Pure, exuberant relief trickled down the entirety of Alistair’s body knowing that nothing terrible had come from the event that just happened. Something that spurred on a fragment of hope, but he pushed it down and out. He wasn’t going to get his hopes up again over something like that. After a moment he let out a long, quiet breath and turned to smile at his friend as he spoke. “To be fair, I never once thought that any of these things were real and could help. I only had them because I loved the stories behind them. But it’s good, you know? I don’t feel like the only one with training wheels here, running around in this new world,” he said, scratching at his ear to distract from his bashfulness. And from the fact that he couldn’t stop staring at a blushing Jordan. “I’m glad you didn’t really hide it from me. And you never have to.”
“You mean, kind of like people carrying around a lucky penny or a rabbit’s foot?” Jordan asked. Simply superstitions. He liked the way the charm felt, though. It was warm. He was beginning to think it had some actual merit to it. Maybe it wasn’t so much the charm it self, but how it was made or gifted that made it work. He heard mountain ash was the same way. One had to believe it worked in order to completely seal a barrier. Of course, Jordan just burned through the stuff anyway; that had been an eye opener for the others. He didn’t realize the significance of it until he saw how much Scott’s pack depended on the ash for safety. He now tried not to burn through it anymore. “I... hide a lot of myself,” he admitted slowly. There was so much about him that Alistair didn’t know, that he wanted Alistair to know. But their friendship was so new, and Jordan worried too much at once would scare him away. “So!” He clapped, eager to change the subject. “When do we get these cinnamon rolls in the oven? I’m hungry.”
“It’s a work in progress, it takes t-time.” She states and nods her head at his next question, eyes catching where his own eyes glance over to her legs. With a small laugh, she shakes her head. “No, mermaids are much better than Sirens, and we don’t have to always live in the water. Sirens lure people in with their voice, kill and then..feed. I don’t like being one, but it’s not something that I can change.”
Jordan nodded, knowing a little of how she felt. Although he didn’t openly kill anyway. Just covered up dead bodies and hid evidence--two things he strongly opposed as a police officer. “I can’t change what I am, either,” he said with a shrug. “I just have to learn to make the best of it. This is off the record. I will not arrest you for it. But has the Siren ever killed anyone? I ask because if so, that is a heavy weight to carry for someone so young. But there are some in Beacon Hills who are less forgiving... and they won’t see your human side. Only your siren side.”
"Consent issues a mile long?” Jordan asked, his voice soft. Derek didn’t like talking about his nightmares. Who knew if he wanted to open up about what that statement meant. Jordan had to admit, Derek might have looked a little pitiful, trying in vain to reach his erection. It was strong enough to hold the towel up without bending back against his stomach after all. Jordan shot a glance at the kitchen, sighed, then turned back to the bed. A strong part of him wanted to know what Derek felt like under his palm. He wasn’t supposed to have those kinds of feelings for his friend so he squashed them down somewhere. So long as Derek thought this was something friends did together, he’d be fine... right? Bros being bros. He crawled into the bed and lie on his side next to Derek, propping himself up on one elbow. He removed the towel and winced. It looked almost painful. “You’re my friend,” he said, bringing his gaze back up to Derek’s face. “One of my only ones. And I owe you a favor, don’t I?” his lips curled up into a smile even though he was blushing. “Who knows, maybe this will help you sleep and sleeping will speed up the healing process.”
For a moment Alistair let himself feel the warmth of Jordan’s skin under his own, wishing that it could last much longer than it did. It had was the first time he’d been close enough to smell him. Some mixture of soap, aftershave, and a fireplace that somehow worked in his favor. But he got distracted, and Jordan’s voice pulled him out of it just before he lingered a little too long. Alistair pulled away, letting go of him as his heart began to race. Jordan’s voice peaked a little and suddenly the book keeper regretted doing anything like that. He’d made him uncomfortable. “Uhm, ahem,” he said, clearing his throat as he moved to the other counter and began cutting the cinnamon bread into thinner rolls, “So yeah, no problem. Just, uh, keep at it.” Thankful that he had something else to focus on for a moment, Alistair set about placing the rolls on his cookie sheet. But the thought of what just happened wouldn’t leave his mind, leaving a dark pit of worry roiling in his gut. “So, when you get your juice back, maybe you could help me again and show me the butter trick?” he tried to sound aloof, like there was nothing wrong with whatever it was they just shared but he couldn’t stop the hopeful tone in his voice. Silently he prayed that he hadn’t just ruined this friendship or his place here in Beacon Hills.
