail, welcoming Snake to her side as their linked hands pass over her head and he's taking a seat with the lean of her weight soon against him, threading her fingers through his loosely as he shifts forward. She's grown used to him closing his eyes to focus on given information, trying to keep her tone calm with measured words so as not to overwhelm, keeping things clear-cut. She doesn't bring her emotions into it, or at least not yet. And she doesn't offer excuses; there is a bit of extrapolation on her part, but she presents facts and the like outcome of what has happened, and it's all so easy for her to imagine because she's seen so much anxiety and PTSD in soldiers, leaders, to know exactly what to expect.
Angela empathizes, yes, but she isn't completely burying the effect these things have had on her; they're let on with her ease of leaning against him, the quiet ways she seeks his presence and warmth, the fact that she's sharing some of this at all. That she's trusting him with this side of her, information and feelings and to let him see her at all instead of hiding the toll its had on her. Surely had she told him it wasn't her place to explain, he'd understand. She doesn't even ask him to maintain the secret. That would be an insult to him. He already knows from her initial nervous behavior and 76's own secrecy that it wasn't to leave these walls. This company. It was his job, after all.
Then he turns it on her and her brows pinch, almost pained, looking up at him. She won't cry; she's done plenty of that already, but the hurt is still there and it only throbs once acknowledged, slender fingers sifting a little closer through his to squeeze his hand until he draws away to face her. He speaks quietly, making his focus on her known and ensuring that his sincerity pushes through as he speaks, tells her she's trustworthy, that she's allowed to be hurt— the weight and warmth of his hand on her nearly-bared shoulder. While it's true enough she's kept a large portion of it at bay with Jack in her immediate vicinity, isn't it nice to hear?
It earns him a smile, turning her head and covering his hand with her own, leaning down to kiss the base of his thumb and rest her cheek there. ]
Thank you, David. It's never that easy though, is it?
[ And here he's being so sweet to her, too. Hopefully he knows she appreciates it deeply, that she's able to convey it properly. ]
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He isn't angry that Angela is telling Snake. Even asking her to keep his secret is unfair and impossible, so he doesn't blame her for needing a presumably unbiased third party. Knowing they're at least a little bit close is more a surprise than hearing her explain the situation. It's that curiosity that causes him to keep pretending for a little longer than he probably should.
Eventually, however, he knows he needs to give up the ghost. Joining the conversation is not polite, but it's worse to eavesdrop, he thinks. That's what has him getting off the couch (slowly, so as not to aggravate his injury) and making his way into the kitchen.
He's a far cry from the vigilante that Snake is perhaps used to, wearing loose-fitting clothes more suited for lounging around a house (which he seems to have been doing), the mask and tactical gear and giant rifle nowhere to be seen. Still, his presence is not insubstantial and he still fills most of the doorway. He speaks up to announce his presence.]
You don't have to cut me any slack.
[Sort of. Jack still has a great deal of reasons for why he did what he did, but he knows none of that will fully legitimize what he did. Still, hearing an unbiased third party confirm that Angela has every right to be angry sort of helps him put things into more coherent words.
He sounds tired.]
But they would've brought you all down with me. You've got plausible deniability if I'm dead.
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Of course, he'd always known that getting attached to someone would lead to further complications, which means he's just going to have to roll with the punches here. It's true that he doesn't need to be told to keep this quiet. If there are other people among their group now settled on Thisavrou who would be affected by the knowledge of 76's true identity, then it would be up to the man himself to tell them.
Snake isn't sure what sort of reaction he expected out of Angela after that little speech he gave her, but the brush of her lips over his hand wasn't it. She's been affectionate and physical with him before, but not quite like that, and not with someone else (even if that someone is sleeping) so nearby. Snake feels something more like panic stir in his chest at first, which is only exacerbated when he hears stirring from the other room. Apparently Jack isn't so asleep after all.
Like a soldier standing to attention, Snake slides off of the stool and gets to his feet, tugging his hand away from Angela. Not because he's ashamed, exactly, but because he isn't ready to offer any explanations right now. There's a lot more that they need to talk about.
