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drink to the devil and death to the doctors
As time went by, Isaac couldn't ignore the threads Jack was pulling behind the Boss's back anymore. He had been, figuring that whatever Jack was doing, it was better he didn't know about it. But his mind put pieces together without his having to think about it, and one night, in a quiet, dark hotel room lit only by the lights of the city outside the windows and their own cigarettes, Isaac confronted Jack about it.
"Jack."
There was silence, and then a long exhaled plume of smoke as Jack shifted in his seat, leaning his head against his hand, elbow propped up on the high armrest.
"Yeah, Isaac?"
"You're planning on taking down the Boss."
Silence again, and Isaac saw that familiar feral grin spread across Jack's face in the darkness, a Cheshire Cat in the shadows.
"Yeah, Isaac." Jack confirmed Isaac's suspicions with his quiet, amused reply.
Isaac wasn't sure how to respond. He didn't know how Jack would react, but he hadn't really expected such calmness. Maybe it was because Jack knew Isaac would be with him no matter what. Jack was right, of course. Isaac wasn't sure when it had happened, but at some point his loyalties shifted from Atlas to Jack, and as Jack stared at him in the darkness with a burning gaze, Isaac felt something inside shift and stir. It amazed him sometimes, how easily Jack could set him on fire.
"Is that going to be a problem, Isaac?" The question was posed as casually as his confirmation had been, but there was an intensity behind the words. Isaac knew his answer would decide his place in Jack's world.
"No, Jack, it isn't."
And Jack smiled again, triumphant. He kicked his feet down from the coffee table between them and leaned forward onto his knees.
"That's what I like to hear."
And then he proceeded to tell Isaac a story, a story about a powerful man with a powerful company who had radical ideas about how things should run, and how everything went to shit because of it.
Isaac knew this story. Andrew Ryan and his vast plans were widely known, as was his central competitor. But Frank Fontaine was dead, his business taken in under Ryan's dealings, and Atlas had risen up in direct protest.
All that was old news. But then Jack began telling a story Isaac hadn't heard, of Ryan's son who had been taken and brainwashed to bring him down in a twist of bad irony, how the kid had killed hos old man without flinching, but not before learning everything he thought he knew was a lie.
Jack stopped there, staring at Isaac with those burning, hungry eyes, and Isaac knew the kid in the story was Jack. It was obvious really, the way jack had taken down Ryan Industries was practically legend, and he did it all in Atlas's name.
"Frank Fontaine never died, Isaac." Jack dropped the bombshell quietly, and Isaac leaned back in his chair, unsure if he could really process the news.
"Atlas never existed. Fontaine became Atlas so he could take down Ryan in a way he'd never expect." Jack's voice was fierce, quiet, enraged.
"With his own kid. With you," Isaac finished.
Jack nodded. "With me. The bastard lied to all of us, used me, Isaac, used me hard. And I'm going to even the score." His grin flickered back and Isaac thought he could understand the wildness behind it now. "I'm going to take him down, and you're going to help me."
There was a bitter taste in Isaac's mouth as he nodded. Atlas had betrayed them all. Of course he had to pay. He could feel the anger the knowledge inspired in him curling and burning hot in his stomach. Atlas, with all his ruthlessness, had been a beacon of hope, of resistance against the massive power of Ryan. Fontaine, on the other hand, had been just as bloodthirsty as Ryan if not more so. And if what Jack was saying was true, and Jack had never lied to him, then Fontaine was the cruelest, most ruthless, most bloodthirsty motherfucker of them all. And he had lied to them all. They had sworn themselves to his cause and he had played them all like fools.
Isaac didn't take kindly to betrayals.
"Good," Jack said, stubbing the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray and looking positively delighted. "Excellent. I knew I could count on you, Isaac. I always can."
Isaac's heart skipped a beat as he put out his own cigarette, and he did his best to keep his voice steady, free from the heat building in his body, the rage and... possibly something else. "You'd do the same for me."
