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Uploaded	By : HazardousRaptor Category: +G through L > Heavy Rain Views: 2688 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Heavy Rain, and am not affiliated with Quantic Dream, or Sony. (Sad to say) I do not own Norman Jayden, Carter Blake, or any offical characters contained within. I earn no money from this work of fiction.

Chapter List
- 15
- 16
- 17
Rating: M
Warnings: Violence
Author's Note: Wow. Just wow. I cannot explain how much of an incredible fucking douchebag I've been. All I can say is; I meant for this chapter to be MASSIVE, as I wanted to end it a certain way- but it just kept going and going...SO, when I got to that point, I realized it was too long and had to split it, then I had to move things around. Then real life, of course, I have to go to bed MUCH earlier then before. Then the fact that I feel the need to proof-read somewhere along the line of FOUR TIMES because I always forget something, then I look like an ass.
I really appreciate if anybody's actually been waiting for the update with bated breath. I'm really, truely sorry. I never once considered abandoning this story. Nor do I ever plan on it.
Now, I will say this chapter is different then the others, because of what happens. I did the best research I could with the budget I had (nothing), so I do apologize if there are any mistakes. Please try to let me know if you spy any.

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"The process of delving into the black abyss is to me the keenest form of fascination." - H.P. Lovecraft
U p l o a d e d

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Norman didn't sleep long enough to dream- he had only been out for a few minutes and awoke with a small start. He coughed a little as he looked over, blinking rapidly as he spied Carter next to him, staring straight ahead as he sped down the highway.
"You can sleep if you want…" Carter suggested, noticing the agent had seemed almost ashamed to have been fallen asleep beside him.
"Not like I'll need you anytime soon…"
Instead of heeding his advice, the phantom that was Norman Jayden shifted and sat up fully in his seat, blinking his tired eyes as he then proceeded to yawn without any real hindrance, refusing to cover his mouth or hide the tired action.
"Naw, I'm fine…I wanna make sure ya'h get there ah'kay…"
There was a small silence that seemed to shoot the agent down, not getting a 'warm and fuzzy' feeling from his partner at all in response.
"There shouldn't be a problem- I have a map and a GPS if I get lost."
Squinting, Jayden tried to shake his head from the sudden fog that engulfed his thoughts. He felt lightheaded, and slightly nauseous. Though he took this as more of the possibility of the Percocet causing some sort of knocked-off equilibrium inside his system.
This was progress, however, there was no doubt of that. How many hours had it been since he was within the ARI world almost completely? Blake hadn't put on the device since yesterday, though it felt like forever ago. Still, even now, he remained in reality. There were a few times he lapsed back and forth- but the fact that he remained through the night was quite the step forward.
Looking down, his keen, forensic eyes spotted a piece of light blue paper stuck in the detective's glove box. It was just a sliver, and looking now he can see how he missed it at first. Without thinking about it or asking permission, he leaned forward and delicately unlatched the handle, with a small tug it opened from it's stuck position and took out the slightly creased, bent-corner pamphlet.
Blake glanced over, yet Jayden could feel that the eyes weren't so much accusing as much as worried. It was a very odd sensation coming from this man, and for a moment it made him pause. He almost said something, but instead found himself more morbidly fascinated by the pamphlet that had caused the action in the first place.
"Oh…"
His tone was a combination of muted surprise and sadness; he couldn't quite make out the title of the pamphlet at first, as it was heavily italicized. Yet it was pretty obvious once he gave it a once-over, seeing a picture of himself on the front cover, staring at him from the past. The picture was a good five years old, taken in better times, back before his life became a one-way ticket to his untimely death without much availability for a detour.
It was his funeral pamphlet. The words "A Service For Norman B. Jayden" in heavily italicized letters cresting the top, his birthday and apparent date of supposed death at the bottom. It took him a moment to fully grip the realization, the weight of what he held in his hand, and the reaction was still relayed as he turned the pages. Inside the front cover was what had to be his obituary- seeing his whole full name displayed at the top.
"Brandon?" Blake smiled, trying to add some sort of humor to the situation. "Norman Brandon Jayden?"
Except there was no response, Jayden was absolutely glued in a pure, un-adulterated morbid fascination as he read out his life story. About being raised in Boston, taking up school and moving to D.C. to start his career. It described him as a "brave man with an alternative lifestyle", making his single, nearly sexless life seem better then it really was. It called him a hero for dying while protecting a child, missed dearly by both friends and family.
Norman hated himself deeply as he felt tears begin to well up inside his eyes- seeing the page next to it filled with some pictures of when he was a young boy. Christmas morning with a toy red fire truck, held by his mother who at the time was at a relatively healthy weight- smiles all around. Another of him as a baby in his cradle, laying on his stomach as he was cuddled next to a stuffed teddy bear. At first he felt embarrassed that Blake had even seen these- then he realized with one powerful decision that he, in reality, just didn't give a single fuck. His family put this together, had to find these pictures and scrape them into a pile as they settled their differences and put petty things aside. The whole time, they must have been crying and mourning his untimely passing... and here he was, 'alive' to see their results.
"Perry uh…Perry gave it to me yesterday…I forgot to show you…"
He basically ignored Blake as he quickly shuffled through the pamphlet, the next page filled with photos from various family events, from holidays to simple get-togethers, his high school photos, pictures with him and friends, him with his first bike- short lived but memorable. God, even his prom picture, the girl he long since forgot even existed. His hair was curlier back then, even now it was beginning to re-instate it's original form. Though the girl was even worse, her hair teased into a ridiculous black frizz with accompanying dark red lipstick. Even now he could remember pinning the corsage to her dress with the most awkward of airs, and despite the girl's smile, she seemed more occupied with making her real boyfriend jealous. His parents, of course, loved her. Their suspicions of raising a gay child put to bed for the night.
Then there came the picture of him with his parents, him standing in-between them as they took position on the Bostonian harbor. His smile was genuine- they were getting along, for once. Trying to bury the hatchet for his benefit. It was only two years ago, and he remembered just how stressful that day may have been. Trying to wrangle and handle the two with his best effort, make them both happy yet settle their differences with his own psychological zest. Despite it all, he'd do anything to be back in that moment. Smelling the warm sea air as it came off the water and blew in from the coast, the summer air feeling lovely to his cool body as he marveled at the flower in his mother's hair and her bright smile as his Dad looped his arm around her as they took in the small shops nearby. It was temporary, of course- their accusations once again flying but days after the reunion.
They came out full-force, tears coursing down his face in near-torrents. Sniffling, he raised a hand to cup his eyes and stop the sudden onslaught of sorrow that overtook him. His eyes watered to the point where his vision looked to have devolved into an under-water world, taking in air through his nose as he tried to snort up any mucus that was ready to depart his sinuses.
"Oh Ga-gawd…"
Blake was put in an incredibly awkward position, looking back and forth from the crying man in his passenger seat back to the windshield in front of him to keep a decent eye on the road.
'Fuck…'
He should have just kept the thing on himself- though he had to admit he wasn't sure what Jayden's reaction would be. Part of him thought he wouldn't do anything at all, he seemed oddly callous about his own death at times. The only emotion he seemed to display was towards his family. Now a full-grown (dead) man was bawling in his car. Great, fucking A.
Always a cold man, he didn't offer support as much as a strange sort of warm indifference. Any words that rose to the surface seemed out of touch, and analyzed each statement as it came about. Some seemed too compassionate, too caring for their situation- better suited for a girl that just lost her parents- or even someone missing their child, and even that in itself, was rare for him. He didn't exactly offer much support to Ethan Mars when his son went missing- though in his defense, he didn't think much of it at the time. How many times had something like that happen in a typical work week, to have it be a false alarm? Enough times for it to be fucking irritating.
He could have complained that he was crying like a bitch- yet even Blake knew better. This wouldn't have been the first time that a man broke down next to him, and something told him it wouldn't be the last. Taking a long breath, he tried to ignore Norman's sobbing until he stopped, but he had a hard time completely blocking out the young man.
"Come on, now…" He tried to comfort, his eyes blinking partially closed as he leaned his head to the side, away from Norman.
Another series of words threatened to spill from his mouth, and even opened his lips to say them, before stopping himself. Nothing that he thought to say quite fit the moment. He could be a dick, he could be sensitive, and yet none of them would feel particularly accurate. Carter didn't want to appear weak in front of this adversary of his, yet didn't also want to particularly be unsupportive.
"Sahwry- I…Fuck…" Norman closed the pamphlet in a hurry, decorated with several wet spots from his falling tears. He threw it haphazardly in the back in a fit of self-deprecating anger.
"There's some tissues in the center console…"
Part of Norman didn't want to acknowledge what just happened; it was utterly embarrassing. His vision was still diluted by the tears, making everything appear watery and submerged. Setting himself on "auto-pilot", he reached across quickly and opened the center console, popping open the lid and receiving a whiff of some oily-old-car smell. Inside was a flat, nearly empty box of tissues, instantly recognizing them as the sort the hotel gives you with the room.
He took a couple- which was all that was left. Holding them to his nose, he focused on cleaning off any mucus that may have exited his nose, first. Then tended to his eyes with the clean sides, wiping down his cheeks. Huffing and puffing, he tried to steady his breath- yet when he blinked more tears rolled down his face as he was overcome with a surge of emotion, he couldn't get those goddamned pictures out of his head.
A hand found it's way onto his shoulder, and he jerked a little in response. Glancing over in surprise- as if anybody else was in that car with him- and found Carter looking out the windshield at the road as he rubbed his arm up and down, his grip strong, warm, and intensely powerful in more then the physical sense. It sent a warmth that spread into every corner and fiber of his body, igniting a deep seated ancient fiber of social bonding. Such an instinct made him want to touch the older man back, even against his will- The thought awkward enough to stop him from completely accepting it.
"There's a rest area up ahead…We'll stop."
His tone wasn't kind nor was it condescending, but instead simply to the point. Norman looked over - eyes moist and nose beginning to run again. He sniffled, nodding quickly as he put the used tissue to his face. At that cue, Blake released his hold on his arm, though slowly and far from repelled.
"Thanks." His pale, grayish- blue eyes downcast, he wiped his nose with the tissue as he responded, voice barely audible due to it's newly ashamed state.
Norman shook all over, feeling wholly worthless and disgusted, tears once again flowing as an endless stream of sorrow engulfed his heart alive. His face was downcast, sullen and dark as a cloudy, breathy storm lived and thrived in his eyes. The thought behind them full of absolute self-revulsion and infinite despair. All the while, the lieutenant next to him seemed to have become mute to his cause. It only made him feel worse, as the silence of Blake next to him implied that he felt wholly awkward, words unable to reach him.
Instead, he watched in slight interest as Blake put on his turn signal, then checked his mirror before moving over into the next lane. Looking out, he saw a rest stop on their side of the road. Because this was a turnpike, they couldn't get off into the general public where there would be a livid choice of restaurants and gas stations. Instead they were cut off, forced to pick from a few shoddy choices in the matter.
"They got a Starbucks here…We'll getch'a some coffee…Sober you up."
Nodding, he sniffled again, finding Carter's protecting and doting attitude slightly off-putting. Part of him felt a bit patronized; he was a grown man and didn't need to be cared for either like a child or a high-maintenance woman. Though Norman had to remind himself; he just had a break down in Lieutenant Blake's car, tears, sobbing and all…It was kind of hard not to say or do anything to try and do one's best to calm the situation. Still, no man wants to be caught crying, and doing so in front of such a rival was the ultimate in emasculation. Agent Jayden was no exception.
Christ, he'd probably have this held over his head for the rest of his…well, if he could call it a life. "Hey, Norman. Remember the time you bawled your eyes out in the car like a pussy?" He could hear it now, that condescending tone of voice and smartass sneer. He swore, he could do a dead-on impersonation of Blake at this point. It would have involved him spitting curses, scratching his balls, and turning into an obscene, deranged incredible hulk at any sign of disagreement. Carter had made himself incredibly predictable, a walking caricature.
He should have been more surprised at the man's reaction. Except, his little profiling mission of the older man had predicted at least this. Carter was a hellion, but there was no doubt to the young man's mind that the man had some demons festering down inside. When Ethan showed weakness, he was pulverized. When Norman did? He was comforted. What the hell was going on, here? What was it about himself that the lieutenant felt the need to protect? To nurture?
It felt almost disturbing, a kind of sickness crawling in his gut at the thought. He was no child, and although he detested being treated as one by this cop- he rather didn't like the alternative. Perhaps Blake had a problem with being nurtured as a child? His father perhaps lacking in this area? It was a possibility, and Norman filed it away mentally for further use. Either way, if this was what it took to make Blake be civil, he was willing to make the Philadelphian cater to his every whim if he so wanted to. He wondered just how long he could play his "grieving phantom" card for?
He watched in earnest as Carter parked his Taurus, the parking lot rather sparse but still populated by some weary travelers also starting their trips, or perhaps pulling all-night drives, stopping off for a coffee or snack. Either way, he looked them all over nervously as he parked the car in the back row, and the agent had to presume it was for security purposes.
