‘ all right, play it tough if you want. ’
“Tougher than you,” he scoffs, gesturing vaguely; “what’s that, a fuckin’ taser?” I’m fine, he had insisted, as Jamie had helped him up, as he had pulled away like touching an open flame. Shaken by the sleeper’s hands pressing down on his throat, kicking in the dust, weapon tumbling off in his peripherals. He smiles faintly, unconvincingly. “I don’t need you to take care of me anymore.” He’s always hated this–how good Jamie is at calling him on every bluff, every lie through the teeth. He could read him, and especially now, panic a threatening undertow to yank him under at the next chaotic situation. “I’m fine,” he repeats firmly in the quiet tunnel, scraped up and exhausted, blinking back saltwater. “Let’s just keep going.”











