jack's never been the model standard for handling moments of emotional intensity — maybe if they were angry, but even then, timothy himself has never exactly had a love of firing guns or throwing punches. that restraint isn't just indicative of his blood lust, though, or lack thereof. he holds his cards close to his chest, always ... he never liked showing his weaker sides, even if everyone pegged him to be weak entirely from that restraint ; plenty of people throughout his life have underestimated, the ai standing before him just harbors the mind of the last person who had. quiet, unassuming, pathetic ' timtams ' in all his gentler glory. crouching down with his face buried in his arms is the most he thinks jack's ever seen him express some of his deeper inner turmoil ... he'd had his moments, rare as they were, but the tender - if - stoic mask he wore had been every bit a wall as the other's fury. no one's okay all the time. he's no exception. even as jack crouches down in front of him to try soothing his ... panic ? attack, if one could even call it that, he just lets out another half - hearted laugh muffled 'gainst the layers of his hoodie sleeves. there aren't many people in this world jack would've coddled even alive. now he has a simulacrum desperately trying to do just that. special enough to love, he supposes — but not to trust.
timothy does lift his head to placate the other's more emotional urging, and even though there's plenty wet along his eyes, he still isn't crying. at what point does it become ' emotional constipation ' as claptrap had so lovingly coined his bottled agonies? "athena didn't agree to help for your sake, jack. she tried to talk me out of it the entire time. i'm pretty sure you're, like, her second least favorite person in this entire star system. i just happen to be her second favorite." it's a joke, even if a poorly told one when his voice is so wobbly. his smile is still lopsided, like he purposefully is aiming for jack's ego. he can be a brat, sometimes, when he wants to be. even then, it comes a little too soft. "she helped because she's my friend, and because i asked her to. she didn't need more convincing than that ... "
not like it was all that hard, once they'd locked down whose head he'd ended up in. they've got a pretty good track record ' traveling impossible lengths across the world hot on the tail of myths ' ... think being a vault hunter might've actually saved his ass. and jack's. he doesn't voice that part, because he has no idea the mental state he's in, even as an ai, but he thinks a stark reminder of the reason they're both in this mess might do more harm than good.
still. there's no denying the level of b.s. pulling this off had required. he's looking at the holo's likeness as if he's the entire universe. right then, he kinda is. seeing a plan like this slowly come to fruition is ... intense. not being able to reach out for him is torture. it makes the both of them a real pathetic scene to look at, crouched down fumbling after each other. by time timothy finally raises his lucky hand again, he has to stop himself mid - way while reaching for him. instead, he just draws it back to run his fingers through his hair. makes a mess of it. pulls at it, too. all his frustration and elation in equal measure, slipping 'tween his grip.
"you told him someone was coming? rhys? ... you thought i was coming for you?" there's a note, however subtle, of disbelief in his voice. he stares at him with brows furrowing, at first, like he's a bit annoyed ... but the longer he lets that silence drag on, the more his features start to soften again. "i don't understand you sometimes. you believed i'd come for you, but you didn't — you didn't trust i wanted to save you? jack ... " his hands both raise now, covering his face again as he lets out a long, tormented sigh. dragging them down his face is a bit more dramatic in this instance, hands folding at the bottom of his face to remain cupped over his mouth. he's still blinking back unshed tears, but he has to look away from him for a moment. he's not ... angry. that's not it. it's just — ... well. it doesn't really matter now, does it? it's already happened. "i'll always fight for you." in the end, he settles with that, and as he does, he slowly shifts to sit down 'pon the floor properly. his legs cross. "until it's my turn to die one of these days, i guess."
he's trying to keep his breathing slow and steady, eyes closing for a moment so he can drag his palms along his eyes again. he's long lost any awareness of feeling the scarring 'long his face, but he feels a mite more self - conscious trying to tuck away stray strands of hair into the small tie at the back of his head. his temple's still tender, too. there's a headache lingering, damn bad one too, but ... guess he's just used to it, dealing with the subtlety of being in pain all the fucking time. when he peeks his eyes open again, he's not even surprised to see jack had drifted ... uh, glitched? closer to him. boundless energy as ever, too. can't decide whether to be curious or worried, it seems. his smile returning is, as expected, a bit weak.