"Recognize anyone?"
The lieutenant watched as the agent next to him seemed to glance hurriedly through tired, doped-up eyes, looking about the parking lot in a frenzy to see if by chance, anybody he even remotely knew just so happened to be on the Pennsylvania turnpike on an early Wednesday morning.
"No…No, I don't think so…"
Giving a look himself, Carter determined he was also in the clear. Norman himself being spotted wouldn't have been a big deal at all to him- but being spotted with a dead man? Not good. His only plan, had he been spotted, was to disappear and try to escape. It seemed cowardly to leave him there, but in his own defense, he wasn't exactly sure what else could be done to save everything from his reputation, to his entire livelihood. Possibly even his life itself if the FBI found out.
Speaking of which, he nearly had forgotten about those two FBI assholes tailing him. Looking over towards Norman, his eyes quickly darted to him, to out the window, then back again. Breathing from his mouth, he huffed as he leaned towards him and glanced out his window, the seat leather squishing and squelching as it flexed to his movements.
"Looks clear…" Carter stated with some stress, leaning back and into his seat.
"Open the door, keep your head down…I'll put my coat over 'yah, and walk fast…"
Norman wanted to point out that they were perhaps better off acting as casual as possible, as to not attract attention. After all, they weren't that far from Philly, and chances were most of these people were weary travelers, and wouldn't be looking out for someone like him. Crimes occurred very often at such transient locations, though in their defense, people tended to be on their guard seeing as they recognized a likely trouble spot when they saw it.
But he didn't particularly have much experience sneaking around. Sure, doing Tripto in inconspicuous places had given him something to hide- yet he was lucky enough to nearly always be behind closed doors when the attacks struck. Hiding Mars had been the closest he'd ever come, and that was enough. He was successful only because the precinct had been massively busy, especially at that time. Perhaps, he pondered, Blake was right. He was about to trust everything in the mad cop's hands. God save them all.
"Let's go…" He muttered, after some hesitation.
Giving a final look, Carter opened the door and stepped out quickly, shutting the door as quietly as possible behind him. It was chilly out; his breath making vapor appear with each puff. He stomped around the front of the car, appearing as an angry animal as he snorted, huffed and puffed his way around. Sure, he was irritated, but Norman put him in a mood that was akin more to his typical "get it the fuck done" slant then anything. Right now, Norman was a job to get done. Christ, even when he was out of the precinct he was still working his ass off.
Norman at least had the fucking courtesy to open his door, watching him cautiously get out from the passenger seat. Looking left and right, Blake chewed nervously on the inside of his cheek as he took off his coat, feeling the slight chill to the air but deciding to ignore it the best he could. Throwing it up into the air, he watched the pain-in-the-ass huddle down and prepare for cloaking device to ensnare him.
The first thing the agent noticed was the intense stench of Blake- everything from his soap's sweet odor, to his sweat, musk, his pharamones lambasted into the coat's fabric. Against his wishes, he felt at first revulsion, then as he took a second breath, he realized there was no reason to turn away from the masculine odor, that he had been with the man for days and was smelling it this whole time- so instead he took a second, and a third as he felt himself being pushed and huddled towards what he assumed was the rest stop.
Then a fourth time, and he inhaled deep, felt a quiver in his buttocks as a jolt of energy surged up his lower back. It was almost as though he was willing to be penetrated by the very man behind him, and that terrified him even more. He coughed, choking on his breath as he sniffled and tried to ignore it, even if a slight surge began to pulse in his loins. Norman couldn't help it- he was aroused. If he had been sitting, he would have shifted in his seat to alleviate some of the sensation, but instead he simply began to walk faster. As if every step was going to somehow make the situation more right.
That hand that had been on his shoulder- it tightened. He felt his cock raise, swell, puff up and out like an organ badly inflamed by an infection. He was infected, all right- by desires for a man he really should have had nothing but contempt for. Yet even at the beginning of the case, he had told himself- even after his harsh initiation- that he had to work with this man, no matter their differences. In the interest of reasoning with these rather lovely feelings, Norman decided that now was not much different, was it?
Yeah…It was. Not long after he socked Carter in the face and had a gun pointed at him- he had found the man a lost cause. How could one reason with that? It wasn't that Norman found the man unreachable- he was simply impossible to work with. He hadn't been planning on reporting the man once the case was over, not unless something significant occurred- but it would have been more out of pity in the agent's mind rather then genuine respect. He couldn't find it in him to forgive the man for beating Ethan Mars nearly to death.
Yet none of that seemed to quell the feelings his body was giving him. As much as he hated to admit it, Carter Blake radiated pure masculinity, utter sex walking about on two legs- he smelled and walked like an alpha male- and hated it at first. Now, however, as he felt those "cock of the walk" feelings put into protecting him, he couldn't help but wrap it all up and put a bow on it. It was...desirable, attractive, it was sexy... it was…making him hard.
Blake noticed none of these as he quickly hurried Jayden into the building, a rather nice, new place that looked to have been built recently. They advertised the Jolly Rogers more then anything, but Blake wrinkled his face up with the concept of actually eating there. Though, truth be told, he was starting to get hungry again. Not insanely so, not like yesterday…But throwing up his breakfast didn't exactly fill him up.
"Almost there- come on- hurry up…"
His patience was reaching it's end, his protective, fatherly nature nearing it's breaking point. Norman seeemed confused for a moment, unable to keep step, so the arm that was postioned at his back went around his side, clutching him close under the rib cage as they came to the double glass doors.
"Anybad-ah see me?-"
"Shhh!" His "hushing" rather harsh and stabbing in the otherwise silent atmosphere. "Take it off, we're in-"
Swinging open the door, he ripped the jacket off of Norman's head completely. He knew that once inside, they'd draw more attention then when outside if he was walking around with a coat on his head. A casual observer not paying attention would have simply assumed he had been using his jacket to protect a lady friend from the beginning rains, even if it wasn't particularly heavy- not yet. The concept was amusing to him- Norman was a little woman, after all. Afraid of his hair getting wet like a little bitch-
"At least it's kinda dead in 'here."
Norman had forgotten the potiential quitky comeback that Carter may have responded, probably something to the effect of "like you?", but was quite impressed when it didn't come. It was funny to him, seeing as the cop wasn't quite as predictable as he had thought. There he went again, stumping the shit out of him.
Regardless, the expression was true. Nodbody waited in line at the Starbucks, which was directly in front of them as they entered. To the right was an ice cream parlor, Baskin Robbins to be precise, but it obviously wasn't open at this hour. It continued on to a sort of small cafeteria where the Jolly Roger lay, along the wall behind them, a map of the state of Pennsylvania and it's ajoining states. The road they traveled on was marked in red, their location displayed with the typical "you are here" label. Even from his position, he could tell they were a bit ways off. Why did this two hour drive seem to be taking forever?
'Not the best company…' He reasoned, but discovered that he oddly enough, didn't feel that way completely. Carter hadn't been nasty this whole trip. If anything…He was strangely comforting. Though he knew it wouldn't take much more poking to wake that bull.
"We gonna make it 'n time?" Norm asked, scratching his nose as he craned his neck down, trying to avoid eye contact. He knew his own eyes were still bloodshot.
"We should…"
Blake decided not to give the cry-baby his full attention, instead focusing on the drink menu. Starbucks and all these other fru-fru coffee shops confounded him profusely, too many goddamn options with every fucking flavor under the sun. He'd learned to adapt, to ask for the closest thing to a "normal coffee" as possibe, never mind the obscene amount of money each cup cost.
Truth be told, due to his sweet tooth, he did enjoy the occasional frothy, sugary cup of a large latte or cuppochino. He really hated drinking them in front of co-workers, however. Expeically Ash, whom made a habit of riducling such feminine drink choices. At least in front of a gay or bisexual man like Jayden, he didn't have to constantly be on alert about his masculinity. He supposed there was good side to everything.
There seemed to be a nice enough girl at the counter, she had a nice smile and wore a pair of hipster black rimmed glasses. She wasn't a skinny thing, but Blake still quickly sized her up as just plump enough to fly under his rader of woman he woman't mind fucking. Not that he planned to, or anything. At least she had a nice pair of tits for him to wake up to this fine morning.
"Hi! Can I help you?"
Letting out a quick, frustrated sigh, Blake shifted from one foot to another as he mulled that one over. Putting his hands on his hips like a confidant Playboy model, he looked up towards the menu above and sighed as a display of both frustration and a universal sign of confusion. Boy, did he wish someone could help him. That would be really nice- and he didn't mean the coffee.
"Yeah…I'll have…Two cups of the signature roast…No, wait…One of those, and a mocha latte, make 'em both…larges, whatever you call 'em."
Fuck it. Ash wasn't here- Blake would never admit that he despised being bullied. He was no jock in high school like Jayden assumed, rather he was the butt of everyone's jokes due to his height, among other nonsensical, childish things they could come up with. Playing football was the best catharsis to move him along and allow some sort of acceptance, though his reason for leaving the sport wasn't quite like he told the younger man.
"Whipped cream on the latte?" She inquired, raising up two cups and writing some fine details on its side.
'Fuck yes.' Thought Blake. "Yeah- go heavy on it, would ya?" Is what he said instead.
"What's your name, sir?" She asked, her tone so polite and cheery he wasn't sure if he should be delighted or sick from the diabetis she was giving him.
"Carter…" He answered, not thinking of it. Forgetting entirely that he was supposed to be keeping a low profile whilst traveling with a dead man.
Writing his name on the cardboard cup, she passed it towards the barista, another girl but this time thin, with her dark hair up in a ponytail with gaudy eye shadow to brighten up her pallid complexion.
"What's your name, sweetheart?"
She aimed it over at Jayden, who stood there with his hand to his mouth as he analyzed the map. All the crazy but true city names like "Pleasure", "Intercourse", and "Blue Balls" to just confuse-yet amuse him at the same time- still he stumbled as he was "shocked" from his stupor of concentration from the girl, and was about to talk when Carter caught him off-guard.
"Brandon." He offered.
Norman couldn't help but look over his shoulder quickly, a small blush appearing on his face and dissipating- he hated his middle name. Not quite as much as his first, but as far as he was concerned it was a completely unnecessary add-on to his already depressing status as having a 'geeky' name. Nobody was looking in his direction as he gave Blake a haughty stink-eye. Though he supposed part of it was a attmidance for his clever attempt to not only hide his identity, but take a jab at him once more. Yet even Blake wasn't looking at him, instead smirking solemy to himself as he seemed to be focused entirely on the muffins available in the case.
"Anything else?"
'What the hell…' He philosophically decided, then pointed to the muffins in the case.
"Two of those…" He drawled out. His early-morning, tired, irritating tone peaking through.
The girl opened the case, using a wrapper drapped over her hand to retrieve two of the large, sugar-coated chocalate chip muffins. His mouth watered at the thought- he hadn't had one in forever. Carter looked about as he waited for her to wrap said items, remembering thinking it was a little unnecessary, after all, he was just going to inhale both of them the minute he sat down. Now that he started thinking about it, his mouth began to water, body craving that sugary, sweet glucose to pump through his veins and fill him with empty calories. He wasn't particularly concerned about his weight- he had indeed been feeling quite famished lately. His stomach seemed to have oddly shrank since this whole ordeal began, but nothing more then when he'd been working long hours without food. He didn't think much of it.
He watched Norman head his way, keeping his head down while simloustanously doing his best to keep out of sight. Luckily, all the workers there seemed less interested in him and more inclined to get their morning routines finished. He watched as the girl totaled up his big order, and was surprised when he took out is wallet and began to pay cash.
"I'll pay 'yah back, for the coffee-"
"Nor-Uh Brandon…You're fuck'n joking, right?"
Norman went to speak, but instead averted his eyes as a small smile formed. Blake was buying him breakfast- or was it brunch? He was torn between being shamed or feeling those little butterflies in his stomach when somebody decided to cut him a break. A guy never bought him anything before, save for the occasional office secret Santa or family occasions. He was a bit unsure what to do.
Instead, he watched in a slight curiosity as he passed a good bit of money over to the cashier, to which he was rung up and given change. Both men, one after another were called over to the counter as their drinks were prepared. Their names being announced was a bit disconcerting for both, but they quickly took their drinks and sat down, Carter taking with him his brown paper bag.
There was a loaded silence as Jayden scratched the back of his neck- really hoping that they had never stopped and could have just kept going. Somehow, he found himself antsy, wanting this to be done and over with. He couldn't help but feel they were wasting time here, second by second ticking away, like a clock he just couldn't hear. Jayden sniffled again, looking towards a small table next to a window overlooking the busy turnpike. His face still felt damp, no doubt his eyes red from his small breakdown. He couldn't believe he'd actually done that- he'd hoped Blake would never bring it up, but something told him he was thinking too kindly of the man at this point. Blake was a monster, he'd seen it himself. The agent should have known better then to let a few kind words and free coffee change his mind.
