infomodder | ic contact 2 mask or menace

[JEFF HE WORRIES HARDER NOW OK]

is there ANYTHING i can do? put the coffee on or SOMETHING?

coffe sounds good. i can fill you in on thedetails when i get bakc don't worry. i mean ty for worryng but stop now

[ur typing worries him even more]

ok i'll be in the kitchen

[Spoilers: he will be in the kitchen cooking up whatever breakfast Jeff has seemed to enjoy the most since he's come to live with them. That's to be expected, isn't it? Cooking away the stress.]

[Uh rude, just because he's not making use of predictive texting.]

ok but can you open my bedroom window?

[So he can climb through it in the least subtle way ever.]

[Two minutes later:]

eduardo's opened your window

ty eduardo. be home in a bit

he chittered back we'll be here

[And like a well adjusted person, Jeff climbs through his window rather than uses the front door, because there's no way he wants to be seen right now. It's not hard to hear him thumping around as he gracefully flops to the floor, or as he showers, but he does eventually come to the kitchen once he's ready. He's dressed in lounge pants, a t-shirt and a loose fitting hoodie and looks ready for bed already.

Sharkbait gets the first bit of attention in the form of an ear ruffle and a grunt that's probably a hello, but then there's Will who's getting a tired smile as Jeff slinks towards the kitchen counter.]

Breakfast?

[And Will, of course, is keeping a keen ear out. Shower? Yeah, he could understand that desire. He'd had a few days where he'd come back wanting nothing but a long, warm shower. So he spends that time making Jeff's breakfast the best it can be, adding healthy garnishes that can be eaten or left on the plate, everything cooked to absolute perfection. When Jeff finally emerges, Will does his best to keep his cool. Easier with Sharkbait around, easier when he's adding on the very last of the finishing touches.

He never garnishes plates like this without reason. The fact he's gone so far with it may give away the game about how worried he was. The orange juice is freshly squeezed with rinds still on the counter, for God's sake.]

Most important meal of the day. [He keeps his cool even as he hands the plate Jeff's way, watching it to make sure Jeff has a good hold instead of seeking immediate eye contact. Instead of immediately looking him over like he's expecting something to be out of place.] Coffee's fresh. Went ahead and made OJ, too. We had enough for a pitcher. Why not, yeah?

[Welcome home, Jeff.]

You really went all out. [He takes the plate offered gratefully, notices just how much had been done, how much extras had been added, and can't bring himself to say that maybe he can't stomach much at the moment. Will's gone all out and it's just for him, and that means just as much as the actual food on the plate.

For now the food goes back onto the counter as Jeff focuses on the coffee instead, keeping it black with no sugar and wanting it as strong as can be. His head is killing him, literally was a few days ago thanks to a bullet, now just thudding heavily like the migraine of the century. The counter's a good place to lean, very good, even if he does have to hunch over.]

Thanks. For giving a shit. [He's still not entirely used to people caring.]

[Will watches the plate, not Jeff, nodding in acknowledgement. Until it ends up on the counter, then he takes a look at his face. Up to his hair, quickly down to his feet, and back. Anyone else might take that as him being scattered, as not knowing where to really look, but Jeff has been around this home long enough to know Will's giving him the once over and trying not to make it obvious. Staring is rude; after whatever happened, he doubts Jeff wants to feel too many eyes on him. Feel that scrutiny. He probably feels shitty, Will doesn't need to add onto that.

Ah. Emotions. Well.

Will leans against the counter, too, in a direct mirror of Jeff's position. He looks up at the light, dim, in need of replacement.]

Easier...to give a shit about someone when you know they give a shit about you, too. [Quiet, slow, like Will's never given it much thought until now.] You've only got yourself to thank for that, Jeff.

[He doesn't look great, that's for sure. There's bags under his eyes, his skin looks paler than usual, his beard somehow looks scruffier than ever before and, the newest addition, a small circular scar at his forehead that's most definitely healed but still red, raised and angry. But he's clean, alive and will probably be a damn sight better after a good sleep. As if he hasn't been 'asleep' for the last 24 hours.]

Yeah, but I didn't make you breakfast. [Which means Will wins.] I guess I should explain some crap.

Edited 2015-12-31 00:41 (UTC)

[An eyebrow lifts and he shakes it head like it's no big deal. Really isn't. Despite everything (because of everything), Will enjoys cooking. He enjoys knowing what he's eating, enjoys being able to give honest answers to anyone who asks what they're eating...no skin off his back, to whip something up for Jeff's return home.]

