Writer's block.

“So how was your day?” Blake quips tiredly with a sarcastic grin, arm lifted in invitation as Jayden, fresh from a long, hot shower, slumps down next to him on the couch with a bone-weary sigh. The hands of the clock on the wall have long since passed midnight.

Jayden snorts out a helpless laugh at that as he burrows gratefully under Blake’s arm. “Oh, excellent”, he says with exaggerated glee. “Only got nearly killed twice.”

Blake huffs a small laugh of his own, but it’s accompanied with long, evaluative look at the agent. “Jesus, you look like you just lost a fight against a shredder”, he says, reaching out to touch his fingers over the mess of criss-crossing cuts on Jayden’s bare arms.

“Implying I didn’t”, Jayden quips, eyes following Blake’s fingers for a few seconds before lifting them to aim a self-deprecating quirk of lips at his partner.

“Crazy asshole”, Blake mutters with a incredulous shake of his head, and Jayden could swear he hears a great deal more than just a tired barb in the tone. Blake’s hand is still resting on his arm, on the wounds that have for now stopped bleeding but will likely hurt for a long time. He distantly wonders if they will scar.

“Blake…” he starts, softly, finding the older lieutenant’s eyes still on him in the darkness of the room. But whatever he had been thinking of saying gets lost when Blake suddenly uses the hand on Jayden’s arm as gentle leverage to pull the agent tightly against himself, claiming his lips in a fierce kiss.

“You crazy fucking idiot…” Blake is saying into the kiss, voice heated between nips and small bites, and all Jayden can do is make an incoherent, surprised groan in reply as he answers the kiss with equal heat.

Blake’s hands are surprisingly gentle and careful despite the intensity of his kiss as he slides them over Jayden’s wounded skin, one finding its way under the hem of the agent’s worn t-shirt to caress the delicate muscles of his abdomen, while the other moves to tangle in the short strands of hair at the back of his head.

“Blake…” Jayden gasps again, his stomach muscles jumping and quivering under the heated touch. The wounds no longer so much hurt as they do tingle, sending warmth gathering low in his abdomen. He is loosely aware that he should be worried about the bleeding starting up again, but it is becoming harder and harder by the second to care as he clings to Blake’s shoulders, trying to push himself more into the touch.

The position is awkward, though, for the both of them, having to angle their necks and bodies to reach each other. With an impatient groan, Jayden starts to shift, turning to lift himself to stand on his knees on the couch at the same time as Blake moves, too, with an equally impatient growl as he rights himself to lean over Jayden, urging him to lie back with his own weight and the hand still supported at the back of the agent’s neck.

The new position puts Blake’s knee deliciously between Jayden’s legs and the agent lets out a breathy moan of approval, pressing himself against the pressure while gratefully lowering himself down onto his back – until the movement chafes against the raw, angry burn on his shoulder, causing a sharp, pained hiss to escape into the kiss as his whole body tenses for a second.

“Shit”, Blake curses pointedly, immediately breaking the kiss to pull back. “Let me see that.”

“No, it’s fine”, Jayden grounds out through clenched teeth, still clinging to Blake and not letting him back away. “It’s fine, I just forgot about it. It’ll be fine. Just…don’t…” he pleads through a sigh before aiming a look at Blake. “I don’t want to think about it, Carter. So…please…”

Blake gives Jayden an unconvinced look, like for once in his life he actually stops to take note that something might not be a good idea, but he’s never been able to resist the agent like this; voice breathy, face and body flushed with arousal and lips kiss-swollen…

“Fuck, Norm”, he curses emphatically, dropping his head to rest his forehead next to Jayden’s. “You’re something else, you know that.”

Jayden releases a small, breathless laugh at that – the sound shooting straight between Blake’s legs – before canting his hips up, fingers squeezing around Blake’s shoulders almost desperately in a voiceless plea.

“Okay, okay, I gotcha”, Blake murmurs into the skin between Jayden’s neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply at the intoxicating scent there. “But you stop me if it hurts, you hear?”

Jayden’s only response is an almost violent shake of his head, and then a relieved, high-pitched groan when Blake’s hand, the one not drawing nonsensical, teasing patterns across his abdomen, dives under his waistband to cup the already prominent hardness there.

Blake almost, almost makes a witty comment about how much Jayden apparently really doesn’t want to think about the burn right now, but the keening, breathy noises the agent keeps making, his hands fisting and un-fisting desperately into the fabric of the arm rest above his head as if he doesn’t quite know what to do with them, the way his back bows beautifully off the couch when Blake moves his hand just so… The thought is gone from his head, forgotten, faster than it can properly even form.

Jayden’s (or are they Blake’s? Neither is sure at this point) loose, well-worn sweatpants slide off delightfully easily, falling away with just the barest urging and a miniscule lift of Jayden’s hips, followed shortly by his underwear. The sight of the agent’s bare, shredded thighs stops Blake short for a moment, until Jayden’s hands at his own waistband snaps him out of his second-guessing.

“Ignore it… Ignore it…”, Jayden is whispering repeatedly, urgently, naked hips lifting sensuously, almost frantically in search of contact.

He’d have to be crazy, Blake thinks, to refuse that command.

After that it’s just breathless, aching moans and grunts of exertion as Blake claims Jayden’s body, thoroughly while still as carefully as he can despite the agent’s demand for otherwise. Though using spit is hardly ideal, it’s all they have, Jayden refusing to even consider unlocking his legs from around Blake’s waist for retrieving something more suitable. “Don’t… don’t…” is all he says, despite the pained clench of his teeth as Blake pushes in.

It doesn’t take long for the expression to fade, though, as Blake sets a steady, deep but unhurried rhythm, one hand wrapped around Jayden, moving in time with his thrusts. Soon the agent’s lips get uncoordinated under his, open in a litany of keening gasps as his body tightens and then locks up, legs squeezing desperately around Blake’s waist and his toes curling as he releases stickily between their bodies.

As if just the sensation of Jayden’s body constricting around him wasn’t enough for Blake, the downright sinful sounds the agent makes as he comes are the final push his mind and body needs, following Jayden with a hard bite to his shoulder.

It’s a long while before either of them can move, the ticking of the clock on the wall the only sound in the room besides their laboured breaths, Jayden’s still a little high-pitched and distracting.

“You’re a menace, Jayden”, Blake finally says, pressing his lips against the bite mark he just left. It’ll bruise handsomely later, they both know from experience.

Jayden only smiles indulgently at that, his body so high on endorphins he can’t really manage anything more coherent.

Blake finally pulls away with a hiss from them both, lifting himself up to sit on his knees above Jayden, giving the agent a long look, although there is a grin playing at the corner of his mouth. “You good?”

Jayden nods, shifting to start getting up when Blake’s sudden snort of a laugh stops him.

“Do you even know how fucking hilarious you look right now, ass-naked in your socks like that?” the older lieutenant chuckles, eyebrow cocked in pointed amusement.

“Bite me, Carter”, Jayden retorts, reaching over to grab and then smack Blake with one of the decorative pillows.

“I was under the assumption that I just did”, Blake drawls with his trademark assholeish smirk while pointing at Jayden’s neck. “But hey, if you want more…”

Jayden only shakes his head with a laugh, before finally starting to pull himself up, a little self-conscious despite himself – until the movement again aggravates his burn wound, making him hunch over himself with a hissed “fuck”.

“Okay, you’re letting me see that, whether you like it or not”, Blake says, now no-nonsense as he moves to manoeuvre the agent around enough to peel his shirt off and get a look at the back of his shoulder blade.

 “How bad is it?” Jayden asks, slightly dejectedly and perhaps with a small amount of dread in his tone after Blake is quiet for a long moment.

“Fucking hell, Norman”, is Blake’s answer, voice disbelieving and what sounds a little like genuine upset. “It’s fucking nasty, is what it is. You need to go—“

“No”, Jayden interrupts him before Blake can finish. “I’m not going to the hospital. I can’t. We can’t afford a delay like that, not when it could mean Shaun Mars’s life.”

“You…stubborn fucking asshole”, Blake curses with conviction behind him before reaching out to grab Jayden by shoulder and turn him around until they’re face to face. “Look at yourself, Norman! You’re beat to hell and back, and that’s a fucking third degree burn on you. What the hell else is it gonna take?”

“I came here to catch the killer, Blake, and I can’t do it from a hospital, not when these trials—“

“Bullshit”, it’s Blake’s turn to interrupt. “You think I’ll hesitate to forcefully drag you over there myself if that’s what it takes?”

“No, but I’d fight you every step of the way.” Jayden’s voice is serious, he means what he just said, even if there’s a carefully amused little quirk of a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“Goddamn fucking FBI”, Blake curses, throwing his hands up in an annoyed ‘I give up’ gesture. “But if that shit gets infected…”

“I know”, Jayden says softly with an agreeing, disarming smile, starting to reach for his clothing before leaning over a little hesitantly to brush his lips over Blake’s. “Help me bandage it?”

 Some time later, Jayden, shoulder now wrapped, is back under Blake’s arm on the couch. He’s just about to nod off – he doesn’t even know what time it is anymore – when Blake suddenly speaks up.

“Hey? Ever considered the possibility that Mars himself might be the killer?”

“Not really, no”, Jayden answers, voice and accent thick with impending sleep. “Although I know you have.” There is no mistaking the amusement in his tone.

“And how the hell would you know that?” There’s mock-affront in Blake’s own tone now.

Jayden chuckles, shifting enough to turn his face up towards his partner’s. “Because I know you.”

It’s hard to tell in the darkness of the room, but Jayden could swear he sees Blake’s eyes flash and darken in that familiar way. “Oh yeah?” There is no mistaking the challengingly teasing voice.

“Yeah”, Jayden fires back with a playful tone of his own, before straightening up under the lieutenant’s arm enough to initiate a slow, lazy contact of mouths.