The table was modestly sized, and Jayden felt a bit uncomfortable as Blake decided that he was, indeed, going to sit down right across from him. Their elbows brushed, and Jayden couldn't help but feel extremely abashed and awkward as he moved them back, though still quite enchanted by both the smell of his black coffee, the muffins, and the pro-bono, going dutch act by the homicide detective.
"Thanks 'fah the coffee…" Jayden thanked with an absolute shy, defeated tone, gave the cop the smallest of smiles as he glanced at him only briefly, then looked down- getting just a second of the man's eye contact as he shifted in his seat, watching him also grab his cup gently and attempt to get a sip.
"Don't sweat it…Not like you have any cash on 'yah, anyway." It took Blake a minute to respond, waiting until he swallowed the mass of muffin and took a sip of his slightly warm, cream-filled coffee beverage to wash it down.
Watching the agent look down solemnly, he began to once again analyze the agent's body posture. Not quite unlike he'd do to a suspect in the hot seat. He was only aslightly confused as to wether he was feeling ashamed or humbled, eye contact waning as he studied the steaming cup of coffee in front of him, neslted warmly in his hands.
"When we get to an ATM, I'll get'cha the money…"
To think, he'd nearly forgotten…Jayden did owe him a substantial amount of money for this "deal". Though truth be told, he found himself trying to think of inventive ways to spend that much cash. Yet Jayden was becoming an expensive little "pet", his feeding and upkeep may just climb in price if he continued to stick around. In the end, that money was going to be as much as Jayden's as it was his. Somehow, it didn't quite feel the same.
"Yeah…We'll do it when we get this shit all swept up…No hurry."
He ate with some restraint, not wanting to look like a savage pig in public, or even spew food particles all over the man he was sitting across from. Though as that thought came to mind, that would be pretty fucking entertaining.
It was put in a way that wasn't so much grateful as it was almost condescending. How many times had he gotten Ash coffee without even thinking about it? Or the other way around- Perry routinely bought everyone coffee if the situation took them all out from the precinct. It was a given, with almost no gratitude involved. Besides, the way he saw it, Norman was going to be coughing up a lot of money. Surely, he could let some coffee slide. Though he had to admit the idea of being given all of this money had begin to lose it's luster.
Sure, like nearly everyone, Blake would like a few more bucks in his pocket. Of course this was one of a few things that he wouldn't mind having in conjunction with Norman's oral talents- but the more and more he thought about it, the more it felt like he was taking advantage of a dead man- someone who couldn't really fight back. He wasn't exactly the most conservative of police officers, his cynical tone to police work and arrogance towards the suspects and non-suspects alike would assume one would find him ready to pounce on such an opportunity. Yet he was also a prideful man, and the idea of pretty much stealing all this man's life savings - Norman fucking Jayden or not- wasn't really sitting right with him.
There was a slight flutter of activity as some of the workers behind them began some conversations. Carter was grateful for some noise in the place, as the only sound up to that point had been him munching on his sugar-encrusted snack. He finished it in record time, about ready to start on the second when he glanced over towards Jayden, who of course, had been spying that muffin with some lust for the slightest of a second. Blake's hand twisted the wax paper the muffin had previously sat on, crumbling it up as he realized this wasn't really right, either…
'Fuck…'
He inwardly cursed himself when he realized what he had to do. Not really so much as a necessity, as Jayden had ate breakfast earlier- but in terms of some sort of gesture in order to clear the air. He had hidden that pamplet from him, never attempting to show him. Now he regretted it, and now he had a goddamn crybaby in his possession.
Jayden felt oddly anesthetized as he leveled his eyes, staring out the winodw as he watched the cars speed into the soft light in on the horizon. Here and there he'd hear Blake take a bite, listening to the lieutenant chow down on that tasty-looking muffin. Jayden didn't want to tell the man that he sounded like a horse when he ate, lining up to the trough to swallow anything inside at a quick and consuming rate- but it was true nonetheless. It didn't bother him all that much, and instead drank his coffee as he tried to put himself out of the situation as much as possible.
"Here…" Blake sighed, pushing the muffin in the paler man's direction.
Norman looked up from his mini self-crucifixion, staring into the coffee as though it would deliver some sort of message. When Blake had ordered two muffins, he instantly had assumed one would be for him- only to realize later that he had indeed planned to greedily inhale both. So he had given up on getting the tasty treat, only to have the joy rekindled, in sorts. No, he wasn't one to inhale cookies by the mouthful, he tended to enjoy salty treats over the sugary sort. Oddly enough, he began to find himself more attracted to the idea of devouring chocolate, especially, by the pound.
"Catah, you don't hafta…"
"Shut up and eat, asshole. We have a long day…"
Now here came the man's crass attitude, roaring back. He supposed he shouldn't question the man's gratitude, after all it wasn't as though he had much to begin with. Never look a gift horse in the mouth, they say. The profiler wasn't particularly hungry, but knew full well it wouldn't take long for his cravings to come surging back. Come to think of it, almost on cue, a sort of pining desire for something crispy, soft, yet sugary sweet began to scream for him to delivier.
Licking his top lip, he questioned no more as he slid the paper towards him. Lifting it up, he took one big bite and felt it crumble in his mouth. Blake watched with an odd sort of facination as the agent ate, feeling some sort of pride at keeping the little bastard fed. It wasn't just a fatherly action, but something perhaps more akin to either social or self-preservation. He couldn't help but think of Jayden as a sort of extension of himself, his body- his own property, and therefore his best interest to keep happy.
'The fuck is wrong with me? I don't owe him shit…If anything, he's cost me so fucking much…'
Jayden practically swallowed the muffin, taking it down with a few last bites. It was odd just in the fact that he wasn't hungry but mere moments ago, but found his body hungering for some sort of sustenance that it apparently told him he very much required. He couldn't help but feel Blake's cold, judgemental gaze on him, fixed with that examining, prying stare as he seemed to be studying the deceased agent like the facination that he was. His cheeks flashed pink with the slight embarrassment as he fed his face, pausing only to swallow and take a few sips of his coffee to wash it down.
He finished, crumpling up the wrapper in the wax paper, looking down towards the table as if to avoid the acusasatory stare. "Thanks…"
"I need to fatten you up, pal." Carter threw back, spinning his own act of good will around to make him look rather foolish. "I bet your corpse is bigger than you right about now…"
Indeed, the youthful agent was rather thin, practically skin and bones the last time the lieutenant glanced at him. He swore his clothes hung baggily on the younger man, but in a way that was far from just their mutal size differences. He supposed being dead didn't exactly put one in a good way- but as far as the hauty detective was concerned, Jayden was like a new project for him. A way to fight off his up-and-coming midlife crisis. That car in the backyard didn't quite compare to a living, breathing human being.
"Yeah, y'ah probably right…" Norman admitted. Sticking his index finger in his mouth as he sucked out the last sugary goodness from under his fingernail.
Blake's vision once again decided to sway in Jayden's direction, analyzing that single action. A sudden warmth engulfed his abdmimen at the memory of Jayden blowing him for the first time, a jolt of pure erotisisim sent his crotch alight as it pulsed. Christ- he was good at it. Just being a man was enough to make him somewhat knowledgable in the field of what another member of the same sex would crave, and feel. Yet there seemed to be a certain flair that simply felt…engaging, motivated- as if he was vying for some sort of approval.
"'Think I lost some weight since I've been dead…" Jayden chuckled, and couldn't help but glance over Blake's shoulder as he saw one of the female workers catch that sentence, turning her head slightly, obviously curious as to what the hell he could have meant by that.
"You and me, both…" The lieutenant added, totally unware as to the goings-on behind him.
"Sawry?" There was a slightly nervous chortle to the agent's response.
Carter paused, pressing his lips together as he hunched slightly over the small table. He took a luscious sip of his creamy yet hot beverage, pulling away as he licked the whipped cream from his top lip. Only slightly staining the upper portion of his goatee.
"My clothes are gett'n loose…" He cleared his throat afterwards, not particularly wanting to devulge such personal information.
"Rilly?" Jayden's accent trilled, Blake wasn't sure yet if he found it amusing or irritating.
"Yeah…"
Jayden watched as the older lieutenant took a another quiet sip of his coffee, sitting back in his chair as his eyes darted up, meeting for an awkward second or two when their gazes locked.
"Probably noth'n…" Norman nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders as he put his hands under the table, clasping them with some concern, not quite wanting them to venture between his own legs as they instead sat on top of his lap. He had to admit it was cold in the coffee shop, but he supposed he should have been happy enough to feel such sensations after being dead.
"I can't wait until this shit's ov'ah with…" He stated, sighing as he looked down at the brown table beneath him.
"Hate to break it to yah, Norm…"
The sound of the cup being placed back on the table seemed to resonate louder then it should have- and to think, this time he didn't even slam it. He turned his head to the side and clicked in his mouth like back in the wasteland all those days ago.
"…But this shit is just beginning." Carter said it with an ironic tone, looking up in a way that exemplified that style of speaking as his deep blue irises rose to the top of his whites, looking at him from under his heavy brow. Jayden had wished that didn't sound so damn right and well…scary, but he also knew the truth when he heard it. Always did. He watched as Carter began to stand up, scooting his chair back into place with a slightly ear-wrenching squeel filling the coffee shop.
The agent wanted to ask what precisely he meant by that. After all, he wasn't planning on asking the man to do much more then speak to his family and get his affairs in order. That shouldn't be too difficult, at least from his end, his family would do most of the work, no doubt. Yet he had a chilling realization when he suddenly understood- if this 'living' thing continued, and he hoped that it did- Norman was going to be living with Carter until further notice. He would need to be taken care of, like a fucking child.
'Christ, I wonder why he isn't more upset…'
He never really thought of it like this before, and because of that, he felt his good mood almost completely falter. Swallowing hard, he began to stand up, not wanting to make Blake any more late then necessary. Scooting out his chair and making a similar noise, he stood up a bit too fast- and it was then when his world shattered once again.
There was no time to think or even react- just a quick intake of breath as he felt himself teeter backwards. Warm air flowed about, caressing his exposed limbs as he felt the sun once again touch his face, plants brushing the bottom of his pant leg- what he had assumed to be grass-
'Fa'wk! No…No! Not now!'
Never before had he been so terrified of not making it back to reality. He was making progress, or at least he had thought so. Indeed, it was merely borrowed advancement and time, and now it had come back with a screaming vengence to lay waste to his newly-aquired post-mortem physicality.
Like a rush, he felt the effects hit him. It ran up his flank and spine, the sickening sensation making his stomach and organs slosh about as a stabbing pain resoated there. Feeling as though someone had kicked him square in the gut, and never took away the foot. Yet it didn't compare to the throbbing behind his eyes, pulsing with his quickening heart beat. The panic was only making it worse, the thudding ever increasing.
There was the overpowering sense that he was far from being in control- emasculated, thrown into submission by this constant disease of his. Post-mortem addiction- no doubt the first case of it's kind. He inhaled the fake air through exasperated lungs, unaffectedly hyperventilating as he found himself unable to keep up with his own breathing.
He expected to see a warm canyon on a sunny day- a lukewarm forest full of autumn color, the middle of the ocean, or perhaps even the surface of mars.
What he got was the last thing he'd ever expected.
A sensation rocked him that he could do nothing but simply experience- he couldn't understand it in that first few seconds, just feel the absolute power that felt to have liquefied his bones and practically destroyed every sense he owned. His eyesight went dizzy, ears ringing profusely as he stumbled backwards and clashed both hands over his ears, feeling nothing but pain and confusion through every possible particle in his body.
'What the fuck-'
He saw and felt the heat; like standing mere inches away from an open fire. The color was a vibrant orange that filled his vision, sending ripples of absolute fear through his body as he fought to breath in, fearing inhaling the flame itself and burn himself from the inside out-
"-him out of there!"
A man's voice drifted in from behind, one that disturbingly familiar, though not being currently sane enough to process it. He was yanked back suddenly, down into a forest of green, humid grass and ferns that he felt more then saw, and it wasn't until someone was pressing him down into the haughty growth that he could smell the air- smell the fire…What was that? It was…Fuck, was that napalm?
'Oh…Shit.'
At first he struggled to remember where and how he knew that smell from; then distinctly remembered a demonstration at Quantico, Virginia. It was years ago- but that smell stayed with him, most notably because of the stigma he couldn't help but attach to it. The historical facts that were hammered into his head in college pervaded him, it's jelly-like consistency until it was ignited by air- used most notably during the Vietnam conflict-
Now it hit him, and it was less so much a 'punch to the gut' as much as it was a sudden realization that writhed and crawled it's way to the top of his conscious. The tropical warmth, the vegetation, the sound of what he was now beginning to process as gunfire, and of course, the blinding heat and smell of napalm. It all came together to form an impossible virtual reality.
Holy shit- he was in Vietnam.
The evidence continued when he attempted to raise his head, only managing to turn his face to lift one eye up to the sky. The utter amount of green was staggering, the jungle thick even after what had to be a napalm drop on a nearby cluster of vegetation. Helicopters permeated the sky like birds in a more peaceful setting- and as his hearing began to return, the churning of their blades nearly deafening in their own right. They zipped from right to left, their noses slightly dipped as they carried soldiers from what had to be point one to point two.
