Episode: 1.8

--- Jericho ---

“Wait, Rook, I- Shit…” he cursed, before running a hand through his hair as he debated whether or not he should go after her.

(On the one hand, its dangerous to leave her alone… On the other she won’t listen to me until she calms down…)

He ran a hand down his face.

(Damn it, I should’ve known better than to touch her during an episode…)

“Woman troubles?” A voice asked curiously.

“Something like that…” he admitted with a sigh as he turned back to the retired mafia man Giuseppe Damico.

“Word of your elders?” Damico offered laying Jake Franchetti’s black suit on the counter.

“If it’ll help.” Jericho shrugged with a wry grin, after all anyone who used to run with his old man had to have some kind of life advice.

“Well, what exactly is wrong between you two?”

“Not much,” He sighed rubbing the back of his neck. “I do something stupid she gets mad. I do something even dumber she laughs, and life goes on.”

“So, the normal relationship between a boy and a girl?” Damico smiled, likely assuming he took after his old man.

“Don’t ask me.” (My social skills are crap…)

“Right…” Damico’s smile faded slightly, likely remembering why his social skills were crap. “So… what was your fight about?”

“It wasn’t a fight, per say…” Jericho began, though he couldn’t resist grinning when he added, “Though she did wipe the floor with my face.”

“Si, I heard that.” The older man chuckled, “And how wasn’t that a fight?”

Jericho ran a hand through his hair, and then back over his neck.

(Should I tell him? I mean he already knows about me… But its not my place to talk about Rook’s issues… Then again, we haven’t made any progress in almost three years now…)

He glanced around the shop before running both hands down his face, as he weighed the pros and cons of getting outside opinion on the problem.

(Ah, fuck it…)

“Rook and I both have…” he swallowed down his sense of betrayal both to Rook and himself, “issues… I triggered an episode by accident, and when I tried to help her, I made it worse.”

Damico hummed a thoughtful frown to his face. “How often does she have these episodes?”

“We’ve got it down to once every couple of weeks… which is better than we were doing a couple of years ago…” he admitted, hating how this talk was making his insides roll.

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(Just… push through it. It’s like Eve says, ‘If you won’t talk about it, you won’t fix it.’)

“How long have you known this young lady?” Damico asked before reaching under his counter, and pulling out a bottle and two glasses, “Don’t tell mia figilia.”

He rolled his eyes.

(If you don’t want your daughter to know, then don’t drink…)

“I won’t snitch…” He sighed as Damico poured him a glass, after all he owed the man that much at least, “I’ve known her about three or four years now.”

“So, since you got out…?” Damico asked casually as picked up his glass.

“Since I got out…” he admitted, giving no further details as he took his own drink and was sorely tempted to down the thing in a single go.

“From the sound of it, you’ve been through this before as well…”

(Shoulder dislocated… apologies cried…)

(Ribs cracked… tears drowning…)

(Throat bruised… guilt too much…)

(The knife flashes… blood flows…)

“Yeah, we have…” he nodded, briefly running his right hand over a faint scar on his left.

“And how do these things usually go?”

(She’ll blame herself even if I don’t… Then I’ll find her, we’ll talk, and life goes on…)

“How they go, isn’t the problem.” He finally said, unwilling to give any more details on that side of the problem, and more than a little tempted to drown the rest with the glass in his hand.

“Then what is?” Damico asked, not commenting on his obvious redirect. Something he was grateful for.

“My problem is she’s not getting better…” he confessed after a moment, “I want to help her get better, the same way she’s helped me, but…” he ran a hand through his hair before sighing once more, “I’ve got no idea what I’m supposed to do…”

“Have you thought about getting help, from a doctor perhaps?” Damico offered.

He was quiet for a moment, tempted to not even bother justifying that with a response, at least until he remembered the version of him Damico knew, was not the version of him he was today. “I tried getting her to see my therapist.”

Damico blinked. “You have a therapist?”

He rolled his eyes, before shrugging. “She saved my mom’s life; I gave her a chance.” A gross oversimplification of the situation but one that worked.

“Good for you.” Damico encouraged. “If it’s been helping you, then I’m sure she’ll see how much good it could do her too.”

“Yeah, but Rooks just as stubborn as I used to be.”

“I’m sure she is,” Damico laughed before taking a sip of his glass as he tried to hide a smile. “If you don’t mind me asking… what are you doing to help her right now?”

He paused, once more considering just downing the entire glass in front of him, especially as he felt the shifting weight of the mask in his jacket.

(“We both know the mask won’t hide who you really are, Sinner.”)

He shook his head, pushing that (nightmare) away, even as the shadows around the room seemed to grow a little darker.

“A gamble… in more ways than one…”

“Those are the most profitable… if not the most dangerous.” Damico sighed twirling the liquor in his glass.

(It’s more dangerous if I just give up…)

(Is it really?)

He blatantly ignored the feeling of something crawling on his back, letting a silence overtake the conversation. Sadly, it was one they were both used to, a common trend amongst the few friends he was able to cling to after… everything.

“From the way you were talking, I’m guessing this young lady, she’s had a fairly big hand in your own…” Damico paused, as if searching for the right word before downing the rest of his glass in one go and sighing, “…adjustments since getting out.”

He didn’t even need to think about it to know what the other man was referring to.

(Out to take…)

Hands grabbing whatever they can.

(Out to hurt…)

A blade bites into bloodstained steel.

(Can’t trust…)

A knife in the back.

(Have to run…)

A man in a mask, and a smile that won’t be forgotten.

He shook his head and took a moment to push that… (nightmare) away, before nodding.

“More than I want to admit… though I think I’m having a bit of trouble telling where exactly those problems came from…”

“Regardless, I do think you two are good for each other.” Damico smiled sadly, understanding just enough to know not to press. “You’re doing much better than the boy Samuel introduced me to all those years ago.”

“Yeah,” he couldn’t help but smirk in agreement, “I’m doing a lot better than that poor little street rat…”