[network] @jwatson; text; Bite the Bullet [Night 250]

[jumpthegun]

[This is an incredibly embarrassing post to have to make, especially after the one he'd put out a few days earlier. Reading through those replies makes him want to curl up and hide from the world for people seeing what he'd been like straight out of the Army. The messages to his friends are a particular humiliation. But it is what it is and he has to deal with this now. Man up, Watson.]

I'd like to apologize to everyone for my attitude and behavior the last several days. My death price has ended and my memories have returned. I can't take back the things I said to any of you, but I'm really very sorry. I was in a bit of a bad place where I was set at.

For anyone who was asking me, I'm in the Entrance area with America, England, and Ginger.

I'm also sorry to report that the cause for Clint Barton's death was the Joker. He mortally wounded Clint, but I'm pretty sure Clint was able to escape the situation along with Harley Quinn. Clint was able to mortally wound the Joker, as well. I'm not sure where the Joker is right now, but please be on your absolute guard. He is well-armed and he'll have been healed up after his revival, even if he might still have severe MN Poisoning.


Action for Team Blonde
[Prior to sending out the message, John is rummaging around the new building they'd made it to for the night. He thinks he's getting the hang of this and he's relaxed a little more around his companions since they've not attacked him suddenly or stolen from him for several consecutive days.

He opens a cabinet in the kitchen and discovers a bottle of white wine, which is surprising, but not unwelcome when everything returns to him in a flash. It's like someone turning on the lights, full power when he's been completely in dark. It hurts.

John squeezes his eyes shut as the swirl of memories pours in, mixing, jumbling, resorting into the proper order and finally stopping when everything is settled. He's clutching his head, breathing hard. One memory in particular sticks out, though, the last one he'd had before dying...]

Fuck!

[Hope the rest of the house doesn't mind swearing.]

Comments

action

[jumpthegun]

I remember.

[John doesn't turn to face England for the moment, and his voice is low, rough, angry.]

It was the Joker. Clint's dead because of the bloody Joker.

[He wants to throw something, hit something, kick, and scream. John's furious at the Joker, at Harley, at himself. He'd been caught off guard and Clint paid the price. The ultimate price if he's left gone again permanently.]

[keepscalm]

[England's blood runs cold. Seeing Clint turn up on the obituaries not long after seeing him in person wasn't the most pleasant feeling, but with Sherlock and John on the same obituary, England had to compartmentalise that guilt.

His fist tightens around the handle of the knife.] If you remember that, then I assume you were involved, as well.

[jumpthegun]

Yeah. [John's voice is tight.] Just after we got back from being anomalies. Didn't realize it was him. We were in the same house. Woke up and he and Harley jumped me. Clint came in. Got Harley away.

Fuck... [It's said quieter this time, but with no less feeling as John slumps against the countertop.] Sherlock and Mary are gonna find out. [It's not a hard line to draw. And when they do... when Mary does. God damn it.]

[keepscalm]

[What a nightmare. England sets his jaw and tries his very best to quell the anger simmering in his stomach; now isn't the time to be plotting his revenge.

He slips the knife back into his tool belt and takes a few steps closer to John, struggling to soften his icy expression.] Yeah, eventually.

You're worried they'll do something foolish?

[jumpthegun]

I know they will. She will, at least.

[Sherlock might be sensible about it.]

And we're on opposite ends of the map last time we talked. And she was hurt... alone. Stephen was meant to be with her, but he died.

[keepscalm]

[Perhaps England will have to get into contact with Mary.

He worries his bottom lip, uncertain of what to verbalise if not his vengeful thoughts. He certainly can't blame Mary for her probable future course of action...] She hasn't been on the obituaries, at least. Whatever state she's in, I'm sure she'll be happy to hear from you— maybe you can convince her to at least hold off for a bit.

[jumpthegun]

She'll have to find him first, but she's good. She's better than either of us. [He realizes that's saying a bit more than he should be, and John goes quiet for a long moment.] I just want her to be safe. Safe as she can be here.

[keepscalm]

[Interesting. England's eyebrows arch slightly in obvious question, but he doesn't press out loud for now.] I'm certain she wants the same for you.

[jumpthegun]

Yeah. [And he's already seen the lengths she'll go to in order to ensure it. Mary has... fewer scruples than he does about a number of things.] I'm just... I'll have to hope Sherlock's sensible about it. We might be able to hold her back together.

[Unlikely, but they can try.]

