He was feeling the effects of the concussion and the whiskey and it was exhausting. His body felt like lead. If he pushed, he could move, but the notion of doing so was almost nauseating. He listened to McCree speak, trying to muddle what he was saying through the way his brain seemed to flicker in and out of real comprehension.
He mentioned the whiskey and Jack frowned behind the mask, brows furrowing. Perhaps if he had declined he could have gone with him- but potential friendly sabotage aside, he was in no condition to be running around, that was for certain.
He grunted, finally. He thought. And then he sighed.
“Fine.” And then Jesse was… reminiscent and quiet and that part of him he wasn’t sure he was comfortable with. He still talked more than enough for both of them, a trait Jack belatedly remembered Gabriel commiserating about in his younger days- perhaps Jesse handled silences well but he did fill them when he felt it. It was when he was quieter, thoughtful, that Jack found concerning.
He was talking about him. A version of himself dead and gone and buried in ceremony in Virginia. He sank into the chair, staring ahead. A good man. It was hard to believe some still thought of him as such. So many months before the explosion he remembered only vitriol spewed at his person. Public outrage any time some bullshit was brought up about him. Every aspect of his life questioned, every movement scrutinized. It drowned out the positivity. Ana had disappeared, Gabriel rarely talked to him except to argue, and everyone else stepped back to steer clear of his and Reyes’ conflicts.
He’d felt alone- cut off in the ivory tower of headquarters trying to solve things by himself. Sometimes he wondered if he’d gone mad in those days.
“Sounds like an unfortunate man,” he murmurs. “I’ll take you up on another whiskey. Should be outta your hair by the end of the night.”
“Oh no y’don’t old geezer. You’re stayin’ till you ain’t gonna keel over. That being a till morning at least. I’m tellin’ ya to rest while I go huntin’ down the last of the Talon bastards who came ruining my good mood. You’re keepin’ your ass here. Got me old timer?” The younger joked as he pushed himself up and fixed the hat over his head again.
“I’ll be back hopefully. But if I ain’t that means m’dead or captured and if that’s the case then you can get yourself out of here. Don’t come thinkin’ ‘bout savin’ me. I ain’t worth the shot.” Jesse muttered, picking up his holster from the table and strapping it back on, then checking out his Peacekeeper for the firefight he knew he’d be going in for.
“I saved your life Soldier. Don’t screw it up by puttin’ yourself back in the fray before you even finished healing.”
With that he shoved his pistol into his holster and started moving for the door. “Beds in the back, whiskey’s on the table for ya. Get some rest and if you’re feelin’ healthy enough, get out of town. Don’t worry if you ain’t seein’ me again when you wake up.” The Cowboy opened the door to his little hideout and gave the elder man a small wave goodbye. “Catch ya ‘round partner.” Jess winked and left, shutting the door behind himself.
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