(Untitled)

[trigger_man]

[OOM: Jack should know that nothing good can come of ignoring his instincts.]

The door opens, and Jack stands blinking blearily on the other side. A patron that looks over is likely to look twice, considering the state of him.

His shirt is soaked through and his wet hair is plastered against his head, but that’s likely to be the least noticeable

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[itwasjustified]

Raylan's crossing the room, cold beer in hand.

Seeing Jack, he deposits his bottle on a passing wait-rat's tray, and approaches Jack from the side. That swelling is ugly, and likely to be even uglier by morning.

"Jack," he says, frowning.

[one_man_army]

Out of habit, Carl tends to sit where he can see the front door from his chair -- it's a wise idea in a place where anything can (and does) happen on a frequent basis.

But it's not the sight of his friend coming in the bar that catches his attention; with his back turned, his only indicator that something might be amiss is the sound of the Marshal's voice filtering through the background conversation.

Jack.

He turns around in his seat and then he sees what Raylan is looking at, and instantly Carl is up and moving towards the doorway.

[trigger_man]

Jack turns his head quickly--too quickly, the bar continuing to move even when Jack stops--toward Raylan's voice.

"Raylan," Jack says, holding on to the back of a chair to keep himself upright. "It's been a kind of rough day."

[itwasjustified]

Raylan takes another step closer, pulling out a spare chair for Jack along the way.

"You keep those understatements coming, and while you're at it, have a seat for just a minute."

[one_man_army]

Carl has to maneuver past a crowd of pink-skinned alien gentlemen and their purple-skinned female counterparts to make it to the doorway, so he misses Raylan's quiet words to Jack.

"Marshal," he says, nodding to Raylan.

He approaches Jack from the other side -- slowly, kneeling near the chair that Raylan has pulled out from the table -- and ready to help, if he's needed.

"Jack?"

[trigger_man]

Jack stares at the chair for a minute. All he really wants to do is get upstairs, put on some dry clothes, close out the world and lie down, but at the moment he's not sure he's going make it that far any time soon.

"Hey, Carl," he says, slowly lowering himself to the chair.

If anyone has to see him hurt, Carl and Raylan are probably the two he'd least object to.

[itwasjustified]

Raylan nods to Carl in greeting.

He grabs the attention of a nearby wait-rat, and requests a damp washcloth and an ice pack.

The rat scurries away to oblige; Raylan returns his attention to Jack, not missing the way Jack's favoring his torso.

[one_man_army]

"Someone's had a helluva evenin', it appears."

Obviously, someone did this to Jack -- someone that deserves to have worse done to them in return, as far as Carl is concerned -- but at the moment his focus is on Jack's current state.

"What hurts the worst? How hard did you get cracked in the head?"

[trigger_man]

"Don't know; I'm pretty sure I blacked out for a little while," Jack says, taking short, shallow breaths to try and keep his ribs from hurting more than is necessary.

[itwasjustified]

With that information, Raylan exchanges a brief glance with Carl before he looks back to Jack.

"Don't happen to know how long you were out, do you?"

[one_man_army]

A rat returns with the icepack and the washcloth, and Carl takes them -- breaking the particles up and shaking the contents to activate, waiting for Jack's response.

[trigger_man]

"I was kind of unconscious, so no," Jack says, his tone wry. Of course he knows why Raylan is asking, but it's a little too easy to be frustrated when he hurts all over.

[itwasjustified]

To his credit, Raylan doesn't pull a face - or even so much as blink.

Mild: "Yeah, I walked right into that one."

[one_man_army]

Carl stifles a laugh -- not completely, mind -- and looks down to hide the smirk that threatens at the corner of his mouth.

"Now that's the Jack Bauer I remember," he muses.

He folds the washcloth in half and then offers it over.

[trigger_man]

Jack takes the washcloth, wincing as he presses it to the oozing cut on his forehead.

"I can't really remember how much I was in and out after I got hit; it might have been anywhere from a couple minutes to more like ten."

[itwasjustified]

Raylan eases into a seat, and nods.

"Any nausea?"

He's no medical professional, but he is familiar with the warning signs of a concussion.

Chalk it up to an occupational hazard.