➤ there is something at work in my soul, which I do not understand

[doctoral]

[ continued from here ]

He's not ready, but he has to be, so he is. He feels like he wants to take several hours to process what has changed in him, and he doesn't have it-- doesn't even have several minutes.

What ensues instead is a pell-mell race down from the shambles of the boathouse dock and into the murky, grimy, entirely green water of the bayou. Spencer is breathing heavily, shaky now for a different reason. They drag themselves treading water through the muck and mud as surreptitiously as they can, and he hears the cracking of boards and squeal of metal behind them as their pursuers break through at last.

He can feel algae soaking the ends of his hair. His clothes are beyond ruined, torn and bloodied and covered in slime. They're still dragging themselves through the swamp as the sounds trail behind them, Reid noticing how much longer he can hear them for in an absent, distant way. He realizes belatedly that he's begun to report his observations to Jack in a low murmur under his breath, first noticing that he's fairly certain he's in shock, then taking stock of the sensation of his healed, solid flesh and the way his senses have become more acute, and hyperfixated on Jack. His words fall from numbed lips as they clamber out of the water at last, and then he falls silent, eyes wide and looking like a drowned cat.

It's another long trek back to their local hotel room, Reid heaving himself up the stairs. He hasn't spoken in a while at this point, internally focused, until they approach their door. "I feel like I want to sleep for a week," he complains, exhausted, everything still careening inside him and just-- sapping his energy beyond belief. But.

His eyes cut over to Jack as he pulls out his water-logged and thankfully still functional room key. "But I need to know what's happened to me first. What I am now." Spencer's been trying to brace himself for these revelations the whole time. He knows he should be reporting in, that his team will kill him tomorrow for not calling them immediately. But he doesn't know what to tell them yet, doesn't even know what to tell himself, how to defend his decisions or if he even has to, or what this will mean. If he can stay on the team at all.

Oh God, he can't think about that. He can't lose his team. That's his whole family.

He stumbles into the room, all six feet and change of him, and starts mindlessly removing his squelching shoes and socks.

Comments

[kabar]

Jack doesn't jump to answer. He stands back by the closed door as Reid peels off his soiled clothes. And the further he strips down to his skin, the more Jack's hands fidget at his side. "Think we both need a bath," is the first thing out of his mouth since the boathouse, divided in his attention between helping them both and staring at Reid's naked back. His heart beat is thumping hard in his thin chest, almost like it's Jack's own. And frankly, that's how Jack feels. His heart, his breath, his everything. So finally, unable to stay away from the monster he had just created, he steps up behind him and puts a calming hand on the back of his shoulder. "Bath first," he tells him. "Then we can talk."

[doctoral]

Reid is completely unconditioned in thinking of himself as a sexual being, full stop, and it doesn't really occur to him what the effect might be to start peeling off sopping wet articles of clothing. He'd always intended to stop before actual nudity, assuming they'd, well, shower separately. With full modesty.

He can hear-- Jack's heartbeat? It has the rhythm of a heartbeat, picking up in pace-- but it doesn't really contextualize for him, and he can also hear Jack approaching from behind, but it just doesn't register that he might touch him until he does.

Then he jumps about a foot in the air, lurching around to face him. "Jack? Um. What--" Reid clutches his disgusting, sodden shirt to his bare chest, flushing dramatically. He ends up repeating lamely, "What?"

He can't argue about them needing to bathe and that sequence of events, although half of him is still leaping in protest that he needs answers now, needs information badly. That's just how Reid is, though. So much so that, no matter his own hyperfixation on Jack, it hasn't had a chance to sink in yet just what that might mean.

[kabar]

Perhaps he should have expected that reaction. In spite of a quick and blunt tongue, Reid isn't the most forthcoming of his team. More like a robot with fixed definitions and statistics waiting in the wing, which is a complete shame. Awkward though he may be, he's got a perfect face and long beautiful hands. "Sorry, I'm a little concerned leaving you alone right now." This time Jack keeps his hands to himself, knowing full well making Reid uncomfortable is not the way to jump start his new life. "Let's... Go start a bath. I'll take care of your clothes."

[doctoral]

Spencer lets out an uneven breath. "No, I, um, I'm a little concerned about that, too." He's definitely skittish as all get out, and his instincts pulling him like a magnetized lodestone toward Jack are starting to unsettle him now that he's paying attention.

