flyguy | [Recollé] Telenovela Ep1: Tony y Jack

They'd never played nice, but they'd played for Sofia's sake, and it's basically the only reason Jack's even here right now - because she'd want Tony to know exactly how it happened, not have him wonder for the rest of his life, and Jack... definitely owes her that much. He owes her so much more, but this is all he can do right now.

He doesn't have their little girl with him, and when Tony opens the door, Jack's eyes - well, the one that isn't nearly swollen shut - are squarely down.

And he's quiet. It's probably the worst indicator of all.

"I'm sorry." Jesus, his voice is wrecked. He leans heavily in the doorway - should still be in the hospital, honestly, but the thin sympathy when they told him about her mixed with the smell of antiseptic had driven him half-insane - and says it again, half-mumbling. "It's Soph. I'm sorry."

It doesn't make sense, but he doubts it even has to.

In Tony's mind he envisions grabbing Jack by the throat, fingers tightening illegally as he drags the other man close and hisses, "What. Did. You. Do."

He doesn't do that.

Neither does he shove Jack aside and start running down the street yelling Sofia's name like a madman as part of him so desperately wants to. Yeah. What Jack says doesn't have to make sense. The facts are all right there in the context of the dirty details. Jack at his door. Alone. Half dead. Doesn't take a genius to figure out and he should know. Graduated summa cum laude. Twice. He doesn't need it written in crayon to spell out the situation here to him.

Other men, greater or lesser take your pick, might have broken down in tears. Tony doesn't do the tears thing. He doesn't weep or wail or raise his voice. He just goes...human. The fight goes out of him leaving him all too weak, expression lost like up turned into down and down turned into red, where the hell are you looking Alice because there's goddamn traffic laws to obey in this rabbit hole.

He's cold all over and it doesn't feel like anything will ever be right again. Eyes flick up and he gestures for Jack to step in, moving aside. "Get in here, my neighbors are... Look, the old lady across the hall gets a thrill out of making noise disturbance calls."

So obviously Jack should stop making a scene and sit on Tony's sofa. His apartment isn't luxurious by any means, but it's clean and it's tidy. Respectable. Small, but you don't get a place in the city limits proper and not pay for it in footage. He indicates the sofa again and goes to the non-functioning fireplace himself, a remnant of the original house before it was sectioned off into apartments. I have watched entirely too much HGTV. Anywho— he rests his arm on the mantle, still internally coming to grips even if outwardly he probably looks like he's taking this remarkably well.

"Where is she? Tell me you didn't leave her there for them to contact her harpy of a sister as next of kin." Sofia and Kate never had gotten along. Sofia was a visionary, eyes on the untapped beauty of this world. Kate is... "Gold digger" is a compliment when it comes to Kate. Tony's hand on the mantle curls into a fist. "TELL ME YOU AT LEAST DID ONE THING RIGHT BY HER."

Edited (How does I html) 2017-04-12 00:50 (UTC)

Tony's better than him, and Jack knows it. Smarter, no doubt, and more sensible too, and so he shuffles in and drops himself on the couch as directed, hand sneaking under his jacket to cradle a broken rib or two. (Or three. He doesn't really remember what all is wrong with him now, but the entire right side of his chest is pounding to the point of making him nauseous.) The temperature in this apartment feels like it's gone subzero and wrapping his arms around himself isn't helping, head hung low.

"No, Jesus." What, are you freakin' kidding me? Soph would roll in her grave so hard she'd do the Back To The Future thing and come beat my ass is what comes to him first, because making jokes has always been easier than feeling things, but his shit sense of humor can't help him now. Just makes him feel like retching. "I took her to her grandparents. They won't let that bitch anywhere near her."

Or him, now. Because he's a piece of shit. He's scum. He never deserved either of them. They've told him all of it before, and they told him again just earlier, when her dad hit him so hard he practically blacked out. Now he just sounds hollow - like Tony, like it isn't bothering him all that much that she's fucking gone and she's never coming back.

"She didn't--" Quiet. "Didn't feel - anything. Fuck. Fuck."