Jordan continued to stir, probably far too slowly. He couldn’t help but to chance a few side glances in Alistair’s direction as he busied himself with the rest of the baking. He knew it would take a long time for the blush to go away, so he hung his head low, as if that would somehow help. He had to remind himself he wasn’t in the army anymore. He was a civilian. He was in California of all places. But old habits died hard and as much as he wanted to turn around and tell Alistair... what? That he was sorry for being awkward? That the help was welcome? No, it was better to keep quiet. When Alistair mentioned the butter truck, Jordan perked up a little. Although honestly, he felt like he could melt a whole stick of butter on his face. “Yeah, I’ll show you, no problem.” Of course, that insinuated he was going to get his powers back, no matter what. And he wasn’t one hundred percent sure of that. He licked his fingers clean, but went to the sink to wash his hands anyway. “Although to be honest, I only recently found out about being a hellhound. Within the past year. I’m still learning about what I can and can’t do. There’s a chance I might burn down your kitchen. I’m new to the whole um... supernatural world. You already have charms and books at your disposal, at least... I’m sorry you had to find out like you did. I can’t always hide it... you know?” Just like he couldn’t always hide his obvious blush. He was actually thankful for his cold hands for once as he placed them on his heated face.
“Well, I know you’ll heal,” Jordan said, exasperated. “But concussions are still serious and don’t put you in the right frame of mind. You could do something you might regret.” Like wiggling an erection around in front of me, Jordan finished in his head. He cleared his throat at Derek’s next question, heading back to the bathroom to wash his hands and take off outer layer of clothing seeing as it was covered in blood. Another trip to the dry cleaners. It was a good thing blood on a uniform never raised any questions. “Yeah, well,” he began, swallowing thickly and leaning against the doorframe. He watched Derek strain uselessly on the bed unintentionally admiring his physique... then he had to remind himself that Derek was also one of Jordan’s closest friends. Derek probably thought Jordan was weird, now. “I don’t advertise it out of habit.” Now he felt strange for suggesting it and was blushing profusely. “If it’s too personal, I can always just.. put a movie on or something.. and give you a blanket. When you get the feeling back you can take care of it. I’ll just.. be in the kitchen. Making lots of tea.”
“Sorry, I think that I can be rather blunt.” She makes a face, only to quickly look back up at the compliment, an involuntary blush appearing on her cheeks, but she just laughs softly and licks her lips. “Er, n-no that is not how I got their attention.” Anastasia tilts her head slightly and nods. “I mean, they were in danger by being under the yuki-onna’s control and were putting others in danger as well. I’m a Siren, I can lure people in with the sound of my singing voice.”
“Blunt is good sometimes,” Jordan said. “I beat around the bush far too often, when I really should be blunt. I’m working on it.” His brows furrowed as he listened to her clarification. He didn’t know people could be Sirens. Then again, he didn’t know people could be werewolves. Or angels. Or anything in between. “A siren like... in the Greek myths?” Jordan asked. His own mythology was mostly Norse. “I thought they were mermaids.” Quite without intending to, he looked down at her legs, then blushed at his forwardness and pulled his eyes back up.
“I’m sure he just wanted what was best for you. He just wasn’t ready for ‘what was best’ to change from how he was raised,” Alistair said simply, shrugging a shoulder as he rolled the cinnamon dough and let it sit before coming back around to Jordan, “Part of what makes use all so unique. The times change, whether we want them to or not.” He wasn’t usually in the market to go on about people, especially ones he didn’t know. But he was ever the optimist. And he thought that whoever the man was that raised Jordan Parrish couldn’t be that bad. A little behind the times, maybe, but a good man none-the-less. Alistair laughed, shaking his head as he wiped down the counter and got more of the ingredients ready. “Strength, I imagine, that comes from being a Hellhound. I should count myself lucky you didn’t break my spoon,” he teased as he poured the parts into the bowl once more, “You just have to be gentle. Take your time, but keep a firm hand. Here…” He moved behind Jordan, moving his arms around him and wrapping his hands around the officer’s. He guided his motions to tilt the bowl slightly and slowly move his other arm in a stirring motion. His warmth radiated over them as he held onto his hands, showing him the ropes. “See? Just like that,” Alistair said right next to his ear, only to turn his head and realize just what he was doing and blushed, “Uhm, hehe. Nothing too it.”
