Epilogue

I am too connected to you to
Slip away, to fade away.
Days away I still feel you
Touching me, changing me.

―H., TOOL

Lyndon's presence was soothing.

Jack knew that words strung together in that order should not be able to exist as the rogue was frequently annoying, unhesitatingly selfish, a sneaky thief, a relentless complainer, teased him and Kormac (and everyone else) mercilessly, arrogant, argued, made dirty jokes and awful puns, had narcissistic tendencies, an almost supernatural ability to conjure bed mates when there should have been no one willing for miles, and generally never closed his mouth, even when he was sleeping, which caused him to snore with a sound like a dying quill beast. Traits that did not commonly create a calming effect. Lyndon should not have been anything even remotely close to soothing.

But he was all the same.

He was a man with many flaws, yes, but Lyndon had also changed much over the course of their quest. Though it was meager at best, the thief had finally developed a sense of responsibility. When he became involved in something he thought was important, he gave it his all and never turned back or ran, even if he was terrified. At first the Demon Hunter thought him a sneaky coward. Now, Jack found his bravery rather astounding. Lyndon was able to see the sunny side of even the most dire of situations and his chatter put Jack at ease, even if the hunter didn't always listen to what was said. The rogue never let him wallow in unpleasant thoughts if he could help it and frequently distracted him from brooding, something Jack had never realized he would appreciate.

Lyndon still refused to allow him to writhe in his nightmares, no matter how many times Jack asked not to wake him. The Demon Hunter found that he slept better, knowing that someone was going to be there to pull him back if his dreams and memories came to swallow him.

Jack hadn't thought much on Lyndon's effect on him until recent events forced him to examine their relationship in depth. He thought he knew what to expect from the thief, they had their routines and they got along well enough, all things considered. Even if Jack sometimes had to escape into the woods to be alone for a little while. They made a rather good fighting team as well. Then... they had stayed in Holbrook and many secrets had been whispered in the dark, changing everything Jack had ever thought or felt about the rogue and himself.

It had been one of the hardest things Jack had ever done, he would almost had preferred to go back to Hell. At least there he wouldn't have had to talk about himself, give voice to what had happened to him. Not even his mentor had been able to piece together the full picture. But he had told Lyndon almost everything. He had effectively spilled his guts to him at the slightest show of compassion and the scoundrel had surprised him yet again with words from the heart that had actually helped, like salve on a wound. Healing him by slow degrees.

Then he had surprised him one more time with demanding kisses and quick, wandering hands that had reduced him to whimpers. Lyndon touched him like he wasn't something vile or tainted, like he was something to be desired. Then he'd let Jack have space to breathe again, displaying a level of self control that Jack didn't think was possible for Lyndon, but he was extremely grateful for.

Now he didn't know quite what to think.

The last time he'd thought about kissing someone had been before his village was slaughtered and razed. He thought back to a girl, hair like a bright flickering flame, who had lived a few houses away from him. They played together when they had been younger and had still been friends as he reached his teens. He remembered that she was pretty. Anna her name was. Jack had never thought of himself as particularly good looking when he was younger and after he had joined the Demon Hunters he didn't think about what he looked like at all aside from keeping his hair on his face and head from getting too long for practicality purposes.

Anna had died in her home, slaughtered with the rest of her family. That night so many years ago... he had wanted to save her, but in the end he had just fled into the forest with his sister. Another painful memory.

The hunter swallowed, feeling the slightest bit sick. It was harder to bury his memories and emotions now, they rose up unwelcome at the most inopportune times and greatly affected his concentration and mood stability. Why was it so much harder now than before?

"Alright Jack?" Lyndon asked lightly whilst leaning against him, wrenching him hard from his thoughts, back into reality.

He was in the back of a caravan on a road through the forest, leaving New Tristram and heading towards Westmarch. Lyndon and Haedrig had been catching up since they had hit the road again, talking of how New Tristram had been getting on since most of the troubles had ended and what Haedrig had been doing with his time. Lyndon had been telling Haedrig stories of things they had seen and done in Caldeum and some parts of Khanduras while he and Jack had been traveling together. He had talked about how they had been ambushed in the Holbrook Inn, but had thankfully, omitted the more personal details of that night. Lyndon was also bragging to the blacksmith about the arrows he was getting good at enchanting under Jack's careful instruction. He had a particular talent for the cold arrows, which would be quite helpful in the future if he mastered them. It must have had something to do with his refurbished crossbow. Lyndon occasionally had to scrape icicles off of the wooden handle that formed from the magic imbued within. Jack had largely remained quiet, lost in thought and had stopped listening to their conversation some time ago. They were both staring at him now.

"Yes, just... thinking." Jack replied softly.

"Ahh." Lyndon answered with a smile and turned back to the blacksmith. Haedrig was looking between them and Jack felt his face heat up. He turned back to the trees quickly. He felt like anyone that looked at him just knew that he and Lyndon had... d one things. Things that made his breath ragged and his skin burn for contact. Things that made his fingers itch to clutch at hot skin and twine into soft, shiny brown hair. Things that made him want to beg . It was impossible of course for anyone to know, but he felt self conscious about it anyway.