Before either of them runs the risk of getting too much into it, though, Blake pulls back, and, gathering Jayden up close under his arm, stands up from the couch. “Come on, you. We need at least a few hours before we go chasing after the next one.”

 *

 Blake blinks awake after what feels like a useless 20-minute nap. The room is veiled in a bleak half-light that can barely even be called that, accompanied by the ceaseless sound of rainfall. Fucking figures. Grumpily, the older lieutenant rubs at his eyes that feel like they’re full of sand, before glancing to the side as the distinctly human-shaped mass of covers by his side shifts and lets out what sound like a grumble. Amused, Blake cocks an eyebrow in surprise. In all their time together, he can’t recall a single time that Jayden has out-slept him, no matter how early he was set to rise.

“Hey, agent Early Bird!” he calls while prodding the lump of bedding in the general direction of its side, chuckling unrepentantly when it twitches and mumbles something unintelligent back at him. “Time to go out and catch some bad guys!”

There is a massive sigh, inflating the entire mass of covers, followed by another mumble, before Jayden’s head sticks out from somewhere under it.

It would take a saint to hold back the bark of laughter that escapes Blake then. “Holy fuck, I stand corrected. Agent Bed-Head.”

Jayden makes a grimace, half-heartedly tossing his pillow at Blake. “I hate you.”

“Sure”, Blake grins, tossing the pillow right back before getting out bed, forcefully ruffling Jayden’s hair as he passes. “You wanna do the third trial or not, bed bug?”

Heading to the bathroom, Blake swears he hears the ‘not’ echoing in the agent’s head for a miniscule instant as he flops back down on the bed with a tired sigh, before the sound of someone rolling out of bed and shuffling stiffly down the hallway follow after him.

The humour in Blake’s face dies away as soon as Jayden’s form is bathed in the brightness of the bathroom. The shining fluorescent light is definitely unkind and unforgiving, highlighting all the cuts and bruises on the agent’s body; Jayden looks, if possible, even worse than last night.

“Jesus, Norm”, Blake huffs with a shake of his head.

Jayden makes a helpless expression though the mirror, followed by an equally helpless – and stiff – shrug.

The action only serves to bring Blake’s attention to his shoulder. “How’s the burn?”

“I don’t want to look?” Jayden offers as a way of an answer, the ‘and I don’t want you to look, either’ clear in his tone.

“Like fuck you don’t.” Blake’s voice is no-nonsense as he moves to grab Jayden’s shirt to pull it off, only have his wrists grabbed and halted by slim hands.

“Carter, please. It’s fine. Just…leave it.”

Blake pulls at his hands stubbornly, only to have Jayden give him an equally unrelenting look in return.

“I swear to –“ Blake curses in a once-in-a-lifetime admittance of defeat, yanking his hands free and sidestepping around Jayden to grab his toothbrush like it has offended him. “You are the most stubborn asshole I’ve ever met, you know that.”

Jayden only chuckles in amusement at that, biting down on the comment he himself could make about stubborn assholes.

 *

 ‘ARE YOU PREPARED TO MAKE A SACRIFICE TO SAVE YOUR SON? 9711 MARBLE STREET’

The words stare up at Jayden from the unfolded piece of green paper as Blake pulls up the at the designated address. The streets are almost silent around them, probably due to the ridiculously early morning. The digital clock on the dashboard doesn’t even read 8 AM yet.

“I don’t like the smell of this one”, Blake is saying, face a mask of suspicious distaste. “This place is dump.”

Jayden hums a worried affirmation under his breath, though frankly he’s more concerned about the word ‘sacrifice’. The wounds on his body suddenly throb uncomfortably.

“Well, we aren’t gonna solve anything sitting out here”, Blake eventually huffs, moving to get out of the car with a final look at Jayden. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s go”, Jayden nods somewhat jerkily, following Blake out of the car.

 The interior of the building is, to both of their surprise, in an even worse shape than the outside, everything charred and sooty as if after a fire. Jayden’s nose wrinkles at the dank smell of it.

“Charming little place”, he finds himself quipping dryly as he scuffs his foot against the grimy floor.

Blake huffs a laugh at that as he leads them up a beat-down staircase, motes of ashy dust floating in the stale air.

“Maybe these are more to your liking, then”, he grins in jest at the green porcelain lizards suddenly lying strewn about the floor. “Look new, at least.”

Jayden, head cocked in what Blake calls his ‘thinking pose’, crouches down next to one to examine it. “They are new. But why would there—“ The lizard he picks up suddenly rattles in his hand as if containing something, prompting the two the share a mirrored look of surprise.

“Smash it?” Blake offers helpfully.

Unable to think of a better solution, Jayden only shrugs before hitting the object hard against the concrete floor, shattering it. Among the pieces of porcelain a key clatters out.

Both of their heads shoot up simultaneously, scanning the hallway for a door – and as luck would have it, there it is, at the far end, with a large green painting of a lizard plastered on it.

With a shared look of caution, they head for the door, guns drawn before Jayden fits the key in its hole.

The doors swings open with a tired creak as they step through it in unison, revealing a mostly empty room, charred and dilapidated as the rest of the building, soot floating lazily in the air.

Relaxing their aim a little, they give the place a cursory check, but find it deserted except for a few pieces of furniture – most notable being a table in the middle of the room with what looks like a GPS sitting on it.

They share another look, before Blake makes a single-shoulder shrug. “Guess that’s what we came for.”

It doesn’t exactly reassure Jayden as he steps up to the table and cautiously reaches to press the button that looks like ‘play’ on the touch screen.

The GPS flares to life, a red light in the upper right corner lighting up as the screen shows a video of themselves standing in front of the device.

“Are you prepared to suffer to save your son?” a familiar female voice speaks up emotionlessly. “You have five minutes to cut off the last section of one of your fingers in front of the camera. If you succeed, you will get your reward.”

Jayden feels the air punch out of his lungs as he watches the timer start counting down from five minutes as soon as the female voice has stopped talking. Next to him, he feels Blake stiffen and a sideways glance reveals a muscle twitching at the side of the lieutenant’s jaw from where he’s biting down on his teeth too hard.

For a precious amount of seconds they only stand in stunned silence, Jayden trying to find something to say, but finding nothing comes out when he opens his mouth, closes it and then opens it again uselessly. Belatedly it makes him feel like a goldfish and he clamps his mouth shut with an almost audible snap.

It isn’t until then that his eyes land on the uncomfortably sharp-looking knife on the table, and his insides twist as bile threatens to rise up to his throat. No fucking way, and he isn’t sure if the thought comes from himself or from Blake.

But at the same time his mind flashes back to the image of young Shaun Mars, so young, slowly drowning in a well full of rain water as he tries to desperately to call out for his father to rescue him. He can almost taste the despair radiating from the child and his insides twist again. What is a piece of a finger compared to that…?

Slowly, as if almost unaware he’s doing it, Jayden finds himself bringing his left hand up, turning it around and looking at it evaluatively. He could. After everything he’s already done, maybe –

Blake’s hand is suddenly there, snatching and holding Jayden’s away from him in a firm, determined, warm grip, causing Jayden’s thought process to grind into a screaming halt. It is almost dangerously close to holding hands, a line in affectionate gestures neither of them has yet to even come close to crossing, despite everything. It makes Jayden look up from his contemplation, eyes wide, to find Blake giving him a hard look.

“Don’t. Don’t you even fucking think about it”, he’s saying as his fingers squeeze even harder around Jayden’s hand. It makes the agent’s breath grow shorter, and not simply from the sting of pressure.

“I already bandaged you once within the last 24 hours. Don’t make me do it again.” The words might sound selfish to someone else, but Jayden thinks he hears volumes of something completely else in the tone of Blake’s voice. It’s not his own discomfort the older cop is worried about.

“But—“ Jayden starts, only to have Blake bulldoze right over him.

“If you say ‘Shaun Mars’, so help me, I’m going to shoot you myself and hide the body.”

Jayden can’t help it: he laughs at that. It’s edgy and perhaps slightly hysterical and definitely inappropriate, but it bursts out of him before he can do anything to stop it. He can feel Blake giving him an odd, mildly concerned lift of an eyebrow, as well as a slight sense of pressure of wetness in the corner of his own eyes, but damned if he’s going to try to analyze either of those right now.

Or the fact that they are, for all intents and purposes, still holding hands, Blake’s a protective vice-like grip around his. As if for as long he’s holding Jayden’s hand captive, the agent won’t be able to do anything to it.

“Fuck, Jayden, we aren’t going to start mutilating ourselves for this shit! There’s gotta be a better way”, Blake is saying, obviously not releasing their hands until he’s driven his point home to Jayden.

Jayden wants to argue, he really does, wants to go with the feeling that says he has to do whatever it takes to save this child – it’s a piece of finger for a life – but suddenly he’s tired. His wounds, his burned shoulder, his whole body suddenly aches, and for the first time he sees the situation, the tableau they’re locked in, for the madness that it is.

“Blake…” he starts to say, voice weary as he sags against the older cop. He doesn’t have the strength to first make this decision and then argue about it.

“You have 20 seconds left”, a voice suddenly echoes in the room, startling them both and interrupting whatever it was Jayden was about to say.

Attempting to pull his hand away, Jayden gives Blake an almost haunted look.

“I’m not gonna let you”, Blake says in answer, his grip holding fast despite Jayden’s attempts. “I watched you crawl into that pipe and come out almost dead. This time I’m not gonna let you.”

“You have 10 seconds.”

“Blake…”

“9…”

“No.”

“8…”

“One of us has to!”

“7…”

“6…”

“5…”

“Blake!”

“4…”

“Dammit, Norman, I said no!”

“3…”

All Jayden has is a look. “Blake, please, if we don’t—“

“2…”

Blake’s answer is stubborn squeeze of Jayden’s hand. “We’ll find another way. It isn’t worth this!”

