Thank you to all who read and commented! It is much appreciated, as always! :)

It feels as if about one million years has passed since I posted the first chapter... I really have no excuse, other than being so busy I have only just had time to eat and sleep for the past year or so. It has been horrible and getting back into writing is a relief. I am afraid, however, that my skills have grown a bit rusty, so both the writing and language might suck... So I am sorry in advance. Anyways, I hope those of you who have been waiting for this will enjoy this chapter at least a little :)

Torn was having a particularly good dream and although he could feel the first string of awareness tugging gently at his sluggish brain he did not want to yield to it just yet, wishing to prolong the inevitable for just a little while longer. Gradually, though, he could feel the dream start slipping ever farther and reality settling in, which in his case equalled a horrible hangover.

The elf stretched carefully, his joints popping audibly as he reached with his arms above his head. Even though the redhead was still half asleep, and he couldn't deny that his head was nothing but a mishmash of disorganised thoughts and fragmented memories of last night, he could swear that something was off. There was just something about the bed that felt unfamiliar; softer than what he was used to. The feeling of panic that was already forming in the pit of his stomach only grew when the commander noticed that he was fully unclothed; a sign that could only be interpreted one way. And, giving it more thought, he realised he actually did ache in places that normal exercise did not affect to such a degree that they would feel strained.

The sound of movement in the room caught his attention. Torn absolutely dreaded opening his eyes. Ashamed as he was to admit it, he had no coherent recollection of last night's happenings, but, the small flashes he could recall did bode no good. Inhaling deeply the redhead braced himself for the worst and cracked one eye open. The first thing to greet him was the blasted sunlight, not at all appreciated. In his current state of horrible hangover he'd happily crash his zoomer into a wall five times over before enduring a minute of the happily bright and shiny light. This nuisance, however, proved to be heaven compared to what next caught his eye. Torn's headache, which he thought had already reached its climax, grew ten times worse.

Before him stood none less than Jinx, smoking, wrapped in nothing but a blanket.

The blond must have noticed him stir, because his green eyes were immediately directed towards Torn. He was smiling brightly, almost as blindingly as the sun, and the commander quickly let his gaze drop to the floor. He couldn't quite bring himself to look at the blond, not only because he grew slightly nauseous at the mere thought of them having spent the night together, but also because he could feel a hotness creeping up to his cheeks, colouring them ever so slightly. Jinx did, although Torn hated to admit it, look rather enticing in his attire of choice.

"Coffee?" the blond asked, casually, as if nothing had gone down between the two of them.

Torn took a moment to consider his options before replying, but as the escape plan he had hoped for didn't automatically present itself he decided coffee could not hurt.

"Sure" he managed. His voice came out sounding very raspy, even more sandpapery than usually, but at least he retained his ability to form coherent words, as Jinx, nodding, disappeared out the door.

As soon as the blond was out of immediate proximity the tattooed man scrambled out of bed. His movements were slow and clumsy and it took a certain amount of determination not to be sick right on the other man's bedroom floor – Torn's pride could not handle such an ordeal very well and to make matters worse Jinx would certainly never let him live it down, so yielding to his growing nausea was out of the question. Torn fumbled through the numerous heaps of clothes that lay scattered across the small room for a good few minutes before finally finding his trousers beneath a lumpy, smelling pillow. He did not want to know what that poor thing had been through, but as much could be said that it looked absolutely appalling.

Slipping into his trousers Torn immediately felt more secure, or at least more covered up, and he considered it was safe enough to flop back down on the bed without having to fear Jinx would attack him upon his return. Just how much had he drunk last night to agree to this? Torn sighed and shook his head, he didn't even want to know.

Muffled footsteps were what drew him back out of his brooding and he sat up straight in bed just as the blond entered the room holding one cup of coffee, filled to the brim with the black liquid, in each hand. The knot that held the blanket wrapped around Jinx's hips in place was flimsy, and Torn figured it wouldn't take much more than a light tug to cause it to loosen and…Torn swallowed and pushed the unwelcome thoughts out of his head, for once glad that his mind was not collected enough to determine whether it was dread or excitement that the sight had stirred in him. There was no misreading Jinx's expression, however, as it practically screamed of disappointment – something Torn ascribed to the addition of clothes that had taken place in the blond's absence – but, to the older elf's credit he did not comment on the matter. Jinx crossed the room in a few frisky steps, making the blanket swing dangerously as he moved, and shoved one of the cups into Torn's waiting hands, muttering something about the contents still being scorching hot.