“You should count yourself lucky I didn’t burn the spoon,” Jordan corrected with a smirk. “I was going to show off by melting the butter with my hand, but you know, I’m all out of juice.” That was the nicest way he could put it. Really, though, since coming into Alistair’s home, he felt warmer and warmer as the minutes ticked by. He was even contemplating taking off another layer of sweater. It would certainly be easier to move in it. He also had no idea why he admitted his butter-melting secret to Alistair. There was something about the man that made Jordan want to be honest. Of course, then he found himself surrounded by Alistair’s warmth anyway as he showed him how to properly mix the ingredients and while Jordan tried desperately to pay attention to what Alistair was saying, his words sounded far away and muffled, as if he were speaking under water. More than ever, Jordan felt the need to take off that outer later as he felt a bead of sweat trickle down the side of his face. It was the first time he’d even sweated in what felt like weeks. When Alistair’s voice came back into view, Jordan swallowed thickly. “I see. Just like that.” He’d let all the muscles in his hand relax so that it was Alistair who had done most of the stirring. He could feel Alistair’s breath at his ear and it would have made him shudder if it wasn’t so warm. “You know,” he said, his voice squeaking a little. “I think I got it.”
“Or as a hellhound.” She whispers the last part and shrugs. “I-I do my reading and they are the Guardian for the Supernatural so, it isn’t that hard to put two and two together.” Anastasia muses and fiddles slightly with her hands. “It’s rather difficult explaining it to an outsider since things like this aren’t very normal, this doesn’t really help the outsiders, but..I tried and was able to successfully get a few people to focus on me as they were under her spell.”
“Um, or that,” Parrish said nonchalantly, wondering if it was that easy to guess what he was, or if she was just throwing out dog-related titles. Then again, she probably heard what he was anyway. Sometimes Scott’s pack just let people know and sent them in his direction so he could help them. It had happened before. His eyes widened when she mentioned a spell. “That’s easily explainable. it depends on the spell. Maybe they were intrigued by how beautiful you are?” he offered. “But wow... a spell...” he trailed off. He’d incorrectly guessed that Evan was a witch. He didn’t know if he should assume Anastasia was, too. “Was it to keep them away from danger?”
He did his best to stay quiet as Jordan wiped him down, but no amount of covering was making it go away. He nods at the question, wanting nothing more than to thrust his hips up, but his body still wouldn’t move. It had been a long time since that part of him was interested in anything. Jordan’s eyes are trained on the towel and Derek snorts, and growls when he tries to inch his hand towards his groin but all he can do is wiggle his fingers.
Jordan couldn’t help but laugh at seeing Derek so out of sorts. “Derek,” he deadpanned, placing one had over the tensed and wiggling fingers. “You were just in a car accident, I’m pretty sure you have a concussion, and I don’t think your priorities are... well... in the right place.” He’d finished mopping up the blood and tossed the washcloth somewhere in the direction of the bathroom. “I mean, how can you even think of---” he stopped. Clearly Derek’s blood needed to be rerouted back to where it belonged--in his brain. Jordan felt his face heat up just at the thought of what he was about to suggest. “Do you uh... should I take care of that for you?” He knew he was going to have to play nurse for Derek when he took him home, but he didn’t think his duties would include this.
“Everyone has their own way of being happy. If that’s what worked for your folks, then who is anyone to question that? People and their glorious little imperfections. It’s what makes us so beautiful, like stained glass windows in the morning light.” Alistair paused, clearing his throat as his blush returned. Anyone asked, it was the heat of the kitchen and nothing more. And he definitely didn’t want to let it be known that he was eating every word Jordan had up, taking in his story and weaving his imagination around it. A small boy running through a house with a woman in pearls and an apron, chastising her husband for the mud he tracked in from outside. The image itself made him laugh softly, a sort of wistful tone to his voice, but it was broken by Jordan apparently throwing in his towel, so to speak. Alistair blinked in disbelief at the mess caused by a simple icing recipe and a cop who couldn’t cook. “Wow,” he said, scratching his head, “That’s, uh, that’s a whole new level of ‘bad at cooking’. I think you just won the heavyweight title. We’ll have to get you a championship belt or something.”
“Well.. I can’t be great at everything. I mean, here you are, making my childhood sound poetic with the stained glass windows when all I saw was a father with strict rules on who I should become and why.” In a way, it was nice that he didn’t have to adhere to anyone’s rules but his own, but he could still hear his father’s military tone, strong and rough from his days in the army. Yelling at him for being in the kitchen. For sharing the act of baking with a man. For wearing all those layers because he couldn’t take the cold ‘like a man.’ As great as his father was, it wasn’t until Jordan came to Beacon Hills that he even knew the term ‘toxic masculinity.’ That was probably why Jordan was so soft on everyone--he was determined to be everything his father was not. “I’m stronger than I realize and I forget that sometimes... I stirred too strongly.” That was the best excuse he had.