“1…”

Jayden has just time enough to swallow around what would have probably been a ‘yes, it is’ before the voice on the GPS declares: “You’ve run out of time. You’ve failed.”

Jayden’s jaw clenches, his hand giving a twitch where it’s still being held by Blake’s. He can almost feel Shaun’s life slipping away from him.

“Hey”, Blake is saying, releasing – finally – Jayden’s hand and grasping him by the chin to force the agent to look at him. “We’ll find another way. We’ll get to him. Just…not like this.”

Jayden lets out a sigh, unable to stop his eyes from wandering to the fingers of his left hand. Well, it’s a lost opportunity now.

“The next one”, he says. “We have to do the next one, no matter what, Blake. I’m not gonna let Shaun Mars die.”

Their current situation be damned, the horribleness of it and their looming destination, but hell if Jecht wasn’t going to commit this moment to memory, imprint it there in full and remember it for as long as he lives.

Because he’d seen some things, some truly awe-inspiring, jaw-dropping moments during this journey but this…

It almost compares to the Moonflow (or more specifically, Auron at the Moonflow, his mind supplies helpfully, making him smile at the memory), and yet…

Not.

Though the masses and masses of Pyreflies are sight in and off themselves, lighting the ruins like a sea of stars, Jecht’s gaze is drawn somewhere else completely.

Auron.

The younger guardian’s face, despite the taut lines of grief and dread that have been steadily growing more obvious since the moment they reached the foot of Mt. Gagazet, is lit with open wonder and awe, his eyes wide and dark as they take in the Pyreflies floating and weaving around them, mouth hanging slightly open in breathless astonishment.

And damn if it isn’t one the most beautiful things Jecht has ever seen.

He watches as Auron almost reaches out at a passing Pyrefly, almost touches the tips of his fingers lightly to it, before stilling his hand, letting the Pyrefly float lazily past and around him, followed by its brethren. Auron’s eyes follow them for a while, Jecht can tell, a soft, reverent look in the russet depths.

It makes something twist in Jecht’s chest, and in quick strides he moves to the younger guardian’s side.

“How ‘bout that, huh?” he grins, his voiced awed as he presses tightly against the shorter body, and as Auron looks down, their hands are clasped, fingers laced together before he knows how that even happened.

Auron turns his face back up, eyes still wide with an unfathomable expression in them as he looks at Jecht. “How about that, indeed.”

“You ever seen anything like this?” Jecht asks, though he feels the question might be a bit redundant considering the look on Auron’s face.

As expected, Auron shakes his head. “I could never have even imagined anything like this.” He looks back down, free hand lifted palm up as another Pyrefly circles it briefly. An almost gentle but solemn smile plays at the corner of his lips.

“Tell me about it…” Jecht mumbles, watching as the Pyrefly twists around Auron’s hand, almost resting on it for a moment. Of course, he’s not necessarily talking about just the scene around them.

The Pyrefly swirls mournfully away and Auron looks back up at Jecht, looking almost like he’s about to say something.

He never gets the words out.

Jecht’s hand, the one still not holding Auron’s, comes up to hold the side of the warrior’s face, fingers curling into the silky ink-black hair at the back of his head to hold him still as Jecht leans down to cover his mouth with his own.

Auron lets out a gasp, perhaps in surprise, perhaps in something else, and his hand flexes in Jecht’s, fingers tightening and squeezing harder. His other hand comes up, too, mirroring Jecht as it buries itself, familiarly, in the mop of the blitzer’s hair.

There’s a hint of almost desperation in the kiss, in the way Auron’s mouth responds to Jecht’s, in the way their bodies, as if naturally, gravitate and press against each other. It’s deep and heated, but gentle, devoted, with an edge of the awe for their surroundings.

Jecht commits it, too, to his memory in full detail.

Auron’s skin is warm when Jecht pulls back to rest his forehead against his, and screw how sappy it sounds, but he’s going to cherish this forever.

“C’mon”, he says eventually says, feeling Auron’s answering sigh of an exhalation against his lips, before pulling the younger guardian along by their still-clasped hands. “Can’t let Braska fight all the fiends by himself.”

Auron stared at the ceiling of the high Dome. The night was dark around him as he lay on his back in the small camp. Next to him, he could hear the even breathing of Braska and Jecht. Both were fast asleep, had been for hours.  Having finally reached Zanarkand, and moreover the Dome, the weariness from their travelling had quickly caught up with all of them. Yet he alone could not find the warm comfort of sleep. At first the young man had tried, tossing and turning uncomfortably until Jecht had elbowed him between the ribs and gruffly told him to get some sleep or at least stay still so others might. So he had given up and settled on his back to stare at the ceiling. That way perhaps his body would get some rest, even if his mind couldn’t. And indeed, there was to be no break for his weary thoughts. Over and over he was forced to play the events that had taken place earlier that night in his head.

“Huh? What do you mean no Final Aeon?”

They had finally reached Zanarkand and met Yunalesca, but acquiring the Final Aeon had proved out to be quite a lot more difficult that any of them had imagined. Surely not even Braska had known to expect the solution that was offered to them. Auron could still hear the soft voice of Yunalesca saying:

“You must choose the one whom I will change...to become the fayth of the Final Summoning.”

They had all been too shocked to decide right there and then. Though Auron himself still resisted the idea of Braska sacrificing his life, they had agreed to sleep on it and return with the answer tomorrow. Tomorrow would still be too soon, he had though, but said nothing of it. And then, as they were leaving to prepare a camp for the night, Jecht had blurted out the most unexpected thing.

“Make me the fayth.”

Vaguely amused, Auron remembered how his jaw had almost hit the floor right then. Though Jecht had changed during their journey, this was something he had never expected from him. Braska however had not seemed very surprised and had only smiled a sad but thankful smile. Auron had objected to the whole idea, of course, but it seemed to him it was already decided between Jecht and Braska. Though they both cared for him deeply, his opinion mattered little if Jecht truly had made up his mind.

Getting more irritated at the situation with every thought, Auron shifted his weight uncomfortably. He didn’t want to just shrug his shoulders and say, ‘Hey, have it your way, good luck’, but what else could he possibly do? Jecht wasn’t hearing his - he had to admit it - somewhat childish pleas to turn back now, that way forcing Braska to think of another way to defeat Sin. And Braska, well, he was so hell-bent on finishing his pilgrimage and destroying Sin that he wouldn’t even consider telling Jecht no, so long as the other man knew what he was getting into.

Maybe, a tiny voice inside his head insisted, maybe you’re just jealous. Maybe you’d like to be Braska’s fayth instead, and that’s why you don’t want Jecht to do it.

Stubbornly, Auron shook his head no, but was forced to reflect upon the thought. Yes, he would gladly die for his Lord and if everything depended on it, he would be the fayth for the Final Summoning, but jealousy had nothing to do with his current state of mind. It was simply the fact that he loved both his companions too dearly to let either one of them die, let alone both, when ultimately it would prove to be futile. Sin would just come back and their deaths would mean nothing.

Auron wanted to scream. It all seemed so unfair to him that he wanted to strike out at someone, preferably Jecht, for making such an absurd decision. Glancing sideward at the sleeping form of the man, the warrior resisted the urge to deal a swift punch at him, and instead got up and decided to go outside. The night’s sleep was lost either way, and he figured it would be best if he went outside and took his rage out on some boulder of rock before he really would hurt Jecht.

 The chill of the night air took away the edge of his anger, leaving him only with a dull, gnawing feeling of anxiety. Wrapping his robes tighter around him against the cold ocean breeze, Auron started away from the Dome, kicking small rocks as he went.

“Make me the fayth.”

Even out here, his thoughts wouldn’t give him peace. The warrior quickened his pace, as if that way he could leave them behind. But they swirled around him like the Pyreflies that eternally habited these ruins, seemingly intent on driving him mad.

“Make me the fayth.”

“Shut up”, he muttered through his teeth.

“Make me the fayth.”

“Shut up, Jecht!” he growled, this time out loud.

“Make me the fayth.”

“Damn you, Jecht!” he cried out in frustration. “It shouldn’t even be you!”

“I shouldn’t be what?”

Startled by the sudden voice behind him, Auron flinched slightly. He spun around to see Jecht standing at the entrance of the Dome, only few paces behind him. At the sight of him, emotions came rushing to Auron, and without thinking, he took it all out on Jecht.

“The fayth!” he nearly spat. “It shouldn’t be you to become the fayth! This isn’t even your world!”

Jecht crossed his arms over his broad chest. “So that’s what it’s all about, huh? I’m a foreigner, so I’m not good enough to become your Lord Braska’s Final Aeon?” It was more of an accusation that a question.

Auron stared at him, dumbfounded.

Jecht looked him square in the eyes and continued, “You think you’re better suited for the job, being a warrior monk and all? Think you’ll do any better than me just because you’ve had all that fancy priest training and I haven’t, hm?” He was angry now, as well - angry enough to attack Auron’s personal history.

They stared at each other, Auron confused, Jecht enraged. After a while, Auron’s shoulders slumped and he bowed his head.

“No”, the warrior sighed and weakly shook his head. “That’s not it at all...”

Still Jecht didn’t stop glaring at him. Auron swallowed. “I admit I would gladly die for Braska, and if it came down to it, even be his fayth. But this is not about that. Nor is it about me not believing in your ability to be the fayth, because I’m sure you’d be a fearsome one.” Here, his tone wavered a bit, a watery, pained almost-smile quirking the corner of his mouth before he continued bitterly, “And even if I did believe you couldn’t do it, it wouldn’t matter to you or Braska.” He swallowed again. “Yes, it pains me that my opinion on this matters none to either of you. But even that’s not why.”