He's not actually a robot, but people mostly treat him like one, and that combined with his natural disinclination to touch others and his difficulty forming personal connections has led Spencer to be physically intimate, in any capacity, with vanishingly few people. When he has, it's always been a slow build up, a gradual trust that eventually let him feel safe enough to participate. Here-- it's sudden, abrupt, like a light switch, and totally out of his control.

He doesn't yet turn to duck into the bathroom like a flighty animal, though. There's trust enough yet for him to face Jack and say quietly, without defensiveness, "Why do I feel like I want you to touch me right now? I, I don't do that." When Reid's hurt, he usually isolates himself until he's healed enough to feel safe again. Not... this.

[kabar]

He gives Reid an honest answer. "I don't know," Jack tells him with an apologetic note. He feels it, too. And while he has a few theories, it can only be pure speculation. Jack's never met another like himself. "Maybe it's pack mentality. That's not uncommon. Or... Maybe because I made you. The feeling might leave us—you in a few days." He hadn't meant to add himself to the equation. Bringing his own issues into this may freak him out. Or, perhaps it will calm him down. He's not sure yet which piece to play.

[doctoral]

Us? So-- it's affecting him, too. That's actually... That shouldn't be reassuring, but it is. Reid should want one of them to keep a level head. But the truth is, feeling unilaterally impacted would be uncomfortable. Reid doesn't want that power differential. Jack had promised he won't go through this alone, but he abruptly finds that he wants it to be true more than he'd realized.

He takes a breath again. "You've... never done this before." It's obvious, suddenly. All of his non-answers, his hesitations. Spencer doesn't say it as an accusation, just an observation. He'd agreed to this; if he has regrets, he'll take them out on himself, not on Jack. "Alright. Let's-- let's get this over with. You can come."

He turns back to the bathroom, out of nowhere done with being a flustered, overwhelmed victim. Spencer had agreed to this, and he wouldn't have if he didn't trust Jack in some basic measure. Showing some skin, personal contact, when that's everything his instincts are screaming for-- as long as they go slowly, one step at a time, Reid doesn't see why he should resist what he's feeling compelled to do. Pick his battles. There might be something he does want to resist later.

[kabar]

He hadn't realize he'd been holding his breath until it call comes rushing out when Reid turns to leave. What clothes Jack has of his is he takes over to the kitchenette, pulling a trash bag out a cabinet. Even if they take it all to a laundromat or a dry cleaners, Reid's newly heightened senses would pick up on every minute smell left trapped in the fibers. It's best to just dump it and buy again. Cinching it closed for now, Jack drags it into the bathroom to dump the rest of Reid's and his clothes inside. "I'd suggest a bath," he tells him while his eyes are focused on the bag and not the other man. He's skittish enough. "In case your legs give out. I'm sure you're exhausted."

[doctoral]

Reid never wants to see those clothes again and is absolutely not going to miss them, that's for sure.

"I need to at least rinse off first. I don't want to wallow in my own blood." His expression scrunches up faintly as he says it. Reid is characteristically obstinate about being resistant to suggestion and making his own choices, truly an only child who grew up largely without parental supervision. He leans in and tugs the shower curtain closed, then turns on the water to let it come up to temperature, then stands there with his arms wrapped around himself in his boxers-- the cleanest garment on him, frankly, and it's still blood-stained at the elastic.

His eyes dart back to Jack, nervously keeping track of him. Nervous of him leaving? Getting too close? Both? It's so hard to tell what's going on inside him.

"You're very calm about all this." Not what he would expect from a monster making another monster, so to speak. Reid isn't totally on board with accepting characterization of Jack, or himself now, as a monster, but he'll follow colloquialism.

[kabar]

"Well—" Jack's voice is slightly strained as he begins pulling off his own sodden jacket and shirt. "—you're conscious, there's no markedly negative side effects from the change, and you're not a raging hellbeast trying to kill me. Compared to some of my nights, this one is going fairly well." His clothes are stuffed into the plastic bag along with Reid's, but he doesn't bother stripping out of his pants right away. He'll take a shower once Reid is clean, stable, and back in the hotel living room. Hopefully, the only lasting harm this does to Reid is the small bite mark that'll never heal. Jack has one, too. Although, his wasn't so mindful or small. Most of his abdomen is nothing but dark ropy scar tissue, same with his right pelvis and the small of his back. What Jack remembers of the attack, he was literally torn in half and never expected to wake up again. "There was one night my entire blood supply was tainted just to neutralize one man." Well, a vampire, but he would rather not open up that bloody can of worms. Reid has enough to swallow without adding more lore.