His suit- or rather, Blake's suit, was yanked back with frenzied force as he struggled to help the process. He didn't have much time to even try and fathom who was behind him, trying their best to force him up to his feet, he just knew that whoever it was, they would have to be pretty pissed.
Someone yelled, and he couldn't hear them at first- much less see them. It wasn't until he lifted his head that he saw a blurry man- taller, with a silhouette that already seemed far more powerful, worrisome, and loud- blinking each eyelid with such force as to jar him not only out of this panicky moment, but out of this heinous reality.
"…I said, soldier- What the FUCK are you doin'?"
A moment of recollection, a second for him to try and make out the man in front of him, and he tried to speak, albeit poorly. He failed on all accounts.
"Uh…I…I'm not a-"
"Where is your uniform! What the- what the fuck is wrong with you? A suit? You're in a napalm drop zone, you stupid fuck!"
Spit flew and hit his face, his eyes closing in response as his facial muscles scrunched up, telling himself to not even try to lick his lips anytime soon. His breath smelled fetid and horrible, and for the briefest of a second marveled at how ARI had the ability to reach even the smallest detail.
He was pissed, that much was obvious. Though he could understand why- a suited man showing up in your blast zone wasn't exactly what anyone would expect. Though the other part of him was highly irritated that he was being blamed for something he had no fault in. It wasn't exactly his intention to end up in war-time Vietnam. Though he supposed he should be glad he ended up with the Americans and not the Vietcong- still, he knew better then to get too excited. This could, and most likely…would, turn out very, very bad.
There was an enveloping heat all around, the deep humidity already causing sweat to roll down his back and forehead. Though he supposed the heat from the napalm and stress along with it didn't help. He took a deep breath, only to feel exhausted and positively miserable as he exhaled. That man grabbed him on the shoulder roughly, then spun him around so that he had his back to whatever soldier he had just so happened to have appeared in front of. Even still, he couldn't see, or hear correctly, his vision blurring in and out, hearing becoming inundated with the all-too familiar ringing from perhaps either the blast, or the ARI itself.
"March, asshole!"
'Christ, even people in the 60's think I'm an asshole. Ah'r maybe I'm the 70's? Fuck!…'
The thought was almost self-deprecating, as the tone of that voice had become so familiar to him over the past week, that he didn't even feel himself become surprised when he sort of realized who exactly it had sounded like- only to hear the heart-stopping sound of what had to be gunfire- he only but saw the flash of muzzle fire in the dense greenery, only heard what reminded him somewhat of firecrackers, and he was down again. Thrown to the dirt by the man behind him that had, so far, saved his ass twice.
"-Get down! Everyone get down!"
Jayden inhaled what had to be the worst kind of breath. Laden with some sort of toxic fumes as he breathed heavily against the ground. Finally; he began to see clearly, but it was all for naught. His eye strained to look up, seeing white birds flee the top canopy of the jungle, doing their best to escape the absolute hell that had been set loose in their corner of the earth. A strong hand kept him pinned in the center of his back as another sort of weight crushed his lower body- realizing then it was warm and heavy…The man behind him had practically covered him with his own body. It was both amazing in it's sheer level of compassion and selflessness- yet embarrassing for himself, as well as incredibly awkward.
That was nothing compared to the absolute shit-storm that had erupted all around them, however. Jayden just then made the conclusion in the fog of war that they had indeed came into an ambush, and were being fired at by Vietcong machine guns. His heart; a now heavily over-worked and stressed bundle of muscles; hammered violently as nausea gripped his stomach, FBI or not, he wasn't prepared for combat- for the hell that was war. Not especially one as primal, unforgiving and deadly as this. This was hell on Earth, and he'd only been here but for a few minutes.
He had guessed that soldiers were firing back. Guessed it because it seemed as though the man behind him was shouting orders. It soon became obvious that he was a high-ranking sergeant, or even lieutenant. That eased his fear only a smidgeon. It meant that he would be professional towards his predicament…Not that he would believe it, though. Or for that matter, who said he was good at his job? Christ, Blake was a police lieutenant- showed how much that mattered.
On cue, his fear caught up in his throat again, and he began to feel the waves of sickness rolling over him. All the while, he felt what had to be ants crawling on his left arm and making their way to his face, swatting at them the best he could while he lay face-down in the dirt. This was Vietnam. The fear that these could be some sort of venomous insects ready to kill him dead a second time became a very real possibility. He remembered seeing nature shows where a swarm of ants would eat an entire creature whole. Needless to say, the swatting increased with new enthusiasm.
'Godda'hn! This can't be real…There's just no way. I'm gonna wake up- I have to. This is insane! It can't be…It just can't!"
The statement was more then just a reaction to the absolute down-trodden frustration he had come to suffer, the cumulative effect of dying, coming back, having a strange prostitution-based relationship with Carter Blake- then appearing in Vietnam when he was supposed to be in a coffee shop was taking its toll. It was also a reaction to looking up, and seeing soldiers for the first time. Actual, real soldiers, or as real as ones the ARI could create, using the mind of someone other then his own.
Whites and blacks- about five or so, gathered around him in a loose circle, one in front standing with extreme caution, bent slightly as he put together what he quickly guessed to be a rocket launcher. On the sides were some sort of sloppy white lettering that he didn't even try to read, an attempt no doubt for the solider to take some individuality amongst the uniform atmosphere that was the armed forces. Decorating their weapons was the best they could accomplish in the middle of a godforsaken jungle.
Norman braced, quickly covering his ears as he rolled back up, the man behind him scooting back in able to let him sit to some degree. He was relieved, as the ants had begun to bite him at his ear lobe until that point. Reacting quickly, he swatted everywhere, raking through his hair and making seething, closed-mouthed noises through his teeth. Taking in a calming breath, he watched as the solider in front fired the weapon, smoke flying backwards not far from his face as he tried not to completely inhale the almost oddly pleasant smell of explosives. A gust of pure force sent a depression into the ground, now glad he gave himself some room in retrospect. The blast sending the rocket towards it's target- the band of communist rebels in the brush. The trip was short, and the rocket had little trouble disappearing into the threes with it's white cloud of smoke trailing behind, sending an explosion outward amongst the trees as it set the canopy partially on fire.
The gunfire continued for the most part, Norman found himself cowering as best he could while not completely exposing himself to either man nor insect below. It wasn't just the bugs that kept him off the ground, it was the aversion of looking like a complete coward in front of these brave men…none of them slunk so low into the ground as he was, even now. Of course, Jayden wouldn't be seen by a coward by many, yet he always had the deep nagging inside himself. He had always considered joining at least the army, if not the marines. Yet his family put a stop to that faster then he could bring the pamphlet home. 'I didn't raise you to go get yourself killed in some godforsaken desert…' His mom had said, the irony just now dawning on him to a great degree. Sure, it may not have been the middle-east, but being grinded to death wasn't exactly better.
Shouting now lifted over a break in the fog of war, dark smoke being inhaled through his lungs that no doubt could stain them and shorten his now unnatural lifespan. Some smelled almost good, in a victorious sense. Like gunpowder of recently fired weapons taking out the other side. Though he felt disturbed at being actually excited about that; Norman didn't wish ill on many people. Though he wondered if there was an actual "good guy" in this fight.
The other smoke was horrid; the last thing he wanted was to breath it in. It was blacker then the pitchest night, and smelled of violent, flesh-searing chemicals. The kind of shit that causes third-degree burns and cancer in their children's children. No doubt some burn-off from the napalm drop a few minutes ago. He coughed loudly, easily drowning out the chatter and yells amongst the men around him, causing his eyes to water as he put his face into his arm, shielding his eyes and filtering his breathing.
"…The fuck is that, anyway?" One of them spoke up, taking notice of his form there, easily noticeable amongst the men in uniform. Apparently, the fighting was over. It was the only explanation Norman could come up with for the sudden conversation.
"Some faggot…" Another said, laughing and cracking a nearly pearl-white smile that stood out on his dark face, lighting up a cigarette and putting it to his lips.
He stood up to full attention, doing his best on his shaky and stressed legs. Taking the scene in for the first time, he eyed the group of men with a combination of fear and respect, heart thudding against his spine as he tried to come up with some amazing words, something to make them give him some sort of audience rather then call him a homophonic slur again-
"Fuck- look at 'em…Pressed suit' n shit…Fancy hair…Damn, you are a faggot, aren't ya?"
The one to the right took a few steps closer, a white man with a shit-eating grin that seemed far too amused after such a fire-fight for Norman's own comfort. He found it hard to speak, looking at these presumed American heroes and instead feeling near-rage at being crucified by their cruel words. He honestly couldn't tell if they were fucking with him- or going to take him out for concern of some sort of foul play.
"Takes a faggot to know a faggot, Jim-" One said in the back. The one known as Jim spun around and smiled, obviously having a good relationship with the other soldier, and issued out a "Hey, fuck you, man!" in the most near-playful way possible.
"You all seem to know a lot about queers-" Came the almost frighteningly familiar voice behind him.
"- You wanna all circle-jerk, or you wanna find out who this fuckin' asshole is?"
Jayden had to turn around- no, it couldn't be- and his response was a mix of fear and near-joy. Finally, a familiar face in this hell-hole! Except…it wasn't.
By all accounts, Carter Blake stood before him. Dressed in what had to be the thickest, most adorned Vietnam-era camo armor possible, straps and pouches slung about, the green from his uniform strong and dark, covered with a combination of mud and what had to be long-dried blood. That trademark goatee was thicker than normal, dark and rich like a black cup of coffee or a black bear's dense coat; and it stretched all the way up and connected to his hairline. Not a gray hair amongst them, nor a single wrinkle on his face. In fact, he appeared to be in his very early twenties, and nearly swooned from the rough, yet stallion- like body and demeanor that this Carter had. He swore he was like something that just walked out of a gay bear porno shoot. He bet that under that uniform he had a strong, muscular chest covered with thick hair. All he did know was that the bit of exposed arm he saw was thick and wonderfully toned. It was enough to make him drool, especially with those deep blue eyes set upon him.
Except, something was off…He was taller than Blake, something he was now surprised he missed considering he was now almost being towered over- and his chin was a bit more receded. He also realized that he had yet to see Carter himself in any of these inner-brain sequences he'd experienced.
Taken aback, Norman couldn't help but fumble at his words, putting one hand behind his head and sheepishly looking down, he only caught the sight of this pseudo-Blake with sweat pouring from his skin, grimacing, as he angrily swatted a death-carrying mosquito- then look towards Norman with the stink-eye of death as he expected some sort of explanation.
"Ah…Nahmen Jayden…F.B.I?"
It came out as more of a question, the character assassination taking it's toll.
Pseudo-Vietnam Blake pulled something nonchalantly from his pocket, then shook out what appeared to be a cigarette. Sticking it between his lips, he leaned down as he took out a silver Zippo lighter and put his head down to light it. Giving the agent a rather ironic glance, he took a puff of his cigarette, looking wholly un-amused the whole way. He could hear the soldiers behind him cackling as they burst out laughing. This Blake was not amused in the least, however.
"You shitt'n me, kid?"
Norman stumbled again as he searched for an explanation, attempting to talk but not exactly finding something he could use to put this into some sort of scope. Looking down at his feet with a spreading blush of shame consuming his face, one hand disappeared behind the back of his head as he nervously ran a hand through his sweaty mass of slowly curling hair.
"I…Well, I…They sent me 'tah…'tah analyze-"
"Analyze cock?"
Someone behind him thought they were absolutely hilarious, and the laughter continued. It prompted only a small smile from this Blake, watching as he took another puff as he analyzed Jayden himself, giving him a look top to bottom.
"I uh…I uh didn't think you could hav' a beard if you were in the military?"
Jayden knew those words weren't exactly kind, but he struggled for something to make him look more professional in these men's eyes. Something besides some suit who appeared out of nowhere, in the middle of a war zone.
Blake - or who he had seen to be Blake- made a smirk at the agent as he eyed him only a little suspiciously, as if expecting that very question, but not wholly concerned.
"I'm the only lieutenant in this part of the goddamn jungle, son. We've been holed' up here for three weeks- nobody here to fuck'n care."
His tone was vastly unamused, betraying his nearly worriless expression. Swallowing hard, Norman shook it off, looking down at his shoes as his stomach twisted into knots, the jungle's humidity making a stain of sweat roll down his back, and wondered if the dirt, sweat and tears would carry over to the real world. If, indeed, he was ever going back. The squishiness of the wet, moldy jungle floor caught in his ears as he heard this Blake walk towards him, the feeling of his approach similar to the sound of an executioner making it's way towards the potential prisoner.
"You're here for the drugs, aren't you?"
The tone was said in a relatively low whisper, though it seemed really more of a formality considering there was no way he couldn't be heard at that distance. Norman, of course, jumped a little at the accusation. His heart raced at the thought of them knowing about his drug habit.