Defying the flood of emotions that threatened to wash over him, Auron raised his eyes to meet Jecht’s. He felt his throat close. “Jecht, I care about you. I don’t want to see you die a meaningless death. And that’s what this madness ultimately is, no matter what Lord Braska thinks. Sin always comes back, Jecht, don’t you see that? No matter how many summoners and guardians give their lives, it will always come back.” He felt tears stinging in his eyes.  He blinked them away. “It’s bad enough to see Braska, my Lord and friend, die in vain. How do you suppose it will make me feel to lose you?”

His voice faltered on the last words. Angry with himself for getting so emotional, Auron turned away from Jecht. He had never been the one to let his feelings get the best of him. Why did it have to start with Jecht, of all people? Suddenly he was painfully conscious of the icy-cold night breeze that made his breath linger visible in the air. He wrapped his arms around himself, more for comfort than warmth.

The sudden, warm hands on his shoulders almost made the warrior jump. The amount of emotions that flooded to him at Jecht’s touch was almost overwhelming. He made a half-hearted attempt to shrug the blitzer off, but the hands would not move. Instead their hold got more reassuring and soothing. Gently, they forced the young man to turn around. Auron was suddenly aware of the tears running down his face, but was too tired to fight them anymore. He kept his eyes averted even as his body was completely facing Jecht’s.

“Auron. Look at me.”

The voice was soft, without a hint of anger to it. Yet Auron still couldn’t bring himself to meet Jecht’s eyes. However close they might have gotten, he still wouldn’t let the blitzer see him cry. That way I’ll come out of this at least with some dignity left, he thought, and immediately wondered what good dignity would do him when the two people who mattered most to him would be dead. He wanted to slap himself for being so selfish.

Auron was startled out of his thoughts as Jecht reached out a hand to his chin and gently raised his face up. Almost absent-mindedly, the blitzer traced the line of Auron’s jaw with his thumb. His eyes were dark in the twilight and held a look Auron couldn’t read; perhaps something between apologetic and pleading. Suddenly the warrior felt embarrassed for his outburst. He felt he had to offer some explanation.

“Jecht...I...“, he started hesitantly, but was cut short as Jecht captured his mouth with his own. Auron’s breath caught in his throat and he gasped. Jecht’s mouth tasted sweet and salty at the same time and the sensation of it sent shivers down Auron’s back. Recovering from the shock of being interrupted, he gradually began to return the kiss, his hands tentatively sneaking to Jecht’s shoulders. Their tongues caressed each other gently, tasting the mixture of flavours that mingled in the kiss. The blitzer’s stubble tickled Auron’s cheek as their faces brushed together.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, their lips parted. A light blush displayed itself on Auron’s cheeks as their eyes locked. Jecht’s gaze was dark, yet tender, while Auron’s eyes still gleamed with tears. Wordlessly Jecht placed his hands on the sides of the young man’s face and gently wiped away the wet streams from his cheeks. A bewildered look spread across Auron’s face as he recalled his tears, but Jecht only smiled reassuringly and pulled the young man into a loving embrace. His arms snaked loosely around Auron’s shoulders and tangled in his raven-black hair while the warrior’s head rested against his shoulder.

Breathing in the scent of Auron’s silky hair, Jecht hesitated briefly before speaking. “Do you remember the first time we held each other like this?”

Auron smiled and nodded. The Moonflow. How could I forget?

Jecht could almost feel the heat on the young man’s face against his shoulder. He grinned momentarily and continued, “Remember what you said to me? You said that you’d stay with me ‘til the end, and that you’d support me through this. Now I need to hold you to your word.” The blitzer pulled away from the embrace and held Auron at an arm’s length. The look in his eyes was serious when he spoke, “I need you to support me through this, as well.”

A look of uncertainty flickered across the warrior’s face. He looked Jecht in the eyes for a short moment before nodding slowly. Satisfied with that, Jecht smoothed a hand over Auron’s cheek, before placing it on the young man’s chest, over his heart. “I’ll always be here.”

Sensing finality in Jecht’s voice, Auron shook his head fiercely. “Jecht...no...”, he started, but Jecht placed a finger on the young man’s lips, silencing whatever it was he had been about to say. Auron shot the blitzer a pleading look, but he only shook his head. His eyes held a look of fierce determination as he once more lowered his mouth on Auron’s. It was almost a feather-light brush of lips, convincing both of them that everything was going to be alright in the end. Slowly the kiss ended, and for a while longer, the two men leaned on each other in complete silence. Then Jecht turned around and strode back into the Dome without looking back.

They’re holed up in Jayden’s broom closet of an office, going over details of a case when he first feels it; the tell-tale sign of his brain turning sluggish, fogging at the edges, making it harder to follow one thought to the next. 

No, he thinks, rubbing inconspicuously at his temples, hoping that it’s just the lack of coffee. It’s been hours since his last cup, after all.

It’s when, about five minutes later, his fingers start gradually going numb, the tingling feeling crawling up his arms and making him drop the pen he’s holding, sending it clattering to the floor from his lax hand, that he has to admit to himself that is another kind of withdrawal completely.

Fuck. No, no, not here, not now, Jayden tells himself desperately. Not anymore…

Hoping against hope to still escape this situation with his pride and self-respect (let alone with what he has earned of Blake’s) intact, he pushes himself away from his desk and unsteadily to his feet.

“Jayden?” Blake asks, giving him one of those odd looks that somehow manages to be confused, irate and concerned at the same time.

“Blake. I have to… I need to…” Jayden’s not even sure what he’s saying, or trying to say anymore. The numbness has crept its way up his arms and neck, wrapping itself around his brain and making words feel awkward and complicated.

“The hell…? The fuck’s wrong with you? Are you…?” Through the fog gathering around the edges of his vision, Jayden is pretty sure he can tell Blake’s eyebrows have pulled together in one of his trademark ‘someone better tell me what the fuck is going on, right now’ frowns, but his voice sounds so far away it’s hard to be sure.

“I have to…” Jayden only manages again, his vision swimming dangerously. He has to be quick, if he wants to get anywhere before the numbness spreads over his whole body. Distantly he’s surprised his legs are still working.

Or not, as he takes one step in the direction of the door and the floor decides to take that exact moment to fall away right from under him, making his steps falter dangerously. He is vaguely aware of Blake’s hand shooting out towards him at the same time as Jayden himself reaches out frantically for the corner of his desk to support himself against it, only to be greeted with empty air, filled with a gust of autumn wind, followed by a floor of leaves crunching and rustling under his weight, colours of faded yellow and orange and red.

“Fuck”, he mutters under his breath, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes that he knows must be red-rimmed and blood-shot by now. Of all the places, he curses mentally. Of all the people… Despite everything, despite what they’ve been through together and where they are now, Blake is still the last person Jayden wants to show this side of himself to.

Another gust of wind blows past him, leaves swirling around him with it. The wind is cool against his skin, gusty but not yet exactly cold or biting, but neither is it the gentle breeze he always associated with the environment, before. He knows what it means.

Get out of here. Snap out of it. Somehow. Do something!

But it’s always been easier said than done, except for the one alternative – that isn’t an alternative anymore, Jayden reminds himself sternly.

Reluctantly, he opens his eyes, even the faded light of the forest stinging them for a moment. He isn’t sure what exactly he expected to see, but the empty space, devoid of even what few office furniture he had, with its muted colours and gloomy sky still fills him with dread.

He knows what those things mean, too.

“Blake?” Jayden calls, standing up on shaky legs and turning in a slow circle to inspect his surroundings. He’s not sure what to expect in this regard, either, but the older lieutenant is nowhere to be seen. It does make him wonder, briefly, what all of this, what he’s doing, must look like from Blake’s perspective, but he shies away from the thought almost immediately. It’s too humiliating.

“Blake?” he calls again anyway, although he is unsure why. Perhaps, despite everything, a familiar face would still be better than—

The familiar face he does see when he turns back around makes his blood run icy cold.

“Hello, sir.”

 *

Blake’s first clue that something might up is when Jayden starts rubbing at his temples where he thinks Blake doesn’t notice, eyes squinting like he’s in pain. Of course, it could just be a caffeine headache, but when is anything ever that simple with Jayden? Still, he ignores it, because if Jayden is electing to be a stubborn idiot about it, then fuck, so can he.

His second clue is when a few minutes later Jayden fumbles his pen out of the blue, hand twitching like he suddenly has no idea how to control the muscles there.

Blake’s third, deciding clue is the way Jayden suddenly barges to his feet from the chair when it’s painfully obvious that standing is the last thing the agent’s feet want to be doing.

“Jayden?” he asks, irritation seeping into his voice despite himself. He’s known that something’s going on with Jayden for a while now, ever since the original Origami Killer case, has been witness to some pretty hard-to-explain erratic behaviour in spite of the agent’s best attempts to hide it from him, though never up close like this.

Jayden mumbles something that barely makes any sense, accent thick and slurred, and  Blake has a split-second to take in his ashen skin and suddenly blood-shot eyes, the pupils blown to hell, wondering if maybe the bastard is actually having a fucking stroke, before Jayden, apparently trying to make it for the door, suddenly just…collapses.

“Holy fuck”, Blake blurts out, reaching out to grab a hold of Jayden, only to miss by mere inches, the agent narrowly missing his own desk and sprawling on the ground.

“Jayden?” Blake calls to his partner, an actual flicker of worry in his tone now, but the agent ignores him, only sitting up enough to cover his eyes with his hands and mutter something unintelligible.

“Jayden?” Blake asks again, a little more forcefully now. Still, there is no response, Jayden just sitting on the floor, curled in on himself, skin still as ashen as it was before, if not slightly more clammy now.

“Hey, Norman!” Blake barks, moving closer at the same time as Jayden finally pulls his hands away from his face and opens his eyes, blinking as if the office light hurts them. But something is off…

“Blake?” the agent calls, eyes scanning the room as he somehow manages to stand himself up, but clearly unseeing. He looks right at Blake, looks right through him, but the lieutenant sees no recognition in the still-widened, frantic eyes.

What the fuck is going on…?

