#jaime&patrick

The sun was entirely too bright, even with his shades on, but Patrick forced himself to persevere. It was his day off and he'd planned on laying in bed, hoping the lethargy would trick his body into believing he'd actually slept longer. But of course, after two hours of staring at his ceiling, mind buzzing, he just had to get up and move around. His whole body was aching, and anything more than water seemed too risky to ingest. Still, he dragged himself out of his apartment, endured the sunlight, and walked into the bookstore like he was totally normal. "Leo," he started as he walked up to the counter, "when are you— You're not Cleo." Patrick stopped short and all his false energy fell away instantly. "Is she here?"

The chime of the bell above the door alerted Jaime to yet another customer as Patrick entered the store. He heaved a sigh, only twenty minutes into his shift and already regretting his agreement to cover for his coworker. If he had taken a moment to look up from the money he was counting at the till, he would've spotted his neighbor before Patrick cut the line to address him. The potted plant at the edge of the counter —a philodendron, if Jaime knew his plants (and he did) — seemed to droop ever so slightly, as he was faced with a new situation on this already stressful work day. Almost imperceptibly, Jaime shook his head, handing the customer their change and nodding goodbye before addressing Patrick. "I'm sorry, I'm not allowed to disclose the whereabouts of other employees of this establishment. I can take a message?"

Patrick chafed at the man's reaction to him, despite being equally displeased with the situation and just as obvious with his displeasure. He stepped in where the previous customer had just been, not caring if there was someone else behind him that was waiting to be rung up. "You sound like an ass, my guy. Are you new here, cause—" Patrick squinted. A dull, barely noticeable pain bloomed in the back of his head. "Wait. I recognize you, Brad. You're not new."

Jaime bristled at the insult, and at the way Patrick was disrupting his work day. "I'm not new, and I'm not an ass. I was simply relaying store policies to you. Please step aside for a moment so I can ring up this last customer, and then I can help you with whatever you need." He dipped his head in a nod as he was recognized, feeling uncomfortable under Patrick's scrutiny and the stare of the impatient patron behind him. "Brad, yeah. That was me." The philodendron drooped a tiny bit more as Jaime put a customer-service smile on his face. He tapped his name tag with a finger, "I'm Jaime."

Rolling his eyes, Patrick stepped aside so the person behind him could be taken care of. Normally, he wouldn't pick a fight with this guy, especially since he was on the job— and double especially because he could complain to Cleo— but now he was annoyed. As soon as he was a few feet away the pressure in his head seemed to lessen slightly, but he didn't think much of it. He waited until Jaime (what a dumb name, he thought to himself) was free and then resumed his spot, and his head throbbed once. "Brad, all the reciting store policy shit has gotta be chick repellent. Can you talk like a human or did they flip a switch somewhere once you clocked in?"

Once the customer was taken care of, Jaime removed his glasses and cleaned them with the bottom of his shirt before putting them back on. He raised an eyebrow at Patrick when he walked back up to the counter, thankful at least that the other man hadn't argued his request further in front of the customer. "Chick repellent, yeah. That's my concern," the corner of his mouth ticked upward in a half-smile. "I can talk like a human, but I'm clocked in right now, so I had to connect to the mainframe, yeah. Full cyborg-type deal." He moved away from the counter for a second, searching for a pad of paper and in the time he was gone, the plant on the counter stood up a little straighter. When he returned a moment later, it sagged again; Jaime fixed Patrick with a look. "I didn't catch your name."

Everything about Jaime screamed "nerd" to him, and Patrick had this uncontrollable urge to push all his buttons. Even as he held up impressively well with and built on his joke, it didn't change how uncool this guy looked. Patrick made a point to not return the smile or give Jaime any sort of acknowledgement of his humor. At the question, Patrick almost gave Jesse's name before he remember that his brother was probably Jaime's boss, which— on top of being disgusting— would blow his cover. While he tried to think of a different name to give, his eyes flickered down to the plant. Instantly distracted, Patrick frowned and poked at it. "Dude, this is depressing."

Jaime followed Patrick's line of vision to the the philodendron that looked nearly as tired as he did; instantly he felt a surge of protectiveness towards the tiny plant. He swatted Patrick's hand away, "Hey, don't poke the plant. It doesn't like that." Squinting behind his glasses, Jaime tried to focus on the plant, like he'd been practicing with L. Aiming to give it a small boost of vitality, all he succeeded in doing was getting the leaves to stand up a little straighter before the poor thing tilted sideways, threatening to lean over the edge of it's pot.

Patrick scowled, moving his hand away. The brief contact with Jaime seemed to drive a spike through his head. He watched the plant lift itself up, then droop over, and he smirked. Watching Jaime fail at whatever he was attempting gave him a quiet satisfaction. “It doesn’t like whatever that was even more, Brad.”

"Yeah, I can see that," Jaime's voice had an edge to it. He needed more coffee, but when he brought his cup to his lips, he was crushed to discover that only a few drops remained. It was going to be a long shift. He tried not to glare at Patrick. "You're welcome to try helping it, though I'm not sure your criticism is all that constructive."

Patrick snorted. "I have no idea how to help plants, man. Cleo tells me to stay away from hers in the cabin." He rubbed his forehead and took a deep breath. "Fuck, Brad, you got a weird vibe. My head fucking hurts twice as bad since I walked in here."

