#.safety's off; it's a cruel world out there ; sol.dier 76.

[dimensionalspades]

Like for a starter (length will vary)! Specify who you want or I'll choose for you!

[dimensionalspades]

. There was that impulse again, like a heartbeat of violence thrumming in his palms; urging him to pick up the rifle and end the man and the potential for a new SEP to rise up in one bullet. He had become monstrous in some measures, but not this one. He set his jaw, a beat of silence passing as he thought of safe houses. Very, very few he trusted to keep the other safe longterm. His own very nomadic lifestyle was proof of his paranoia in that regard.

"Don't mind helping if you give me your word you don't intend to make the place some kind of lab for working on this new shit." He crossed his arms, as if to physically keep himself in check. He sighed.

"Got one place south of here that might work. Haven't been there in half a year so you'll have to make friendly with some dust bunnies and a few omnics with some loose bolts." He shifted his weight, trying to think of the best way to get to the townhouse from where they were. The whole area was more or less condemned. His friendship with the omnics in the area was the only reason they had let him keep the place.

"They're good company, if you don't mind one of 'em playin' jazz records near nonstop." He certainly liked that, but not being able to visit made him wonder if Olo was still up and running. His visor pulled up a train schedule nearby. "Got a train leaving in ten minutes if you don't mind illegally train hopping. Otherwise, it's a long walk."

Once he had begun, there was no way of stopping his explanation. The dam that Miguel had painstakingly concealed and held back for many months now was finally breaking, releasing a deluge of words. Terms that would be extremely detrimental to his lifespan, if overheard by the wrong ear, but it was too late to correct course.

Too late for a vast number of concerns, as it turns out.

It's why, with bated breathe, he lapses into an uneasy silence, rather than take a stab at mending bridges. Of making any sort of run at apologising for what the volunteers endured during SEP, even if he'd realised he was speaking with such an individual. Instead, he acquired an impassive mask, waiting and watching to see where the shrapnel of his revelations would end up, once the other had heard his piece.

And, as it happened, the news is taken relatively well, all things considered. Unable to hide his relief, he lowers his head a little, mumbling some sort of muted agreement whilst breaking eye contact momentarily. Given to habit, agitated fingers scratch at his forehead, a reflex action rather than a response to any actual itch, feeling torn. Whilst he knew that the correct and proper response was to vilify SEP, he couldn't deny that it laid the groundwork for his own efforts, which is why, when the other moves on to another topic, Miguel leaves that particular conversation elapse without a challenge.

"Actually... I don't." Forced out through gritted teeth, he pauses for a moment to swallow a rising temptation in his throat. It urged him to defend the work of his predecessors... but he wisely decided to keep his trap firmly shut, especially considering he wasn't the one holding a weapon. "I hate to impose, John, but... don't suppose you could help me find somewhere to go?" And by extension, prolong the need to stick together.

"Of course, I will completely understand if you decline, given what you've just heard." Any sane and self-preserving individual would. "What do you say?"

[dimensionalspades]

The item is small, but durable- he wouldn't have chucked it in her direction if it wasn't. It also wasn't particularly hard. It's soft wood, with a small shine to it.

"Think fast, Oxton." It's a wood carving, distinctly unprofessional in make with edges smoothed by a knife and the thin sheen of oil meant to seal it away from water damage. The figurine is of a rabbit, clear to see but not made by a particularly deft hand. "Don't ask about the ear. Call it creative freedom and not a tragic slip of the knife."

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[dimensionalspades]

"I know you're there." Owed not to his visor- the scans didn't pick up anything out of the ordinary- but to senses not dulled even through the years.

Whoever it was, however, knew how to be quiet. Were Jack not laser focused, he might have missed those quiet footsteps. Lucky him that his gun had jammed a few moments before, leaving him in need of a quiet moment.

"If you think you can get a lucky shot off, you already missed your window."

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[dimensionalspades]

@amadaans said: “No, you can't die. Get up, damn you! / gabe to jack or reaper to soldier!