“Blake?” Jayden calls again, this time noticeably more unsure as he starts to turn away from Blake in slow circle, like you would when examining your surroundings in a new, unfamiliar location. His eyes are still darting more-or-less actively around the room, so Blake feels he can be fairly sure the agents hasn’t just gone blind. Something else is going here, but hell if he can figure out what.

The fuck are you on, Jayden?

The thought is out before Blake can properly figure out where he even got that from, but before he can process it any further, Jayden makes a shocked, almost frightened sound as his whole body goes stock-still, except for his rapid breathing.

“Norm?” Blake asks almost at the same times as Jayden says “No, I don’t want to talk to you” and fuck if he’s ever heard to agent to sound like that.

“And yet here you are, sir.”

Jayden eyes the man in the red suit jacket, heart beating wildly in his throat. Almost automatically his hand flies up to his face to reach for the glasses he knows aren’t there. “Not because I want to be, trust me.”

“Did I not warn you of how dangerous it was to over-indulge?”

“I’m not!”

“Did I not warn you of how it might kill you, sir?”

“I’m not using it anymore! You know I’m not!” He hates the way his voice, raising and turning slightly shrill despite his best efforts, echoes in the forest in way that he’s one hundred percent sure it’s not supposed to.

“And yet here you are”, the man in the red jacket echoes himself, and the ominous tone, almost like a threat, sends chills up Jayden’s spine.

“No”, he says, voice as firm as he can make it, even as the wind, strong and cold now, picks up around him and the sky turns dark over their heads. “No”, he repeats, and even though he doesn’t know why he’s doing it or what he thinks it will accomplish, he turns around and starts to half-walk, half-run—

 *

—only to bump straight into Blake’s chest.

“…Blake?” Jayden stammers intelligently, eyes blinking rapidly as the room morphs back into his dusty, grey office so fast it makes his head spin. Belatedly he becomes aware of Blake’s hands grasped around his shoulders, the hold almost hard enough to hurt as the lieutenant keeps him pinned against his chest.

“Jayden, what the fuck?” Blake asks, and there’s such a wide variety of emotions on his face that Jayden can’t even begin to process them all in his current state.

“Just…just give me second” is Jayden’s weary reply, his body sagging with tiredness until his forehead is resting against Blake’s shoulder. He can feel more than see the deep frown on his partner’s face.

“The fuck are you not telling me, Norman?”

Jayden takes a reluctant breath, eyes closed against the sudden feeling of vertigo sweeping over him, before sighing out into the fabric of Blake’s shirt. “Blake, I’m…” he starts, pausing, searching for words, before sighing again, finishing lamely, “My head hurts.” As if that explained anything.

Blake snorts a sudden, surprised laugh, his shoulders rocking with the motion. “Yeah, no shit.”

 *

After a moment, when it becomes apparent no other explanation is forthcoming, Blake releases his hand on Jayden shoulder, pulling back enough to grasp the agent’s chin to turn his face up. The skin is still covered in a fine sheen of sweat, though Blake’s pleased to note the return of at least some colour the agent’s cheeks. The blood-shot look of his eyes is nearly gone, too, having been replaced with a simple tired edge.

“You look like hell”, he declares anyway.

It’s Jayden’s turn to snort a tired chuckle, rolling his eyes. “Thanks.”

“Come on, you asshole. Let’s get you home to sleep whatever the hell this is off”, Blake says, tossing his head towards the door in a ‘let’s go’ gesture and releasing Jayden’s chin to pull him along by the elbow.

Jayden has a moment feel relieved, before Blake adds with a pointedly raised eyebrow, “And don’t think for a fucking moment you’re off the hook here, Norman. I’m gonna get the truth out of you, whether you like it or not.”

 *

The sky is already dark by the time they are heading home, a blanket of black velvet overhead as they make their way leisurely down the sidewalk – not quite arm-in-arm, but still so close that their shoulders and elbows brush with every step. Neither of them has given this outing a name – neither of them is calling it a date, but then, they never do, even after all this time.

It simply is.

And if it happens to have the added bonus of helping Jayden forget his withdrawals even for a few moments, well…

 “You okay?” Blake asks, prodding Jayden sharply, though without much force, with his shoulder when the agent’s laughter abruptly stills and the soft, content expression on his face slips and turns guarded around the edges.

Jayden only nods, though the action is jerky and slightly distracted as he stares at the pair of miniature tanks suddenly materialize from the pavement, whirring and weaving around his legs, causing him to stumble a little awkwardly as he tries to navigate his steps around them. “Yeah…” he says through a sharp, calming intake of breath, brow pulling into an irritated frown. He’d really hoped to be past this by now. “Yeah…just…”

Blake’s eyes follow Jayden’s errant steps for a few beats, before he purses his lips knowingly and nods. The gesture manages to somehow be both understanding, concerned and tired at the same time. “You seeing it again?”

Jayden nods again, still looking at his feet instead of his partner – because while it is true that this isn’t the first time this has happened, his addiction and withdrawals and the many forms they take are still a rather sore and disgraceful subject for him. Even if by now Blake has been a witness to more or less the whole array of it – and the fact that the older cop is still here, adamantly and with ruthless stubbornness and caring making him work through it all really should tell Jayden something.

 Blake is about to say something, but his words, along with Jayden’s glum musings, are cut short by the sudden, completely unannounced barrage of raindrops – light at first, but soon enough turning into a thick, grey curtain of deluge around them.

“God damn…” Blake lets out in an explosive half-laugh, half-scoff. “Fucking figures.”

Jayden can only chuckle in agreement, briefly lifting his face up into the falling rain, the sensation of standing on a Philadelphia street with the rain pelting his face suddenly so familiar it’s almost jarring.

”You know, back when I first came here?” Jayden muses at length with a crooked smile, lowering his gaze and scuffing his foot absentmindedly against a tank still swirling insistently around his feet; the action sends it buzzing away angrily, aiming its barrel at him in a hollow threat. ”I actually kept swearing I would never be coming back to this city, because it wouldn’t stop goddamn raining.”

Blake’s face splits in a pointed grin. ”Yet here you are.”

”Here I am”, Jayden hums in agreement, a mirrored smile tugging the corners of his mouth, too, upwards.

”And it’s raining.”

“Indeed it is.”

Their eyes meet over the short distance between them, the hallucinations as well as words suddenly forgotten as their gazes lock and hold. Jayden feels his breath growing short under Blake’s intense regard – and Blake, for his part, really should be more used to seeing Jayden drenched by rain by now, should be immune to it after the amount of time they spent soaked to the bone during the Origami Killer case. But even after all that, the way the water slides over the agent, saturating his hair, darkening it and making it curl around his ears and at the nape of his neck… The way droplets cling to his long lashes, slide down the soft features of his face, over his lips, along his neck to vanish inside the collar of his shirt… It makes heat curl in the Blake’s gut that is only strengthened, rather than dampened, by the rain. So when Jayden opens his mouth, perhaps to say something, perhaps to only ease his shortened breath, and an errant rain drop uses the opportunity to slip past his lips, Blake feels his composure break, closing the distance between them to chase the drop with his tongue, while grasping Jayden by the shoulders to back him solidly up against the nearest streetlamp.

Jayden’s gasp of surprise is muffled between their mouths, lost in the slick, heated slide of lips and tongue. The kiss tastes of whiskey, beer and whatever the hell it was that Jayden had to drink – and rain water, and Jayden groans into it, reaching out to grasp Blake by the front of his jacket to pull him even closer.

 They stay like that for a long while, heat pooling between them as their mouths move urgently together, completely unheeding of the rain falling in sheets around them. In fact, more than anything, the sensation is thrilling, stimulating in its familiarity. Neither of them no longer know how many times they’ve been here; kissing in the rain, Jayden’s body pressed firmly between Blake’s and whatever vertical surface is available – it was how it happened the first time, and how it’s happened countless times after that.

 When they finally pull apart, breathless, Blake’s thigh is pressed securely between Jayden’s, the agent’s face flushed and lips deliciously kiss-bruised.

“Good?” Blake asks with a quirk of a self-confident grin.

DAY 1: CLOTHED GETTING-OFF

The room is plunged into darkness except for the light coming from the television screen, playingover their forms and illuminating the room with a pale blue light and occasionalbright flashes of colour, splashes of angry red and sickly yellow. The distressed shouting and panicked screaming on the film is accompanied by the steady sound of rain hitting the window, almost relaxing in its stark contrast.

Jayden is lounged on the couch, head resting against Blake’s shoulder as he leans against the sitting form of the older cop. In all honesty, horror movies aren’t his first choice of entertainment – his logical mind tends to “rationalize the whole fucking point right out of them”, as Blake is so fond of pointing out. Blake, however, seems to get some sort of weird enjoyment out of them, so – sappy as the thought sounds even in his own head – Jayden finds he doesn’t actually mind being occasionally subjected to them like this. Even if more often than not they do make him roll his eyes at their illogicality – that is, if he doesn’t downright fall asleep somewhere in the middle.

Yawning – he has no idea what time it is, only that it’s late; or early, depending on how you look at it – he shifts against Blake, raising a minutely intrigued eyebrow at the events currently taking place on-screen. The action makes Blake’s arm, which has been draped comfortably over his shoulders, slide down over his arm and settle on the curve of his waist, fingers beginning to smooth meaningful little circles.

“Still awake?” Blake’s voice asks above him.

“Yeah”, Jayden affirms, humming at the feel of Blake’s hand on him, pressing back into the touch a little. “This one isn’t actually too bad.”

He both hears and feels the snort of a chuckle the older lieutenant lets out at that, the whole body under his cheeks vibrating with it. “Good”, Blake only says in reply.

They both fall silent again after that, until after a while Blake’s hand becomes a little more insistent in its wandering, the press of his fingers that much more firm as they dance a purposeful back-and-forth line between the bottom of Jayden’s t-shirt and the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Carter”, Jayden says, tone warning despite the flush rising to his cheeks, “I’m watching the movie.”