"admittedly kind of funny watching you not know if you want to interrogate me or comfort me. almost makes the agony of the last twenty - four hours worth suffering just to see you squirming." he means it lightheartedly, not rudely. that's clear in how much his eyes have softened. he hides his pain well, but jack's not wrong. he feels like shit. "it's fine. to be, uh, to be honest, i think talking is helping me deal with the — the transition? yeah, that, it's helping me deal with it. it's just, i ... jack, you don't know how long i've been looking for you. i mean — for this ai, right? nakayama stole it right from under me, i'd been trying to track that prick down for months. how was i supposed to know he'd get himself killed and stuffed in some fucking nowhere — ... this planet. i hate pandora." not usually so vindictive, is he? cut him some slack, the way he gestures with his hands flexing 'gainst his frustration speaks volumes for the shit he's gone through. "but, hey, you know, never kill yourself. never back down never what, etcetera."
the last doppelgänger standing ... and it's for a reason. however much he buries down, even his complaints sound vaguely wilted, his attention pulling to his lap as he gently tugs on the strings pulling off his sleeves. his hair falls back in his face, the loose parts, but he doesn't even pay mind to it, his expression constantly shifting 'tween on the verge of tears and helpless laughter. he feels ... disgustingly vulnerable right now. what a mess his head must make, he'd hate to be the outsider trapped in it. "i'm okay, jack. i mean ... no, i'm really not, actually, but i've kinda never been okay, like, ever, so ... i'm more okay than i usually am. i'm just ... i'm really happy to hear your voice again. or, uh, to see you? kind of. i know it's not really the same, but you've been ... " his nose scrunches. no. he can't be too specific. "it's such an empty galaxy without you in it."
everyone else wants to forget him, even if they can't. jack had left quite the stain on the universe, but oh, they did try. hyperion had torn his face down wherever they could, pandora had brutalized and mocked it, even down to the last doppelgängers locked away in the jackpot, so he'd heard. he would've suffered the same, had he not been ... such an exception. not many in the company had been afforded the luxuries and freedoms he had, towards the end. his social circle granted him such ironic privileges. he's sitting here with the man who'd started and grown that privilege — he doesn't know what all he'll lose bringing the devil back from hell, so to speak. very few know what he's up to. those who do wouldn't ever implicate themselves ; except one. timothy's gaze lifts to meet jack's own, lip 'tween his teeth as he seems to fall silent in contemplation. he can't tell him the whole truth. god forbid anything happen, he'd run his mouth before his brain could catch up.
"you're the last ... piece of jack. figuratively speaking. a body's one thing, and you had hundreds of them from yourself to the doppelgänger program — but a body doesn't ... make a person. the mind does. or the soul, the heart, whatever you want to call it ... " he's fidgeting, leg bouncing in physical manifestation of his anxiety. he starts talking with his hands, quick motions 'tween the two of them. "look, it's ... there's a lot to talk about, okay? i don't think right here, right now is the best way to go about it, but i ... have the body. a body. but that's just, you know ... that's just one part. i needed ... " he gestures again, abstractly in jack's direction, " — you. you were the contingency. the backup of everything both john and jack are ; your memories, your personality, every accomplishment or failure and every heartbreak ... without them, it doesn't matter how much a person looks like you, they're just an imitation with your dna."
he would know, better than most people. even the doppelgängers who had been perfect at their job had always lacked something ... miniscule details, sometimes, but just enough for anyone intimately familiar with handsome jack to catch onto. there are precious few people who qualify to be in that group — he's the only one alive who's left, which seems a concerning trend in many of his circles. timothy's confidence falters the longer he speaks, though such is his nature rather than lack of faith in his plan. he'd made it this far, he would see it through. he looks back down to his lap, though. "so long as you're still here, jack still has a chance. if i can get us both back where i need to go without getting us killed ... " easier said than done, but it isn't his first adventure. he'd always said he didn't want to live a chaotic, violent life ... he preferred romance, and whimsy. the world's never been kind to him. his voice chokes up again, " ... i can save you, if you would just trust me."
