[Closed] Walk Away

[wintershepherd]

Characters: Jack Frost, Oliver Queen / PART TWO: + Kyle Rayner / PART THREE: + Connor Hawke / PART FIVE: + Zatanna Zatara
Date: Following this showdown and Jack's horrible excuse. Exact length of time to be determined.
Location: One of Tu Vishan's abandoned villages (as outlined here) near the shell's edge, a few hours outside Keeliai and by the mountains.
Situation: Taking issue with Oliver's plan of action, Jack has brought him outside the city to see if he can't get his head on straight. Part Two & Three: After their return, there are still some things to answer for.
Warnings/Rating: Ollie's probably not happy, so associated warnings there.


Jack had been out to these areas several times since his arrival, so he flew straight and unerring across the barren landscape, stirring up heavy storm clouds in his wake, pregnant with snow that was only partially intentional, reacting to his emotions. When they finally touched down at the outskirts of a burned husk of a village, Jack dragged Oliver's unconscious form into the most complete building. It wasn't great, but it had four walls and most of a roof and that was good because Oliver was heavy and it didn't help that Jack couldn't stop replaying their conversation in his mind, over and over.

"What if someone starts coming after you the way you're going after these kedan?!"

"Then I kill them."

"Wrong answer."

So when the man awakes, he will find himself under a blanket but sans boots (and said footwear being nowhere to be seen) and Jack sitting in the windowsill, looking out at a thick curtain of falling snow and humming something of a song under his breath.

Comments

[wilsooon]

He's running the day's checklist through his head before he's even fully conscious. Traps and perimeter markers to check before Slade comes off his watch, clothes and tools in need of repair. He's pretty sure it's not his turn to flesh out their perishable supplies, though he'll end up tagging whatever wildlife he can, which means gutting, skinning, cleaning, preserving.

Then of course there's whatever plans Slade has for harrying Fyers' men.

Oliver shivers, curling under the blanket he doesn't remember feeling so soft. Five more minutes, he thinks, and marvels that a thought that normal can still occur to him.

And then he's awake. On his feet, adrenaline sending a fissure of awareness through him - something isn't right.

He's not in the plane, or one of their other campsites. It's cold. Not just the damp forest chill of Lian Yu - it's cold, and the air has the vacancy of wide open space.

Oliver sways, planting his feet farther apart to stay upright while his body registers as one giant bruise. Memory briefly plays havoc with his sense of awareness, skipping backward and forward until he recognizes the kid in the window and can place himself in the context of his personal timeline.

That avalanche. The cold, drawing consciousness away.

Words come out in a croak instead of a snarl. "Where am I."

[wintershepherd]

Jack turns to look at Oliver when the man bolts to his feet, the humming stopping and blue eyes glinting with concern. It was a rough way to wake up and he's worried for a moment that Oliver will fall down again, but he seems to stay upright from sheer force of will to demand where he is.

"You're safe," the winter teen answers. "We're out by the mountains, away from Keeliai."

It's the truth (what point would there be in lying?) and Jack slips from the windowsill, bare feet picking their way across the small charred debris of what's left of the house's original contents. He crouches down beside a small stack of assembled tinder, already set up in a usable configuration for a fire.

"You should light this. I tried a little bit earlier but my draft kept putting it out and I didn't want to waste the matches."

[wilsooon]

Safe. Safe? Oliver gives Jack a look that roughly equates to Are you high?

In what universe do mountains mean safety. ...He doesn't actually want the answer to that question.

Old patterns designate this as some kind of test he's already half-failed, failure meaning the second half will be that much worse for it. He can't find any obvious tricks in the idea of a fire except that the light and smoke will alert anyone in the area to his presence. But the fodder is dry, and what isn't, he can set next to the flames to dry out before he uses it. Less smoke.

He checks the windows, the door, and retreats from Jack to scrape out a shallow pit in a part of the ruin that's out of the immediate sight lines of any of the above. Oliver shifts the tinder to the new pit, wasting one match on numb fingers and nerveless hands. He steadies himself and tucks his hands under his arms until he's warm enough and focused enough to try again and succeed.