“Uh-huh”, Blake bends down to hum into the agent’s messy hair, tone clearly unconvinced as he presses insistent kisses against the scalp.

“You chose the film”, Jayden tries to remind him, but it’s half-hearted, spoken through an indulgent grin.

“So tell me to stop.” The words are accompanied by the lieutenant’s hand slipping deftly under Jayden’s shirt, sliding hotly against the skin of his side and abdomen, halfway up his ribcage before heading back down and pressing under the sweatpants’ waistband, holding and squeezing lightly around his hipbone before heading back up again.

Jayden lets out a breathy, slightly stuttering sigh, the movie easily losing its interest as he shifts his body to lean into the touch despite his earlier protest. His skin is already tingling with the beginnings of arousal, his whole body growing hot – and knows Blake feels it, too, from his tone when he says:

“Thought not.”

Then Blake is bringing his other, free hand to cup under Jayden’s chin, shifting their positions enough to bend down while simultaneously bringing the agent’s face up, their mouths meeting in the middle in a hungry, deep kiss. The angle is still somewhat awkward, but either of them hardly notices, too busy exploring each other’s mouths.

Blake’s other hand continues its slide under Jayden’s shirt, over his ribs, pressing down in a hard caress over the ridges before moving to splay flat over his abdomen. His thumb circles the agent’s navel briefly while the rest of his fingers already press under his waistband, over his boxer-briefs, not moving but simply teasing with their presence.

Jayden’s rhythm in the kiss stumbles slightly, his breathing already growing heavy and laboured. “Carter…” he sighs into the lieutenant’s mouth, hips tilting up against his hand.

“Hmm?” Blake feigns, curling his fingers and scraping his short nails lightly against the rough cotton of Jayden’s underwear and the underlying hardness.

“Carter, please…”

There is something about the usually straight-laced (well, in front of others, anyway) agent begging in that breathy voice of his that always gets to Blake, something that he is never quite able to resist.

With almost a growl, he captures Jayden’s mouth with his own again at the same time as his hand dives fully inside the agent’s underwear, sliding on naked skin to wrap around him.

Jayden keens breathlessly into the kiss, the sound one part surprise and all parts relieved pleasure as Blake starts moving his hand, the strokes long and sure in a way that speaks of familiarity. Expertly, he moves his hand over Jayden, knowing exactly where to touch and how to tease and when apply just the right amount of pressure to have the agent vibrating with pleasure in his arms, hips canting up helplessly, desperately into his grip.

Just when he feels Jayden nearing the edge, the rhythm of both his hips and kissing getting uncoordinated and choppy, Blake pulls his hand away, ignoring the distressed whimper of protest the young agent makes against his mouth. Wordlessly, Blake grabs him by the hips with both of his hands and hauls him into his lap, settling him pointedly over the hardness tenting his own slacks before claiming his mouth in a devouring kiss again. One of his hands takes of hold of the back of Jayden’s neck while the other dives right back into his sweatpants, resuming its grip around the agent.

With a breathless moan, Jayden resumes rocking his hips, gratefully alternating between pressing up into Blake’s fist and down to meet his upward thrust, grinding their bodies together with high-pitched whimpers.

It isn’t long before Jayden’s rhythm starts to falter again, toes curling in his socks and mouth doing barely more than resting against Blake’s in an ‘o’ of pleasure, breaths a desperate litany of ‘oh oh oh’s and what Blake imagines is his name.

With a sharp thrust upwards, he grips Jayden hard, pressing his thumb into the slit as he growls against the shell of the agent’s ear, “come on, come for me, Norman.”

And it’s all it takes. With a long, wavering cry, Jayden tumbles over the edge, wetness suddenly spurting all over his underwear and Blake’s hand in long streams as he shudders through his climax. After a few grinding thrusts, Blake follows him, the sound of Jayden’s voice and the feel of his body quivering on his lap enough to send him over.

Gradually, the sounds of the movie and the terrified screams of the characters take over the room again, accompanied by their panting, slowly settling breaths. Gingerly, Jayden lifts himself up from where he has slumped down against Blake’s chest with his head resting on the older lieutenants shoulder. Supporting himself with his hands on Blake’s shoulders, he starts to move himself off his lap.

“That was…very teenager of us”, he quips, cheeks still flushed a deep rosy shade as he settles back down on the couch, grimacing a little at the wet stickiness inside his underwear. “And now they’re all dead already? And I missed it”, he mock-grouches at the TV.

Blake grins, shifting in obvious discomfort himself before again reaching out to take a hold of Jayden’s chin and tilting it towards himself for a lazy kiss.

“Disappointed?” he teases into the agent’s mouth.

”Anything I can helpyou with?” Jayden asks as he is, once again, treated to an amused grin and a somehow knowing look by one of the younger officers as he makes his way to the precinct coffee machine.

“Nah, man, it’s cool”, the young officer – Jayden, to his eternal embarrassment, can’t recall his name – grins – if possible – even wider and waves his hand dismissively as he walks away.

Jayden blinks owlishly, feeling somewhat foolish as he is left standing by the coffee machine, staring helplessly after the young cop. What the hell…? He glances at the clock on the precinct wall; it’s not even noon yet, and this is the fifth time he has received some variation of that look, from five different people. A frown taking shape at the corner of his mouth, he chooses his coffee and meanders his way to Blake’s desk.

 “Hey”, he says as a way of a greeting, parking himself behind Blake’s chair and leaning down to rest his forearms on the edge of it.

“What’s up, FBI?” Blake asks back, fingers barely halting in their typing. Peering over the older lieutenant’s shoulder at the document on the screen, Jayden can see that it appears to be a report of one of their earlier excursions to a crime scene, but he’s only paying minimal attention.

“I’m not sure, actually”, he answers honestly, grinning briefly at the nickname despite being fairly used to it by now, before speaking again, almost into his coffee cup, his voice pitched low. “I think… I’ve been getting these weird looks all morning.”

Blake lets out a scoff of a laugh at that. “And?”

“And I can’t figure out why.”

“Maybe it’s the come on your face.”

For a moment Jayden stands in stunned silence, a slightly horrified look stealing over his features before the unrepentantly assholeish grin on the lieutenant’s face registers in his mind. “Ass”, he grumbles, shoving his weight against Blake’s chair, though mindful not to spill his coffee over the both of them.

Blake chuckles again, fingers stilling over the keyboard as he leans back to give Jayden a look. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with—?” he asks teasingly while lifting his hand to press his fingers sneakily inside the young agent’s dress shirt collar, against the skin of his neck, over the dark bruise of a love bite they both know is there.

“No”, Jayden huffs as he twists away a little, swatting at Blake’s hand. “It’s not that visible, I made sure of it.”

“Don’t see why you bother, really”, Blake shrugs nonchalantly with one shoulder while aiming a wink and a downright dirty raised eyebrow at the agent, hand lingering meaningfully on his neck, fingers brushing little teasing circles.

Jayden rolls his eyes at that – trust Blake to be the type to find pride in having his partner walk around so clearly marked. “I take it that you haven’t gotten any of these looks, then?”

Blake shrugs again. “A few, maybe. Don’t know, I don’t give a shit enough to notice.”

Jayden lets out a frustrated sigh. He has a nagging feeling at the back of his skull that he’s missing something important, something that should be painfully obvious. He hates that feeling.

“Well, thanks for that, Carter”, he says mock-acerbically as he pulls himself up and turns to head back to his office, “as usual, you’ve been a big help.”

“Always a pleasure, Norman”, Blake calls after him, mock-saluting him without even moving his eyes away from the screen.

It takes all of Jayden’s self-control not to flip him off in front of the entire floor of officers.

 It’s about an hour later, as he’s washing his hands in the restroom, that Ash walks in. From the corner of his eye, Jayden can see the detective giving him that same sort of amused look as he strolls towards the urinal, before calling somewhat snidely over his shoulder: “Nice shirt, Jayden. Gotta say, though, I’m more used to seeing it on Blake.”

Jayden’s head snaps up from where he’s been rinsing his hands in the sink to stare at first at back of Ash’s head through the mirror, and then at the shirt he’s wearing, his eyes widening in shock as he realizes what Ash is talking about.

Suddenly, all those looks finally make sense.

“Fuck”, he mutters empathically under his breath before he all but storms out of the restroom, wiping his still-wet hands on his trousers.

 “Blake, I need to see you in my office”, he announces without preamble as he comes to a stop at the lieutenant’s desk, voice urgent and insistent although he is fighting to keep it as level as possible.

“What the hell, Jayden? Kinda busy here”, Blake says, attention glued to his computer screen, but lifting a dubious eyebrow at the agent’s demanding tone.

Feeling heat rise to his cheeks, Jayden bends down to lean on Blake’s desk, sticking himself in his partner’s field of vision as he says forcefully in a hissing not-quite-whisper, “Blake. My office. NOW.”

There is a brief flicker of surprise on Blake’s face at the agent’s uncharacteristically pushy behaviour, warring with the annoyed frown settling between his eyebrows as he heaves a grumbling sigh while pulling himself out of his chair and following Jayden across the floor.

 “Alright, what?” he demands once the door to the agent’s broom cupboard of an office closes, spreading his arms in an impatient ‘what the hell?’ gesture.

“My shirt. Give it to me”, Jayden says, arms crossed defensively over his chest in an equally impatient, but infinitely more embarrassed gesture.

“…Say what?” Blake says after a beat of bewildered silence, the frown pulling at his brows deepening and gaining a slightly more suspicious edge. “What the hell are you on, Jayden? I thought we agreed—“

“Jesus Christ, Carter, that’s not— You’re wearing my shirt!” Jayden hisses over him, making a jerky head motion towards the item of clothing in question. He’s surprised his face hasn’t burst into flames yet. “And I’m wearing yours.”