Snake waits for Jack to reach the doorway and looks him over. It's definitely a different image from what he's been presented before. He studies his face first, lining it up with the photos he'd seen back in Angela's room on the Moira. He's aged, obviously, that face cleaved with scarring, though Snake had been expecting worse. Seeing him out of his usual clothing and not carrying a gun, he looks a whole lot more like a person, and he doesn't speak with the same clipped tone either, where he'd only said as much as needed to get the point across. He doesn't just sound gruff and aloof, he sounds exhausted. A man pushed past the brink and then some.
Jack heard them, or at least some of what they had to say. He's still trying to justify it, though, and while Snake can see where he's coming from, it doesn't explain why he kept it all quiet once they got out into space.
It's Angela who he's speaking to, so Snake says nothing for now, only works his jaw and takes a step closer to Jack, subtly placing himself between him and Angela. ]
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And also, let's be real, Snake picks claymores up from the ground with his plush buttcheeks. He'll be fine.)The moment she hears the couch creaking as Jack's weight shifts, she doesn't begrudge Snake reclaiming his hand from her shoulder especially when she's straightening as well, nervous tension in her spine as she half-turns to listen, distracted, attention split between Snake slipping off his stool onto soundless feet and the sounds of life from the living room. He's beside her and waiting as the sound of Jack's footsteps grow closer, bare feet padding along the hardwood as she swivels the rest of the way to see him filling the entry to the kitchen, wariness bristling off of Snake more than anything.
Jack doesn't even seem upset with another person's presence after the need for secrecy, not putting nearly a fraction of the effort into sizing up Snake in this place as the younger happens to be expending, looking him over and gauging his reactions, his words and posture. No, Jack's too exhausted to return the favor. How did anyone expect her to be angry when faced with someone showing their age in spades, letting their exhaustion seep into weary features and slump their shoulders? He's beat himself up enough; she wouldn't play into his punishment. It's when he speaks and reveals that he'd been listening that she looks properly embarrassed, wondering if she should even mention she'd given Snake access to her home before Jack had come over— the guilt is evident on her face that anyone had visited while he's here trying to recuperate much less without her knowledge, but she doesn't voice it in the end. Either way she'd state it, her words would give away one thing or another that weren't necessary to say, and it had been an honest accident.
So instead she turns her efforts toward his words and how much he could have overheard, wrapping her fingers back around her mug to hold in her lap. Always one to latch onto warmth, animate or no. (And don't think she doesn't notice you putting yourself between them, Snake!! Is he guarding her? It's sweet even without the mind to recognize it just yet.) ]
It isn't cutting you slack when I'm not angry in the first place. I can wish that you could have told me sooner without bringing any ire into it. And the less stress put upon you while you're healing the better. [ Isn't that the whole reason he's here, in the first place? A quiet place to rest? A likely amount of monitoring her to ensure that she's to be trusted? Well, she's let him down on that front, and it's only the second day. ] I've heard you two have already met. Did you want to sit?
[ Introductions shouldn't be necessary, then, and she'll give them equal chance to reconfirm one another however they please. The dining table is to his left, or he can pick one of the stools where she sits at the island, but that would be passing closer to Snake than he is likely comfortable with. He brings up plausible deniability and she can't help the little huff that slips out of her, shaking her head slowly. ]
You'd be vastly underestimating your agents if you think they'd let themselves be caught; with no one to lead them it's a different story, but if they knew you were alive and still fighting... You and I both know that many of them would have leapt at the opportunity to do good in the world. And that is all you've ever tried to do. Regardless, it doesn't matter here. This isn't Earth.
Are you going to tell me how much you've heard so I know how embarrassed to be?
[ Despite the topic at hand and how she'd just been presenting herself to Snake, Angela is calm and rather collected with Jack, though not to the point of outright hiding emotions and faking a happy demeanor. She's comfortable teasing him at least a little bit, trying to keep things light and dissipate the tension between them all. As relaxing and reassuring as she could be because she just wants him to be comfortable in her home, able to get some desperately needed rest. Now it may be even more difficult; not that it's anyone's fault, particularly, just her own lack of foresight and a quiet promise to herself to mind her TAB better, at least while he's here. ]
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Heard most of it.
[But he shrugs to indicate that it's not really a big deal. He offers Angela something of a sympathetic glance when she starts to justify the things he's done, like he's trying to decide whether or not he's going to argue it.]
All the more reason to stay dead.