He set down his coffee cup, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well, clearly I don't either. I-" Whatever Jaime had been about to say next was forgotten as he stared at Pat in surprise, mouth agape. "Oh, fuck. That's me. Shit, I'm sorry." Instinctively, he reached for his coffee cup again, before remembering it was empty. The caffeine a natural crutch, cancelling out the exhaustion that bled into the air, manifesting his powers. Without it, he just opened and closed his hand a few times, looking a bit like a robot that was on the verge of short-circuiting. "Shit," he took a step back, hoping the distance would lessen the pressure in the air.

His comment had been meant as another jab, next in his series of attempts to get under Jaime's skin enough to make the bookseller argue back at him. Instead, Patrick noted that he caused a flustered apology. Brow drawing together in confusion, he watched this little freak out. "You're admitting that you have a shitty vibe?" he asked, though he knew there was more to it. And even though the small amount of distance did help his headache, Patrick leaned against the counter again, curious. "What the fuck?"

Patrick's jibe would have made Jaime laugh if he hadn't been caught so unaware. He shook his head, "That's not, what I meant. Uh, your headache. That's me, well, unintentionally." He offered with an unhelpful shrug.

That did nothing to clarify anything, and Patrick gave a small laugh. "Yeah, I figured that out already, Bradley. But if you mean something other than you rubbing me the wrong way, I'm gonna need you to say more."

Jaime resisted the urge to roll his eyes, ignoring the nickname he'd been given. "My powers," he said simply. When all Patrick did was look at him, he tried to stand up a little taller. "Son of Apollo," he offered, hoping that would be enough, and tried to look proud of it, despite the fact that his power was (pun intended) a giant headache.

"Don't the Apollo kids do healing shit?" Patrick asked, but the bite was dwindling from his voice as curiosity took over. Jaime, lucky for him, was more interesting now than he was when he was being needled. "Or music shit? What, you do the opposite instead?"

"Music and medicine, prophecy and plague." Jaime shrugged again. "With myself being the latter." He tried not to sound ungrateful; his powers were not useless, he simply little control over them. Though L was giving him lessons, the results were...varied and the strain of the gift he'd inherited was plain on his face.

Patrick’s brow raised in surprise, then he squinted at Jaime suspiciously. “Are you saying you gave me the fucking plague?” he asked, his voice raising slightly. “Am I about to wake up tomorrow with— Did you get Cleo sick?” While his first question had sounded somewhat joking, this one was more serious. Patrick rubbed his temples again, trying to relieve the pressure building up there as he felt a new flare of pain. “Fuck, why do you work with people, dude? You should at least give me aspirin for this.”

This time Jaime did laugh. "Yes, yes, the plague. You have it. Better go isolate, we wouldn't want that to spread to your neighbors," he said dryly, considering he lived just down the hall. Jaime took another step backwards, seeing Patrick press his fingers to his head and actively tried to focus on the source of his powers. "Gods, no. I didn't get Cleo sick, don't worry about that. I just need coffee?" His voice pitched higher at the end making it sound like he was unsure; he shrugged one shoulder. A single long step forward took him back to the desk, he rummaged through a drawer, frustrated when he came up empty. "Normally, we have some here but we seem to be out." Retreating again, Jaime offered Pat an apologetic smile.

"Coffee..." Patrick mumbled, then exhaled a small laugh. He waited for Jaime to move away again before he lifted his head, squinting at Jaime. His expression was as cloudy and uncertain as he felt. A part of him wanted to be mad, but he couldn't help finding this whole thing funny. Of course he would walk right into the worst possible person for his hangover. "So if you're not caffeinated enough you make everyone feel like shit and kill plants. That's kind of hilarious, fuck." He stood up straight and ran a hand down his face. "I don't actually have the plague, right? I got shit to do."

"That's a bit of a quick study but," Jaime cut a glance to the philodendron, its leaves sagging more than ever and chuckled. "You're not wrong. It's ridiculous." He shook his head and attempted a joke, "No plague. Not today." Hopefully not ever. Jaime sighed, wishing he understood how it all worked, how he worked.

He huffed, but a smirk remained on Patrick's face. "Brad, I cannot believe that you have this power. It's so cool. You could do so much shit with it." His smirk grew slightly as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "I feel like it belongs with someone who isn't such a robot."

Jaime thought his power was a lot of things, but cool had never been one of them. He looked at Patrick with a bemused expression on his face. "Like what? Make people sneeze? Give people headaches? How very useful," he shrugged, pushing his glasses up his nose. "It's not very useful when what we really need is more healers. And, uh..." Again, he thought of his failed lessons with L. "Not exactly in my programming."

Patrick rolled his eyes. “Proving my point. I’d go wild with a power like that. I’d also probably have way better control over it because I’d actually use it. But whatever you say, Bradshaw.”

"No, no," Jaime shook his head, the corners of his mouth pulling down in a frown. "It only hurts people and I'm not in the habit of doing that. Not intentionally."

For some reason, this felt like a jab at Patrick and he narrowed his eyes, annoyed once more. “Whatever you say,” he repeated. “Speaking of, my head is still fucking killing me, so I’m gonna head off.” He stepped back and instantly felt a little relief. Despite his irritation, he smirked again. What a cool power. “See you around, Brad. Try not to murder any more trees.”