Blake stares at him for a moment, then glances down at himself, the frown smoothing from his brow as an incredulous chuckle escapes him. “Bloody hell.”

“Yeah”, Jayden hums, a mirroring, carefully amused smile creeping to the corner of his own lips. “Ash pointed it out to me. He’s probably having a field day with it.”

Shaking his head, Blake lets out another laugh. Then, giving Jayden a cocky grin, he moves forward to start unbuttoning his own shirt from the agent’s body, leaning forward to quip against the soft, pink lips, “Look at you. Some agent.”

Jayden stares up at the façadeof the Blue Lagoon. It looks the same, and yet so different from the last time he saw it, and he can’t quite decide how to feel about that.

“Hey, Jayden?” Blake’s voice calls him back to the present, where the older ex-cop is already moving down the street, eyes scanning their surrounding vigilantly. It reminds Jayden of staking out a suspect.

“I went here once”, he says a little haltingly, a reminiscent half-smile starting to pull at his lips. “You know, when—“

“Yeah, I remember”, Blake interrupts him, a pointed grin of his own aimed at his partner. “You brought that katana cut on your torso back as a souvenir.”

Jayden flushes a little at that, a light chuckle escaping his lips as he lifts a hand to rub at the back of his neck in an embarrassed gesture. “Touché”, he says before he can stop himself, the idiocy of the pun making him cringe.

“Nice one, Norman”, Blake rolls his eyes, “and you get on my case for saying stupid shit.”

Jayden makes a face at that, but doesn’t say anything further, his eyes still lingering on the building. He can’t explain, even to himself, why this building of all places is evoking such a strong feeling of nostalgic melancholy in him.

“Wanna go in?” Blake suddenly asks, the kind of unexpected edge of sympathy to his voice that you still didn’t hear very often.

For a second, Jayden actually considers it. But then… “What would be the point?” he asks, half-rhetorically. All the lights on the building are out, the huge neon sign above their heads dark and worn-out – not only is it potentially dangerous inside, but it would not be the same place, just as he isn’t the same person who entered it what now seems like a lifetime ago. “And either way”, he continues, finally moving his eyes away from the building to flash his partner a slightly playful look, “it’s not as if I had a particularly good time in there.”

Blake lets out a scoff of a laugh at that, taking a hold of Jayden by the elbow as he motions for them to keep moving.

 *

It is sometime later, the day already waning towards evening, when they wander past another familiar scene that they haven’t seen in a while. The Wasteland.

“Can’t believe after all this shit, this place is still the same”, Blake mutters next to him, arms crossed over his chest against the wind.

And it’s true. Very little, if anything, about the empty stretch of land next to the railroad has changed. It is still barren, nothing more than tufts of grass and caked mud – which at the moment is more dry than in their recollections, thanks to the recent lack of rain. There seems to be absolutely no-one here, which in and off itself is strange. One would expect a vacant place like this to at least be swarming with the infected.

 “…wow”, Jayden lets out, his feet moving of their own volition to walk across the scene.

If seeing the Blue Lagoon had been painful in its nostalgia, then this… Jayden swallows past a lump in his throat as his gaze slides over the familiar details. In all fairness, he only visited the place once, at least physically, but… This, in his mind, is the starting point, the place where everything changed for him – the reason why a lot of the things in his life are the way they are right now.  In the best possible way, he finds himself thinking, perhaps a little cheesily, as he flicks his gaze momentarily back to Blake. The older man is standing almost in the exact same spot where he was when Jayden first met him, and it makes the ex-agent smile stupidly.

“Gonna climb up that hill again, Norm?” Blake suddenly breaks into his thoughts, his characteristic challenging, asshole-ish grin twisting his mouth as he walks back towards his partner.

“Ha ha”, Jayden deadpans back, “I think my clothes are quite ruined enough as they are, thank you.” As he talks, he steps over the railroad tracks to stand next to the chain link fence lining the perimeter. They are both stained with rust now, his fingers coming off with a slight orangey tint where he runs his hand absent-mindedly over the fence. The slope leading up to the highway above them is only a few meters to his right, but he pointedly ignores it.

“Shame”, Blake mock-sighs from where he is suddenly standing next to Jayden, their shoulders brushing. “You made such an entertaining sight the last time.”

“You just want to check out my ass”, Jayden quips, jostling Blake’s shoulder lightly with his own.

“Don’t need you to be climbing up there for that”, Blake says, voice dropping low and suggestive as his hand strays behind Jayden, sliding over the small of his back and cupping his behind possessively.

Ever cautious these days, Jayden’s eyes flick around to scan their surroundings. It is never a good idea to lose focus when out in the open like this, so he knows he shouldn’t, but…

“Yeah?” he asks encouragingly anyway, voice dropping low and his accent thickening with budding arousal as he leans just a little bit closer to Blake.

“Yeah”, Blake says definitively, huskily, then closes the distance between their mouths so quickly and suddenly that Jayden lets out a surprised gasp into the kiss.

Blake’s one hand comes up to grasp Jayden by the back of the neck as he manoeuvres the ex-agent around and backs him up against the chain link fence, the material giving and rattling slightly with their momentum.

Jayden grins into the kiss at that, feeling himself pressed tightly between the fence and the warm body in front of him as he takes hold of the lapels of Blake’s coat and uses them as leverage to pull him closer. “This isn’t safe…” he mutters half-heartedly into the non-existent space between their mouths, “…we…have to be quick.”

“Always so impatient”, Blake laughs, mock-derisively, but wastes no time in undoing Jayden’s tattered trousers, sliding them down hips just enough uncover his behind before hastily unzipping his own.

It isn’t exactly elegant or slow-and-sweet. It is hasty and messy and rough as Blake hoists Jayden up, the ex-agent’s back pressed hard against the chain link fence and his long, slender legs bending back and wrapping, with some difficulty because of his trousers bunched up around his thighs, around the older man’s waist. With minimal prep, due to both their location and lack of resources, it’s undeniably uncomfortable and Jayden can’t quite stop the whimper of discomfort and pain from slipping out to echo through the empty lot despite his best efforts as Blake first slides inside.

Blake hurriedly catches the rest of the sound, covering Jayden’s mouth with his own, distracting the younger man with a deep, hungry kiss. “Okay?” he asks against Jayden’s lips, stilling his movements.

“Y-yeah”, Jayden manages shakily, sweat beading his forehead though the death grip of his legs around Blake’s waist is beginning to gradually loosen, “yeah. Just…” He shifts himself slightly in Blake’s hold, adjusting, making both of them groan at the sensation. “I’m, ah, it’s good, Blake, just…move.”

Blake doesn’t need to be told twice, setting a hurried, almost brutal rhythm, designed to bring them both release more than anything else. Jayden’s head falls on his shoulder and he bites down hard to keep himself quiet, but the small muffled sounds of pleasure-pain float up between them anyway, mixing with the rattling of the wire-meshing. Slim fingers dig fiercely into Blake’s back, probably leaving bruises, and Jayden’s legs have resumed their desperately tight grip as he rocks his hips to meet Blake’s harsh thrusts.

It doesn’t take long before Jayden’s movements falter completely, going still for a fraction of a second before he is tumbling into release with a long, breathless keen. Blake isn’t far behind, Jayden’s body constricting around him sending him over the edge. For a long moment, they stay locked like that, the only sounds filling the empty Wasteland their harsh breaths and the wind, already starting to turn cold with the approaching night.

Eventually, Jayden releases a shuddering sigh that edges into a chuckle. “Holy shit…” he mutters, feeling his face flush hot at what they’ve just done. He’ll probably be wearing wire-mesh shaped bruising on his back for weeks.

Blake lets out an agreeing laugh of his own, thumbs briefly caressing errant shapes into the skin of Jayden’s buttocks where his hand are supporting the younger man, before moving to set him down. “C’mon, we have to get moving. Probably won’t be safe here after dark.”

“Look at you all of a sudden, mister Voice-of-Reason”, Jayden teases breathlessly, tiredly. “You’re the one who started it.”

“And you enjoyed the fuck out of it. Literally”, Blake points out with a grin, nudging at him with a little more determination. “C’mon, move, you octopus.”

Jayden makes a snort of a laughter at that, new heat rushing to his face at the words, before untangling his legs from around Blake and lowering himself down with a pained hiss. Will be feeling this for a while, he mentally grimaces at himself, squirming a little awkwardly back into his trousers.

“Having trouble?” he hears Blake ask from where the older man is doing up his own trousers, the wide grin evident in his voice.

“Nothing I can’t handle”, Jayden mock-bites back, but still wincing a little as Blake pats him on the buttocks in passing.

Jayden wakes up to theout-of-place sound of fire crackling and something that smells musty and wornbeing spread over him. Blinking to clear his eyes, he only barely manages to suppress a groan as his surroundings shift into focus around him and he identifies an unfamiliar living room – yet another makeshift shelter.

And the cold. Always the cold. As if everything wasn’t bad enough as it was. Jayden had never been particularly fond of or even good at dealing with the cold, but these days… These days it seemed impossible for him to stay warm. Frankly, he finds it hard to fathom how Blake appears to manage it so well, apparently completely unperturbed by the chill that always plagued Jayden.

As if reminded by that thought, he looks up to find his partner – once strictly in the working sense, now something infinitely more – moving back to sit down in front of the fireplace, presumably from having laid whatever-the-cover is on him, to tend to the small fire. It smells like old books and apple trees and Jayden can’t for the life of him figure out why.

“You awake?” Blake asks, looking up from the flames at the sound of Jayden stirring.

“Yeah”, Jayden mumbles. “I guess. How long was I out?”

“Not long. Half an hour maybe.” Blake’s lips quirk in an odd sort of lop-sided grin. “You were smiling in your sleep.”

