#redvisioned

           he’s resting leisurely against his living room walls, taking in the sight of their grand first-in-command tigering from one end to the other; all while feeling decidedly undecided as to whether he should savor this moment or dread the lecture that was bound to still follow. “gee. would’ya look at that frown on your face.” he’d done a great job at avoiding the man up till now—let jack stew until he’s cooled off, had been the plan ( or at the very least until he’d come up with a wide enough array of excuses that would sooner than later lead to their dropping this conversation altogether ). now, though ... why. now, the cat was quite literally out of the bag and taking a stroll through his flat; evidently not in a mood for any more of such games. a blend of feigned bemusement and suave sarcasm drips off his lips as he does anything but damage control: “you couldn’t be ... mad at me, could you?” / @redvisioned​

          “what can i say? all your worrying’s been making            my bedroom walls shake. it’s impossible to catch any            sleep under these circumstances.”

his eyes roll to match the echo of exasperation in his features—a modest attempt to cover up the unlikely ... nervosity that's still haunting him; even after the office door had fallen back shut and the lively chatter of their visitors had begun to dissipate in the hallways. "... ... you don't say." deadpan incarnate. from the start, he'd known this was a terrible idea. he's not shy of pointing out as much either after a singular heavy sigh heaved; tongue laced by a poor imitation of the blond's earlier reassurements: "'oh, stop worrying gabe. no one will come bother a commander this late in the evening, gabe.'"

"'something'?" already does he make a mental note to proceed with caution. he's been hearing something, too. the difference being that he knew exactly what'd been stuck in the vents for the past three days or so and at this point likely desperate to find a way back out—and jack didn't. he'd prefer to keep it that way. "it's odd you'd hear anything over your own sound snoring. ... rough day at work? i'm sure dr. ziegler can prescribe you some of those good nighty-night pills."

emitting nothing short of a groan, he attempts to rise once more. "... fuck that. we need to secure the area."

"maybe there's some hope left for you. quit the boy scouts. join the resistance."

          “it can’t be helped, jack. that’s how nights WORK——late hours and all that jazz. ” if you’re here to relieve him: don’t bother. he’s too comfortable to be getting OUT of the command chair at this point.