His voice cracks hard on anything, and then he's burying his face in his arms and grips at his hair until he feels it tearing out.

Jack isn't going to be getting any sympathy. But he has to know that. He came to the wrong house if he's looking for anything outside of condemnation. Tony himself is struggling. Didn't feel anything? What about all the things she wanted to do. Gone. Worthless. Unfulfilled. Be a mother to her child, take that fancy Swiss vacation she'd joked about, gotten a dog, paid her latest speeding ticket— It's just a long list of nothing Tony and Jack are left holding in her absence. And Tony is feeling it sharply enough to be crumbling to pieces on the inside.

His usual go-to for coping is distractions. Jokes. Work. Focusing on the "fix" and ignoring the cause. That's what he does. It's how he functions. As such the knowledge Sofia is with her grandparents at least is...sedating? Not calming. There's no "peace of mind". But he can mentally step back enough to take a breath and look at the ceiling.

It's best he doesn't look at Jack right now.

"I'm never going to forgive you. You know that." Statement of fact. Business and to the point. Jack isn't just on his shit list for life. Jack is his shit list. Forever. "What was it? Drunk driver? Picking up your laundry and she crossed the road? Deranged derelict at the grocery store with a knife?"

"It was supposed to be me." It's condemning, an admission of guilt. The first time he's admitted to being guilty of anything around Tony... well, pretty much ever. "Should've been me."

Because it's always been him destined to bite it sooner than later, they all knew that - the things he did, the people he knew, the mouth he had, it's pretty much always been an inevitability that Jack Dawes is going to get himself killed, and it's probably going to hurt. But it's always supposed to have been him first. Sofia would grieve - she'd be the only one - but she'd raise their daughter and probably end up finding some guy like Tony, if not actually Tony, who would take care of her like he never could. She'd be happy, and she'd remember him, and that was more than he deserved anyway.

This is all wrong. Somebody went and fucked up the script, and now both he and Tony are scrambling to fit it back together.

"We were getting in the car. Some guy - I don't know who he was, never saw him before - got close enough to pull a gun on us and started shooting. Hit me in the shoulder. I hit the gas, but she was already..."

Maybe if the guy had been less of a bad fucking shot, they would've made it out alright. He doesn't outline the rest right now because it seems unnecessary - that he crashed the car and woke up in the hospital, how he walked the entire way back and found the guy and squeezed down on his throat until his eyes popped, and how tempted he is to just keep going.

But Sofia wouldn't want that, and so he's here instead, spilling his soul on the couch of a man who hates him.

"I quit the club. I quit all of it. Nobody's coming after the baby. She doesn't even have my last name."

"So that's it? You just go straight now?" Finally Tony turns from the mantle to look at Jack. He's mad. He doesn't know what's killing him more— that the bullet was meant for Jack or that Jack thinks he can just walk away and it'll work out. That's not life. You can't just do the thing you should have done months ago to fix the worst case consequence after the fact. "Can you even hold down a job outside of fry cook? What happens when it gets tough and you don't have enough money for groceries for the week? Do you just go crawling back to your so-called 'friends'?"

Jack's in this shit. And so is, apparently, everyone connected to him. Tony takes a few steps towards the sofa. Jack needs to fix this, but he can't. There's no way to ever take this back. Uncharacteristically Tony's foot slams into his coffee table, knocking it over in a loud clatter. His finger jabs the air violently to accentuate his next words. "If you don't make some real changes the exact same thing that happened to Sofia is going to happen to your daughter!"

He pauses, struggling to keep his breath even and not quite succeeding. This... His hand runs over his mouth, gaze glancing away. Damn it. Damn it damn it damn it. "If you let that happen—"

He looks back. "—If you let anything happen to that little girl I'll kill you myself. No warnings. No third chances."

It's easier to be angry than it is to grieve, and Jack isn't a good person. He knows he's not. It isn't right for him to react when he knows Tony's hurting just as bad as he is, when he knows that he should be sympathetic, but familiar resentment prickles at the back of his mind anyway. His scar falls right over the corner of one eye, screwing with the tear duct, so he only has to wipe the left one with the back of his sleeve when he lifts his head.