Jayden groans, shifting deeper under what he now recognizes as Blake’s thick coat. The sound of the pattering of rain against the window registering in his ears only makes the cold feel worse for the dampness, and suddenly the smell of the coat is no longer so much musty as it is comforting. “I find that hard to believe”, he says pensively.

Blake lets out a half-laugh at that. The uncharacteristically petulant grouching Jayden has made a habit of when his tired and half-asleep tends to have that effect on him these days. “What were you dreaming about?”

Jayden wants to say he doesn’t remember. It hurts to have the reminder even inside his own head, in his dreams – let alone speaking of it out loud. “Of…before. They way things were”, he says instead, a different kind of tired edge creeping into his voice. “When all we had to worry about was catching stupid criminals and whose turn it was to order take-out.” And when it was still warm, he finds himself thinking, fervently wishing for the umpteenth time he could go back to his past self and tell him to enjoy the hell out of central heating while he still has the chance.

The room is starting to get dark except for the warm glow of the fire – even if there was still electricity enough to power anything, having too much light would be extremely risky, a sure-fire way to attract something…unwanted – but Jayden can still make out the rare look of sympathy on Blake’s face. “Yeah”, it’s the lieutenant’s (ex-lieutenant’s, Jayden’s mind hastens to correct glumly – no use identifying themselves through their job titles in this world anymore) turn to say, and for a moment the room falls silent again, because there really isn’t anything else to say, no words to make the situation better, to make the world go to ‘un-shit’ magically.

“How’s the shoulder?” Blake asks eventually, when the sound of the fire crackling and popping is just short of growing oppressive.

Oh, right. Jayden shifts the shoulder in question experimentally, grimacing a little at the stab of pain shooting down his arm as the movement pulls at the wound there. “Sore”, he affirms, although it’s a slight understatement. Blake, however, doesn’t need to know that. “I’ll live.”

Blake gives him a look of ‘bullshit, Jayden’ so familiar it makes the ex-agent’s chest ache for a moment with the memory of when it was directed at him due to a disagreement over a case, instead of a wound acquired while failing to defend himself against a… a… he still struggles with what to call the people infected by the virus. Or whatever the current official explanation is.

“Let me see” is the only warning Jayden gets before Blake is suddenly standing in front of him, unceremoniously pulling the heavy coat off his hunched form, taking with it what little warmth he had managed to accumulate.

“Wha— Blake!” Jayden yelps, immediately curling in on himself to ward off the damp cold of the house making its way to his skin. “It’s fine, Blake. Like I said, it’s just sore.”

“Right”, Blake only says with a no-nonsense cock of an eyebrow as he leans over the younger man to inspect his shoulder. “And it will be that much more “sore” when it gets infect. Now let me take a look.”

Jayden huffs out a hard breath through his nose, but keeps still anyway, looking determinately away as his partner uncovers his shoulder from under the layers of a worn sweat shirt, a dress shirt (one of the few items a clothing Jayden still has from before) and an old t-shirt. He doesn’t need to see the wound to know what it probably looks like.

He remembers the dread-inducing feeling of a ridiculously strong hand, smelling of rot and dried-up blood and death, grabbing his shoulder suddenly, completely unexpectedly and out of nowhere as he was waiting for Blake to scavenge what was left a grocery store. He remembers over-grown nails sinking into his skin and tearing it as he twisted to get away, reaching into his belt for the weapon he knows is always there – only to feel the jagged edge of a knife dig into the muscle between his neck and shoulder, followed by the warmth of his own blood flowing up from the wound and down his back. He thinks he might’ve screamed. The next thing he remembers is the sound of gunshots and then Blake appearing next to him, voice a dull hum through the pain.

“I didn’t even know those fuckers carried knives”, Blake is saying as he inspects the rough edges of the wound.

“Yeah, well”, Jayden manages through teeth gritted against the discomfort of Blake’s prodding fingers, “apparently they do.”

“Fucking awesome”, Blake mutters darkly. “Well, you’re one lucky asshole, but this still needs to be cleaned.”

Jayden lets out a groan. But of course it does. “Couldn’t have done it while I was out?” he quips a little accusingly as he finally turns to aim a hint of a smile at his partner.

“And miss you bitching about it?” Blake shoots back, the beginnings of a grin of his own playing at the corners of his mouth. “C’mon, let’s get these off you, you big baby. How you ever managed to survive the Origami Killer investigation, I’ll never know.”

“Bite me, Carter”, Jayden mutters, wiggling out of his shirts with some difficulty, shivering as the naked skin of his upper body is exposed to the cool air of the house. With disgust, he notes the slowly-forming bruises of fingerprints on his shoulder.

Blake only laughs, using a wet cloth (so this house has not lost its running water yet) to clean away the dirt and clotted blood, hands gentle but sure. “We’ll see about that later”, he only says, the backs of his knuckles caressing the back of Jayden’s neck briefly, the touch making Jayden flush a little despite the chill.

After dapping the wound carefully dry, Blake’s hand curls sympathetically around Jayden’s healthy shoulder. “Gotta disinfect it now, you know the drill.”

“Oh Christ”, Jayden curses under his breath, face scrunching up in anticipation of what he knows is coming, eyes closing as he grabs hold of his knees. “Make it quick.”

There’s a sound of their bags being rummaged for a moment before he can again feel the presence of Blake’s body over his. Without a word, there’s a sound of a bottle being uncapped, and then—

It takes every inch of Jayden’s will-power not to cry out as Blake pours a generous helping of hydrogen peroxide over the wound, like liquid acid running over his skin, his flesh sizzling nauseatingly at the contact. “Fuck”, he hisses through clenched teeth, fingers curling around his knees in a death grip to keep himself from bolting away – or worse still, punching Blake.

(Prompt: Pain)

Jayden feels an excruciating, nauseating snap somewhere in the middle of his torso, alittle down and to the right, followed by a blinding stab of pain expanding andshooting outwards, racing up his arm and driving the air out of his lungs like a punch.

A rib, his mind supplies completely unhelpfully at him, but he has little to no time to pay attention to it, because Mad Jack is still holding that metal pole, is still swinging it at him with a frankly ridiculous amount of strength, and he can either worry about the pain, and possible internal damage, or he can try to survive.

He opts for the latter, although it takes every ounce of his own strength and willpower not to double over the injury and cry out in pain every time he moves.

Finally, when Mad Jack is barely more than a bloody smear under the bulldozer, Jayden allows himself to slump to the ground with a yelp of agony as the movement jostles the broken bone – or, he supposes, at this point it could just as easily be bones, plural, for all he knows. Distantly, he makes the completely inane observation that his suit is thoroughly ruined – again.

Gasping for breath as the adrenalin starts to fade from his system and is swiftly replaced by pain, he shifts enough to dig his phone out of his pocket. It’s muddy and battered like the rest of him, but thankfully seems to be otherwise unharmed. Gingerly, he brings up Blake’s contact info and hits ‘call’, feeling small and a little pathetic for it, but in his current condition he isn’t exactly spoiled for choice. All the same, the older cop’s rough voice is like music to his ears when he finally answers.

He doesn’t remember what words, exactly, he used to make Blake drop everything he was doing and arrive so quickly – he only remembers retching miserably at some point during the call, the smell and the pain and the taste of mud in the back of his throat that will probably take weeks to wash out suddenly just a little too much. Which, in retrospect, might’ve been one of the reasons contributing to Blake’s hasty arrival.

He decides it doesn’t really matter, because when Blake finally arrives and gathers him into his arms, a gruff litany of “it’s okay”s and “I’ve got you”s and “stay with me”s flowing smoothly over him, the pain is suddenly that much more bearable.

He doesn’t even mind the 30 times Blake calls him “a fucking idiot”, or some variation of it, during the ride to the hospital. Not that he’s counting.

Blake comes awake to soft sounds echoing faintly through the house. In his still-drowsy state it takes him a while to recognize the sound as the TV and what sounds suspiciously… He frowns. It sounds suspiciously like cartoons.

Frowning, he sits up on the bed. Morning light, barely pale enough to be even called that, is filtering weakly through the blinds on the window and though Blake can’t be assed to check the time on the alarm clock, he would hazard the time is barely past 7 in the morning.

Turning slightly, he isn’t surprised to find Jayden’s side of the bed empty and already cool. Figures. Guy’s probably been awake for an hour already, at least, fucking early bird.

With a sigh, Blake pulls himself up and into a bathrobe before making his way down the hall into the living room.

The sight that awaits him makes him shake his head, although it is accompanied by an incredulous curve of his mouth.

Jayden, clad in frankly ridiculously festively-coloured PJs, is sitting curled up on the couch, legs and bare feet pulled up under himself and gaze fixed on the TV, where a cartoon that Blake doesn’t recognize is running. He is cradling a mug of something in his hand, carefully sipping it every now and again, occasionally chuckling into it when something supposedly-funny happens on-screen.

“What time is it?” Blake asks through a yawn, unable to help himself from delighting in the way Jayden startles at the sound of his voice and has to cough up whatever it is he is drinking from where he inhaled it down the wrong pipe.

“Bloody hell, Carter”, Jayden grumbles, wiping his chin and glaring at his partner. “That was uncalled for.”

Blake only chuckles, giving his head an almost-fond shake, until the scent of Jayden’s spilled drink finally registers in his nose.

“Really, Jayden?” he scoffs, eyebrow cocked incredulously. “You’re drinking fucking egg nog at – “, he cranes his head to check the clock on the living room wall, “8 bloody AM?”

The young agent only shrugs with a half-grin. “It’s Christmas?” he offers as a way of an explanation.

Blake lets out an amused huff at that. “You’re such a child”, he quips, squeezing himself down onto the couch next to Jayden and wrapping his arm lazily around the narrow shoulders as Jayden easily leans against his side. From this distance, he can see a faint dusting of powdered sugar, probably from one of the Christmas pastries, still clinging to the agent’s upper lip. It makes him smile.