- bg3 || accepting -

. His breaths came in pathetic little wheezes, shallow but paced. Even as close to death as he felt, his body refused to give in. Blood still went where it needed, causing it to seep into the dirt beneath him. He resented its efficiency. The old soldier shuddered, his only working eye fixating on the foreboding black cloud that darkened his vision before Gabriel's cloaked form solidified.

He could only remember a comparable pain when pieces of headquarters had collapsed onto and around him. Then and now he really wished death didn't hurt so much.

Gabriel was fussing (for as much as his appearance indicated him as a harbinger of death, he was remarkably concerned for Jack's survival). Other than that, he couldn't tell much of anything, and he couldn't remember what'd happened after he'd been blown off a cliff. Instinct wanted to tell him to pipe down, let him sleep it off; this was just a scrape, he'd be up in no time. But when he tried to tell him as much, all that came out was a wet choking sound that he barely recognized was him. Instead, it was replaced by the desire to beg for his help.

Jack forced himself to take in a deeper breath, feeling broken ribs shift and send daggers of pain through his sides.

God, he was tired of the smell of copper.

He closed his eye, brows pinching together. He wanted to lay on his back but he was certain that the moment he did, he'd choke on his own blood. When Gabriel had gotten close enough, a shaking hand grasped Gabriel's sleeve, exhaustion making him want to curl into the man until he felt better, his body putting itself back together stitch by brutal stitch.

"Don't think..." blood leaked from his nose and lips, trailing off his chin in rivulets. "That's up... to me."

[dimensionalspades]

. Reports of Talon's newest addition had caused a stir in the back channels Soldier would sit in. The mutterings and hissing of someone he couldn't put a finger on. A man who could 'rip open reality itself' (something Jack didn't believe), who could 'crush you in an instant' (perhaps more believable if not fantastical). The only clue he got aside from that it was an older man was that 'gravity felt heavier' around him.

Like chasing bigfoot, apparently, Jack lamented to himself. No matter the exaggerations, this new face was a danger, and the old soldier had no intent of leaving the man on the playing field.

His attempts to track the man were... slow. Talon didn't seem to send him out all that much, and thus Soldier was left to just wait.

And then he finally felt it. The anomaly was gradual, but felt, like a weight had settled on his shoulders. And then it was gone, and Soldier was diligent in finding it again, following the aggravating sensation further and further out into nowhere.

By the time he arrived, he found sculptures of animals, some impressive, others almost grotesque in their twisting limbs and splicing of different beasts. What the point was, he didn't know, but he intended to take the danger out before the man could kill him first.

His first shot hits a recently erected sculpture, the piece just barely saving the man's life. Soldier grunts to himself, at the very least satisfied that the man couldn't know where he was. He's careful as he climbed to the second story of the old farmhouse, trying for a better view of his target.

"Talon doesn't like letting you out, do they?" He remained hidden, allowing the man to guess where he was.

@dimensionalspades

                         With his newest friend’s assistance, SIGMA is finally able to taste freedom at last. 

He’s quick to wander without supervision– mostly careful to stay well away from dense civilization, but flourishing under the evening sky, the ability to look up and see what he’d only ever been able to construct in his mind…  Initially his latest friendship with the hacker had seemed superficial at best, but over time, over many evening lamentations of proximity restriction and 24/7 surveillance, she had taken sympathy upon him, practically handing him the keys to his own cage– with the assurance that he would be back within twenty-four hours. Any longer, and his absence would undoubtedly be noted. But Sombra would take care of the rest, handling the security and ensuring his entries and exits were to go unnoticed. 

                        It isn’t his first night of gallivanting– but tonight he is feeling bolder, intent on exploring what could be done with the ANOMALY out here, in the open world, with virtually every element at his disposal. The things that could be detected on the surface, outside of the cold, entombing concrete of the facility’s sublevels, was innumerable.  That, in particular, is what makes him fairly easy to detect, however; strange constructs are always left in SIGMA’S wake– from grand spires of crystalline ice that could not melt, to geometrics and fractals within natural materials like stone and wood. Aberrations of nature; taking the natural world and creating unnatural, bizarre shapes according to his design. 

