“Mmhmm.” Flint looked amused, mouth curled into a smirk at Hal’s sense of humour. Well- that, and what Flint perceived to be an indication that Gates was in no mood to be fucked with today, not even by him. But his eyes flickered to the older man’s hands. Though Flint’s tone was carefully nonchalant–as if this was simply something that happened to everyone, nothing out of the ordinary–there was still that barely-detectable trace of caring in itwhen he met Hal’s gaze: “Bad again?”
Hal was honestly never in a mood to be fucked with, but he was very good at projecting an approachable demeanor that caused folk to overlook danger more often than not. That Flint could pick up on it ever would have been an enormous surprise to him – especially at a time when he was, more or less, in fairly high spirits.
At the inquiry, he huffed and just barely managed to keep back the if you make it to my age jibe burning on his tongue as he replied, “When isn’t it?” His hands always gave him hell – there were just days when they were louder about it, was all. He shrugged though, showing it wasn’t at the worst it could be and that as per usual, he would manage. “Still doing better than Dufrense’s teeth I wager.”
Damn kid kept scrubbing at them like he thought if he rubbed just right, the crew would forget he’d ripped a man’s throat out like some kind of damn animal. Or maybe ( and arguably more likely ) if he cleaned them just the right way, he might forget what he did – and how it made him feel.
Ocean Archive 