“I-, I just can’t deal with it anymore,” James forces out, holding a cigarette to his mouth with his left arm, just because that one won’t fucking shake with how pissed off his is. “Every time, every single damn time I turn around, there he is. Doesn’t matter if I was in here twenty minutes ago holding his goddamn hand, can’t go a block away before he’s right back in my face.”
Hates to sound like this, hates it with everything he is. Isn’t right to be this torn up just because his kid wants to see him, wants to be next to him every second of the day. Can’t even blame him. Wouldn’t even try, but James just can’t do this.
There’s nothing about T8-, about Volke that doesn’t make him cringe, that doesn’t sweep away what stability he’s managed, just because he sees this impossible man and instantly gets caught up in everything that went with him. The pain, the touch of ice so cold it burned, the constant struggles-, the constant need to fight every conscious second to get back to his kid, his blood, as if it ever got him anything but electric ache and freezer burn.
Can’t even look at Steve, can’t stay still, just so-, so goddamn wrecked, and he doesn’t even know if there’s a light at the end of the tunnel anymore.
