#jackitt

It comes out kinda slurry, which Jack really should point out. Instead he rolls his eyes and hauls Merritt back to his feet, wobbling under the weight of too many martinis and a guy who really doesn't need to be this solid.

"You talk like a fucking Grandpa," he says as he steers them back on track while Merritt fiddles with his hat. "You're not that old."

"Feels that way sometimes," Merritt mutters, only it doesn't sound like he's talking about numbers this time.

To be fair, Jack would probably feel old too if the twin brother who stole all his money came back from the dead just to try and kill him. No need to be a mentalist to figure out that kind of shit has to weigh on a guy. Also, Merritt's not elderly by any means, but of Jack's still a bit sore from the flight from London to their new hideout Merritt has to be aching something fierce. It's not like he exercises much. (Maybe Jack should get him started on that.)

"D'you mean it?" Merritt asks, making Jack realize he's probably been silent too long.

"What? Oh! Yeah, of course I mean it. You're what, forty? Forty-five, tops?"

"Forty-six," Merritt says, leaning obediently against the railing as Jack starts them up the stairs. "And 's not that."

Jack frowns, trying to figure out what Merritt's thinking of without letting them fall backwards in the rickety stairs. He says a lot of shit to Merritt. Lots of bullshit, too: at least half of their conversation is banter at this point. He's never felt like Merritt had trouble sorting out the serious from the jokes—more like he figures out a little too much at times—but maybe it's just the Shirley Temples talking.

"Back in M'cau," Merritt continues, more of an exhale than actual words, "you told Chase he'd never be h'lf th'm'n—"

"Hey, hey! Stay awake!" Jack hisses, shaking Merritt as best as he can without sending them both stumbling, "It's only one floor up!"

"'m really fucking jetlagged," Merritt mutters, but he does make a noticeable effort to straighten up and look at Jack.

Honestly, Jack kinda wishes he wouldn't. It's always harder to keep his cool when Merritt looks at him straight on. He blames it on the blue eyes. At least he's got the excuse of needing to watch their steps right now, so he looks ahead instead of back at Merritt.

"Yeah, I meant it," he admits, more easily than he'd normally expect. "Not that being better than your brother is a hard bar but—"

Merritt honest to God giggles into Jack's shoulder, and it's both ridiculous and cute enough to make Jack grin to himself as they step up onto their landing. They're silent for a bit as they prop each other up in front of the door and Jack maneuvers the key, the door and then the lights, but as soon as they're walking again Merritt says:

"Thanks. Means a lot."

And then he plops a kiss on Jack's cheek, stumbles to the couch, and collapses on there without even taking his shoes off. Jack contemplates leaving him there, except he knows exactly what Merritt sounds like when he wakes up cranky so the thought doesn't last long.

"Okay, woah, not yet," he says as Merritt flings the hat that doesn't even cover thinning hair to the ground. "Take your shoes off, man."

"Meh gneh gneh, take your shoes off," Merritt mocks, punctuating it with the thump of his shoes falling to the floor. "Take your shoes off, why don't you?"

Jack swipes the throw blankets from under him, but not without jerking him half off the couch in the process. Sloppy, but Merritt isn't drunk enough that he'll point it out at least.

"You'll thank me when you don't freeze your balls off during the night," he says, grinning again halfway through at the sight of Merritt hugging the nearest cushion to his chest.

There's another mumble from Merritt, but Jack can't make sense of that one, so he doesn't bother responding. He goes to turn the lights off instead, then navigates back towards the couch. He readjusts the blankets over Merritt's shoulder, fluffs the pillow a bit. And then, on impulse, he kisses Merritt's cheek and covers the speeding up of his heart with:

"Night, Mer Bear."