Only if you want to. I'm not here to press.

[But food made with love is totally a big deal.]

I know but. I haven't exactly been upfront about any of this and. I dunno. Maybe some of this is my fault. [Yup, kind of blaming himself now for helping fund a psychopath, even if he's responsible for about 0.1% of it all.]

[0.1% or less.

But Will takes it on board seriously anyway. He's torn between thinking Jeff's just feeling guilty and that whatever happened, someone put the idea in his head this was his fault.]

What?

[A simple question, no undercurrent of anger, of danger. Will knows why certain recent events have happened. No one can convince him otherwise at this point.]

[He pauses as he stares down at his barely touched coffee, suddenly having second thoughts about even discussing this. Right now he'd rather not think about this guy, and here he is trying to discuss him. But talking about these things helped, right? Maybe getting this off his chest would help stop him feeling like pure shit.]

White... He's, or was my client. I got paid fat stacks to do crap I'm not entirely proud of just to keep him happy. I practically enabled a guy who, at this point, I think we can safely label as a mass murderer. [Still not looking up from his drink, like a kid with a guilty conscience ready to be berated, not even darning to make eye contact.]

[Pure shit is right. Jeff starts spilling and Will's face changes, at first like he's just smelled and tasted something particular foul. Beyond the fact White killed him, even, a more lingering sort of sickening. Had Jeff's portion of rent, the money he used to help fuel this house of Will's, come from Walter? Awful. But he keeps his mirror lean of Jeff, save the sudden tension in his shoulders. Tension that leaks out at such a label.]

You could say that anyone who makes or deals drugs is a mass murderer.

[Implying a commonness, a less than special quality to the man who killed him? Of course he is. For the moment, that's all he has to say. Continue, sir.]

[Just leave him here to die. A second time.]

Yeah. I guess you could say that. So you know what he does for a living, huh? [Not exactly the kind of info Jeff really wanted others knowing about, but this is Will and Will somehow finds out everything ~~because he's a dirty infomodder~~.]

[tbh]

Yes. [Will turns to lean his back against the counter, elbows propped against it as he stretches his legs out and crosses them at the ankle. He's apparently at ease discussing such gruesomeness in the kitchen, go figure.] Didn't investigate it myself. Knew someone who was looking into a certain product. Before he even got here, actually. The timing didn't match at first, but when confronted on it, he didn't...deny.

[A sigh, like the weight of the world's resting uncomfortably on his shoulders. Which doesn't really fit the rest of him, all relaxed.]

Was it worth it? All the money. What he paid you.

[He's asking seriously here; money drives people to do such terrible and great things. Does that pay off what Jeff's gone through? Does that even begin to cover the price?]

Edited 2015-12-31 03:40 (UTC)

[Some small development has been made. Jeff can now look up from his coffee mug, mostly because he really wants to drink that coffee. And so he sips, and then almost instantly cringes at Will's line of questioning.]

Jeezus, Will. The hell kind of a question is that? Was it worth being shot in the head? [The briefest moment of disgusted sneering, and then, flatly:] Yes.

[He's married to April Ludgate. He knows how sometimes sarcasm can come in packages that seem nothing like sarcasm at first. He'd always been aware of it, of course he had, he knew a wide range of people, but April served to up his game in recognizing that. However...money is money. And some people really do want nothing more than big, fat stacks of cash. To sit on, to use, whatever. With that thrown in the mix, it's difficult for Will to tell if Jeff is employing some fantastic sarcasm or actually being serious.

So. He pours himself a cup of coffee and in a tone just as flat, almost as if Jeff is speaking through Will's voice...]

Abigail's gone. [Taking it black, too, watching the steam rise before he looks back at Jeff, face completely neutral, void of any emotion at all.] Only been a couple days, but that's what you've missed.

[That's the thing with coming from a land of comedy. Sometimes it's impossible to switch it off. Sometimes it's easier to joke about bullets to the head than think back to the trauma and fear of actually receiving a hole in the head. Jeff's out of his league with it all, with the murder and drug dealing and money laundering, but he's still involved, tempted as he is by the promise of money. Staying alive would've been better than getting rich, but he's alive now, and eventually he'll shove that memory of death aside and try not to think of it ever again. Life moves on. People come and go.]