Then it's back to the blanket, wrapping himself up in it as he moves the fuel, building a barricade of the damper pieces to further hide the flames while the rest dries. He settles into the farthest corner of the building he can find that's still close to the heat. All of it gets done without a word.

[wintershepherd]

Jack watched it all in silence from his crouched spot on the floor, making no move to interfere in anything Oliver was doing. When the fire was finally lit and the flames licking at the driest of the wood, a small smile -- tinged relieved, patient -- and he finally rises and reaches up to the rafters with his staff to snag the hook through the the strap of a plain backpack. He had expected anger when Oliver woke, and hadn't wanted to put the supplies in immediate range in case it had become a target. The bag sags slightly, weighted with its contents and Jack sets it down within Oliver's easy reach, even bundled in the blanket as he is.

Inside is a change of clothes for him -- jeans and a good sweater and socks, and underneath the clothes are carefully wrapped containers of food enough for at least a few days and a packet of the local equivalent for aspirin. It's packed less like a survival kit and more like a care package, earnest and well-intentioned.

Finally Jack speaks, breaking the brittle silence that doesn't have much to do with the cold. "I'm going to see if I can find any more wood," he says. "So if you want to change or anything..."

He trails off with a shrug; he can't imagine that outfit is actually comfortable but he's worn basically the same thing for a really long time so he can't really judge.

[wilsooon]

Oliver doesn't take the bag immediatly. He waits, past the point where patience tells him that if something about this was rigged, it would have happened already. He drags the peace offering over, sorting through its contents without a word. He recognizes what looks like the local pain killer- though he'll be damned if he actually takes it.

The leathers he's wearing is an insulator, but it would be better over warmer clothes. The food makes it clear that he's expected to stay put for at least a brief duration.

That would be a great big fat no. Thanks for playing.

He still has two of his knives, both of them small and not particularly useful in a fight but serviceable as far as survival is concerned - both hidden in the lining of his jacket. The rest of his weapons are gone, which isn't surprising.

Say something. Set him at ease. Get him to go away.

It takes work to get himself to calm down. He has a plan of action - he needs to relax enough to execute it. Jack isn't the typical warden. Oliver gets the feeling he doesn't take prisoners often.

"Thanks," he says. The word is brittle.

BACK IN KEELIAI

[wintershepherd]

They had been gone three days when they'd made a quiet reappearance to the 3A set of suites in the Wood Sector and they'd parted ways in awkward silence of the dusk, a distance between them greater than the sibling trees that made them neighbours. Jack had stayed conscious only long enough to reply out of courtesy the responses to his post, stumbled to the bed and fallen upon it as everything went blank.

He woke when the sky was dark again, confused and grasping clumsily for his staff that had fallen from nerveless fingers and rolled away. He sat up only to find a stain on the blanket, touched it to find it cold but red and groaned under his breath, swung off the bed and wobbled his way to the mirror. The side of his neck was smeared, the blue of his sweatshirt's collar splotched with it. His face and particularly around his eyes were red and blistered splotches his on pale skin, and he rubbed at them but they were tender and it hurt, so he stopped.

A quick check of his console told him he'd been asleep for 26 hours straight.

Jack often claimed his Russian was shaky, but North would have raised an eyebrow at the few curses he did know and employed just then.

But he knew better than to think that the situation was finished, so he sent Kyle a text message, asking him to meet half an hour from now in a nearby park and reluctantly set about changing his clothes and cleaning himself up. When Kyle arrives Jack is sitting on a swing, clad in jeans and a soft grey turtleneck that doesn't quite hide the stark white curve of ice working as a bandage on the side of his neck, the outfit looking almost abnormally normal. Still-bare feet drag through the sand under the swings, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

[imaginate]

Kyle had had to resist looking for them both immediately, given what he'd heard from Jack of their last encounter. When he got the initial replies his blood boiled again, until he got the message to leave Oliver alone.

Him. Leave Oliver alone? What was that about? He racked his brains and he couldn't come up with an answer. Yes, they'd argued, but that had been it. Oliver had been a brat and even then, Kyle felt responsible for him. He owed Hal that much.

Again, he found himself wishing beyond hope that the other Lantern was here, taking care of this, even if Hal would have told Kyle that he was more than capable. That he'd find a way to make things work.