It was nice to be able to utilize his abilities so freely– without TALON rating his performances, or demanding to know what the purpose of any of it was. All SIGMA had wanted to do since his incarceration was to simply be allowed to explore these strange powers, and it seemed that no one had any interest in allowing him to discover what potential lay within his ANOMALY. A run-down farmhouse finds itself to be the centerstage for SIGMA’S eccentric design, and he wastes no time in promptly beginning to populate the dilapidated field with his wonderfully imperfect figurines, of his approximations of animals. Some of them resemble their desired subject– but many do not, with necks, bodies, and limbs bent at peculiar angles in SIGMA’S attempts to capture some semblance of realism. He didn’t remember what many of these things looked like– he creates it all from imagination.

                         The notion that he was being observed– that he could even be observed out here– appears to have slipped his mind entirely; he’s simply too preoccupied with the pulling and warping of metal, sediment, greenery, and more… far too preoccupied to pay too much concern towards his environment. As far as he was concerned, this was the middle of nowhere– why would anyone have come out this far…? 

There is a perturbation in the air, but it was incapable of being placed in his distraction, and as a result, the sudden flash of splinters, of sparks, of heat, appears to shower him from seemingly nowhere. SIGMA’S construction is left in pieces and tatters when his vision fully clears, having shielded his face from the blast, completely destroyed by whatever had been intended for him. Bewilderment leaves him freezing up, damaged retinas scanning the hilltops for whatever had attacked him. Who would be out here…?

[dimensionalspades]

Practical, always practical for Jack. There was so little he could take with him these days, restricted down to the filthy duffle bag that he dragged around with him. Of course, there was always the home cooked meal, or the leftovers of it, whenever he stumbled in through the back door of the quiet flat that she shared with Emily. Something hot and home cooked and filling for the road ahead.

Lena did her shopping carefully, selecting a warm pair of gloves with a thick shell, protecting and warm and flexible enough to shoot with. Texting wouldn't be possible, but it usually wasn't even without the gloves.

His other gift was left quietly on top of his bag before he left, a wrapped package containing a single hard drive. It was filled with everything she could rip from the computers in the new bases, new and old, about Talon and the explosion, downloaded neatly and organized on the encrypted file. Some of it, she knew he likey discovered already, but other data included money transfers, shady promotions, active talon agents in overwatch, and others that the UN had finally allowed to slip. Maybe that would get him closer in his goals, and he can finally be at peace.

. Every year, he tells her to focus her gifts on Emily, Winston, and the others. Every year he's mentally begrudgingly grateful when she selects a gift that he so needs. He dislikes the thought of any of her money going to him, but he can't turn down good items. He needs them, and it's a gift from Lena. He wouldn't break her heart for something so stupid.

His old gloves were worn through to the barest threads along his fingers. These were insulated and padded.

The other gift nearly bowls him over with such a violent curiosity that he almost sits down and connects it to his tablet immediately, going so far as to search for the cables in his bag. But he reconsiders and sits quietly for some moments in the room Overwatch lets him use. Normally, he'd just finish up his gear check and get out. He didn't want to be caught by any holiday cheer from others that'd answered the recall.

But for once, he refuses the impulse, as well as the discomfort that sparks in his nerves when leaves the room and seeks Lena out. She's in the kitchen (thankfully alone for the moment) making herself tea when Jack strides over and takes her into his arms, a warm embrace reminiscent of the hugs he gave in older days when he could still stand to celebrate.

"Merry Christmas, kiddo." When he leans back, he ruffles her hair, smile still hidden behind his mask. "I'll bring you back something good from Morocco. Keep outta trouble, and give Emily my best, alright?"

[dimensionalspades]

He felt bad about lying to all of them, but in his mind it really was for the greater good. If he revealed his identity and then went off and died, they would have gained nothing but perhaps a newfound rage towards him, or a new grief. It was also a selfish choice, for his own old heart.