It seemed as though he was drugged, he figured it was the massive amount of healing he was doing. He had no brain to mouth filter, just mumbling out whatever came into his head. “Don’t need to..should fully inspect everything”, he nods his head slowly but to him it feels like it’s sharp. He doesn’t feel exposed as he lays there naked, nudity had never bothered him, it was a wolf thing. “We found something..I remembered a story my mother told me..we were going to go investigate and Elsa threw a temper tantrum”. He looks down at a part of his body interested in Jordan’s touch, arching an eyebrow at him, “at least that still works”.
Having a loopy Derek was new to Jordan. Derek was normally so reserved and quiet. Jordan set all the shards of glass on the nightstand and was going to leave to get a bag so he could throw them all away when he sat up and noticed the surprise Derek so casually acknowledged. He turned a bright shade of red and sputtered. In the military, he’d been in plenty of community showers. Sharing a barracks with dozens of men meant absolutely no privacy. Still, it’d been a long time since he’d gotten a compliment like that. “Looks like not all of you is paralyzed,” he managed to get out, trying not to laugh. No one liked it when someone laughed at their boner. He went to the bathroom and tossed a towel at Derek’s middle so that it created a perfect tent and got a warm wash cloth to start mopping up the blood on his skin. “The crash was the Yuki-Onna’s doing?” he asked. He should have known. “I didn’t see Lydia on the scene. I thought maybe the paramedics got to her first.” He couldn’t help but glance at the towel, wondering if it was ever going to go down.
“The benefit of having scientists for parents, I suppose. Well, kind of. Father was a cultural scientist while mother is a biologist. She spends her days studying the birds in her yard lately, though,” he said, smiling with fondness at her memory. Originally he had intended to invite her out to see how the new shop was doing, but after all those people died, he’d thought better of it. Somehow he’d have to explain why he hadn’t contacted her in so long, but it was a problem for another time. Alistair whirled around his companion, even in the tight space he seemed to get by just fine. He was in his element here, in the apartment and the shop. Even if he hadn’t lived here very long, he’d managed to familiarize himself with the place. Almost completely different from how he was outside. Even in the best of situations, Alistair normally kept his hands in his pockets and stood awkwardly off to the side while he bantered with others. “Oh, yeah, sure. Here,” he said as he pulled down another large bowl, setting it down on the edge of the counter with some of the ingredients, “Just melt this butter and mix it with the powdered sugar and vanilla. That’ll make the icing for the cinnamon rolls. Try not to eat it all before it gets on them, though.” He smiled brightly, giving Jordan a nudge as he turned his attention back to his work at hand. “I’ve been a few times, when my dad had business out there. I’ve been to many places and seen how they live, what their customs are. I actually have tikis from Polynesia, charms from China, fertility statues from tribes in Africa. The list goes on. Most of it is in storage, though. I do miss my didgeridoo,” he said with a chuckle, “I stopped going with him when I started High School. He said I needed stability for the last leg of my education.”
Seeing Alistair so full of life and bouncing around the kitchen was like seeing someone come out of their shell. When he first met Alistair, the man was wringing his hat and trying to make himself look small. Now he took up the whole room with his personality. Jordan found he rather liked seeing this side of him. "My mother was a stereotypical housewife who was perfectly content to think every decade was the fifties, even though she was born in the seventies. My dad was military as well. They had their faults but I still miss them." He hardly remembered coming back from Afghanistan, but he knew he was drawn to Beacon Hills right from the start. He never went home afterward--an action that his parents would probably never forgive him for. He planned on visiting them for some time, but after he found out he actually died working on an IED, he wondered if they knew. He had no idea. It felt like his brain created a narrative that took him from Afghanistan to Beacon Hills. When he was given a bowl and some instructions, he eagerly went to work, putting the butter in the bowl. He reached for a microwave in a kind of defeated manner. If he had his powers, he'd have tried to melt the butter with his hands in a way to show off, but he couldn't. So he used the microwave with shame. With the butter artificially melted, he began to mix the ingredients, but did it far too roughly, causing bits of the powdered sugar to fluff outward. The more he tried to fix the sugar, the more he got buttery vanilla goo all over the counter top. Eventually he set the bowl down and took a step back, his hands raised in the air in surrender. He missed most of what Alistair was saying about his travels as he spectacularly made a mess. "Um," he said eventually. "I hope you don't like a lot of icing..."