Yeah, right.

He approaches Jack, his eyes immediately on the spirit's neck, and he gets straight to business. 'What did he do?'

[wintershepherd]

Blue eyes flick up to Kyle, a sliver of steel in the look he gives him. "That's between him and me," Jack answers. "And that's not why I wanted to talk."

[imaginate]

Kyle returns it with steel of his own. His body language, instinctively, slides into the stillness before a fight - not a physical one, but he knows this isn't going to be easy on either of them. He can always question Oliver later. Upside down off a fire escape, probably, he thinks viciously.

He doesn't want to hurt a spirit, and he doesn't want a spirit to hurt him, either. He doesn't reply, he simply nods for Jack to continue with the conversation.

[wintershepherd]

Jack's fingers curl on the metal chain links supporting the swing he's seated on, frost forming whorls against the grey surface, but he doesn't break Kyle's gaze.

"Tell me how you know him," he says. "Oliver Queen, or... or that archer."

WOOD SECTOR - Oliver's suite.

[bowarmed]

After talking to Kyle, Connor quickly changes into his GA outfit and heads out. He takes Kyle's suggestion and makes his way towards Oliver's sector. Of all the place he's been, Wood takes the gold for easiest and coolest (god, if Mia caught him using that word) to travel. Connor avoids the main roads to avoid detection, balancing from tree branch to roof, then back on another branch, another tree. It's like a jungle gym. If only his reason for being here has less cause for concern.

There's a silent thud as he lands outside of Oliver's suite. Breath in, breath out. Then he knocks. After a pause, a count of ten minutes, he knocks again and speaks against the door frame.

"Oliver? It's Connor."

The lights are on, dimly but it's there. Someone has to be home. And Connor is patient, he can wait Oliver Queen out.

[wilsooon]

Oliver is in the bedroom area of the suite, doing push-ups because he can't sleep.

That stops the second he hears the thump of Connor's arrival.

Hunting knife from the side table, near-silent creep to the bedroom doorway. He waits. Measures the seconds, then the minutes, and almost jumps out of his skin when whoever-it-is knocks again and then announces himself. Connor. Is that reason to open the door or reason to hide?

Oliver closes his eyes and rests his head against the doorjamb. He could try to get away, but he doubts it would work out well. Between his lack of sleep over the past twenty-four hours, the fact that he's still sore from the avalanche and kidnapping, and that the gash on his stomach is in fact infected... he wouldn't get far enough for it to make a difference.

Besides, for this, the suite is actually a better place to be right now. He opens the door wide, dressed in what amounts to bedclothes - loose pants, open jacket. His Bratva tattoo and the Chinese characters for purgatory and survival are clearly visible, the first tattoo near his left shoulder and the second like broad stitches down one side. The rest of him is scars, and a fresh bandage opposite the Chinese tattoo.

"It's bugged." Translation: I'm not talking.

[bowarmed]

He steps away from the opening door to see Oliver standing. Connor breathes a quiet sigh of relief, but it's too early to say this is good and done. He can't see Oliver too well; there's no telling what the state of him is. For now, knowing he's breathing enough to be able to talk is just fine. Only fine. Not to mention there's Jack. That he'll have to wait until Kyle touch base with him. He takes his own advice and proceeds on one thing at a time.

"We don't have to talk if you let me treat that," he says, pointedly looking at the gash on his stomach. Stubborn man, always has been. Connor pushes one more line in, "That's not going to get better by itself."

[wilsooon]

He's suspicious. Wary. He doesn't want anyone in his space, he doesn't want to be touched.

How long will you let it last?

Diggle. Oliver is tempted to answer as long as I feel like, but he doesn't want anyone asking the question of who he's talking to. He steps back instead, leaving the door open and Connor free to enter.

Most of the lights are still off.

[bowarmed]

Connor nods and steps in. He does a quick scan of the place but he didn't need to do that to know it's mostly empty. His footsteps echoed, which made him more concerned at the mental state this Oliver Queen is in. He keeps walking as he reaches for his utility belt; it has two pouches on either side and he takes two of them off the belt.

"Lie down."