[Maybe he'll argue it a little. There's nothing he can say that he and Angela haven't been over already, so he sighs and shrugs again and turns to Snake, instead.]
Jack Morrison.
[His own name still sounds a little foreign in his mouth, but he does his very best to extend his hand in Snake's direction. They're already acquainted, sure, and worked together, but they're meeting for the first time, aren't they? It seems right, to introduce himself like this, especially when he and Angela have already been talking about it. He's not sure how much Snake has been told, but he can guess that he has the gist of the situation. What happened to Overwatch. What happened to him.]
What's left of him, anyway.
[That's a joke. It's a bad joke. He thinks he's earned it, though, because they were talking about him when they thought he was asleep.]
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Besides, Jack doesn't seem all that bothered about how things have turned out. If he's really as good of a person as Angela seems to think he is, then Snake will have to give him the benefit of the doubt, his own personal feelings about the situation set aside. Angela would probably prefer if they at least attempted to get along, anyway.
With Jack making an effort, even offering his hand and an introduction that's largely unnecessary, Snake decides to relent. His shoulders loosen as he steps forward to close to the distance between them and grasps Jack's hand, offering a quick yet firm shake. He doesn't say anything about his own name. Jack already knows him as Snake, and if he heard what Angela called him just before he joined the conversation, then that's something he can keep to himself.
Snake is all about dry humor himself, so he huffs at Jack's last comment. ]
So, cat's out of the bag, huh. [ He debates mentioning Reaper, but figures that he doesn't need to put any of them more on-edge. ] What now? [ That's a question all of them probably need to reflect on, revealed identities or not. ]
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[ With a little sigh, exasperated, but not ill-content. There is plenty she could say about Overwatch agents banding together as a force to be reckoned with, that they wouldn't go down easily, that knowing the truth will allow them to fight properly— but they're words he won't want to hear just yet and she'll keep mum.
And Jack please... Snake camped with them for like a month. Angela fed him regularly. They shared a campfire. Of course they're friendly! (And then some, but, you know.) He offers a sympathetic glance as if she's trying to explain away any guilt or negative feelings, but there's a difference between that and stating fact. Which is what she does instead; empathy or no, there were just some things one had to accept about any situation as the cornerstones.
The chagrin that crosses her expression is brief enough as he admits to overhearing most of their conversation and still poking at an attempt to argue she won't acknowledge, but he's turning his attention to David and introducing himself by name. His real name, this time, giving up the ghost. And even offering a hand to shake, which leaves her relaxing (deflating) just a fraction. Provided David doesn't get any ideas about being stubborn here and now, but she doesn't think he will; thus far he's trusted her and taken her lead, and she relaxes further when he takes Jack's hand to shake.
Yet the self-deprecating joke gets a little more than a huff out of her in the form of a soft laugh, shaking her head. This is something she's had to take in stride, with him. This new form of humor poking fun at himself. ]
Now, I think I shouldn't be the only one drinking coffee. And you can both stand to have dinner.
[ Give her something to do, it seems to say, as she slides off her stool and touches the back of David's arm just to indicate she's passing by him. Remove herself from behind him so he didn't feel the need to protect her, and then they can both settle where they please. ]
I don't think we need to clarify much else. Jack will be here for a few more days to recover from his injuries from Eosoros, and— [ Getting her espresso maker going, here, to remove one cup before adding another pod and a new mug if they're amenable. ] —we'll see where to go from there, with the other agents. I know Snake won't be speaking of anything here to others. You both have more in common than you likely know.
[ Namely, that they're both good men with a penchant for denying that fact, and that they hold others in high esteem. Fight for good causes, sacrifice for what they know is right, and surely that paves the road to other facts she's unaware of. So, she's holding out a fresh cup of coffee to whoever reaches for it first, and will await a reply on food. ]
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[He sounds a little contrite for eavesdropping, but not enough to say much more than that. The conversation is moving onward in good time anyway, and perhaps Jack is even a little relieved that they're talking about something else--even if that something else is his rapidly-deteriorating charade. That's the more pressing matter, though he certainly doesn't blame Angela for needing someone to talk to about it.
So, now what?]
Tell the others, I guess.
[Jack doesn't seem terribly enthralled by the prospect, but this is a band-aid that needs to be ripped off. He should tell the others before they hear it from someone else. This is, however, easier said that done, and he already knows he'll be dragging his feet on it.
