[ Jesus, Jack spits under his breath, and now they're making a scene. Much more attention and someone's going to call the cops, and hell if Jack wants to explain why he, drunk, and a friend, even drunker, were driving around the city, or why Tony is on the fritz, or why people watched a terrified man scrabble into an alley pursued by a different one. ]

Will you stop? [ He has to remember that he has no right to get annoyed, hand curling briefly into a tight fist at his side as he rides it out. ] I didn't want to hurt you, Tony. I wasn't gonna hurt you.

[ Feels like he's talking to a cat. Jack even hunches down (away from the vomit, gross) and leans up against the alley wall, grinding dirt and grime into his borrowed clothes. ]

I just wanted to scare you. [ He makes himself sound pathetic, just a little pleading. ] Just wanted you to stop. Gimme a number. Who do I call to pick you up, T? Somebody that can take you home and get you away from me.