It did make the few times he ran into and helped the new Overwatch agents a little awkward, trying to keep his identity a secret while checking in on them.

"What exactly do you do for fun?" he asked as he slung the pulse rifle back over his shoulder. For now, they needed to wait while the rest of the team snuck in and did the hard work. Jack and Reinhardt just had to keep the coast clear or nosey agents. "Can't imagine you're all playing scrabble in that base of yours."

@ovcrwctch liked for a starter!

[dimensionalspades]

TAG DROP: Soldier: 76

[dimensionalspades]

. The sudden appearance of the omnic downrange had Jack's heart slamming in his chest, muzzle dragged to the ground to keep any stray munitions from hitting @buildabuddha.

. There was a brief moment where he gathered his bearings, though he appeared impassive with the mask covering his face.

. "What the hell were you thinking?" He demanded, his voice sharp. Nerves still fired off in his arms and legs, creating an uneasy energy as he flipped the safety on and then let the heavy weapon power down. "You could've come around to me and talked." He ignored the monk's other comment, preferring, for the moment, to leave it alone. "What do you need?"

@dimensionalspades

the peaceful night is interrupted by the sound of gunfire: leaving a smoking bullet hole in the wood barely inches from zenyatta’s face.

he knew what he was getting himself into, standing between the veteran and their target: - but there was hesitation in the older man’s shots, so clearly it was getting to him.

「 ༀ - i understand if you are frustrated; but there are better ways to deal with them then target practice at 3 in the morning. 」

[dimensionalspades]

. "Appreciate it." There's a pause as he looked it over. "Is this one of yours? Feel like I've seen it before." He's putting it on either way, appreciating the warmth.

@dimensionalspades // ♥ [soldier]

"Oh-- it is nothing special! It's getting cold again; I thought you might appreciate something to keep you warm when I am not here!"

[dimensionalspades]

. If there was ever a constant in the universe in the months that they had been together, it was one persistent thought: Sigma deserved a better home. With so little to offer the man, he supposed just holding onto him would have to be enough until they could find some place to settle permanently. Hopefully somewhere he could build a garden, Sigma and Siebren could have-

Gods, he'd screamed in his own head when people would ask about his retirement when he was Strike-Commander, and yet now it was all he could think of when his mind wasn't consumed by the need to claw at Talon.

Rain pouring down, all he wanted was to curl up with Sigma and listen to it and the man's musings. He could truly listen to his thoughts for hours on end. Sure, he didn't understand a lick of it, but he enjoyed it all the same.

He's caught in his own thoughts when he feels the pull of Sigma's anomaly, allowing it to divest him of sopping wet outer layers. In his duffel bag was a blanket and some new supplies, and he held onto it, dragging it with him as he sank into Sigma's affections with a sigh and grateful smile.

"Cold as hell, yes, but happy to see you." He lifted a bag. "Brought a bunch of food just in case you stayed," he added with a grin, sitting down and leaning on Sigma as he set it in front of them. "Careful, I'm gonna melt on you." His chuckle was tired, sighing heavily. He was exhausted, but god, he was grateful for Sigma's presence.

@dimensionalspades // ♥ [jack]

                     Jack’s opportunistic retreats regularly drew a sobering degree of awareness to the weathered soldier’s situation. Rarely much more than a tactically advantageous position, a fleeting moment of cover in a maelstrom of strife, SIGMA finds them woefully subject to the location's temperatures every time he attempts to settle in for visitation. Despite this, however, he enjoyed the unpleasantness of it all– experiencing it with Jack. It was something to commiserate over, moments of what would have normally evoked complaint from the scientist made so meaningful through mutual discomfort.