So he's glad that Angela pulls the conversation in yet another direction, even if he images this might be an awkward meal.]
You don't have to trouble yourself, Ange.
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When Angela moves away to get coffee and finish preparing a meal, Snake allows himself to settle back onto one of the stools. Apparently he's staying for dinner now, which will give them a chance to talk things over, tying off any other loose ends. Jack got injured on Eosoros, apparently, which doesn't surprise Snake given what he and Angela went through there. He doesn't say anything about keeping his mouth shut, figuring it's a given that he isn't going to go around telling Jack's people before he gets to them. Angela's the one he's closest to, anyway.
Since Jack doesn't reach out for the offered mug, Snake takes it, sampling a sip before he sets it down on the counter. He raises an eyebrow at Jack's protest and that little nickname, shifting on the stool to face him and shake his head. ]
If you've known her for as long as she said, then you should know she's not gonna listen. [ They're getting fed whether they want it or not. Good thing she's a decent cook. ]
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[ The fact that he sounds even a little rueful about it is enough for her to be set at ease. It wasn't anger or annoyance, so she knows it's all right. That their discussion hadn't rubbed him the wrong way. That he understands her seeking out another ear not his own, and can see she's chosen someone far removed from the others to confide in. It would have to be enough, and he'll surely pick up the undertones of her words offered, that it's all right for him to take his time but that they deserve to know. She won't rush him but that still insinuates she's at his back, ready to nudge him if need be.
The topic change is accepted readily and David takes the offered mug, tipping her head in silent question for Jack if he wanted a cup as well to wake up and warm him. If so, she'll go ahead and make another to offer him, but if not, she'll simply pour herself a fresh cup before setting about pulling porcelain containers from the fridge and dishing up three plates. Dainty portions for herself, twice that for David, and almost twice again that for Jack. Super soldier metabolisms and such, with an emphasis on the vegetables to make up for lost time. Asparagus (or the closest alien equivalent) steamed with garlic and a bit of olive(-ish) oil beside the bread dumplings covered in gravy, and framed in veal(?) sausage. They're making do just fine here, even on an alien planet. Most foods they would be familiar with seemed to be transplanted or recreated here, or near enough.
Hearing such a familiar turn of her name still plucks at her, tugging at that little twinge in her chest that makes itself known nearly every time she wakes to find him still there, that it wasn't just an extended dream— every time her fingertips pass over his shoulders as she walks by or she hears his voice no longer hindered by the mask, something she's still getting used to. And realizing too late that she hadn't had the chance to ever really speak of her relationship with her commanders or many of her fellow agents, if the quirk of his brow was any indication once Jack's speaking up.
But David answers before she can as he settles at the island counter once more, and she doesn't bother to hide her smile, crinkling the corners of her eyes and flashing teeth as she busies herself reheating the dishes to dole out. ]
See? I've made excellent friends here, Jack, and they already know me so well. It's no trouble at all to see some hot food in either of you. [ Perhaps a bit of discussion is in order to ease the tension, let Jack find himself somewhere to sit and learn a little more about her friendship with the near-stranger in her kitchen. ] I met Snake only a few days after we'd arrived— we ran into each other at the gym and saw each other nearly every day since. We've all had our adventures here, no?
He also helped me with Eiger; with his training and just... owning a dog. He's been a dear friend to me. And he's had my back whenever something has gone awry.
[ Certainly something to be thankful for, and hopefully shed a little more light on their dynamic. That he's a trusted companion of hers, and that they've fought together. That she has a measure of his skill and professionalism without divulging anything terribly personal one way or another. There are few enough she can say that for here, even amongst her fellow agents. The food doesn't take terribly long and soon enough she's setting a steaming plate before David, settling her own down beside it, and offering Jack his. Even if he chose to sit at the dining table, he'd nearly be within arm's reach of the stools and they won't be sitting far apart, with her seat turning to face them both equally. If he's at the bar as well, she'll place herself between them. ]
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But she will anyway, and there's a sort of nice familiarity in it, something he can't quite describe, much less to Snake, who he's only known in a professional capacity.