Shit. [His shoulders slump and his head lowers, deflating visibly because jesus fucking christ he's an asshole. He'd been so focused on his own drama that he hadn't even thought to ask about the others in the household.] I'm sorry, I didn't know... [I, still about him. This shouldn't be about him.] If you need anything...

Edited 2015-12-31 04:15 (UTC)

No, no. Abigail and I had time together we wouldn't get elsewhere. We had the chance for real closure. That's all I need.

[He shakes his head as he says it, a contented smile spreading across his face before he takes the first sip of coffee. Absolutely relaxed, missing any of that put upon flat, dull tone. Will speaks of Abigail with nothing but unadulterated love he couldn't cover up even if he tried, and he doesn't want to. None of this is for show; Jeff's getting a look at a sincere, and sincerely grateful, loving Will Graham.

In the midst of tumultuous feelings brought upon by a bullet to the head, the first and most important thing Will can establish is that he's still Will. He's still him, here, he's still Will Graham and even if Will Graham sometimes unleashes the Jeff Hulk to save innocent animal lives, Will Graham is a friend. That is constant, consistent, and he believes Jeff could use that stability. He also knows it may help drive their bond even further, for Jeff, whether he realizes it or not. But to do so out of concern and care and real friendship isn't a terrible manipulation, is it?]

Look... [Switching gears, from Abigail back to the present. To the future.] ...whatever shit you had going on with White before, that didn't...that didn't lead to what happened to me, if that's what you were thinking. That was all set in motion [he waves a hand] months ago, not by you. And I'm not, I'm not innocent in this, either. Didn't help him out for money but I didn't...wasn't some bystander who had no idea what they were doing, what was going on, what it could all really mean. If he made you feel otherwise, or if that's just you worried it might be true, it isn't. It's not. And what he did to you, that's not you, either. That's all him. He's lost what few marbles he had left, to put it politely. So if you wanna tell me all about you and White, that's fine, but whatever went on between you two...didn't lead to this. Nothing that happened, Jeff, not a bit of it is your fault.

[Despite Will's occasional disapprovals of Jeff's life choices, despite the fact he purposely summons the hulk against Jeff's wishes, and even despite the gratuitous infomodding, Will is still a friend. Possibly the best. He's the one Jeff turns to for help, the one Jeff texts first when there's anything to share and the one he's most willing to share his expensive alcohol with. It's because of this that Winger feels guilty, not in spite of it, like Will's the only person out there that still tugs at Jeff's moral compass enough to have him questioning that maybe he could be using his time more productively than helping fund drug dealers. He struggles to keep eye contact because he doesn't want to risk seeing disappointment, doesn't want to feel like he's failed in being a good companion. Being liked is all he really wants, just having someone there to occasionally pat him on the head and tell him he's a good boy and how well he's done.

He doesn't want to be the one creating more shit for Will while Will's recovering from his own issues, and while he's dealing with losing a family member. Goddamn that empathetic asshole for dealing with even that so well, optimistic about the time they'd had together rather than pessimistic about how it's been taken from him. Will, stop being such a great guy.

The words the follow get Jeff's gaze dropping again, his coffee placed on the counter as his head lowers, and maybe, just maybe there might be the chance to spot a glassy sheen on his eyes as his lips press together in a thin line. But then he's doing his best to cover for it, and what better way to hide than on Will? Without much warning he's clearly the gap between them and bearing down on his friend for an all encompassing bear hug, tight like he never wants to let go, face burying into Will's shoulder.]

I lost control. [Shut up, that's not a waver in his voice.]

[An all encompassing bear hug Will doesn't hesitate to return, with the same fierce intimacy he'd give to his wife. He stands in a kitchen being held by a man quite taller than him and doesn't shy away, doesn't instinctively recoil like Jeff's two seconds from an attempted disemboweling. Will's hands move to Jeff's shoulders, grounding and very much real, and if there's any suspicion he's doing this simply to hide, that never comes across. Sometimes people just need a hug. Sometimes they just need a place to hide, too, and far be it from Will to deny Jeff that much.]

No, you didn't. [There isn't a waver in Will's voice.] It was taken from you. In small, gradual increments. Then completely, all at once.

[If he sounds like the voice of experience with this, good. Perhaps there is some projection going on, but it's all very personal to Will.]

That's what'll eat you alive, if you try to unravel where and when everything happened. Kill you more than a bullet to the head.

[Kill you on the inside.]

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