He's trying to be good, he really is, but his daughter is a dangerous enough topic on his best days, and now the mention of her has his fist tightening in the material of Tony's sofa.

"I'm not letting anything happen to my daughter." My daughter. His voice stays low. "Her grandparents want full custody. I'm giving it to them. She doesn't--"

A pause. Never even finished high school (Sofia, what do you see in him?) so it isn't always easy for him to express himself, but now he fights to find the right words.

"She needs a real home. I want her to have a life."

And it's going to kill him, because he adores his daughter, and there's a very real chance that they're never going to let him see her again - no more scrounging up just a little extra money for that toy she wants, no more princess and darling and sweetheart and baby, and no more genuinely delighted bear hugs when he walks in the door. But it's in her best interest, he knows. Thinks.

"So cut the death threat shit."

Tony's hand curls into a fist by his side. Yeah. He guesses it really is just that 'easy' in Jack's book. What, was there some expectation of understanding here? He's not so charitable he wants to even consider Jack's perspective. "The moment you drop the martyr look, pumpkin."

Turning around he goes to the coat stand he has shoved in a corner with umbrellas, newspapers, all that miscellaneous crap that just seems to forever collect by doors. Being around Jack right now isn't...smart. He doesn't know what the hell he wants out of the guy, but with their history he can 100% say it's not forthcoming. So the hand that jerks his beat up windbreaker off its hook is maybe a mite pissy. If there's a tremor running through it and he drops the keys he shoves in his pocket once or twice it's not a detail up for discussion.

"You can use the bedroom. I find any of my stuff on Craigslist later and you get to scoop Mr. Nutter's litter. I haven't cleaned it in a week."

He opens the door. Enjoy yourself Jack...? He'll be back. Or. Something. If Jack's even still around when he is.

Edited 2017-04-13 02:40 (UTC)

Normally, Jack wouldn't be caught dead there by the time Tony is back - he's slept in cars his whole life, and even when Sofia gave him a couch (and later, her bed) to sleep in, he always preferred to sleep in his car when he was away on jobs. But his Trans Am is a heap of twisted metal and he doesn't want to look at it again anyway, and he's so tired, so tired. So he stays, and he sleeps in that bed like a scared kid, curled up around himself and hiding his face in his sleeves.

He doesn't plan on it being long enough for Tony to come back, but he's hurting and exhausted, so he'll still be there.

He's not as long as might be expected. He's never been good at it. Sadness. You know. Emotions. Get in touch with your inner child, express yourself, it's okay to be you. All that touchy feely crap. Sure, he can write about it in a book. But no one's seeing his novels get snapped up by publishers and maybe that's for a reason.

Because he knows when mom's been drinking it's not the time to bring up how that makes you feel.

It's a trip down the stairs —who's got time to wait for the old service elevator in this out of time building— and soon enough he's on the streets. It's spring, but he still feels cold, rubbing his hands together and blowing on them. Probably looks like his pot smoking neighbors. Well, whatever. All that matters is the Indian place down the block takes cash and doesn't ask, "hey customer, what's with the long face".

When he gets back he's a little calmer, a little more controlled. A glimpse of Jack through the open bedroom door has him genuinely surprised, but he doesn't say anything. No snarky comments, witty repartees. There's just the soft scrape of wood as he rights the coffee table and drops the bag with its syrofoam container down. From there it's a short jaunt into the combination kitchen/dining room with his own 2 for $5 special. He's not going to wake Jack. It's not like he's hankering for an heart-to-heart over a shared love.

Who speaking of just so happens to be staring at him. Not really, that'd be crazy. But like any guy trying to do the kitschy bachelor thing he's got polaroids of friends and family pinned on the fridge with those free magnets businesses love to give out. Right there under Jeffery's Fast Lubes is a picture from his first graduation. Parents notably absent as per usual, but Sofia with an arm around his stooped neck and smiling with all the pride in the world.

"...You said there was something beautiful in him. I'm still not seeing it, Smalls." Yeah, he's just going to sit and eat his Paneer like the B love interest he is. When he hears (or sees, whichever comes first) Jack though he'll at least call out, "There's chicken vindaloo."

