The Bull makes a sharp, breathy noise that isn't really a laugh. "Killing some stuff sounds really damn good, I'm not going to lie."
But the way he feels right now, the way he hasn't felt in a long time, heavy and raw, exposed, like at the slightest touch, the next thing that goes wrong, the next time he lets go just a little too much, and he'll--
He frowns down at the drink, gaze unhappy and worried and far away. Well, what else is he going to do? It's not like there's anyone to turn himself in to this time. No one to fix him, and no Chargers to lean on until he gets back on an even keel himself. Not this time. Kill or cure, then.
He takes another drink, holds it in his mouth again. Not what he would have picked for his last drink, if this is the last one, but when he thinks about what he would have picked instead he thinks of the smell of beer and sweat and greasy food, the sound of his guys laughing and giving each other shit, the feeling of Skinner or someone punching him in the shoulder and stealing his tankard and drinking too much out of it just to piss him off and grinning that sharp grin, not so rare as it used to be, like she thinks she got one over on him, thinks about those things as much as about the taste he remembers in his mouth. But those things are gone. Or he's gone from those things. Either way, this is what he has, this is what he's going to have, and so this is fine.
And Aden is going to be there. Someone he knows. Someone who seems like he likes the Bull okay, who has plans for him, goals. Who wants to set him up with a room and security clearance. Who's going to want him to come back. Maybe that will be enough. You never know.
"Your guys going to be okay with that? Some weird asshole no one knows walks in from who knows where and their... whatever you are to these guys goes off with him just like that? Or there some, I don't know, arrangements or something you're going to have to make before you can go?"
no subject
But the way he feels right now, the way he hasn't felt in a long time, heavy and raw, exposed, like at the slightest touch, the next thing that goes wrong, the next time he lets go just a little too much, and he'll--
He frowns down at the drink, gaze unhappy and worried and far away. Well, what else is he going to do? It's not like there's anyone to turn himself in to this time. No one to fix him, and no Chargers to lean on until he gets back on an even keel himself. Not this time. Kill or cure, then.
He takes another drink, holds it in his mouth again. Not what he would have picked for his last drink, if this is the last one, but when he thinks about what he would have picked instead he thinks of the smell of beer and sweat and greasy food, the sound of his guys laughing and giving each other shit, the feeling of Skinner or someone punching him in the shoulder and stealing his tankard and drinking too much out of it just to piss him off and grinning that sharp grin, not so rare as it used to be, like she thinks she got one over on him, thinks about those things as much as about the taste he remembers in his mouth. But those things are gone. Or he's gone from those things. Either way, this is what he has, this is what he's going to have, and so this is fine.
And Aden is going to be there. Someone he knows. Someone who seems like he likes the Bull okay, who has plans for him, goals. Who wants to set him up with a room and security clearance. Who's going to want him to come back. Maybe that will be enough. You never know.
"Your guys going to be okay with that? Some weird asshole no one knows walks in from who knows where and their... whatever you are to these guys goes off with him just like that? Or there some, I don't know, arrangements or something you're going to have to make before you can go?"