Jack nodded seriously. "Yes, I would." And then Jack got up, and Isaac watched as he moved over to the couch he sat on and leaned back as Jack planted his hands on his shoulders and pushed gently, firmly. Their eyes stayed fixed on each other as Jack slowly put his knees on either side of Isaac's legs and settled there, leaning his face down to Isaac's. The two men never broke eye contact until it was impossible to hold it, Jack's lips meeting Isaac's in a kiss that was hot and fierce and angry. Isaac grunted as Jack bit his lip, almost too hard, at the same time as he pressed his hand to the front of Isaac's pants. Isaac put his hands on either side of Jack's waist and drew him down, sitting him on his lap as they kissed.
They were by nature violent men, and they'd both been through hell and back and knew just how much the other could handle, so they bit and pulled and their fingers dug into each other, scratching and bruising in a way they took great pleasure from. They pressed together so they could feel their heat and anger and arousal and when Jack slid back and stood, Isaac almost whined. But Jack pulled Isaac up by his shirt and tugged him to the bed with that Cheshire grin on his face and that burning look in his eye that made Isaac's mind go blank and his instinct kick in and their clothes weren't so much removed as they were torn off. Jack shoved Isaac down into the bed, hard, and Isaac landed with a grunt but sat up quickly and grabbed Jack by the arm and the back of the neck and pulled him down with him.
They drove their anger into each other, burned their emotions raw as they fucked each other, taking turns. Isaac thrust into Jack hard, his hand over Jack's mouth, and Jack bit down on his hand as Isaac growled into his ear, "we'll get him, we'll kill him, you and me, we'll kill the bastard," with every thrust.
Jack said nothing when it was his turn, but afterward, as they lay spent and sweaty and bitten and bruised in the light of the city at two in the morning, he pressed his lips to Isaac's ear and whispered, his voice raw with honesty, "I trust you, Isaac," and Isaac turned to look at him and saw that Jack could not, would not lie about that, not now, not ever. He saw how much it meant to Jack that he had someone he could trust so completely, with everything. Isaac and Jack looked at each other, all of the violence and anger gone, and for the moment it was just them, empty, broken, needing each other more than they could ever say or ever really wanted to admit. And Isaac closed the distance between their faces and they kissed, more softly and gently than they ever had before, their slick, sweaty limbs tangling with each other in the sheets until the sounds of the city lulled them to sleep.
"Jack."
There was silence, and then a long exhaled plume of smoke as Jack shifted in his seat, leaning his head against his hand, elbow propped up on the high armrest.
"Yeah, Isaac?"
"You're planning on taking down the Boss."
Silence again, and Isaac saw that familiar feral grin spread across Jack's face in the darkness, a Cheshire Cat in the shadows.
"Yeah, Isaac." Jack confirmed Isaac's suspicions with his quiet, amused reply.
Isaac wasn't sure how to respond. He didn't know how Jack would react, but he hadn't really expected such calmness. Maybe it was because Jack knew Isaac would be with him no matter what. Jack was right, of course. Isaac wasn't sure when it had happened, but at some point his loyalties shifted from Atlas to Jack, and as Jack stared at him in the darkness with a burning gaze, Isaac felt something inside shift and stir. It amazed him sometimes, how easily Jack could set him on fire.
"Is that going to be a problem, Isaac?" The question was posed as casually as his confirmation had been, but there was an intensity behind the words. Isaac knew his answer would decide his place in Jack's world.
"No, Jack, it isn't."
And Jack smiled again, triumphant. He kicked his feet down from the coffee table between them and leaned forward onto his knees.
"That's what I like to hear."
And then he proceeded to tell Isaac a story, a story about a powerful man with a powerful company who had radical ideas about how things should run, and how everything went to shit because of it.
Isaac knew this story. Andrew Ryan and his vast plans were widely known, as was his central competitor. But Frank Fontaine was dead, his business taken in under Ryan's dealings, and Atlas had risen up in direct protest.
All that was old news. But then Jack began telling a story Isaac hadn't heard, of Ryan's son who had been taken and brainwashed to bring him down in a twist of bad irony, how the kid had killed hos old man without flinching, but not before learning everything he thought he knew was a lie.
