#please just kill me im sorr i tried im sorry i failed

[youngterranort]

you were right you were right you were right you were right you were right you were right you were right you were right you were right you were right you were right

[overdrivels]

hnnghdh here we go. im embarrassed ;; Your breath hitches, and you know your shock is expressed on your face when Jesse's face changes too. You turn away from him suddenly, surprised by how much his words stung. "Right, well," you bite out, ashamed out how your voice wavers slightly, "I'll just go, then." (1/2)

You hear McCree call your name but you’re already out the door, heading quickly to your room. Jesse feels dread settle heavy in his gut, wanting so badly to apologize. Whether it’s his pride or his shame, however, keeps him from seeking you out for three days, until he can’t stand not being around you anymore, hearing your voice or seeing your smile. He doesn’t care anymore, he’ll beg you for you to come back if he’ll have to. (2/2)

Communication

“Listen to me, Jesse!” you shout, nearly hitting a a cabinet when you swing your hand out. “You can’t keep using Deadeye like that. It wasn’t made to support that sort of recklessness.”

“And I’ll use it however the hell hell I damn well please,” he shoots back just as harshly. You could see his eye twitch violently and his face wince in pain, and you suck in a breath, cold fear gripping your chest for just a moment before a hot wash of anger takes it over.

“Look at you, you can barely look me in the face!”

“I’m lookin’ at you just fine.”

You have to resort to pleading, anger giving way to desperation. “Please, Jesse. Let me do my maintenance on it. Your optical nerves and the rest of your body can’t handle this right now.”

“It’s workin’ fine.” 

It isn’t, it’s consuming far too many resources for its function and is creating an undue strain on Jesse’s body. He’ll be without sight in his eyes for a couple of days, but it’s not like he has a mission or anything. You didn’t know why he was being so stubborn about it. Just the same way he doesn’t understand why you wouldn’t stop nagging–it’s happened before and has always gone away. A minor glitch from a piece of older, but still reliable, technology. Upgrades has always caused him more bad than good–too many bugs and unknowns, and the adjustment period was awlays far too troublesome. No, he’d rather stay with its current state.

“Jesse, you’re going to get killed like this! What if it breaks down in the middle of a fight or it short-circuits? Just let me–”

“Well, if y'didn’t install it so shittily, we wouldn’t be havin’ this conversation, now would we?” The words shot out of him faster than a bullet, and he didn’t even have time to regret it–his ma always told him that he runs his mouth too much. He could only watch it all fall apart.

Your breath hitches, and you know your shock is expressed on your face when Jesse’s face changes, too. You turn away from him suddenly, surprised by how much his words stung.

“Right, well,” you bite out, ashamed at how your voice waves slightly, “I’ll just go then.”

You hear McCree call your name, but you’re already out the door, heading quickly to your room. Jesse feels dread settle heavy in his gut, wanting so bad to apologize. Whether it’s his pride or his shame, however, keeps him from seeking you out for three days until he can’t stand not being around you anymore, hearing your voice, or seeing your smile. He doesn’t care anymore, he’ll beg you for your to come back if he’ll have to.

Jesse has an apology ready in the back of his mind when he tries to find you, but you’re nowhere to be found. Not in your room, not in the lab where you’ve made your second home, not even with Winston, whom you were usually bouncing ideas off of. When he inquires about your whereabouts, Winston, unsurprisingly has an answer for him.

“Off base at the moment. I was wondering when you’d come ask.”

Jesse bristles, either because he’s offended that you told Winston and not him or because the information was withheld from him for so long, he’s not sure. “What d’you mean, ‘off base’? We had an appointment.”

It wasn’t a lie, but between your fight with him and when it was made, he’s not sure if it still stood. With your work ethic, he’d at least expect you to send him a message or something to cancel it, not run off like a petulant child who didn’t get their way. Admittedly, he was being far too harsh, but that’s why he’s here–to rectify what he’s wronged.

Winston tilts his head in acknowledgement, “I’m sorry to hear that, McCree, but as you can see…”

He lets his sentence trail off, gesturing to the globe that had an arrow with your name and picture on it, hovering over Los Angeles–of all places.