Jack blinked hard and focused on the forest -a female cardinal fluffing her feathers, chickadees chirping and flitting through the pines- until the feelings abated. It was strange. These thoughts and desires were so foreign to him. He'd practically skipped adolescence, he basically took on the roll of being an adult at just fourteen. He hadn't chased girls, just trained hard for years. Josen had worried for him and had frequently commented on his lack of friends or interest in girls, trying to get him to open up and be a little more social with the others. "Hate that festers becomes a stagnant pool, diseased and filthy." he had told him. "Let your hate flow freely to keep the river healthy. Do not keep it all inside or you will rot from within." But Jack had said he was alright, a lot of the Demon Hunters were like him, they stayed quiet and kept to themselves. Josen had probably talked to all of them about the same things. Jack just wanted to focus on perfecting his aim, mastering a difficult trap or getting the feathered edges of the arrows just so.

And controlling his personal river of hatred.

He told his mentor this, and the older man had backed off a bit, but still made a point to talk to him sometimes. Jack was aware now that he had been afraid to get close to anyone. If they died ... He put up walls to protect his heart from further pain. It was already so scarred he sometimes wondered how it was able to keep beating.

When he had started this journey, sent by Josen to investigate the falling star and reports of undead in New Tristram, he expected to be alone, and at the time, that hadn't troubled him. But then he had started acquiring people similar to the ways in which he had acquired pets. People who refused to leave.

Friends , he now called them.

Leah had been his first friend since... Well, he supposed Josen was his friend, the man had worried after him and spoke to him enough. In fact, he should write to him soon, he was probably wondering where Jack was. But Leah... she had been a real friend.

He tried not to think about her much. The feelings of guilt and rage that came with it were almost heavy enough to cripple him. Leah's death had hurt him, more than he'd realized.

Jack had befriended Kormac and Eirena, and had called Lyndon friend after he had warmed up to the abrasive man. But now he wasn't sure if the word still applied. Perhaps he should call him something else, but the word 'lover' didn't quite fit either. It had only been once , but he clenched his hands just thinking about the word and what it implied. In his head, the word sounded like it was from a language he didn't understand.

He wasn't sure whether he should be afraid of Lyndon or not, ridiculous as the thought was, but the way Lyndon had looked at him yesterday, the last night they had been alone together. He had always considered Lyndon to be a rather... passionate individual, but he had looked at him with such an intensity burning in his eyes that Jack had to look away. It was as if the scoundrel were trying to stare into his very soul and he had been afraid that if he kept looking back he would fall and lose himself. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt such an irrational fear, not even in his nightmares. Lyndon had smiled at him after and bid him goodnight, but Jack didn't fall asleep for a long time. He was tired this morning because of it and he was certain Lyndon had noticed.

The thief was much more observant and sharp witted than he had initially given him credit for. Jack had thought he was careless and stupid. He was not. Though he was often a little flighty and impulsive, he hid an impressive intelligence and keen insight into the minds and motivations of those around him. His eyes missed nothing. Lyndon's outward selfishness and lecherous apathy was a carefully crafted facade that Jack had only seen through the cracks of a few times. The scoundrel had as many secrets as the hunter did.

Lyndon was awakening emotions in him he thought had long since died. They were fresh and sharp, now that they were creeping back. It was confusing and frightening. Like stumbling around in the dark, being unable to find a point of reference.

There was also the new fear that too much comfort would make him soft, sloppy, weak. But after talking to the thief about his pain, he'd felt more in control of his anger and was working on getting a handle on his budding demonic powers as well. He needed to alter his meditations and training to get control of these new abilities as soon as possible, the risk of hurting someone was too great for him to ignore.

He had a sudden rush of terrible fear then, sharp enough to tighten his throat and make his hands start shaking, what if they died because of him? He buried that fear almost as soon as it came, it was unbearable to consider. Jack stretched out his right hand to reach into his bag where the ferrets were sleeping. He pet them until the tremors in his fingers stopped. He thought he'd conquered his terror long ago. Apparently it was only for his fear of demons and death and had absolutely no effect on friendships and intimacy. Or nightmares. How convenient. He sighed softly.

And then, of course, there was the touching .

It wasn't often and it was never for very long, but, when Haedrig would look away, to dig out his pipe, go through his bag, or admire the scenery, Lyndon would touch him. He would snake his fingers into Jack's glove with incredible stealthiness (a talent he should be using for things other then theft and molestation) and stroke his fingertips over his palm, or he would caress the soft side of his wrist with his thumb, somehow get under his protective armor and shirt and lay a hand against the skin of his lower back, and even brush the sensitive place behind his knee. The first time it happened Jack had jumped as if he had been stung, and Lyndon had merely grinned innocently at him when Jack had practically bared his teeth at the man in anger. After, when it appeared Lyndon would not quit, Jack had to make a choice to either draw attention to the scoundrel's actions by asking him to stop, or do his level best to ignore it.