So he listens to what Angela has to say about him, taking it all in and slotting puzzle pieces together. When she recounts the stories of their meeting, it makes sense why they seem to have gravitated towards each other. When you've spent most of your life in a military organization, it's hard to tear yourself away. He's not entirely certain about Snake's background, but anyone who goes by a call sign has to have some kind of experience in that department.
What matters the most is that Angela has someone at her back, especially in his absence.]
I should thank you.
[To Snake, of course.
Jack has been eating Angela's cooking for the better part of a week, the extra vegetables not exactly going unnoticed. The drastic difference in portion size, however, doesn't even get a second glance--just something unspoken between them. Angela knows what he needs and it doesn't occur to Jack that any of this might come off as odd.]
For looking after her.
[He offers Angela the slightest hint of a smile through a forkful of food.]
Not that you need it.
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Then Jack goes so far as to thank him. That's even less expected, and Snake straightens in his stool and then shakes his head, waving him off. His guess is that Jack feels at least some guilt that he'd kept his distance from Angela for so many months, but it's not as if Snake considered it a chore to spend time with her. ] It was really more the other way around. [ Angela had been looking after him, that is. The massages, gluing that gash in his head shut, but even the littler things—the electronic cigarettes, the way she'd check in on him.
Honestly, she's too good for him. Snake suspects that's a sentiment Jack here could agree with.
And here come the plates of steaming food, as if to prove that point. Snake digs in, enjoying the luxury of a warm, home-cooked meal before he takes a look at Jack's portion. It's impossible not to notice, and while he could just let it slide, Snake figures that he may as well learn a little more about Angela's commander. ]
Healthy appetite you've got there. [ He makes the statement as casual as he can, in between bites of his own food. ]
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That familiarity is her affection, at the very least, and it's never swayed.
Jack listens to her every word offered, pieces together what he's given to form an abstraction to figure out on his own, put his own thoughts and opinions into, his assumptions perfectly correct and visible in their rapport. There's an ease between them that speaks not only of friendship but of camaraderie, the way she trusts herself at his side and relaxes immediately, shares her expressions openly. It's also in the sly little nudge of her arm to David's at his vague discomfort beside her as she speaks of him, but the gratitude Jack offers him surprises her just as much.
It's only visible in the slight twitch of her brow and the way she looks between them, the slight exasperation in the curl of her lips and a huff of breath entirely fond to offset it. Further still when David turns it back on her and she just shakes her head. A silent enough what am I to do with you for both of them. Then Jack amends it with his own reassurance in her capabilities and her smile only widens further. ]
Well, sometimes there's only so much one can do alone. I think we all know that.
[ They've all been subjected to their own shortcomings without backup, haven't they? But the incline of her head is humble, deferring to Jack with her respect and her gratitude for his words all the same.
Then David remarks on the amount of food she'd served Jack and she tries not to laugh with a mouthful of food, leaving that to Jack to explain before she'd try to jump in. Let him reveal what he wishes, but the mirth in her eyes is plenty amused at being called out. ]
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I need it.
[He offers that as a simple explanation, even if it doesn't really explain anything at all. To his credit, he seems to revise after a moment, realizing that it probably sounds very strange and he might be able to clear things up a little better.]
Accelerated healing factor. Burns calories.
[He's healing right now, which means he needs to make sure that he's taking in more than he expends. Jack punctuates that through a mouthful of food--he doesn't eat this much on a daily basis, but when he's exerting himself or recovering from an injury, his enhanced body needs the extra fuel to pull itself back together.
But if Angela thinks he doesn't know that she's not-so-subtly trying to get some real nutrition in him, well. She'd be wrong.]
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Angela's nudge at his side and her comment about people being worse off alone all seems rather pointed, but she isn't wrong. Snake has been alone before, really and truly alone, and it hadn't been a good part of his life. The support of another person makes a big difference, even if it isn't always the easiest thing to accept.
It's odd to see expressions play out on Jack's face after only ever knowing him as the man with the mask, and Snake smirks wryly. He hadn't meant anything bad by the comment.
The explanation makes sense in some weird sort of way. Even regular people without the enhancements that Jack has need extra nutrition when they're healing. For someone like him, it must be two-fold. ]
Guess there's another side to every coin. [ Jack heals faster, but it's at a price. ] Well, with Angela taking care of you, you'll be back in working order in no time. [ If Angela's going to talk about him while he's sitting right there, that means it's within his right to do the same to her. ]