"I- no! No…"
"Because I can tell you right now, son- nobody here's gonna give up their dope. It's the only thing keeping us from either going local or doing ourselves in,"
He nodded towards Norman with a sort of amused glint in his eye, taking the suit as a near threat to their apparent 'way of life' in the bush. Looking the man up and down with a very visible "once over", he spoke a little louder this time.
"…Looks like you could use some, suit. Might loosen' yah up…"
Blake inched closer; and he got a mean shock to his system as a million ideas of pain and suffering filled his head. He jerked as he didn't bother to go around him, and instead found the other man's shoulder colliding with his. The Blake back in the real world was at least shorter, him allowing to at least use that small advantage to fuel his ability to at least come up even. The idea of there being a Blake that was younger, taller, and even more buff then the one he was aware of…with the same ability for rage- well, now there was a terrifying thought.
Pushing Norman out of his way; he made no effort to apologize as he took a few more steps, then looked back to give the agent a look of subdued irritation. He watched this Blake give his wet lips a lick, then turned around to take full charge of this particular unit. Jayden couldn't help but feel a combination of malice at the treatment, and being completely emasculated and virtually castrated in front of complete strangers. Here, nothing he could do besides kill a mountain of men would ever hold up in their eyes- being the least-liked man in the vicinity had become the story of his life.
"Com'on, mistah' F.B.I- agent or not, you're not fucking allowed here. Camp is back this way…"
For a moment, the agent just watched as the older male walked to the front of the men. A few of the soldiers, dark with sweat and grime, muscles popping from their shortened sleeves, grins wide with amusement at his predicament as Blake passed in front and in-between them all without concern. Norman glanced down at his shoes, placing his hands on his hips as he took a deep sigh.
"Christ…" He exasperated, bead of sweat rolling down his face.
He had over a thousand questions dwelling on his tongue, thinking of ways he could pose them so it didn't sound completely awkward. Usually this wasn't a problem for Norman, he seemed to use his professionalism as a crutch to get around embarrassing situations. In the one that he found himself in, however, all these were thrown out the window. Left in the Vietnam bush behind him as he rushed ahead, gaining some sort of confidence as he ignored the comments from the other men. They weren't exactly quiet in their accusations, still laughing amongst one another.
It was Blake he wanted to be behind. That irony wasn't lost on him, that right now he'd rather be anywhere but right next to the man he'd had to accompany for several days. He was, however, the only familiar face in this crowd. Even if this particular Blake wasn't exactly a copy, it was as close as he was going to get. Why, he wondered? Was this a souped up, more glamorous view that Carter had of himself? What he perhaps always wanted to be? Something didn't quite feel right about that theory, however, as Blake seemed to Jayden as a man that may have well felt quite right in his actions, his aggression painted more of a less-then-preferable view of himself.
Still, it was the best explanation he could think of- and so he ran the few extra feet, stumbling a little as he felt his left leg give out, but not enough to fall. It didn't surprise him, his fictional body still hadn't finished 'healing' from the wringer he was sent through when he died. He looked back, watching the other men trailing behind, their mouths now silenced as they instead viewed him with now less restrained curiosity, replaced now with revulsion. Here they were, fighting with sweat, dirt, and blood covering every pore, and there he was in a suit, once again viewed as the fed there to ruin every one else's plan. It was like day one of the Origami case all over again.
They began to walk a trail, and it was only a few short minutes before they crossed out into more of a far more open area then Norman would have assumed to have existed in the middle of what he perceived to be endless jungle. A road lay before them, with two dirt tracks on either side that indicated recent wheel activity, but not paved or actually even heavily used in the slightest. A few dips in the ground were filled with water, with what the agent had assumed to be alive with mosquitoes ready to give him Malaria.
Just about on goddamn cue, he felt the nasty prick of one of those little bastards- and rose up a hand in a fit of vengeance to swat it dead. The sensation was oddly fulfilling, actually killing something that tried to harm him without one ounce of negativity in retrospect. He pulled the hand away to reveal a monstrous winged creature, flicking it off. The bite wound was already beginning to throb, the sensation much like a pounding heart under his skin.
His little fit didn't go unnoticed, and Blake turned a little in his direction, looking over his shoulder. He almost stopped walking, but instead just kept on a slightly slower pace. Though he did witness the older man digging into his pocket with some reluctance.
To the young man's surprise, a small vial came hurtling towards him. Not the glass variety that he was very accustomed to, but rather a small white bottle with a top. It was obvious right away it was some sort of medication, with pills inside. For a moment he was confused; what exactly did he need pills for? Fuck, why was everyone from the FBI to Carter fucking Blake trying to dope him up?
"Take one- not sure if it can help you much, now, but…it's better then noth'n."
Looking down, he spied that it was marked "For prevention of Malaria." in smeared-off words. This made his skin crawl just a bit- just when he didn't think he had enough to worry about. There was no doubt that this reality was real enough to cause real-world consequences, and that he may in fact come back to the other side with a blood-borne illness. The thought was far too uncomfortable for his liking, so he simply popped the top, took the large white pill, and dry-swallowed it to the best of his abilities,
"Thanks, sir." Norman replied, doing his best to be polite, then swallowed again as he felt it sticking to the back of his esophagus. He saw there was little to no reaction from Blake, so he cleared his throat and decided to address him in a more formal manner. Much like how the higher-ups back at the station didn't seem to want to respond unless their title was parked in front of their surnames.
"I uh…Lieutenant Blake, sir? Thanks 'fah the help."
This time he turned his torso, looking towards Norman with nonchalance, but at least giving him a little nod. Norman went to toss it back, but was stopped promptly with a shake of the head.
"Keep it, doesn't do me any good…Got it, already…"
Jayden nearly stopped, perking up his head as his gaze lingered on the back of the man's head. What did he mean by that?
"I'm sahry?"
"I got Malaria already-forgot to take the fuck'n things. They say I'll be sent back home, soon…"
The man trailed off, and Norman could have sworn that he heard a little bit of regret in his tone of voice. Needless to say, it was a touch confusing. Though the psychologist in him knew full well it was his duties of a lieutenant, taking lives and being responsible for so many of them-why would he want to go back to being an average, every-day citizen? Someone like Blake, he felt, craved that ability to command and conquer. He wondered if the man's previous ancestors were similar in their desires to dominate all they surveyed.
Now the agent watched the man with a bit more furor- looking for signs of illness or weakness in any way. Surprisingly, he still appeared just as steadfast and unmovable as before, and wondered how it was possible for such a beast to be infected with the horrible blood-borne pathogen. Not just showing the signs yet, he wondered?
'This is a simulation- of course shit doesn't have to make sense…especially if it's comm'n from Blake!'
It was becoming more and more unbelievable to him that this was all springing from one man's mind. Since when was Blake in Vietnam? Christ, he wasn't immortal; and was far too young to fight in the thing himself. Even being in the country after the fact wouldn't have been enough to show the sheer detail this place presented. It was going to be impossible to figure out while he was in this world- with no books, no internet, no ARI, or outside sources to try and formulate some sort of theory as to how this could be. He only hoped he would make it back- preferably soon.
"What are you really doi'n here, son?"
His tone was almost a bit southern, and it nearly threw him off guard. Sometimes he wondered if this was really Blake, or a look-alike. His voice would dip from that typical, generic Philly accent to one of someone who perhaps resided in the rural areas of Virginia, if he had something to compare it to.
"I ah'estly don't know, sir." Jayden admitted, shaking his head as he brought a leg up to step over a large incline in the path.
"I'm just as confused as you are."
He had tried to sound convincing, but knew his 'story' could only go so far. People didn't mysteriously appear out of nowhere into a Vietnam jungle. Though he also found it hard, if damn right impossible, to just come up with something convincing that would otherwise explain his prediciment.
"Really? Well mistah F-B-I, you must've either been drugged or brainwashed, cuz' I'm lookin' at you right now…shit, you're defiantly here."
Blake brushed aside a long fern, now heading back into the jungle. Swatting a mosquito of his own, he wiped the sweat from his brow as he then turned around, face clogged with perspiration and eyes halfway closed from the sun beating down.
"I-ah know…Listen, thanks for 'yah help- but I just wanna get outta here. They uh…dropped me in, by helicopter- I threw my parachute in the bush-"
"Shit, dropped in? Why didn't I get any word? I've been in this area now for days. I mighta shot 'yah down in there wasn't a napalm hit to worry about…"
Norman chewed his lip as he pushed aside another huge plant fond, put his foot carefully onto a huge tree root as to not trip over it instead. That explanation was the only one he could come up with on the fly, and he was already terrified that it wasn't sounding convincing enough.
"I didn' say it was a good decision, sir…"
Trailing off, he tried to go as far as he could without actually lying any more. The more he lied, the more likely he'd trip up and forget himself. Blake remained silent, and they trampled through the woods with relatively little objection, save the occasional odd sound, bug bite, or plant branch to the face. What had to be about fifteen minutes went by without issue, though that didn't mean the young agent wasn't constantly fretting over the issue at hand.
Then there came a tense moment as Blake suddenly stopped before him, his whole body going rigid. From what Norman learned of human nature, his body indicated a fear response. Sort of like how a deer freezes when it perceives danger. Much like a deer, somehow the federal agent gathered that, they too, were being hunted.
Putting his hand vertically into the air in a "halt" fashion, everyone behind him seemed to follow the like course of action, mimicking their leader as he froze in place. He wasn't sure what to think, himself, and his heart raced to match said thoughts. Was this routine? Something told him it wasn't, be it the rigidly of his company, to the eerie, unusual silence that now hung in the space around them. He decided to finally try and speak, not yell, not even use his real voice- just whisper. Minutes had ticked by, and the sweat trailing down his lip and back weren't making the stressful situation any better.
"What's-"
His breath felt as though it forcibly left his body as he reacted in pure shock from the sudden, unpredictable shots that rang out. The young, inexperienced agent didn't even recognize the sounds at the first few seconds- just that they were loud, making his body tense up and heart feel as though it had just flown up and into his chest. On instinct, he turned and went to grab for his gun- only to realize he didn't have one. One of the men fell, and it was all he saw as he was once again knocked down from behind, and there was no doubt that the large, muscular mass that was laying on him- pounced on rather like a jaguar apprehending it's prey- was once again the Vietnamese Blake. He shuddered and breathed as the shots continued, breath quick and panting as he tried not to inhale the dirt particles he was currently staring down.
He closed his eyes so tight, he swore he could feel them bleed. The breathing of this unusual Carter behind him fluttered against his ear. Norman just may have acquired an erection if he could say that he found this situation even remotely erotic- except he heard men crying in agony as they were shot up, cries for one another's comrades as they were gunned down in cold blood. Tears leaked from his eyes against his will as he heard the Carter above him scream for some semblance of control, barking orders as they were ambushed from the bushes, distracted by his own self, yet being protected as if he was one of their own.
'Maybe I really am dead…Maybe this is all one big test, one giant fuck'n purgatory on my way to hell…Or maybe I'm already there…'
There were, after all, flames. Screams of dying men in their final throes coupled with the whine of firearms coming to a crescendo like a session of hot lovemaking as it climaxed- then ceasing as a sort of eerie silence filled the air, a smog of sorts settling over the rather large cleared-out pathway that used to be some relatively peaceful Vietnamese jungle. A veritable Hades on Earth, the stench of gun fire, fluids, and masculine hormones abound, that last one in particular coming from the man on his back.
"Shit…Shit!" Blake coughed out, swallowing in a difficult manner as his voice shook from the surprise and agitation.
"Goddamn chinks…Look what they fuck'n did…Killed Jenners…"
Though his tone was sad, defeated, absolutely downtrodden- he could feel that chest hit his back with every pant, the tension forming in his muscles like a cat ready to spring. It was all so overwhelming, the mud now forming on his face as it stung his open pores, the salty perspiration pouring down every inch of his body.
"I'm sah'ry!" The agent tried to yell, his chest tightening in sorrow.
"…noth'in you coulda did…" Came a rumbled, choked up reply from the Blake above him. Though he knew it wasn't true, seeing as it was his arrival that caused them to make their way into this particular ambush- though he tried to make himself feel better by reasoning that it would have happened regardless, though he obviously didn't know for sure. Would never know in this hellish, fantasy jungle.
He could feel the large, heavily muscular man on top shift about, and it wasn't until he heard Blake speak into a slightly hushed and hurried tone that he realized he had been speaking into a radio.
Standing up, he walked towards his downed and injured unit with obvious strain, voice cracking as he spoke.
"Re-enforcements are coming, mister F.B.I. I don't know who the fuck you are, really- but you're getting out of here- we've got a job to do, here, kid."
The words stung, for good reason. They quite reminded the agent of his botched attempt to accuse Blake of being the Origami Killer. It had been in haste, a combination of anxiety of not being able to find the suspect with Shaun's death looming on the horizon- and of course, Triptocaine withdrawal. The fact that he was spending far too much time in ARI couldn't have helped. After punching holes in his little theory, Norman couldn't help but realize how positively stupid his assumption had been. Rushed and unprofessional. Luckily enough, Blake had actually done a good job at making him look foolish, otherwise his haste may have just gone the whole way-
'Oh wait, in that case, I may actually still be alive…Fired, but alive.'