Today seemed to be the worst in recent memory– he really shouldn’t have opted to stay, made apparent by the way the fickle, overcast sky had worsened, releasing a frigid, torrential downpour of rain just after Jack had slipped out in the earliest hours. But he had been so comfortable, left to doze so peacefully within the residual warmth left for him in Jack’s absence– leaving it much too easy for the old man to stubbornly power his holopad off to avoid any disturbances. By the time he bothers to properly awaken, several hours have been utterly wasted, surely, judging by the lack of light that filters through the disintegrating iron structures of the abandoned steelyard. Ice cold rain drums against the corroded alloy of the structure, spilling through various breaches of the rafters to collect within the sundry of receptacles set about in favor of keeping their sleeping area relatively dry– offering a rather comforting drone of background sound to cancel out some of the interference within his mind, while he clings to what little warmth remained within the shoddy bedding and undersized blanket.

                He really can’t imagine what it must be like when Jack’s here all alone. 

When the other returns, he’s sat cross-legged upon the makeshift bed, with the little blanket pulled tight around his shoulders in an effort to keep the worst of the chill out. “-- Ha! So you’ve returned…!” SIGMA chimes contentedly, limbs stiff and joints popping noisily as he lurches from his rigid position in an attempt to coax him towards himself. “Oh, you must be freezing!” He croons, using gravity to assist in the removal of the wetter outer layers of his clothing– and, once certain they’ve gotten Jack somewhat drier, at least, SIGMA almost immediately takes hold of the soldier’s frigid hands, rubbing and cupping them within his own gloved ones in an earnest attempt to quickly warm him. He doesn’t even bother asking about what may have been brought back– instead, he entirely preoccupies himself with accommodating the soldier; showing a degree of authoritative tenderness he didn’t often display.

                “... There. How is that…? Does that feel any better?” He coaxes further, opting to press the backs of the soldier’s broad knuckles to his cheek affectionately as his voice drops to a soft drone. “-- I would have had something warm prepared for you to drink, but, ah… Well, I thought it would be a waste of your resources to prepare it prematurely…! Would you like to sit down in the meantime, Jack…? My goodness– you must be utterly exhausted!”

[dimensionalspades]

. The way @apoapsis studied him would normally raise Jack's hackles, too unused to focus being laid on him without intent for violence- not unwarranted in many cases. And some of that instinct was there in the way his shoulders stiffened and his mask seemed to 'fixate' on Sigma. As if he were saying I've got my eye on you with body language alone.

. But he saw the way Sigma's gaze seemed to struggle to focus, and he relaxed that fraction again, internally chastising his vigilance against a man who had yet to injure him and was in such a bewildered state.

. The answer felt expected. Jack liked to think that after years of playing politician, he was good at reading people. And Sigma, for one, did not seem a man in love with violence. Jack would say that more readily of himself, and even he wasn't exactly married to it- simply, he recognized its need in many scenarios.

. He listened to Sigma, quiet as he let the other speak.

. At one time, Jack Morrison was just a farmer's son from the fringes of Bloomington. He wanted to do well in sports, get halfway decent grades, and stop a goat from charging him in the mornings- Jack was still sure Philip died with a grudge. At the time, the idea of harming someone else, much less killing them, was unthinkable.

. That boy still existed within Jack in some capacity. Lives were never taken lightly, and not at all if he could avoid it. As much violence as his hands could bring, Jack would prefer to do quite a few other things with them. He suspected that Talon was using the doctor, and though it was good to have confirmation, he wondered if that meant that Sigma wanted out. He didn't seem terribly happy. Not that Jack felt he could really do much for him at the moment. He wasn't really flush with resources.

. The admission drew his attention, Jack watching him through the glass of his mask.

'I would do very much for you' felt like weighty trust. Few did anything for him, much less wanted to. The notion of what Sigma could do for Jack made him wonder if there really was anything. He didn't have much in the way of information, it seemed, but Jack was more than happy to just talk, whether the conversation was shallow or deep.

. "Just talking is fine enough for me," Jack replied easily. "Don't exactly get to just sit and chat with anyone." The other part he wanted to echo, but it felt like it stuck in his throat. He had no intention of harming Sigma, and he couldn't think of too many scenarios that would make him- barring any occasion that Sigma did attempt to betray him or hand him over to Talon. "Don't... Have a reason to hurt you, either." The words tumbled out of him, clumsy and awkward.