Torn was a man who generally enjoyed the sound of nothing, especially whilst working, but there was one type of silence he had never particularly appreciated; awkward silences. This was such a silence and it was driving Torn, who did not enjoy socialising in the first place, to the brink of madness. His social handicap was something that had always seemed to bother Ashelin, and that Jinx was languidly leaning against the wall, enjoying his coffee and a fag, only added to Torn's uneasiness. The redhead spent a good few minutes squirming where he sat, as if finding a comfortable position would also ease his riled up nerves, but no such luck.

"So…I never thought you'd go for a guy…" Torn mumbled in an attempt to rid the air of some of the tenseness that seemed to have chosen this sorry bedroom as a breeding ground. Spotting the slightly bemused expression in the older man's green eyes, however, immediately made him regret his choice of words. Regret that he ever opened his mouth, in fact.

"Well" the man started, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, "it's as likely as you going for one, I suppose."

"I suppose that's true" the redhead mused aloud, absentmindedly scratching the back of his head. His blue eyes studied Jinx quietly, then he added "you just don't look like the kinda guy who'd… you know…" he let the rest of the sentence die down, not certain if he wanted to finish. The blond had just always struck him as someone who'd go crazy for the ladies, not the lads.

The older elf laughed at the commander's almost childlike bashfulness, smoke trickling out of his mouth as he did so.

"I'm not picky by nature, anything walking on two legs will do fine for a fuck" he clarified when his laugh had died down, and Torn was barely able to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. It really shouldn't come as a surprise, Torn figured, this was Jinx, after all. The man was obnoxiously loud and shabby, and such a person could hardly afford to be picky.

The younger elf stared murderously down at his coffee, his thoughts rapidly changing to match the colour of the black brew. He was tired, frustrated and quite bitter about last night's incident, and Torn bristled at the fact that he had let it happen in the first place. He couldn't find a reason as to why he had agreed to go home with the blond, his common sense should have stopped him, but no. There had never been much love between them anyway, and Torn had never found anything about Jinx even remotely attractive… He swore then and there that he would never again drink in such excess, as apparently he did not hold his liquor quite as well as he thought.

Jinx, on the other hand, didn't seem bothered at all. To tell the truth Torn thought he looked rather pleased with his accomplishment. He had lured the commander himself into bed, a commendable deed, indeed, at least according to some. Torn snorted at the thought and shook his head to erase all the images that came flooding back to his mind unbidden. He tried to sip at his coffee to calm down, as all the aggressions had only resulted in his head pounding more violently than earlier. From the corner of his eye the tattooed man could see Jinx stub his cig, apparently completely oblivious to the redhead's internal mood swings.

"You can use shower, if you want" the blond stated, dropping the sheet he had used to cover himself to the floor. Torn averted his gaze, and with a slight shake of his head he declined the offer, pushed of the bed and started to rummage through the dirty laundry in search of the rest of his clothes.

"You headin' home?"

"Yeah."

"Sure, whatever."

Perhaps Jinx had caught on to Torn's dislike of the situation, because this time when he spoke there was a distance present in his voice that hadn't been there before. Then again Jinx was most likely simply disappointed with the lack of reaction to his dramatic uncovering; a thought Torn found oddly comforting.

The commander dressed in silence, and only broke it once to ask where he should place the used coffee cup. The blond simply shrugged and told him to place it wherever, unwilling to give a more specific answer even as the tattooed man, one eyebrow raised, shot him a quizzical look. Torn rolled his eyes and headed for the door, trying his best to locate the kitchen.

Making his way through the house Torn couldn't help but notice a myriad of clatter scattered all over the floor; nuts, bolts, screws, cables and things Torn would simply call junk, although he did suspect they were all good for creating explosives. It all came across as very dirty though, and taking a closer look he could see thick layers of dust decorating most untouched surfaces.