That Blake had recanted Jayden's claim with simple logic- then put him down once more by shooing him away, reminding him that some of them had "real work to do." It stung at the time, made his pride dip to insurmountable levels as he retreated from Blake's desk, eyes filled with mounting depression and shoulders slouched in shame…Now? Now the sensation returned, feeling like nothing more then a bump on the road for braver men and more worthwhile human beings.
"I 'am who I said I am, sir." He tried to take back some of his pride.
"I'm not here by choice-"
"-Now you're just pissing me off." He turned, his vision no longer on his unit, and pulled Jayden up by his suit jacket with a force fueled by pure rage.
Norman felt himself lifted off the ground, a once- over given by this Blake as he seemed to analyze this young man that just fell into his lap from nowhere. His face was filled with a contained rage and combined curiosity as he bit into his own lip at thought. The other man's own visage was covered with the same mud, sweat, and nearby buzzing insects as he was, eyes the only clean surface as they flashed a dark blue and white towards the agent with a fire brewing underneath, not quite tolerant enough of the man's excuses.
"Well I am, asshole! Unlike you, I was in the goddamn service while you were back home, finding your dick- and if you're gonna fucking be here- you better stop bullshit'n me and tell me what you're up to! You a fuck'n chink spy? Tell them we were com'in?"
Vietnam Blake grabbed tighter around the man's suit collar, making a furious eye contact for only a second- before he threw him back to the ground, hard enough that he barely had time to try and catch his footing, the momentum enough to send him on one foot, then flat on his ass then collapsing to his back as he grunted from the motion. Swallowing, he looked up into his antagonist's face- a face that remained him more of a raging bear then that of it's earthly human counterpart.
"Blake, I-" Forgetting himself, he propped an arm up underneath him, only to get an angry pseudo-Blake grabbing him again and pulling him up. It was odd how little out of him it seemed to take- almost zero exertion as this Blake was young and powerful, hauling him around like a stick figure half his size.
"That's Lieutenant Blake, asshole." He spat in his face again, several droplets cascading onto his cheeks and lip as he winced. That breath and saliva was warm- no doubt, those teeth haven't been brushed for a while.
Norman was about to talk when he felt it necessary to stop- the sound of helicopter blades piercing the normal jungle sounds of birds and foliage being trampled. He looked up, still in the other man's grasp, to witness one pass right above them. It surprised him how quick they arrived, not to mention how low they seemed to be flying.
"Well, well, your ride's here already…"
As Blake looked back down, the agent's view of the helicopters were obscured by the man's face as he gave him a rather condescending glance- watching him snort with what seemed to be revulsion at the man on the jungle floor.
"You're lucky…You wouldn't survive here one goddamn day, Jayden."
That tone was familiar, too, and all those feelings of inadequacy came rushing back as the first day back at the station. A surge of anger rushed him to his feet, pushing his shoes down into some sort of thick mud laced with leaves- and straighten up with a vigor that came more from adrenaline than anything else.
"That's right loot-enant! Not a single godd'ahm day!…" He took a few steps closer to the taller man, taking in the man's angry gaze and analyzing it in anyway possible.
"…Is that whatch'a tell all 'yah new recruits be'fah you send them into the jungle? Before yah lead 'em off to die? Is that whatch'a told your men back there-"
He was able to say to him exactly what he wanted to this whole time, though not so much the words as the feeling behind them. Those really couldn't be articulated into any series of phrases as hard as he tried. This wasn't a real human being, after all, just a facsimile of Carter's subconscious, or at least what he understood this to be. Except he didn't get to really finish it.
"You little fuck'n asshole!"
Taking off in a run, he wasn't sure what this Blake was capable of. It was less from fear and more from avoidance. He didn't need to get fake-beat up by a fake soldier, it wouldn't have exactly helped anything. Instead he took off towards where he the chopper seemed to be landing, the man's thunderous footsteps coming right up behind him.
A slight terror erupted in him when he realized it wasn't as close as he thought- so he sped up and looked over his shoulder, the very action causing him to stumble as he then saw nothing…No Blake, anyway. Though the jungle remained, as did the sound of helicopter blades and faraway explosions. He stood for a moment, then looked about with some quickness to make sure he hadn't popped up somewhere entirely like a bad horror movie.
'Either Blake is more fucked up then I thought…Or I am. Not sure which is bett'eh…'
His heart fled into his throat as he turned- the intense feeling of wind suddenly bearing down on him. He winced and hunkered down nearly to the forest floor as the helicopter hovered closer, his eyes nearly closing as he felt the irritation create tears, watering them up considerably as the droplets were forced away into the wind by the machine's blades. The sound was enough to make him want to totally avoid this ride- but he had no idea how long this particular 'incident' would last- suppose it didn't end? What if he was trapped here? Either way, he was considerably better waiting somewhere else far less hostile.
Another break in the jungle- an it was obvious he came upon the area he was supposed to be. A small clearing on the edge of a large precipice, more of the Vietnamese jungle laying below. He tried to look up, catching the best photographic glimpse of the army helicopter as possible. It was green, it's entire body painted in dull paint and a few white letter markings, with a dark, looming presence as it blocked out the sun and cast a shadow upon him. He could tell there was a few soldiers inside, but for obvious reasons tried not to stand too far out for safety's sake.
A ladder was thrown out, quite the lanky thing as it was nothing more but two ropes with rungs between them. It took him a whole few seconds to analyze that situation and determine he had no choice, looking up to gain some courage from the man looking down at him; but his helmet and goggles betrayed no emotion, wither it be sympathy or amusement at his situation.
Norman knew that he perhaps should have predicted what was going to happen next- an explosion, red and unbearably hot as he jerked back, foot still wrapped in the last and furthest rung as he hit the ground once more. His blood pressure and anxiety hit record heights as he coughed out a shocked breath- feeling his body jerk forward as the now falling helicopter was taking it with him-
A man's hand grabbed at the ladder, coming in from behind as it snatched it with one, and used a rather ridiculously large army knife to slice and dice the rope away. It cut relatively clean after a few sawing attempts, and Norman fought to pull himself half-way up so that he could assist with the other. Even before seeing his face he knew who it was, but now wasn't the time for pangs of affection and questions of integrity.
The second rope, despite being twisted and turned around the first, was cut- and he felt his body stop sliding forward as his foot was not inches from the cliff- but within the other man's grasp. He looked up, witnessing the fiery wreck as the helicopter hit the ground below, a gush of flame underneath ascending into the air. Though despite it's awesome display, he couldn't quite get over the other display- the 'taller' Blake holding his foot in shock as he peered at the incident happening from his angle, which Norman was certain was far moor interesting.
"What…What happen-"
"Gooks again." Norman would have winced at the racial slur had this been any other sitatiaion.
"Took it down with a launcher- like a sitting fuckin duck...We gotta go...The camp...the camps gone- razed..."
Unable to make a coherent sentence as he panted- the words between each breath were beyond strained. The man's shoulders slouched in near-defeat, making it obvious to the younger man that he had been defeated against all of his will.
"They're everywhere...This goddamn jungle is theirs, now..."
Normally, in such a situation, the agent would have felt guilty at having been the cause of a whole helicopter crews untimely death- but he had to keep reminding himself this wasn't real. Though another part of him told him that supposedly- he wasn't, either. What made them so different? Was the other, supposedly 'real' world an illusion as well?
His world had become one big, horrible trip. One event spiraling one after another, an ironic hell to drop into after living a sinful life of indulgence. Neglecting his body, his happiness, his family, love life- even his career, all for a taste of that seemingly endless bliss. A bliss that had poison lips, and a deadly kiss; but it was a kiss that was long, and tortuous- even now.
Norman was silent as he looked up, now finding a small convoy of helicopters flying in front of them. They continued to block out the sun as they flew right to left, completely heedless of them. It was mesmerizing to say the least, the entire scene feeling accurate, though the FBI agent wouldn't be able to know for sure just how real it was. The air felt humid and heavy, the jungle oppressing- but most of all, the overwhelming feeling of death, hopelessness, and that nearly familiar feeling of paranoia hung over his whole being, and in this fog of despair he couldn't help but understand just how hellish a person would have to be to not only survive this- but thrive.
With that thought, he managed, somehow, to stand up. He turned around only to no longer find Blake standing there. It didn't surprise him, as he'd stopped hearing the man minutes ago. Though now he reasoned it had more to do with the situation then him actually leaving- his sudden, heroic appearances with disappearing just as fast must had something to do with Carter Blake's psychosis. Though he'd begun to get to the point where he felt analyzing things was almost pointless. There was a very good possibility this was beyond the human mind's comprehension- the brain didn't even understand it's entire capabilities.
One breath- humid, hot, sweaty- the next…cold, his breath appearing before his eyes. Then his head began to pound as his gut rumbled, and he felt lightheaded, like he was about to faint. This sudden change caused panic to erupt, and he doubled over, nearly taking a seat if he wasn't so afraid of not being able to get back up. His vision blurred to the point where he once more felt nearly and wholly blind, everything melting into shapes and simple, dark colors and shadows.
'Cartuh! I…I gotta get back to him…He can't leave without me, he wouldn't, would he?'
The futility of the situation was wholly frightening, and he began to walk quickly about in loose circles, doing his best to keep his legs active. Already he could feel she shaking start, the withdrawals hitting him quicker than normal. He gasped as he felt his nausea swell, closing his mouth and doing his best to focus on keeping his small meal down.
'What if he does leave me here? What if I never make it back-! What if this is the last time?'
A quick gasp, a flutter in his bowels- and he began to tremble everywhere. His eyes diliated as his arms shook violently, and out of instinct he wrestled to contain the shakes with one hand clasping the other, his teeth nearly chattering from the force.
"Cartah!"
He yelled, his voice giving out and doing no good in the stagnant, nearly non-existent location, stressing the pronouciation as well as he could. Still, he was hoping that his tone was respectful as possible- if he could hear it, he hoped it could coux him. 'Shit, try…'
"Loot-enant Blake!" He tried again, his throat strained and only able to spit out the man's name with some harshness, a gurgle in the back of his throat.
Panic overtook the young deceased agent- and he began to walk quickly about the small space he was given. Pale, now nearly grey eyes darting back in forth as his head nervously turned this way and that- goddamn- what was he going to do? This was no dream-quest from Carter's seemingly disturbed mind, nor was it a memory from the past…it was simply the ARI-verse coming back to haunt, and perhaps confine him. He wans't content to just sit and wait- not anymore.
Funny, how often had he used ARI to escape the confines of the real world, and here he was…Busting to get back in. The incredible irony wasn't wasted on Norman, cruel and very apparent as he now struggled to communicate to a man he also shouldn't want anything to do with. Crawling back from the other side like the ghost he had become.
'Casper the asshole ghost…Fuck you, Blake.'
He tried to think, to reason, to grasp as to what to do and how. Yet as he stood, shaking and quivering, tremors filling his body violently- he felt the cold trickle of a nose bleed begin. Norman didn't even reach to take it away, just close his eyes and almost relish the masochistically irritating feel of it running below his nose, sneaking it's way over his lip-
Head spinning, he leaned his head back and watched the world around him follow suit, his whole body felt lighter as his heart accelerated. He could just feel the faint coming on, and despite his frantical efforts to stop it, could not cease to ever- accelerating blood pressure spike that would send him into temporary unconsiousness.
Instead, he found his feet moving, and in a very drugged and comatose state, he began to walk about. Pain seemed to almost flow through his viens, his nerves virtually on fire as each beat of his strained heart sending throbs of agony through his drug-starved system. Blinking his eyes shut from the rush, the stabbing, visceral torment, he stumbled a good few more feet without any heed to where he was going.
A small barrier- a few rocks in a line- and he stopped. The urge to faint had receded for now, so instead he squinted as he looked over the tiny, waist-high wall of rocks. He wasn't quite sure what this was supposed to resemble, so without thinking he placed his hands on the lip of the wall, and heaved his tired body over it. It wasn't easy, and it retrospect he wondered how he even had the strength, especially since the lack of stimulant to his body caused his muscles to feel like limp, painful noodles. A few more stumbles, and with some restraint- he backed away from the cliff that seemed to come up out of nowhere.
"Whoa…Whoa…"
With a shiver, he considered for a brief few seconds how easy it would have been to die in this non-reality, if it was possible. He couldn't determine if his withdrawals were about to receed or get worse, as they seemed to be lessening, yet still returning once more in stronger spurts. Jayden swallowed hard as he tried to blink away his blurry vision, listening and feeling the pulse inside his chest with each powerful beat, it had become far too loud as it throbbed in his ears, obscuring all other sounds.
It was then when Jayden realized that he wasn't in the realm of non-reality anymore...Not even close. He felt that same heart practically explode, sinking down into his chest- a tractor trailer honked horribly as it sped towards him.
He was on the fucking turnpike.