                  He regards the soldier with a degree of curiosity, though in his current state, when he cocks his head to the side, it’s less of a head tilt, and more akin his head threatening to loll to one side as a result of his weakened muscles typically being supported by his gravity.

He looks a little awkward without his ANOMALY to articulate his body with grace.

                  It seemed too good to be true, that any one would take any interest in his well being after any stretch of time. SIGMA was beginning to learn that the hard way; how callously everyone seemed to treat each other, and with so little concern for one another, how little he finds is leftover for himself, who doesn’t even belong in this dimension. No one ever seemed to want him around. He could only ever be tolerated in such short bursts by anyone he comes into contact with-- it was as if everyone in the world had unanimously decided he was not welcome amongst them. Maybe it’s the delirium, but he really wanted to believe Jack. It’s evident in the way glassy, violet eyes stare through the soldier intently despite not being able to properly focus upon him. 

His reluctance to verbally label SIGMA as a threat doesn’t go unnoticed, either.

                  In fact, the accompanying question would have, perhaps under normal circumstances, caused tension; he didn’t like direct questions when he felt that his answer should be quite clear. And yet, when Jack asks this otherwise challenging question– it’s in an almost… rhetorical tone. When he asks, it’s with indifference, implying that they both already know the answer. It’s almost funny– could it have been a joke? A soft, weary chuckle bubbles up despite his migraine, SIGMA’S gaunt features briefly curling into a coy, Cheshire-like smile.

“-- Would you… believe me if I told you that I did not want to harm anyone…? … Hm. Most likely not– but I want to believe that I have put some degree of effort into staying transparent with you.”

                    “-- Ah, no. I have no desire to harm or otherwise interfere with you.”

At the very least, the more he talks, the easier it is to think.

                   “... I think, under better circumstances, we could have been friends, you and I-- I would have liked to call myself your friend.” SIGMA murmurs thoughtfully, wiping drying blood from his face with the collar of his jumpsuit once the worst of the damage is restored by the biotics. “-- TALON is… Well, it is the only home I have– but… They won’t talk to me like this. Ever… ever since leaving that terrible facility, all I’ve ever wanted to do is just talk to someone– a-and no one ever wants to listen.” He whispers bitterly, drawing in a slow, steadying breath to try and suppress the prickle of grief that stings his senses. “... They never tell me anything; I am always the last to know– if they decide to inform me of anything at all. … It’s very lonely.”

“-- I don’t understand the state of this world very well. It was very frightening to be shoved out into the middle of this conflict; twenty years of dreaming, only to be awoken to such a horrific reality. Whereas… In these little talks with you, I find myself beginning to glean visions of the bigger picture at last. Of things that TALON does not want me to know– answering questions that they did not want me to ask. I suppose... that I simply wish I had something of similar value to you I could offer.”

     “I would do very much for you, Mister Morrison-- I would never hurt you.”

[dimensionalspades]

. The thought was odd, Anubis having a heart and mind that was now in Jack's hands. Jack had assumed it was like others- the usual chips and nonstorage that so many other omnics ran off of. But this was different, and Jack paused as he looked everything over again, just to make sure he wasn't doing anything too fast.

. He followed instruction, careful as calloused hands tried to fit things back together as well as possible. At the first arc of electricity, he flinched back a few inches, ready for the sharp sting and burn of it. But it felt different, and he curiously looked at his hand.

. He leaned back out of the cockpit to where a small container had different tools. Grabbed some of the tape and some of the actual adhesive, he got back to work.

. "You sure this is strong enough? Don't want you getting dizzy mid-flight." For both their sakes. He worked nevertheless. "This is what powers everything, huh? Guess it makes sens traditional stuff wouldn't cut it."

The nexus is the core of his being. Having it vulnerable in the hands of an engineer is not a foolish action he will endure. Human distrust always led to tampering with such things. Only his pilot is allowed to even see it, let alone touch it.

ANUBIS tries to find words to explain it's importance.