He gives him a pointed glare at the question, of course he did and if it didn’t come out he just threw them away. He finds he’s able to wiggle his toes now, but he can’t really feel his body. “You just want me naked..everyone wants me naked”, he slurs.
“Of course I want you naked,” Jordan said with a roll of his eyes. “To make sure there’s no glass hidden under your clothing. You can keep the underwear on if you really need to.” The fact that Derek was joking gave Jordan a little more confidence that he’d pull through. “Alright. Shirt--off,” he grunted, trying to maneuver Derek on the bed so he could get his shirt off. It was a lot more difficult than he thought--to the point that he ended up literally ripping the fabric. It was already torn and bloodsoaked. He’d just buy Derek a new one. Just as he thought, he found more instances of glass he needed to remove. They were easy to find because Derek’s skin wouldn’t heal until they were removed. “You know,” Jordan said off-handedly as he worked. “This is so much easier without you moving around. Out of curiosity, what were you doing in Lydia’s car?”
Summary: After feeling Lydia die, Jordan needs a break to find himself.
Jordan saw Lydia's death, but not in time to stop it.
He'd been feeling strange around her all week. He thought it was because the YukiOnna drained her. Lydia's complexion looked close to expiring and the itchy feeling an impending death gave Jordan followed him for a while. When he last saw her--she'd used her banshee scream to try and conjure the hellhound up from the depths of Jordan's soul. The hellhound heard her, he was sure of it, but afterward, the death feeling he got around Lydia only grew. There was still so much he didn't know about their connection.
..and now he would never know.
The moment Lydia died, Jordan was in his patrol car listening to the radio, trying to find the channel he found with Xavier--the same channel he thought he could hear the YukiOnna on. Right when he thought he heard the wail, he was suddenly no longer in his patrol car, but in Lydia's home and she was engaged in battle. For a split moment, he recognized some of the moves he taught her and a flash of pride overwhelmed him until he realized she was fighting for her life. There was blood everywhere and as she reached for her phone, he knew that was the end of it. He couldn't move. It seemed his premonition was happening in real time and there was no way he could pull himself out of it. He didn't know how. He watched as a man slit her throat and even though he screamed her name, he wondered if she heard it at all...
When he found himself again in his patrol car, he found his breath came in short spurts as he fought to keep control. The red-hot searing pain that accompanied a death surged through him. He promised that the next time he felt a death, he wouldn't run from it. He knew he should speed to Lydia's home, but he also knew there would be nothing he could do. She was gone.
Instead, he struggled with the door handle and finally fell from the cruiser, hitting the ground on all fours as his body bucked and twisted with the physical pain of her death. His skin began to heat and he felt the familiar tug of the hellhound as it enveloped him.
Warmth and heat surrounded him in a way he hadn't felt for weeks. He'd chased the feeling with his friends, finding it in fleeting moments, but never a full body experience like this. He didn't know how long it would last, but he allowed himself to retreat into his head so that the hellhound could take control. For a few blissful moments, he could disappear.
---
When Jordan came to, he was back at the Nemeton again, naked and covered in soot. This time, however, he had a stash of clothes in a den Talia showed him, so that when he came home to shower, he wasn't completely naked.
In the days that followed, the guilt overwhelmed him. He tried to give a description of Lydia’s murderer but only Sheriff Stilinski knew why Jordan would know this. He put in a week's vacation at the Sheriff's station and no one questioned him--not even the notorious Officer Smith. He received many calls and texts from concerned friends and he let all of them know where he was going and why. He needed to be alone. He needed to get out of Beacon Hills. He needed to find a way to bring forth the hellhound at will.
He bought a ticket to Las Vegas, with the intent of spending a few days in the desert surrounding the city, warming up and finding himself. The hound inside him howled as he left the city limits of Beacon Hills. He only hoped that he wouldn't fall asleep in Nevada and wake up in California as the hound tried to find its way back home. He rubbed a thumb over the charm Alistair gave him. He carried it with him everywhere. It hadn't burned up when he was in the patrol car, even though it was made of wood. He knew then that it was special.
If only he knew how to control the premonitions. If only he knew what to expect. Maybe he would have been able to save Lydia. One thing was for certain, though, their supernatural connection felt severed and Jordan felt completely alone.
Fiddling with her bracelet out of anxiety, Anastasia looked up and nodded her head. “You know..don’t you?” She questions, trying to be rather vague about it. “This t-town definitely has a great difference compared to others.”