If you treated it properly, it wouldn't have at all, he adds mentally. Stubborn. Thinks he can handle the world himself. Refuses help. Refuses responsibility and rather likes to think of the bigger picture. Escapism.

That's his ol' man. He makes the distinction and calls this one Oliver as often as he can. Part of it is his idealism, hoping this one isn't like the old one. Why not? Alternate universes and all.

Wood 3A; for Zatanna

[wintershepherd]

Jack was already feeling like he needed another bout of unconsciousness after his talk with Kyle -- not because it had gone badly (indeed, he could not have expected anything better) but because his emotions were still running high and a corresponding cold front accompanied him as he flew back to his suite.

He set aside his staff and pulled his blue hoodie from the sink, face falling as he saw that the bloodstains had not dispersed from the cloth. He muttered under his breath something he definitely wouldn't repeat around his usual cadre of kids even if it wasn't in English, and started opening cupboards to look for something he could use to attempt another scrub at it, shutting them with more and more force when they consistently turned up only useless results.

"Come on, I like this sweater..." Jack groaned.

[backwordscompatible]

Time was up.

Time was so far beyond up that Zatanna was partially impressed she'd managed to keep from acting sooner. Either Jack was deliberately avoiding her, or...well, okay, maybe that was a little extreme. Why would be avoiding her? Aside from that slightly suspicious query about 'stains'....

Just listen to yourself. You're becoming just as paranoid as them.

Still, she was worried. Jack was a friend, and he had disappeared for three days without much of an explanation.

So she decided to pay him a visit. Foregoing their usual method of visitation--the window--she actually went through the trouble of walking all the way around to his door so she could properly knock.

"Jack? It's me."

[wintershepherd]

The knock sounds like a knell and Jack instinctively winced, but he slowly approached the door and opened it.

"Hey Zatanna," he said lowly.

[backwordscompatible]

Her gaze immediately fell to the burns on his skin. Red and raw and nothing short of a miracle must've kept them from causing more damage to the skin around his eyes. Against his pale skin, they stood out like something from a horror movie. Even worse, there were large patches of solid ice concealing who knows what other injuries on his neck.

She had so wanted to be wrong. Wanted to find out that he'd been asking her about something embarrassing after all. Instead, both eyebrows rose and she gasped in partial horror.

"What happened?!"

[wintershepherd]

Jack seized her hands and pulled her inside, shutting the door tightly behind her. "It's not a big deal," he said hurriedly. "Just let me explain, okay?"

WA-1C - Connor's suite

[imaginate]

Kyle needs a drink.

Not even a friend, not even to go out and smash some asteroids, he needs a glass of beer and he needs it now. The past few days just thinking of what was going on has been a strain on his nerves.

He's so used to facing something head-on and vanquishing it. This wasn't like that at all.

Sighing, he climbs up on the roof and enters through the skylight, just for the feel of it (it feels weird), and pours himself a glass of water. He pours another for Connor, and then waits for his friend to come home, mind racing.

[bowarmed]

Connor's back a little after Kyle's in. He drops down from the skylight and turns to see Kyle. He's still not comfortable with this environment, calling this place home. He was close to moving for an arrow until he saw it was just his friend. Connor relaxes and drops his quiver by the couch.

"How did it go with Jack?"

[imaginate]

'Not as bad as it could have gone,' Kyle replies, pushing the glass over the counter towards his friend. 'How's Not Dad?'

[bowarmed]

He takes a mouthful of water before replying. "He's not taking care of himself. And I'm guessing he can't sleep. That could be because of his infected wound or whatever happened between him and Jack or maybe he hasn't been eating."

[imaginate]

His shoulders sink and he stares at the counter idly. 'Jack's been burnt, and cut. He'll heal, but...' Kyle trails off, leaving it there, and takes a deep breath before continuing. 'Apparently this is because of something I said to him. So he goes and takes it out on some kedan. Jack found him, and we know the rest of the story.'

He's aware he sounds bitter. 'Look, I know your dad - any version of your dad - and me, we're not exactly buddies. And Hal could handle this way better.' His grip on the glass tightens. 'He's afraid, Connor, and I can't let that fester.' Not just because of his friend, or Hal, but because he was a Lantern, and they conquered fear. Helped others do it, too.