"it is....my heart...and mind..."

The mech guides Jack through reconnecting the wires. But the torn ones were a problem. Electricity crackles and arcs out. But instead of shocking the man, it's more like a gentle caress. As if the core is acknowledging him and synching it's pulse with the his heart.

His system is capable of some self repair.

"reconnect....the cables...with... adhesive"

What did humans call it? Tape? The system should be able to deploy a few nanobots or melt the cables back together.

[dimensionalspades]

. Tending to a wound. Of course. He could do that. Jack could stitch and patch as well as his hands could move, but when faced with the remains of what the collapse of the base had done to him not physically, but...

. Jack could sew his face back together. He had.

. There's something there in the blood on the sink. Bone? No. Worse. In his red reflection he sees another man snarling at him-

. The old soldier gazed ahead into the darkness of Sigma's chest, feeling the man nearly coil around him. This time, it felt grounding; the man's jumpsuit against his cheek, the sensation of his hands gently dragging patterns into his back.

. Soothing.

. Soon, he was little more than dead weight as Sigma moved him, one eye shut against the fabric of Sigma's suit and the other staring at the lines of his cracked holotab screen. How long they remained, he had no clue, but it felt like hours of silence between blinks. Nevertheless, his breathing calmed, chest rising and falling in long, slow breaths; near boneless in the way he laid against Sigma.

. For once, Jack's mind was as silent as the room.

. His mouth was dry. It was the first real physical sensation he registered. Then, the ache in his back from being in one position so long. It was nice to hear his name.

. But then he was comfortable again, in a posture that they so easily fell into- whether it be naps or slumber, and Sigma was talking. It was comforting, hearing the man chatter. On his worst days, it grated on him, but on most, it was charming- a constant he appreciated. Here, it was very nearly what put him to sleep again, knowing the man was there and listening to him talk. Everything felt back in alignment, and Jack tilted his head up, one hand moving to tug Sigma's head down to kiss the doctor on on the lips.

. "I'll be alright. Thank you." And then he's holding Sigma tighter, inhaling deeply before he sighed it out and felt himself relaxing again.

@dimensionalspades // [x]

                   In all regards, the act of sharing a bed with another is a very new and very significant thing to SIGMA– just the same, however, came an unfamiliarity with the notion of rude awakenings as a result of nightmares triggering trauma responses. Sharing a bed with Jack was… complicated at best, a constant tightrope of never knowing when “enough” was enough, trying to wait as patiently as possible for Jack to direct this unusual arrangement at his own, comfortable pace. How small SIGMA attempts to make himself when granted the honor of nighttime companionship, despite his immense size in comparison to the soldier. Maybe it was a result of the close proximity, but when SIGMA had awakened, there wasn’t any immediate indication of what had disturbed him– only the residual, unusually strong sense of anxious dread within the pit of his stomach; an awful wave of malaise that saturates and soaks his very core. Upon discovering that Jack was already awake, however– seeing the haunted look in his eyes– had perturbed him further. 

Then, it had all clicked into place. 

                 An initial refusal to come closer, to even utter a sound in reply to SIGMA, prompts him to speak up for Jack– yet the words that follow are, as always, so very genuine, as he only references his closest assumption, the closest approximation, of what others appeared to be experiencing in the moment. He projects only in an effort to understand, and the way his gentle observation makes the hardened operative, the legendary Jack Morrison, appear to momentarily freeze in place, tells him that he mustn't be that far from the truth. 

“-- I, ah… I know it may not always seem like it– but it is better to endure these moments… tenderly. It is like… tending to a wound. It is okay to acknowledge that the wounds still hurt– even after all this time.” He coaxes, entwining his large body around Jack in a blatantly protective manner, his broad arms coiling around him to ground him by securing him to himself– to his chest, to avoid potentially unwanted eye contact. He’s prepared to release the moment Jack indicates displeasure– but the lack of disapproval encourages him to keep him ensnared… at least until SIGMA could tell that he felt better. “You don’t have to say a word about it to me– it will pass if you give it the chance to.” Comes the deep, gentle, dream-like lilt of his voice from against Jack’s shoulder as he sits up with the other man. 