Norman didn't even have time to think, much less say "Holy Shit!" as he seemed to immediately snap out of his daze, eyes widening and body quickening as he jumped out of the way. There was no concern for the lane next to him, as there simply was no choice, and he landed with extreme tension right on the tremendously cold and harsh cement. The air was knocked keenly out of his lungs as he blinked, head thudding and vision darkening with the extreme panic from the shock of what had just transpired.
The truck blared it's horn as it sailed by, rattling the highway as the wind felt oppressive to his laid-down form. It was a massive thing, with a black cloth covering it's trailer as it seemed to be hauling construction equipment. There was no time to consider just what would have happened had he not moved, how many pieces he would have exploded into, how flat and bloody the mess would be, how many hours it would take and manpower involved in once again piecing together what remained of his body- instead he told himself he would be just as dead if he didn't move, now.
Despite all the muscles in his body screaming in agony, he once again pushed himself off the concrete just in time- to the tune of a screaming horn coming his way. His face flinched visibly from the stress his muscles endured, his back screaming despite the abnormal amount of adrenaline pounding around his system.
A car approached at a good seventy miles an hour, seeing him far too late and waiting to hit the brakes before they caught sight of a suited young man on a busy, wet turnpike. Norman inhaled sharply as he once more half leaped, half stepped away from a speeding vehicle, hearing and seeing the blue coupe fly past him as his stomach lurched inside at the concept of what could have been. He twisted full around, his stomach feeling as if it literally flew up into his chest as the edges of his suit swatted against the wet car as it flew by.
'Oh gawd! Too close; too fuck'n close!'
Another car wasn't far behind, except that one laid on it's brakes harshly, and in turn it began to swerve as it did its best to miss him, the driver convinced that it would have hit him just seconds earlier. Jayden watched helplessly as it fishtailed back and forth, then seemed to head towards him with an unintended warpath.
Looking back, he found the opposite lane full as a redish SUV swerved to miss him, honking horribly as it careened into the side of the concrete barrier and skidded around in front of him. Jayden had no choice but to run, attempting to clear the lane and make his way towards the other side.
Observing with horror, Jayden saw the car that swerved to miss him ram the SUV as it flailed about sideways. Before he could have time to consider what his actions had caused, he heard the blare, the screeching, of yet two more cars flailing down the road, braking and careening to avoid the wreck. One flew between him and the crash, feeling the breeze fly past him as his heart caught in his stomach from a seemingly almost- death again and again. The other swerved and hit the wreck sidways, a new fear clutching him when he realized he could have just cost some innocent motorist their lives.
'Don't just stand there! See if they're okay…'
With a lull in the traffic, Norman sprinted towards the wreck as quickly as possible. There was but one man in the most recent car wreck, and was about to look inside when he found the gentleman exiting on his own free will. He was a slightly portly man with grey hair, and before Jayden's mouth could open, he felt himself become renewed with apprehension when he realized he himself was a dead man- and wasn't supposed to be engaging in any sort of conversations with anybody.
'Shit! Gottah dissah'peer…Fast…'
He looked around, his head pounding as his nose once more began to bleed. Somebody yelled at him, but he couldn't determine what they said, and weither it was a call for help or a yell of concern- or even just a curse. Taking a deep breath, he walked away, doing his best to ignore the scene- when a car blared loudly next to him- so loud he swore he nearly let his bladder loose on that one.
Turning- he felt a wave of relief wash over when he found the window rolling down, and a one Carter Blake sitting inside the grey police- issue sedan. Jesus Christ- the look on his face said it all. Absolutely ghost white; like a sheet of paper, the bags under his eyes even more noticeable then before. The man had been absolutely scared half to death. Was it for his safety? Or his own? After all, if Jayden was killed…Again. It may lead for some explaining to do for the lieutenant that was supposedly seen with him in the coffee shop. That is, if they found the body...The former agent didn't want to dwell on how he'd get rid of his body.
"Get 'in the fuck'n car…"
His tone was shaky, Jayden had quite expected Blake to be more angry- but instead he sounded almost…afraid? Though he wasn't really sure why- he supposed the fact that he took it easy on him once he was caught having a nervous breakdown in the car- fed him coffee and a muffin- he felt like a kid who's dad just bought him an ice cream to make him feel better.
There was no doubt, however, that Blake was pissed…that was, not entirely in a good mood- and that was understandable, if worrisome. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Norman sprinted in front of the lieutenant's car over to the passenger side. He felt like a bundle of nerves, his skin sweaty and pale, eyes wide and glassy, shaking from head to toe. Every step was bouncy, his anxiety causing him to act as one whole live wire.
Ripping open the door, he let out a massive sigh and sat down inside. He felt a massive quiver as the car jerked instantly forward, slowing down only momentarily to pass through the small gap left in the small car pile-up. Once he did, however, Carter accelerated wildly to fly down the road, hearing the motor pick up as he laid on the gas pedal and sent it flying down the highway.
A long and tense silence filled the car once more, though this time it was pregnant with questions on both sides, more from shock and awe then the mere curiosities that plagued their awkward discussions before.
"So… when did you get it done?"
Jayden paused, his breathing now just beginning to level off- wondering just what the hell Blake was talking about.
"What?" He asked, his polite tone long gone. At least, for the time being.
"That lucky horseshoe you had installed up your ass. Was it before or after you died…You know, the first time?"
He offered only silence in response, biting his lip as all color drained from his face, finding it funny, sure, but not exactly amusing considering what he'd just been through. His body still clung to it's earlier, Vietnamese jungle sweat. His bug bites still itched, though he doubted there were any physical manifestations really left behind. Rather, he was too afraid to look and check, so he decided not to. Unsure of how exactly to resond, he decided to ignore that comment and instead concentrate on the issue at hand.
"I d'un't know what happened-"
"You pulled your goddamn disappearing act again, that's what happened." Blake interrupted, his tone hightly stressed. The profiler was unsure if he was pissed at him or simply angry at the situation. After all, he reasoned, there was little he could have done, completely unaware of the real world beyond his fantasy.
"I went to look up- fucki'n saw you dazed and confused, standing there like a kid finding his dick for the first time. Then you fuck'n vanished, poof!" Blake threw an arm up to illistrate his frustration, the other one staying securely locked on the wheel.
"…Just like all those other times, 'cept this time…"
Carter paused, chewing at the inside of his mouth as he stared straight ahead, fuming in his own cocktail of confusion and loathing. Norman watched his face with anticipation, waiting for the answer. What was different.
"…You didn't come back…"
He said it with a sort of muted, extinguished tone. Any more, and Jayden could of sworn it would be admittance of defeat. Something that even this old, grimmy detective from the streets couldn't handle. He was concerned he actually couldn't be found? That he was gone for good?
Carter glanced quickly at the agent sitting next to him, though he had a hard time concentrating what with the situation weighing down on him and beginning to actually make him nervous. It was rare feat for the older veteran of law enforcement- but this time he was faced with something altogether different. Not only Norman and his absolutely impossible actions, but the fact that he just fled the scene of an accident…That the kid had just caused. If anybody got a good look at, and identified him- they were shit out of luck.
Said kid was fidgetting- his legs bouncing and hands twitching. They seemed to do it with some real vigor, almost as if they were being shaken from some grand source. It was "nervous" twitching…Rather, it quite resembled someone's actions from substance withdrawal. During the Origami Killer case- he remembered Jayden's odd behavior at times- mood swings, anxious, almost nervous paranoia. Wide eyes, pale, even clammy-looking skin…For a briefest of seconds, he entertained the idea that the uptight young man was in fact, a coke addict.
Being from the FBI, Carter assumed he had a rather high-class, almost celebrity lifestyle. Maybe he did do lines of cocaine in his upscale hotel room? Of course, he still couldn't see that pussy sniffing a line of finely-cut coke from a mirror on his night stand. Not at all, not even if he tried. The kid was too morally up-right, he could see him feeling guilty about just having a goddamn beer, or touching himself-Though his ability to give rather stupendous head made him reconsider. If Norman was capable of blowing him so well, then maybe there was more to this little shit then met the eye?
Regardless, Blake didn't particularly consider Norman's shaking to be from drugs. It wasn't like he saw him pop any besides the legal ones he had willingly gave him. An illegal action in itself, but not one he was concerned about in the slightest. Giving away his medication wasn't exactly normal for him, however. Indeed, he had been the first. It had more to do with opportunity then any real care, he reasoned. Nobody had ever been so fucked up around him to aquire his narcotic pain medications.
Instead, the cop figured it to simply be another trait of being dead, and brought back to life. His very presence in the car's cabin was something peculier in itself. It wasn't exactly healthy to die, he reasoned. So of course he could see some physical side effects remain. Now that he thought about it, he was now surprised Norman wasn't even more fucked up.
"I dunno…" Came the agent, but his tone was all wrong. His teeth chattered as he spoke, and Carter watched as he grabbed his own arm with another, trying to stop his hand from shaking too readily.
"I just found mahself in a jungle…There were….people, I started walk'n…"
Carter couldn't exactly focus on his driving, especially now with Norman's strange attempt to tell his tale of being in some damn jungle. It all sounded like some hallucinogenic fantasy, brought on by some sort of pill or mushroom. Again, he couldn't help but entertain that drugs had some sort of role in this.
"Let me guess…" He bobbed his head a little as he spoke his condescending tone; "Then you were in the middle of a highway…right?"
Twisting his lips, he analyzed the little brat's face, and knew from experience something was being hidden from him. He could always smell bullshit a mile away, even seeing it, perhaps, times when it wasn't even there. In the case of Ethan Mars, he knew the man was trying to only let a little of his knowledge out, and for obvious reasons, Blake knew something was amiss. He never would have guessed it was quite the conspirtial scope that the reality had come to be, however.
"Yeah that's…about right. Except…I felt like I've been gone for hours- How long has it been?"
"About…fifteen minutes?" Carter relayed, his tone dry.
"Seriously? Jesus Christ…"
Norman's tone fell as he looked out the window, his eyes glassy and face fallen. His complexion was absolutely wrecked; and if Carter didn't already know the young man was dead, he would inquire it right there.
"Fuck, Norman- you better start explaining some shit to me. I'm about ready to say fuck this whole goddamn thing and let those FBI agents handle this- you're gonna get me fuck'n arrested or killed-"
"What do 'yah want me to do, Cartuh!"
His voice was desperate, an angry line to it. Like a dog who was poked at one too many times, only to lash out in a blind fury. Though mostely, it came off as a plea for help. Norman had been sent back into despair by the older man's surprisingly serious tone. He was right, and it put him into a nervous fit of realization when he came to understand the absolute gravity it all held. Someone could be seriously injured back there- even dead. It would all be on him. Still, it felt tremendously unfair to be blamed for something he had absolutely no control over.
"I 'ave no control ovah this!" He spat out to the unresponsive police officer.
"I'm here, then I'm not! I'm not making this happen…Fuck, if I could, I wouldn't fuck'n be work'n for the FBI, I'd be pull'n rabbits outta my ass for a livin!"
Blake wanted to laugh at that- the image of Jayden doing just that sprouted suddenly in his brain. Though emotions ran too high to be just extinguished like that.
"You're hiding something from me, Jayden…" Came a nasty, almost poisoness line.
"And before this trip is over…I'm gonna find out what."
Jayden was silent, and instead decided it would be easier to ignore that comment entirely, instead rolling over to look out the window. His motions resembled a child being told he couldn't have what he wanted, pouting nearly to the same extent of a little boy. Though his words weren't quite as immature.
"You say that to all your suspects, Cartuh?"
Carter had several things on the tip of his tongue, could feel his rage cresting. Instead he rocked his massive jaw side to side, looking at Norman out of the corner of his eye.
"As far as I'm concerned, Norman? You're are a fuck'n suspect. Because I think you've been lying to me from day one."
'Not a chance.' He internally insulted. Trying his best to calm the now-nervous shake that was beginning in his body. The cold, clamy sweat that started from his drug withdrawals were now being replaced by anxious ones. Being found out, rooted out of the soil by the dirty old hog that was Lieutenant Carter Blake- and he was the truffle. He wondered if he'd be devoured much like one- not literally, of course. But rather in the sense that he'd be left for dead on the long stretch of Pennslyvania highway in the middle of nowhere. Forgotten, perhaps wondering a virtual wasteland forever.
"I've been…sick for a long time, Blake." 'It's not like I'm lying…' "The ARI, I try to keep a handle on it but…It's tough sometimes."
Norman tried to make his voice sound defeated, depressed and all together pathetic. He thought he did a pretty decent job, but wasn't sure entirely if the cop believed him. The profiler had a hard time reading his masculine counterpart.
"Sick?" The cop repeated. "In the head? Or what?"
That very nearly-almost put a smile on Norman's face- instead he scoffed, a bit surprised that he came out with that one.
"N…No! Cartuh, goddamn it…I'm not…"
Norman almost said "crazy", but stopped himself. No, of course it wasn't that simple- fuck! He should have known that, he was a goddamned psychologist! He didn't know how he suddenly got that simple, asinine thought in his head; since when did he think in ways that absolutely defied his education?
