You can't spend six months sharing a soul with someone without getting to know them almost as well as you know yourself. But with the bond gone, the little flashes of empathy and insight that traveled between them is gone, and all Jeff knows now is that something is wrong. And for perhaps the ten thousandth time, he misses it.
It's all he can do not to fret over Keyser like a mother hen (and was it really only a few months ago that they were trying to kill each other?), "Just let me know if there's anything I can do, okay?" he said early on, and did his best to give him his space. And from afar, he worries. He suspects it's just the anniversary, because hell, who wants to be reminded of the day you died?
He hopes that's all it is, and he worries its something more. Something that a simple restaurant could never replace.
There's something different about Keyser tonight, he thinks, though he can't put his finger on why. Does he seem less tired? Less...defeated? He doesn't know. Not anymore. And it frustrates him now. He takes a seat
( ... )
"Yeah," he says, after a pause. It surprises him, actually, how he had to think about the answer. Yeah, he thinks. This is better.
"I'm feeling great," he clarifies, turning to face Jeff. He gives a smile, now, more obligatory than anything else. Not because he isn't genuinely happy, but because the emotions are so much more than that. He's so close to having everything again. "How've you been?"
He chuckles. "Beat, mostly." With Keyser stuck in the Nexus (as far as Jeff knows, anyway), Jeff's been the one tracking down ingredients, finding mundane worlds that won't be affected by the vagaries of the Nexus. He sinks into his chair, with a sigh of relief, as though he only just realized how tired he is, and he smiles back, a genuine grin despite the obvious fatigue. "But it should be worth it. All we need to do now is tell everyone when we're open. We're ready."
Soze's smile is the kind that snaps off. One minute great, wonderful, and the next looking like he's never smiled in his life. That's what happens to him now, staring at Jeff in the room, the flames to his back.
"Sorry," he says, flat. "There's something you should know." With that, he slips his PINpoint from his pocket, holding it out as if to illustrate. "I can get out."
While his voice is mostly empty, some emotion slips into those last words. Regret, maybe. Or hope.
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It's all he can do not to fret over Keyser like a mother hen (and was it really only a few months ago that they were trying to kill each other?), "Just let me know if there's anything I can do, okay?" he said early on, and did his best to give him his space. And from afar, he worries. He suspects it's just the anniversary, because hell, who wants to be reminded of the day you died?
He hopes that's all it is, and he worries its something more. Something that a simple restaurant could never replace.
There's something different about Keyser tonight, he thinks, though he can't put his finger on why. Does he seem less tired? Less...defeated? He doesn't know. Not anymore. And it frustrates him now. He takes a seat ( ... )
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"I'm feeling great," he clarifies, turning to face Jeff. He gives a smile, now, more obligatory than anything else. Not because he isn't genuinely happy, but because the emotions are so much more than that. He's so close to having everything again. "How've you been?"
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"Sorry," he says, flat. "There's something you should know." With that, he slips his PINpoint from his pocket, holding it out as if to illustrate. "I can get out."
While his voice is mostly empty, some emotion slips into those last words. Regret, maybe. Or hope.
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