[keepscalm]

[Sherlock. Sensible. Not certain if those two words go together.]

You know I'll do what I can to help. [Even though that may mean not hunting down the Joker and hopefully killing him for good...]

[jumpthegun]

[It's very rarely that they do, but John and Sherlock have always been united in wanting to protect Mary.]

Thanks. God, I need a drink. [He looks to the wine bottle.] You up to share?

[keepscalm]

[Following John's gaze to the bottle, England can't help but scoff out a bit of a laugh.] Of course.

Got a bit of whiskey in my pack, as well, if you're interested. Been rationing it for special occasions. [Like people he cares about dying!]

[jumpthegun]

We can do the wine. Don't wanna take your whiskey, mate. [John reaches for the pack he's set on the nearby counter.]

Any chance you've got a corkscrew, though?

[He can get creative if he needs to, but he'd rather not.]

[keepscalm]

[What luck that he'd picked up a corkscrew not too long ago!] I do, actually. One moment. [He left his pack in the living room, so he'll have to step out to get it, but he still speaks to John in the kitchen from the room over.] You're sure you don't want anything else? I've got enough to spare a drink.

[He anticipates that John will continue to turn him down, but his English politeness persists.]

[jumpthegun]

[As does John's English politeness.]

No, thank you. If you put whiskey in front of me, I'm not liable to stop 'til it's gone or I'm passed out.

[The way he says it is light, a forced sort of joking. He knows how he is with whiskey. It had been the thing to get him to sleep some nights after Mary had died. Most nights, more recently.]

I appreciate the thought, though.

[keepscalm]

[Ah. England grimaces a little, grateful the expression is hidden as he digs through his pack.] Right. Sorry. I know that feeling. [Different as England's circumstances are, it's not exactly like the human experience of addiction, but it's not unfamiliar.

He finds the corkscrew and leaves the whiskey and scattered other sources of booze. The sharp noise of England zipping the pack back up precedes his return to the kitchen, and he holds out the corkscrew to John.] Here.

[jumpthegun]

[John doesn't have much to say about it beyond that, so he just falls silent until England offers him the corkscrew.]

Thanks.

[There aren't any glasses, so they'll have to just pass the bottle between them. Once he has the cork out, he offers England the first sip. John puts on a faux-French accent.]

May I interest monsieur in our house chardonnay?

[keepscalm]

[Despite everything, John's ridiculous accent drags a laugh out of England, short but genuine. France would hate to hear that; the thought reminds him of home, in a comfortably familiar but bittersweet way.

He graciously takes the bottle, mimicking the accent right back (and doing it far worse than he's actually capable of).] Why, I would be delighted, monsieur. [So he goes ahead and takes a swig before passing the bottle back to John.]

[jumpthegun]

[John raises the bottle to England when he takes it back.]

To dear Old Blighty. Long may he reign.

[keepscalm]

[England feels a creep of embarrassment, though he can't help but smile as he leans back against the counter next to John. He hasn't got a glass to raise, but, you know, in spirit:] And to the people that keep him strong.

[jumpthegun]

[The doctor takes a pull off the bottle and offers it to England once more.]

Christ, I'd forgotten what wine actually tastes like. Watch that be something like a three pound bottle of the worst tripe. Best thing I've tasted in ages.

[keepscalm]

[Another laugh, this time a more subdued chuckle. England takes another sip, savouring it a bit longer this time. It doesn't taste expensive, but there are still people who'd trade something very valuable for this, which makes it all the sweeter.] "Three pounds" doesn't mean much now, anyway. Not as if our money is worth anything here.

[And back to John.]

[jumpthegun]

[John snorts right back as he takes another swig. He should be more careful, but he's upset and this is much more pleasant than thinking about his memories being mucked around, about how he'd hurt Mary, Bucky, Alfie, and Sherlock, all the people he cares about most.]

What's the going currency around here? Cigarettes, condoms, and matches? I'd put us at... mm... a two-cigarette bottle.

[Over said bottle goes to England.]

[keepscalm]

[England makes the driest addition he possibly can:] Don't forget Vicodin.

[As he lifts the bottle, suddenly something in his brain ticks, and he pauses mid-lift.] Wait, you weren't here for that. [His joke is lost!]

[jumpthegun]

[John raises a brow and leans back on the counter.]

Something more than the usual Vicodin theft? I know Alfie stole some from House. Rhys and Angel, too.