"Crazy? I didn't say you were crazy, Norm-"
"I didn't say, crazy, Cartuh…" The agent's voice sagged. "I'm not ill, it's just a result of…several fact'ahs."
There was a small silence, after all, Norman would rather not explain the situation any deeper then it needed to. Let some mystery dwell in his condition, even if it meant the lieutenant's thoughts would stew to form something most likely far more vile then the reality.
'Like drug use? Yeah, pity if he thought that.' His own thoughts quipped.
"Fact'ahs?" Blake repeated, mocking his ridiculously thick accent. Norman's face heated up in a quick surge of anger. "Those fuck'n glasses? Is that what this is all about?"
A slight calm slowly slowed his quickly beating heart, his face feeling visibly cooler after the anger slowly began to subside. 'Yeah, except that's not the whole story, Blake.' He had wanted to say; he so wanted the man next to him to be someone whom he could trust, for Carter Blake to not be a masochistic, brutal cop who took advantage of him-sexually- and make his life a living hell…But for him to be a friend, maybe more- that he could lay his head on and feel those warm, masculine arms surround him, whisper in his ear and tell him it would alright, be able to tell him his whole life story without a snide remark or a hard time-
'Fuck! Why would I want that? It's not him- not him, specifically, just…a manifestation of what you want.' He reasoned. 'Though he did do a decent job, earlier…Remember that? Before you went to Vietnam…'
He just wanted to tell someone, not be judged, ridiculed, or have the FBI lock him away. Christ, all this time, he didn't just need some goddamn drug to allow him to stay in this world…He just wanted a fucking friend. Be it a lover, or just someone to lean on.
'What is he, then? He's not a friend, is he? Sure, he made me laugh a few times, I blew him, but…A friend? No way. I don't think that could ev'ah happen…'
"Yes." Norman said with a swallow. "Remember your reaction, before? Back at the precinct? Or..back at'cha house, this morn'n?"
There was a pause as Blake seemed to roll his jaw back and forth- a now obvious trait that the man seemed to do when it was obvious he was holding himself back from nearly beating everything around him into a dense, pulp-like substance. Norman decided he liked his bones whole, so he tread carefully.
Norman was one big enigma, and for Carter, a detective with a curiosity of a cat, he couldn't help it. It bothered him to no end, an inccesent animal nipping at his heels. For good reason, any normal person would be just a little bewildered when it came to someone they knew returning from the dead. Though in Blake's case, his eerie calm, steadfastness outside concerning the situation betrayed his inner turmoil. No normal person could ever go about his day like he did, knowing they had a dead man inside a pair of fancy glasses. It was a testament to Blake's ability to remain stubbornly commited to his purpose that kept him sane.
"The Areee, it r'illy affected me…A hell of a lot more then I'd evah admit. It was just so compelling…I always had a hard time puttin' it down. Working without it…It's like an extension, like a part of me. I sort of…just forgot to live without it."
At least that was the entirety of the half-truth. Tripto wasn't going to be mentioned, not for a long time. Or perhaps ever, if he could manage it. It was something that extended beyond shame, but instead was something akin to complete and total denial. He had lied to himself so often, he actually began to believe it. Living his own paranoid delusion.
"So you're saying you let some fancy glasses got the upper hand on you?" Blake snorted, rolling his head around a bit as he gave Jayden a patronizing glance. "Give me a fuck'n brake…"
Shrugging, Norman decided to play down the situation at hand. He was stewing anger underneath, threatening to rise to the edge in a violent display, but instead shrugged and tried to keep a calm composure…All the evidence was already apparent in Carter himself.
"You should talk…" Normaan put, loud and clear, not concerned with the potiential nasty reaction whatsoever.
"Weren't you shaking and sick the oth'ah day? Weren't we both consumed with unusual thirst, hung'ah, and fatigue these past few days?"
His education shone through in his words- his typical, analytical way of speaking apparent as he put Blake's sympoms on the cold, hard slab for him to study. He watched as Blake amost instantly seemed to become uncomfortable, looking as though he wanted to talk but not quite sure what to say. He briefly looked out the drivers side window, checking the mirror for a car that couldn't be there, regardless. Then back to the windshield- and back again.
"No answer?"
"How I'm feelin' is none of your goddamn business-"
"Except it is my bussiness, Cartuh!"
He said it in a surprisingly urgent way, as though he had to make this point the most especially clear. His inner guilt oozing out into his day-to-day reality. It was indeed his fault Carter was like this; whether he liked the man or not- whether he could even handle it better then him or not- it would always be there, lurking under his skin.
"What? You my fuck'n mother?" There the cop went, again. Such upper-class speech.
"Don't patronize me- we're in this together. Last I checked…something happens to you, it happens to me…"
Carter nodded a bit at that, getting a grasp at what the agent was getting at.
"Self-preservation, eh?" He smirked. "I knew it came down to being about you in the end, seems to be you government assholes think."
Closing his eyes tightly, Norman breathed out slowly through his nose as he reconsidered his position. No; he was going to end it right now. Change the subject, maybe? His first option would have been to clam up completely, but he knew that would just make things more awkward in the end.
"Did it seem…Like I hurt anybody? Back there, I mean?" Norman's eyebrows raised a little when he looked towards the cop, looking adorably stricken with grief over the concept.
A small hesitancy gripped Blake as he waited to respond- he didn't exactly stop to check, for obvious reasons. He felt himself no better then a fleeing criminal, running from the scene of a crime without councern for the victims involved. Carter may had been a callous son-of-a-bitch, he had been for longer then he'd ever admit- but his intensly protective nature also ensured an almost fierce desire to right the fucked-up wrongs he saw in front of him. It was in his nature, his escalating psychotic spasms of so-called "justice" aimed at those he found guilty, like a heavily religious lunatic, or even the father of a missing child put under his eye of scrutiny. To him, there was little room for pure innocence. Far and away, not even for the man in the mirror.
So it would have been normal for Blake to accuse Jayden of the accident, to put the eye of judgement onto him and beat him nearly senseles for perhaps either maiming or killing some innocent woman or child, hell even a father on his way home to his family. He didn't see any massive fireballs or intense, steaming piles of twisted metal, but it was always in the cop's nature to assume the worst.
What was the right thing to do, he wondered? For the first time in a long, long time, Blake had to think about how he was going to handle a situation involving someone he was actually trying to be sensitive with, not so much to. Why did he care so much about devastating this Frankenstein's monster of a human being he had came to be in possession of? It wasn't entirely normal for him, his callous exterior sort of crackling like thin ice under the federal agent's weakened and submissive state. Helpess, like a newborn kitten in a pit bull's grasp. He knew he wasn't the kitten.
"No…they seemed alright."
He spoke, hurrdily. As though he didn't want Norman to analyze his words, grasp that his tone was indecisive. It certaintly wasn't Blake's first rodeo.
Norman could sense the stand-offedness of Carter's voice, and immediately dropped the subject. He swallowed audibly and sat back, mind racing with thoughts and questions pertaining to everything he'd experiencd in the past few days. From coming to Philidelphia to work on a series of child murders, to dying, coming back, giving that neanderthal of a cop a blowjob, transported back into the past into a Vietnamese jungle, to nearly getting killed again on a busy freeway. He wondered what could possibly come next. How could this get any worse? Was it even possible?
"You'd tell me if they weren't…Right?"
Jayden could tell that his traveling companion wasn't being entirely honest with him. Part of him didn't want to know the whole truth…The other, wanted every single fact. Wanted to go back there and make sure every human being was alive, at least, as wishing for not a single injury was far too lofty a request.
It took him a moment to answer, and Jayden watched his face a tad too close for his liking. The lip's corners dipping, his eyes shifting, and a general unease- he knew Blake had to to be good liar to survive as long as he had. Though this time in particular, he seemed to be a bit more nervous then he would have expected.
"Yeah…Yeah I would. Go back to sleep or something…"
The agent practically scoffed- that was the last thing he could do at a time like this-
"Take another one of those pills…" Blake suggested under his breath, his tone aggravated.
"Knock yah out…I'll wake you when you get there."
He sounded so oddly comforting, and Jayden went to speak, to protest…Then found himself analyzing that particular suggestion more then he thought he should. The drug, indeed, would put him into a nearly comatose sleep state, helping to soothe the pain in his head from both last night and today, to the stress causing headache that rumbled around his skull. Not to mention put a temporary end to all the stress that was plaguing him at the current time. His shakes were lessening, but the drug would put them to rest completely.
Funny, already his Triptocaine was being replaced by another, arguably less lethal drug. Though he still craved the blue powder- this was a sutible substiute for the time being. It wasn't so much the feeling of a lifted mood that he desired, but the simple lifting of all the pain and worries that currently made his existence a living hell. Was this really the afterlife, he wondered? It wasn't the first time he had that thought, considering the ironic fact that he was stuck with the supposed antichrist and all. Was Blake really Satan, poking him with a metaphorical trident as he killed him slowly with varying moods of compassion and loathing?
However, he also used common sense to steer him towards the decision. The drug was just another tool in his arsenal, as it always was. Just as important as a car, a cell phone, or his ARI glasses. Another tool for the job, just as necessary. It would help him relax, give his body and mind suitable rest, and allow him to be so out of it, he wouldn't have to worry about complacing Blake, or pissing him off.
"Yeah…Okay." He agreed, reaching into his pocket as he found the orange bottle, the rattling loud enough to make quite enough noise in the quiet cabin.
"How'd you know I brought them with me?" He questioned, smiling a little nervously as he realized this was supposed to be a secret, and had no idea Blake thought he had the bottle of his medication.
"Why wouldn't you?" Was his un-amused response. Hell, he actually sounded quite irritated.
"Well I…" Norman struggled, trying to make his words rational, though still quite surprised that Carter had known all along.
"I didn't want you to think I was a druggie…So I hid them this whole time."
'Stupid!' Inwardly punishing himself, he wished he had thought about his words a bit better before saying them outright. 'Now he's REALLY gonna think you're on something…'
"Yeah, well…It's not a habit if 'yah need them, is it?" Came his bored, non-conversational tone. He seemed to be looking into his side mirrors to check for any pursuits coming his way. It contributed towards his edgy mood.
"…And if you're sick, you need it, right?"
Blake's words were a combination of truth and deception. Part of him meant the words with the most absolute of sincerity. He'd seen criminals locked up on every sort of chemical, legal or not. Sometimes out of a perscription bottle, straight from the doctor's office, other times just from a carfully cut line on a mirror. Either way, it destroyed with an absolute vigor and an almost estatic enthusuasm. Both the user, and whatever victim was in it's way.
Yet as much as the subject enraged him, it had also dulled his senses. Of course people loved drugs, and of course nothing the law enforcement in this country could do would ever completely stop it, instead nearly stoking the fires with it's naughty reputatuion, making it even more exilerating for it's abusers.
But he wasn't a narcotics officer- and the many times he arrested drug users back when he worked patrols, he was often pushed out of the way for more experienced officers when anything bigger then a small glove-box stash was found. He'd instead found more of the evidence of drugs in the after-math. A stoned purpatrator caught glassy-eyed and unresponsive after beating a girlfriend to death, a murder over drug dealings or a theft gone wrong for the money to score a next hit. It instead had a counter-productive effect, making him feel almost as anethesthitzed as the drug's users themselves. It was just as impossible a force to stop as the forces of nature herself.
So instead of being overtly against the substances, he found himself feeling hopeless against that particular wave of impossibility. Nothing he did was going to stop drugs from being bought or sold, used or not- he was just there to clean up the stupid motherfucker in the aftermath. And that was it, he rarely felt sorry for the users or anyone so unlucky to end up in their close enough company to be killed because of it. When an innocent woman or child was murdered thanks to the substance effecting some addict's actions, he found himself so numb to the situation that he focused entirely on the person who caused it- being under any sort of influence didn't mean dick to him.
Of course, he was still a cop. Because of this, he was leary of using any such narcotic thanks for it's ability to be addictive. Yet he found himself unaffected by the drug's habitual nature, and although Jayden wasn't exactly the doctor's intended user, it would work notheless if he saw fit.
"Yeah I…I guess."
Jayden didn't particularly sound impressed; mostly because he had been convincing himself for years of the same exact thing that Blake had just tried to convince him of, right now. Except now he didn't want to hear it, coming out of someone's mouth, instead of his own head, or even the FBI's own advice to never sway from the Triptocaine usage. It sounded genuine, sure, but deep down, he always knew something about it wasn't right, whether it was the drug itself, or what he simply suspected was his own short-comings, despite Blake's earlier words.
Relief flooded him when he considered what he was doing; dulling the pain. He popped one, and worked up enough salivia to swallow the small tablet on it's own. It stuck in his throat a little on the way down, but was able to swallow a bit more and get it moving. Laying back, he tried to ignore how the sound of the car rumbling down the road sounded suspiciously close to a military helicoptor making it's way through a Vietnam jungle.
He had a feeling it wouldn't be that easy.
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