“Why Los Angeles?” he finds himself asking more urgently than he means to.  Luckily, the scientist doesn’t notice or does not comment on it. Winston purses his lips together, curling a thoughtful hand around his chin and looks up at the ceiling like the answer will drop from it.

“I believe it was something about procuring some parts and tools.” He waves a hand around the sparse room of computer equipment and failed experiments. “As you know, shipping here isn’t an option. It’d be nice, if we could.”

It’s selfishness that makes his heart swell a little and think that you’ve gone to get the items you needed to improve and adjust his Deadeye even though he vehemently refused it. However, it’s self-loathing that makes his gut clench and chase away any warm feelings of adoration he may have had, and makes him think that you did it to get away from him.

“Though, we haven’t had any contact in days,” Winston muses, unaware of Jesse’s internal dilemma. “It might be a connectivity issue, but…” A cold stone drops into Jesse’s stomach, he doesn’t like the way the gorilla trails off, thick eyebrows knitedt together in confusion. “But I’m sure it’s nothing.”

The tendrils of dread resurface, snaking up his back, and curling tight around his chest and gut, strangling his voice. “Since when?”

The time it takes the scientist to answer kills him, and his leg is already starting to shaking, jostling up and down like it does when he’s impatient.

“It must have been three days now.”

Three days. You must’ve left right after your fight. It makes him uneasy to think that no one has heard anything from you in days. You were only angry with him. It’s not like you to cut off communications with the rest of the team as well. Something inside him lurches violently, twisting and turning, and the world spins, tossing him around and around like it’s toying with him as his mind spirals down into the path of infinite possibilities.

Maybe you’ve shut off communications so he couldn’t contact you? Your communication device broke? Maybe you’re partying and having way too much fun to check in? What if that’s not it, it’s much worse than that? What if you’re hurt somewhere? What if you’ve been kidnapped and couldn’t find a way to communicate with anyone? What if–

“Hey, Winston?”

Your voice cuts through the room like lightning. Both he and Winston call your name in unison–the timing is impeccable, and at least that easts his fear that something has happened to you, but you don’t respond to their voices.

“I need you–I need you to just…just listen me, okay? Just listen.” You’re breathing hard and shallow, and Jesse could hear the desperate whispering that you try to keep light and nonchalant, but it’s a poor disguise. The tone of your voice makes his heart seize. His eye, the one with Deadlock installed into it, aches something fierce like it’s mocking him.

“Agent, are you all right?” asks Winston, clearly concerned and already lumbering over to a terminal. Again, you don’t acknowledge him. You keep talking without pause, the words that tumble from your lips fall faster and faster.

You must have muted them.

“LA is a fucking mess, a mess right now. Listen, just listen,” you repeat. It’s almost as though you were trying to calm your own self rather than actually trying to get anyone on the other side to hear you. “I–I’m in a bad spot. Went back to my old place to get some tech, right?” They can hear you shuffling around carefully in the back, the sound of some whirring in the background.

“Agent! Acknowledge us!” With a huff and a few keystrokes, Winston turns to another terminal. “Athena!”

But Jesse is focused on your voice, can almost see you in his mind’s eye, probably crouched down in a run down building–the same one you showed him in your pictures as you’re both curled up on the bed, excitedly recalling the memories you’ve had in that place: your first augmentation implementation, your work on him when he had just run away from Blackwatch, your apprenticeship. He loathed to think that you were fearful in a place you always spoke so fondly of.

“And then there were fucking–shit. Ah, shit.” There’s the sound of strange beep, and sharper whirring of machinery. The sound of your footsteps on metal resounds clearly through the audio, and Winston works harder on whatever he’s doing. You’re running, not even bothering to whisper anymore, almost shouting, no longer pretending that you weren’t scared or panicking.

“Tell him, tell Jesse–tell him I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I’m not–I was wrong. I shouldn’t have pushed. Now I’m in this situation–don’t come. Don’t come here. Just, please–please tell him I’m sorr–motherFU–no, no, NO. Not like this! Not–”

The communication cuts off.