[ He tilted his head slightly at what the man said.
He was… hesitating about something. About the job probably.
Chancelit’s no psychiatrist but people go to him a lot
when they’re in trouble or have problems. He never knew why. ]
❝ I don’t want my children to be like me. Never. ❞
[ He turned a bit to look at the younger man staring at the ceiling, contemplating about his next options. This job wasn’t easy, surely he knows that. And this job isn’t one to just come and go by. You’re in the military, and once they hire you, you should damn well do your best or never applied at all. ]
❝ This is the SF, doc.
You might even be called in as a med sergeant.. ❞
The statement took him by surprise. It was Jayson’s experiences with American’s that most fathers wanted their children to follow in their footsteps; he couldn’t help but wonder why Chancelit didn’t wish that upon his. It wasn’t his place to pry, though. Jayson was a medical doctor, not a shrink. (Though in his opinion, in this day and age, both went hand in hand with each other).
"Nothing prepared me for this," Jayson finally admitted, turning his body to face the Captain straight-on. "I needed something fast-paced, secure, and where I’m able to learn. The M.O promised extra training to become a med sergeant when I signed up. They… accepted me for who I am, not caring where I was born, or… anything else."
He offered a small smile as he skirted around the reasons once more, knowing that sooner or later, one of the officers within the SF squads would find out the truth. But the longer it could stay silent, the better. “You learn a little more with each patient that comes through the doors… well… tent flaps, in this case,” he laughed.
"That’s alright. I’m still very, very lost here and this is one city." He shook his head. He loved London. It was cleaner, nicer and less hostile than Toronto, but it was getting hard to navigate. It was much like someone just created loops for roads, he wasn’t fond of it.
"I moved…" He looked to the table, trying to sort out how best to explain. "I moved to get away from the family that raised me. I moved here to live with my est friend and his family, the people who took me in, I guess." He shrugged. "My old family and I did not see eye to eye, I guess. Now I’m a stable boy for Cecil Simpkins."
"I get lost in London still," Jayson mused, not realising what he was saying until it was too late. Again, hopefully Kyle wouldn’t put too much thought into some of the things he was saying, but he had to take care. His fingers twitched against the mug between his hands, and he sharply shook his head, trying to control the need to mutter to himself.
As the blond went on to tell him about why he moved, Jayson felt his chest constrict slightly, and it wasn’t from the beating he took earlier, either. He swallowed hard, trying to moisten his throat, before dropping his gaze to the tabletop, composing himself before smiling at Kyle. “At least they were kind enough to take you in! I mean, that’s gotta account for something, right?”
❝ Yank. More of a country boy, really. Born and bred in Minot, North Dakota.
There’s a lot of pressure here, you sure you can handle it?. ❞
[ He gives out a sigh of relief as he wraps his wounded leg.
The guy was shaking, he can feel it. ]
❝ I don’t want to inflict pain, not really. I just want to serve like dad.
This is where I belong after all. How about you?. ❞
"Still American, though," Jayson pointed out cheekily, "So still a Yank to me." Biting his lip as he placed the tape over the bandaged leg, Jayson tilted his head up to look Chancelit in the eyes, suddenly struck by the need to be honest with him. "I hope I can handle it."
Chuckling to himself at the fact that he had basically said he didn’t know if he could do his job, Jayson sunk down onto the bed next to the soldier, giving a small nod. “You want to protect your country; to do something that your dad — and your own children some day — can be proud of.”
Jayson laughed at the question, before shaking his head. “A twig like me belonging in the military? I didn’t think I’d given you painkillers to get you high,” he sighed, looking down at his hands now clasped in his lap. “It was a job, and for me, jobs are hard to come by. I wasn’t going to complain.”
[ He flinched as the man took care off his wounds.
He hissed when the new doctor put some antiseptic on it.
It hurts so damn much, jesus. ]
❝ Ahh, well. Faulty intel. Being Oscar Mike isn’t always easy. ❞
[ He looked down at the new doctor and smiled politely at him.
He shook his head before chuckling.
The man was clearly nervous around him. ]
❝ Am I that intimidating? Don’t worry, I don’t bite. ❞
[ The pain as the man extracted the shrapnels from his leg was…
indescribable, really. No amount of words can suffice the pain he felt. ]
❝ You’re new around here, huh? I’m Chancelit, by the way.
You from London? ❞
Jayson hummed at the explanation, not entirely following what the Captain was saying, but not wanting to seem like an idiot in front of him. Although in his mind, that had already happened a thousand times over.
Shaking his head, he moved away and to the supply area, grabbing gauze and a waterproof covering, before returning to the soldier’s shoulder, covering it up. “The amount of times people say they don’t bite and then end up inflicting pain?” Jayson asked with a raised brow, chuckles escaping his lips. “I’d be a millionaire if I got a dollar for every time that happened.”
Giving a small shrug to Chancelit — an odd name in his mind, but who was he to judge? — Jayson sighed. “I suppose you could say that, yeah. Yourself? Born and bred Yank, I’m guessing?”
The blond’s too nice to say anything further, he’s mostly embarrassed himself but Steve smiles politely at Jayson. ❝ Well it’s a pleasure to meet you, Jayson. ❞
"A-and you," the doctor spoke, offering the blond a smile before shaking his head. "Am I the only one feeling incredibly awkward right now?" A nervous chuckle escaped his lips as he brought a hand up to rub at the back of his neck.
"Does it really matter what happened this time…?" James murmured weakly with a slurred tongue weighing heavy in his mouth.
James was laying on the sofa, sighing quietly with an empty bottle of scotch slipping from his fingers. He looked beyond drunk… The Agent glanced at Jay weakly. “Hello… Yeah I’d like to… go to bed. Need help…”
"Don’t worry about it," Jayson sighed, shaking his head as he guided the intoxicated agent to the bedroom. I don’t know why I bother asking anymore, he thought as he helped James lay down.
Steve blushes, feeling a little embarrassed by that.
❝ Sorry, I guess I thought you looked familiar. Anyway I’m Steve Rogers and you are? ❞
His own cheeks flushing at the other’s embarrassment, Jayson ducked his head down, before murmuring. “Nice to meet you, Steve. I’m Jayson.” Just Jayson, for now. Or just British-Jayson, as many tended to call him.