Jack stopped there, staring at Isaac with those burning, hungry eyes, and Isaac knew the kid in the story was Jack. It was obvious really, the way jack had taken down Ryan Industries was practically legend, and he did it all in Atlas's name.
"Frank Fontaine never died, Isaac." Jack dropped the bombshell quietly, and Isaac leaned back in his chair, unsure if he could really process the news.
"Atlas never existed. Fontaine became Atlas so he could take down Ryan in a way he'd never expect." Jack's voice was fierce, quiet, enraged.
"With his own kid. With you," Isaac finished.
Jack nodded. "With me. The bastard lied to all of us, used me, Isaac, used me hard. And I'm going to even the score." His grin flickered back and Isaac thought he could understand the wildness behind it now. "I'm going to take him down, and you're going to help me."
There was a bitter taste in Isaac's mouth as he nodded. Atlas had betrayed them all. Of course he had to pay. He could feel the anger the knowledge inspired in him curling and burning hot in his stomach. Atlas, with all his ruthlessness, had been a beacon of hope, of resistance against the massive power of Ryan. Fontaine, on the other hand, had been just as bloodthirsty as Ryan if not more so. And if what Jack was saying was true, and Jack had never lied to him, then Fontaine was the cruelest, most ruthless, most bloodthirsty motherfucker of them all. And he had lied to them all. They had sworn themselves to his cause and he had played them all like fools.
Isaac didn't take kindly to betrayals.
"Good," Jack said, stubbing the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray and looking positively delighted. "Excellent. I knew I could count on you, Isaac. I always can."
Isaac's heart skipped a beat as he put out his own cigarette, and he did his best to keep his voice steady, free from the heat building in his body, the rage and... possibly something else. "You'd do the same for me."
Jack nodded seriously. "Yes, I would." And then Jack got up, and Isaac watched as he moved over to the couch he sat on and leaned back as Jack planted his hands on his shoulders and pushed gently, firmly. Their eyes stayed fixed on each other as Jack slowly put his knees on either side of Isaac's legs and settled there, leaning his face down to Isaac's. The two men never broke eye contact until it was impossible to hold it, Jack's lips meeting Isaac's in a kiss that was hot and fierce and angry. Isaac grunted as Jack bit his lip, almost too hard, at the same time as he pressed his hand to the front of Isaac's pants. Isaac put his hands on either side of Jack's waist and drew him down, sitting him on his lap as they kissed.
They were by nature violent men, and they'd both been through hell and back and knew just how much the other could handle, so they bit and pulled and their fingers dug into each other, scratching and bruising in a way they took great pleasure from. They pressed together so they could feel their heat and anger and arousal and when Jack slid back and stood, Isaac almost whined. But Jack pulled Isaac up by his shirt and tugged him to the bed with that Cheshire grin on his face and that burning look in his eye that made Isaac's mind go blank and his instinct kick in and their clothes weren't so much removed as they were torn off. Jack shoved Isaac down into the bed, hard, and Isaac landed with a grunt but sat up quickly and grabbed Jack by the arm and the back of the neck and pulled him down with him.
They drove their anger into each other, burned their emotions raw as they fucked each other, taking turns. Isaac thrust into Jack hard, his hand over Jack's mouth, and Jack bit down on his hand as Isaac growled into his ear, "we'll get him, we'll kill him, you and me, we'll kill the bastard," with every thrust.
Jack said nothing when it was his turn, but afterward, as they lay spent and sweaty and bitten and bruised in the light of the city at two in the morning, he pressed his lips to Isaac's ear and whispered, his voice raw with honesty, "I trust you, Isaac," and Isaac turned to look at him and saw that Jack could not, would not lie about that, not now, not ever. He saw how much it meant to Jack that he had someone he could trust so completely, with everything. Isaac and Jack looked at each other, all of the violence and anger gone, and for the moment it was just them, empty, broken, needing each other more than they could ever say or ever really wanted to admit. And Isaac closed the distance between their faces and they kissed, more softly and gently than they ever had before, their slick, sweaty limbs tangling with each other in the sheets until the sounds of the city lulled them to sleep.