β₯ βββΒ π‘πππ₯ ππππ§π ππ«π£ππ₯πππ‘πππ¦ ππ’Β Β strange things to the brain βΈΊ not the fear of death, but the genuine loom of it, coming towards you like an oncoming train with nothing between you and it, and you've got your foot broken and twisted around the tracks in a way that definitely won't come loose before it splatters you across them and grinds you into more pieces than anyone should be seen in; that moment, right before the train makes contact, you're free. clipped, damaged in ways that can never fully be repaired, but free. yeah, that's the shit that fucks with you, especially when every year you live past forty-five comes as a surprise. that's the shit that makes you come out of it realizing just how much shit you'd regret not setting right, how much shit shouldn't be left unsaid or only implied. that's the kind of shit that will have you calling your partner of almost seventeen years and telling him something the old, unchanged you thought was fine never being said. the kind of shit that will have you implying shit with those words you don't want to think about but can never cut off quickly enough.
Β Β Β aiden hadn't meant to frighten jordi. aiden hadn't even realized he had, that his well-meant silent promise to himself to be more open and transparent with himself, with the people he cares about, could have been received so poorly, read any differently than how he'd meant it. not until jordi arrived on wrench's doorstep, silent with the kind of fury that aiden has long since come to recognize as worry, but it had been dialed up to ten: what could have only been fear. aiden doesn't know if he's ever seen jordi afraid. he's seen jordi annoyed, pissed, murderous, furious, concerned, apprehensive, serious β¦ but fear ? no, that one was new to him, even after all these years, even after fucking dc βΈΊ and the guilt that followed wrapped around aiden's shoulders like an embrace from old friend.
Β Β Β in his own quiet that came after the call had ended and lingered long after wrench started talking to him about nothing ( he may have been introducing all of his robot 'children', now that he thinks about it ), aiden caught himself wondering, not for the first time, when jordi will finally decide he's had enough. of aiden, of his recklessness, of his natural draw to danger and magnetism for trouble, even when he wasn't looking for it. he wonders what, then, would he have done, if jordi had understood and taken any of the outs aiden had laid out for him by implication alone: the altercation at the lighthouse, the silence between it and their reunion in san francisco, their half-hearted goodbye in that cramped storage container before everything at the capitol had gone to shit β¦ that i love you days, hours before that may have had a much younger jordi pumping the breaks on everything they were. would he have stayed in london ? kept in touch with jackson and found a way to reconnect with nicky ? gone back to chicago and been miserable and alone, like he'd been so long ago ? would jordi have even called back to end things, or would he have just let the silence speak for him ?
Β Β Β but laying here now, with jordi warm and solid and steady under his cheek and his scent familiar in his nose, after he'd been dragged to a safehouse, looked over by a jordi-approved medical professional, cleaned and tucked into bed, aiden once again finds himself heavy and buzzing with that same feeling of different-ness that he'd had when he'd woken up from that coma, and once again, his lips had spoken a truth he'd once told himself would never leave his mind.
Β Β Β in some ways, jordi's response isn't unexpected; aiden is well aware of the discrepancy between how he views himself and how jordi views him, between how aiden's mind believes jordi must feel about him and how jordi truly feels about him, spoken or otherwise. even so, aiden still finds a knot somewhere in his chest loosening at the jordi-esque reassurance, but the laugh he lets out isn't quite as steady as he'd like. he'll just blame it on the chest wound. chest wounds. Β Β Β βΒ Β don't remember hitting my head on my way down, but i've had plenty of other concussions before then that might account for that.Β Β Β βΒ Β
β₯ βββΒ Β don't think about it. don't think about nicky, don't think about the sunken cost fallacy of time, or the fact that it means nothing when someone is a life-threatening risk. this is jordi. if anyone can fit into this bullshit existence i call a life and be fine, it's jordi. jordi is not nicky. jordi is not jackson. and jordi sure as fuck isn't lena.
Β Β Β βΒ Β i just woke up from the longest nap of my life, jordi. sleep isn't really the highest priority on my to-do list right now.Β Β Β β