              And he leaves it at that, opting instead for a slightly more tactile approach as gloved hands rub and trace circles against Jack’s broad, heaving shoulders and occasionally brush slender digits through his hair. Reclining back against the wall behind the bed, SIGMA gently pulls Jack along with him, allowing the soldier to sit tucked between his narrow thighs as he continues to stroke and soothe him. Rarer still, he says absolutely nothing at all, not a sound leaving the doctor as he does what he knows best in an attempt to comfort him through it. It’s well over an hour into his efforts that Jack appears to finally begin to calm, his breathing gradually evening out, as well as the mutually shared knotting of dread in his own stomach begins to dissipate, denoting a marked improvement in comparison to moments prior.

“-- There is nothing to apologize for, Jack.” SIGMA chuckles in an involuntarily fond tone, tracing the patterned swirl of the other’s hair with one of his gloved digits– although when Jack appears to feel well enough to nestle himself into the crook of his shoulder, he shifts a little to lie back down and allow him to make himself as comfortable as possible while slowly massaging the tension in the back of his neck with delicate fingertips. 

                  It’s rare for him to use Jack’s name so casually– yet in that moment, it’s uttered in the most delicate, tender way. The simple act of him casting his arm over SIGMA’S chest made him practically radiate with delight, a sense of accomplishment filling him at the notion that Jack appeared to be doing better than the state he’d discovered him in.  Or, at the very least, Jack had felt well enough to begin masking it again– which was also fine with him. He wanted him to feel comfortable– even if that meant having to go out of his own comfort zone or stand aside to allow him to re-erect his emotional barriers, he could remain patient. 

“... If you wish to stay up a little longer, I would not be opposed to offering you my company– i-if you need someone right now, I mean…” SIGMA murmurs, stroking the palm of his hand up and down the other agent’s back affectionately. “It is… It is okay to not feel okay. I understand that emotions can often be… overwhelming at times– I struggle with mine more than most!” His opposing hand lifts from the bed, depositing itself upon Jack’s outstretched arm assuringly, giving his forearm a gentle squeeze. 

                “... Can I get you anything…?”

[dimensionalspades]

. He knew. perhaps not the exact same as her, but he knew. He remembered issues coming up as Strike-Commander, wanting to scream and talk about those issues with others but being bound by law and confidentiality.

. He had wanted to explode on too many occasions, lambast politicians and strategists out of earshot but he had followed rules, unwilling to put his people in any danger of repercussion for something as simple as impulse control.

. But now he was curious about her, about this issue. He couldn't say Sombra was his favorite person (he didn't know her well enough for that, and he was never rid of the feeling that she was speaking down to him on more than a couple occasions), but he at least cared about her well-being from the standpoint of counting her as a tentative ally.

. "Yeah," he finally said when he was sure she wasn't going to continue. After the thanks, he shifted just a bit. "I don't mind," he added after a moment. There was a pause, hesitant to speak again, but curiosity ate at him like an untended wound. "Mind if I ask what it is?" He assumed she did mind, but 'nothing ventured, nothing gained'.

"I don't know." She's looking very intently at her shot glass and there's a queer smile on her expression. She really doesn't know what even possessed her to bring this up, when it's so fucking dangerous. That moment just sixteen years ago now when she saw how small she was, how pathetic - her hubris.

Teenagers and the silly, silly notion that they're immortal and that they know it all. How it ruined her life so utterly that now, here she was, 32 years old dropping the vaguest of hints to a man who had more than enough of his fair share of demons.

The hacker shakes her head, drinks more of the liquid that burns like fire all the way down her esophagus. "Es que... you know sometimes shit weighs on you and you can't really say much but if you don't say something, it feels like you're going to scream? It's something like that." Her smile grows and it doesn't quite reach her eyes, but hey, it's something. "No te preocupes. I got it handled. But thanks for listening anyway. You didn't have to."