Walking in the direction he guessed he'd find the kitchen Torn passed a rickety staircase and he briefly wondered if it would be safe for anyone to ascend those stairs. They looked as if they could collapse at any given moment. Actually, when he looked at the surrounding walls and the construction in general it became quite clear that the house, all over, was in a poor condition. The slums, Torn concluded.

This irked Torn's curiosity, as he had always assumed that people working for them would be rather well off, but apparently this was not the case. On the other hand, for all he knew Jinx could be spending all his money on smokes and alcohol, prioritizing the time limited getaway these substances provided over better living conditions. The commander wouldn't actually be surprised if it was the case. Jinx certainly looked the part. What suited a shabby man better than a rickety house, Torn mused, the thought instantly kicking his mood up a couple of notches as he continued his walk through the house.

Upon finally reaching the kitchen Torn quickly concluded that said room did not look much better than the rest of the house. The sink, altogether covered with unwashed dishes; some of which looked like they had been there for a very long time, smelled of something suspicious, stacks of newspaper covered the dining table and even here blasting fuses and the likes where visible in every corner. He couldn't help but whistle quietly at the sight. Ashelin had been wrong; there were places messier than his desk, and he had found one. Torn tried to find free space to put the blasted cup, and upon failing in this endeavour he opted to place it in the sink, gently, so not to cause all the other dishes to topple over. He couldn't wait to get out of there.

Upon reaching the front door, however, Torn found himself face to face with yet another problem; Jinx. Again. Most of his problems really did seem to revolve around him lately.

The blond elf, who had thankfully found some clothes to put on, was grinning slightly, yet another cig, unlit though it was, pinched between his pale lips. The tattooed man couldn't help but wonder how long the man had followed him about, or if he had appeared just now, either way he had not registered any movements and hadn't sensed his presence. Torn blamed the hangover.

"Well, if you ever get bored you know where to find me" the blond uttered suggestively, flashing a smile at the commander as he pushed past him to open the door.

How Torn even for a moment had entertained the thought that Jinx had turned distant was a mystery, the man would probably had to die before that could happened. Torn shook his head in exasperation, but he couldn't quite stop the small smile tugging at his lips from forming. Somehow he found himself taking comfort in the thought that Jinx would always be Jinx, and Torn, like any other person, appreciated some stability in an otherwise ever-changing world.

"Whatever Jinx" the redhead said, slamming the door shut the second he was out. No matter how much stability it might provide, Torn had had enough of Jinx and his smirking to last him for about a lifetime. Still, as he walked back towards what people would refer the proper part of the city, he couldn't stop his thoughts from circling around the very topic he wanted to avoid.

He pondered upon how the bomb maker had come to live in such deplorable conditions, why he settled with that and did not aim for anything better. He tried to point out all the things he hated with the man and why he hated them. Jinx had an annoying attitude, could never stop talking and, perhaps worst of all, he seemed to take nothing seriously. It all got on Torn's nerves. He was, after all, a person who favoured solitude, silence and first and foremost he did appreciate well thought-out and carefully executed plans; something last night had most definitely not been. What he could not deny, though, was that the man did possess quite the body, especially for his age. Also, the memories from last night, at least the ones he could somewhat recall, were not altogether bad. The redhead sighed deeply and rubbed his tired eyes gently with his thumb and forefinger; had it been anyone but Jinx…

Cracking his neck the commander decided he'd be better off not lingering too long on the subject as it only seemed to worsen the state of his hangover, and soon it would reach a level where even the fresh air couldn't sooth his symptoms. The whole ordeal with Jinx was nothing but a one night stand, and such things happen, no matter what he thought now there was little he could do to change the past. Well, he could always ask Keira to reconstruct the time machine, but as this might give rise to certain unwanted questions Torn rapidly dismissed the idea. The bright side to it all was that he'd never have to deal with Jinx again, at least with the exception of work-related matters. It had been a one night stand and here he was getting as worked up as if the Precursors' had just pronounced the end of the world. Ridiculous.

He laughed a little in relief.

A one night stand, Jinx had clearly indicated so himself.

One drunken decision, how much could it really affect his life?

I somehow feel like they turned out OOC... and I am a bit disappointed with this chapter on a whole.
But it also feels as if working any more on this chapter would only destroy it further so I decided to post it.

And this is all for this time. There will be more, later. If you still want there to be more, that is.
Comments are always welcome!
Have a nice day :)