In the end, he chose to ignore it, not wanting to embarrass himself in front of the blacksmith. The bastard was teasing him on purpose to play havoc on his nerves! The touches caused his heart to beat faster if he let his mind wander back to the other night, remembering how those fingers had made him feel. That was really what upset him the most, the memories they brought back without his permission. And yet... after a while, when he had relaxed a little and resolved to ignore the contact, he realized it was actually soothing and created a buzzing sensation throughout his entire body. He had no idea just how calming it could be to be touched.

Before, he had gotten all the contact he hadn't realized he'd desperately wanted from stroking fur and feathers. Animals did not ask him questions and they were generally pure creatures. They could not engage in the same evil as man or demon, unless they were twisted through unnatural means. It was calming to touch them and he thought it was enough. But they had been no substitute for a living, breathing person.

He hadn't realized how much his body craved the contact, every touch was too much and not enough. He'd wanted the touch the other night, had craved and needed the sensations he'd never experienced. The intimate closeness of another human being. He spent so much time fighting to save them, but he did not experience what it was to truly be human. He had pushed much of it away as a distraction or something he just never thought he would have because of the life he had chosen. And now that he'd had it...

Really, he shouldn't think about it anymore. He should just let things go back to how they were before. It was safer. Besides, it was only once, andit had been almost twodays ago now. It had just been a- well... it wasn't quite a mistake was it? He did feel better... but... all Lyndon's talk of women, he never shut up about them. Countless numbers of poor girls he had slept with and hurt and left behind. He knew that Lyndon had a bigger heart then he let on, but he was still a creature of habit, if the continued stealing was any indication. Jack couldn't think of an idea worse than becoming attracted to the Scoundrel. It would probably be the single dumbest thing he could do because it would only end in heartbreak.

And the proud part of him didn't want to give the narcissistic idiot the satisfaction that not even the 'Big Bad Demon Hunter' as Lyndon sometimes called him, was immune to his charm.

Despite this new swirl of emotions, overall, he was more comfortable with the thief then he was with anyone else. They had more in common with each other than Jack had first realized. He tried to direct his new feelings towards developing a better friendship instead.

Jack moved his thoughts along to reflect on Lyndon's earlier question, Why me? Why indeed. Jack had pondered it for a while after the thief had asked. He'd acquired a few more vital pieces to the puzzle the thief presented him with and turned them over carefully in his mind: Lyndon had been hurt very badly by the rejection of the woman he loved. So badly, that he closed himself off, never wanting to feel that pain again, hence the facade. He was a very lonely individual, something Jack had come to know with time and observation.

Now that he knew, it was easy to pick it out in his behavior towards others. A desperate plea to be with someone. Maybe because he never knew his parents, abandoned by them at birth perhaps? Children become orphans for any number of reasons, poverty, maybe they had died, or an unwanted pregnancy. He wondered how old Lyndon's brother was, were they close in age? Twins perhaps? It was hard to stomach the thought of two Lyndons, even though the thief had claimed his brother wasn't much like him. One was almost more than he could handle. Jack had felt sorry for him when he realized just how lonely the scoundrel was, and tried to be (difficult as it was for him to even converse with other people) a better, more attentive friend.

Lyndon had said his heart was black and that he wasn't a good person. He could not have told a bigger lie than if he'd said Diablo had abandoned his evil ways and turned to the Zakarum church. There were many more walls between the person the thief wanted people to see, and who he really was, than Jack had initially thought.

Lyndon also had a lot to learn combat wise. Kormac and Eirena had been trained, Jack had trained, but Lyndon had no formal training and just worked from what his brother had taught him and his experiences in the Thieves Guild. He survived on natural talent and luck most of the time and Jack wanted to help him and teach him to be better.

But why him though?

Lyndon was relentlessly optimistic. Jack had never met anyone quite like him before, perhaps only Covetous Shen had even come close, and Jack was fairly certain the eccentric jeweler was not quite a human. The scoundrel had a child-like wonder for new and exciting things that Jack didn't see in people anymore. The world of Sanctuary was a harsh one and children either grew up quickly or died. The thief laughed easily and often, despite mistakes he'd made in his life and a guilt that weighed on him heavily.

Jack wanted, no, needed to protect that light in him. He needed to protect all that was warm in good in the world and keep it from turning as cold and desolate as his own tired heart.

Because if all the world lost its warmth and became as dark and as bleak as himself then all the fighting would be for nothing.

Jack sat still and let his eyes close, feeling tired, but relaxed by all of Lyndon's persistent contact. It seemed like he might be able to sleep a little after all, he always slept better during the day anyways. The rocking motion of the caravan as it continued down the road was soothing. And the birds were talking amiably to each other in the forest. He was glad the animals were coming back, he had missed their sounds of life. Jack concentrated on the lilt of familiar voices and where his shoulder connected with the thief's, beginning to doze. The warmth that seeped from the scoundrel heated his body and slowly began to thaw his frozen heart.

―End