Jordan would have dramatically flashed his eyes if he could control the hellhound like that. Instead, he just nodded at her question very anti-climatically. “It’s part of my duty to keep it a secret. Think of me as a watchdog. Or a gatekeeper,” both equally as important roles for a hellhound, now that he thought about it. “So whatever you know will be important for our investigation, but also so I can work with the Sheriff and formulate a press statement to explain to the reporters what happened in a way that would make sense to an outsider. I want to keep Beacon Hills safe. I promise.”
Alistair laughed easily around Jordan, a talent that had become increasingly hard to do in the past few days. It felt good, despite the new threat the world posed in the revelation of the supernatural, to just laugh and be a friend with someone. He became increasingly thankful that Jordan was the officer he ended up talking to in the station. Talking to him helped him stay grounded in the world he knew previously while he marched forward into the new. Even if the man was supposedly a hell hound, it felt like familiar territory. “I’ll have to make another batch someday,” he said as he led Parrish into the kitchen, retrieving his dough from the fridge, “Mother always thought it important for a man to know how to cook his own meals. And I find baking soothing. Plus, eating the result is always fun.” His kitchen was actually the most furnished part of his home. Old pots and pans were stacked carefully on a shelf to the side along with all manner of food stuffs. If there was one thing the book keeper loved besides his books, it was food. And if sharing his food made his friends happy, he’d readily offer it up. “Yes, both actually. They offer protection from misfortune in most areas. Some are specific, some are not. That one is a Yaku-yoke. It’s sort of a general protection amulet against potential ills,” he explained as he worked the dough and split it, setting one aside. “That one you carry with you. Either on your key-chain or pocket. Don’t open it, or the blessing will fly out.” The oven clicked to life as Alistair turned knobs, getting everything ready. Bread pans, cake pans, cinnamon, sugar. The works. Anything he could use to focus on what he was doing and not on the fact that his ears were bright red. Though he was glad he was not the only one blushing. It was a good look on Jordan, made him less intimidating as an officer and made Alistair smile.
Jordan squeezed into the kitchen. It was warm in here, probably so the dough could rise, but also because heat rose, making the second floor much more comfortable in the winter time. “My family was old fashioned. I learned everything from my father. My mother... not so much. Never realized how spoiled I was until I joined the military and no longer got my mother’s home cooking. Now I have a special affinity for anything homemade.” There was something about someone else making food that appealed to him. He knew how to follow instructions on the back of a box and not burn water, but he didn’t know anything about which flavors went together or the finer nuances of oven baking or what half the kitchen gadgets did. When Alistair mentioned the amulet he’d gifted him, Jordan’s hand went to his pocket, feeling the outline. He wasn’t sure what it was supposed to do to guard against ills, but only time would tell if it were the real deal or just a trinket. “It’s a good thing I didn’t open it, then. And it’s already in my pocket, so at least it’s working right away. All of these things have Japanese names. Did you spend a lot of time in Japan? Or grew up there?” As Alistair maneuvered around the kitchen, Jordan felt more like a foolish obstacle and like he was in the way. “Can I do something to help?” he asked. “I don’t want to be in the way.” Jordan wasn’t often out of his element. It would have been refreshing if it weren’t so awkward. He was used to telling people to stand back while he did it job.. but he didn’t want to stand back while Alistair did all the work.
“Fire dog is exactly what I’m making your twitter handle be, and also your contact name on my phone. Good for the Norse then, but you’re still fire dog. It could always be blazing puppy.” Noah chuckled, offering some other names for the deputy. “It’s It’s not just the danger aspect, because I’m sure his own stubbornness will grant him something to fight back with. He’s strong, but I guess what I’m truly afraid of is getting my heart broken. Knowing that I’ll have to watch him grow into a man while I’m stuck like this. He could have a life with anybody else, he can have children, grow old with someone and be happy. I can’t offer him anything like that, just the thought of it, having to watch how time just rips him away from me.”
“Fire dog makes me feel like I should have taken up fire fighting instead of policework. That would have been the epitome of irony. I definitely prefer it to blazing puppy.” It never occurred to Jordan if he would age or not. He was technically dead, so what use would his cells have in aging? He still required food and he still breathed, so he wasn’t even sure. That was something he’d have to research. “I didn’t know you were... immortal? Forever young? I’m not sure of the specifics. But even so, it’s up to you which you think is better... to enjoy moments with him and have memories to look back on knowing you made him happy, or leave him and have you both be miserable? I know which one I would choose.”
