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Two weeks. It’s been two weeks since his passing. It was inexplicable-out of the blue. Mako’s death was still an impact Jamison felt deep in his heart. The agony he first felt when he found out still persisted. It was rooted into his very being. This leech of grief.
People who lived in the Outback after the omnium fusion core exploded grew acclimated to the radiation. From the irradiated nailbeds to the dizziness and fatigue, it was all normal to them. It was survival of the fittest, and whoever survived, survived, and those who couldn’t died within the first few days. He never thought that one day Mako would be one of them. It’s been years since the incident, and Jamison and Mako’s relationship has had time to flourish, from strangers to best friends.
So why was it now that something finally happened? After everything they've been through, why now? And why did it have to be him of all people? When they were finally starting to build something real. Out of everybody living in the Outback, he seemed to be the most accustomed to the fallout.
Getting rid of the body wasn’t any easier for Jamison. A traditional burial was meant to give back to the already decimated land. He doesn't know what cracked out imbecile first thought of the ridiculous concept, but it carried on and became a staple for all the communities. But having to be the one to suffer through the preparations for his…
He doesn't know what he would call Mako. What do you call someone who made up your entire soul? The only one you trusted and looked to when things went bad. Mako had his back throughout everything. Sure, they had their petty disagreements every now and then, but he never left his place as his bodyguard. He now had to reconcile with the fact that he would no longer have that safety net.
Jamison sat on the rickety floor of the once-shared rundown shack as he stared at his hands. He holds the last remnant of Mako that he had. His broken dirty mask. The only thing Jamison kept from his body. Only thing he was allowed to keep as they dragged him away from his body. He would never see his face again and the thought stung. He clutches the mask tighter as he feels tears well up in his eyes, threatening to fall.
He can’t- He’s a man, and no matter how much it hurts he refuses to be a sook. Junkertown has never allowed that kind of weakness. He’s already weaker now without Mako to protect him. He can't let them know how much it actually got to him — though, it was most likely apparent to anybody with working eyes.
Jamison has always been a lanky man, but never as bad as some of the others who inhabited Junkertown. He had never felt weak before, but now he was- both emotionally and physically. He never thought he would resemble one of the frail sickly crackheads who hid in alleys.
His appetite disappeared along with Mako, what was the point of eating if there was no one to share it with? He wishes that it was himself rather than Mako, that it was his corpse that burned. That it was him whose body scattered back into land.
He wonders if Mako would tell the angels no while ascending and try to come back to him. Heaven can wait for Mako while he is brought back to Jamison. If not, he at least wishes that he's not sitting up in the clouds all alone. What good is heaven if they aren't together?
Jamison finally stands from the floor. He doesn’t know where he wants to go, all he knows is he needs to move. Before he can even reach the door, he feels his right foot sink into the floor as he tumbles towards the ground. He crashes face first into the floor and lets out a string of curses. Of course it had to be his peg leg that got stuck. He turns around and starts attempting to pull it out of the hole he created. Finally, he manages to yank it out and consequently rolls across the floor.
His attention is immediately drawn to the stained square attached to his leg. He shakes it out for a second in an attempt to dislodge it. God he wishes he still had his leg. The shaking doesn't work so he just reaches out to grab it instead. It was never like him to do the logical thing first. At least that part of him hasn’t changed.
It's a slightly crumpled up piece of paper and he hopes that whatever’s written in it is legible and not some chicken scratch. He turns it over and freezes. The grief hits him all over again as he sees Mako's handwriting, in his name. He hesitates before unwrapping it, trying to smooth it out over his working knee.
He feels himself tear up as he reads it. God he wished he found it sooner. That Mako would've at least told him. Told him that he was in love with him too.
He can’t stop it this time, tears begin falling onto the paper, quickly becoming uncontrollable. He sobs as he clutches the paper to his chest. God, he misses him; he wishes it was himself rather than Mako. He looks back down into the floorboard and he sees it. Sunlight beams through the cracked roofing and reflects off of it, giving it a shine. The bomb glints at him, enticing him to approach.
He drags himself across the floor, going towards the leftover, old frag ammo. He seizes the bomb, holding it in the palm of his hand while looking down at it. A tear falls from his eyes, landing on the bomb before gently rolling off.
With Mako gone, there’s nothing left in this world for him. There’s no point in his existence now.
Maybe it’s selfish, maybe it’s not what Mako would’ve wanted, but he only exists in memories now. There’s no way of knowing for sure what he would’ve wanted.
Jamison stands up, struggling, while still holding the bomb in his palm. His life is worthless without Mako in it. How cruel it was for nature to introduce them when it was going to end with him being alone. Left with only memories.
Is it better to have never met and live life without knowing what it’s like to feel love? Or is it better to feel that love, knowing nothing’s forever, and that you would have to live out the rest?
Well, in Jamison’s case, he wouldn’t have to live out the rest. The thought solidifies his resolve as he fiddles with the bomb.
The moment he presses down on the button in the bomb, he feels the immediate effect of the explosion. Shrapnel makes its way and lodges itself in his arm and hand in the same instant he’s launched backwards into the wall behind him. Blood seeps out of his flesh hand and runs down to his forearm.
On the ground, there’s a loud, persistent ringing in his ears as his vision blurs. He can barely even feel the pain, with the only thing he’s able to register being the darkness that’s beginning to take over his peripheral vision.
His head lulls to the side and lays in a puddle of blood and tears that he isn’t even aware is there. Darkness is the only thing he sees as his eyes close.
He hears a distant scream through all the fire and the rubble, “Jamison?”