It might be cold by this point, but Jack's at least got to know how to work a damn microwave. Hopefully.

When he wakes up, Jack does what he always does when he's in a bed - he reaches back with a slurred babe, because it's daytime and their precocious three-year-old is going to start wandering around the house soon, probably get into the cereal while she's at it. They have a house, Jack's done that much, even if it's small and kind of crappy and they don't have a lot of cash. They have food, even if it's that generic shit like Froot Circles and Hamburger Assistant. (They do okay. They both deserve more, but Soph is always telling him we're happy.) The TV is small but they get cartoons, and their sofa is kind of springy, but all three of them have found comfortable spots of their own. Soph'll make him bacon and potatoes because she knows it's probably all he'll eat today, and Jack gets ready for work, promising to eat on the drive over so she doesn't chew him out for not taking care of himself.

Yeah, it's kind of crappy at the edges, and it's not as fun as when they could just speed off and go party, but he likes it. They're happy, and if they're happy, he's happy too.

But the bed is cold and the room isn't his, and when he remembers, he just kind of tries to will himself dead for about twenty minutes. That's what lovebirds are supposed to do, right? Is it actually a thing?

It's not actually a thing, or at least it isn't for him, because he ends up getting around and looking for his boots. It's uncharacteristically thoughtful for him to take them off before getting in the bed (not that he even pulled the covers down), and he's glad to get them back on before he slips into the main room, picks up the aforementioned container, and uses the plastic fork to shovel it down mindlessly.

Two or three forkfuls in and he promptly drops it back on the counter and throws up in Tony's sink. Sorry about that, friend-o.

...Christ, this is going to be a thing, isn't it. Tony unhelpfully watches. It's not like he's never seen Jack as a mess before. Stumbling drunk, partied a little too hard, you name it he's probably got a memory he's been trying hard to forget. Sort of comes with the territory when you're the dependable best friend of the wife.

This isn't that though and it's dawning on him he needs to make a choice. He can let the guy just walk out of here, get out of his life just as messily as he got in it, and grieve in peace. What's the betting Jack'll be dead inside of a week? Overdose, bar fight, some stupid stunt for revenge,

Is that how he's going to repay Sofia for everything she's done for him? Let her husband be just another soon-to-be stiff on the side of the road? Lord knows he wants to. Sofia was too good for Jack. Too kind, too compassionate, too forgiving. He doesn't think Jack's ever properly appreciated that a day in his life. Understood just what Sofia walked away from to be with him.

"There's pepto under the sink." Just going to keep eating his own food. Jack wants to be a mess, Jack can be a mess. Tony's not sharing in this pow wow.

Edited 2017-04-13 05:31 (UTC)

It's not fun. Aside from what Tony's brought him, he's had nothing on his stomach for who the fuck even knows how long, and so it's mostly cold, unchewed Indian food and acid that comes up. Pepto - Jack hacks up a noise that might be a laugh and lets himself slide to the floor, his back against the cabinets.

"I killed the guy." He lets out a single low giggle, head falling back to thud against the cabinet door. "Thought I'd feel better."

He doesn't feel bad. Just another piece of shit thug like Jack that nobody was going to miss, nobody would probably even look for - no telling why he's spilling all of this to Tony, because it's not to make him feel better, but he spills nonetheless. What else are they going to talk about? Funeral arrangements? He's not exactly in any shape to leave unless Tony kicks him out, so until that generosity runs out, they're stuck with each other.

A beat. He shuts his eyes.

"Kinda do."

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If these details aren't okay lmk o7

NO I LOVE IT you know how I love fleshing stuff out on the fly

LMAO makes an entire family for a dead woman, she's got more background than Tony

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So much manpain in this tag jfc but here you go

you know my weakness for dramaz so here's more

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9 years later... Or some shit. Also I'm at work phone icon hunting is too painful

promptly does one of those obnoxious "sits nearby, does nothing" tags

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Jfc this is going to be a rude thread gomen

smh tony you're embarrassing

Shitshow is one of the skills on his resume okok

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