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leigh57So whatever, lalalalala. These are 100% unbetaed unglue my brain ficlets. For ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
marinw -- I'm doing your prompt first to make sure I actually do it this time! These are all (except the first one, which is mid-canon 7x18) set in some not necessarily connected AU. Don't ask me. I just work here;)
"No one dragged her into anything. She’s been trying to see you all day."
Her eyes (directed downward a second ago in the face of his fury) meet his now, challenge and defiance behind the sadness in her expression.
His emotions shake and tumble as if his brain were a fucking dryer. He’s almost angrier than he was a second ago, because all he’d wanted was a target, a specific location where he could direct the rage.
She’s taken that away, too.
Complicated everything, again.
The entire room separates them, but he sweats; there’s not enough space for him to breathe.
She’s a walking assault on his infrastructure, and right now he hates her.
Still, for what must be the fifteenth time today, he moves forward (towards her) when he wants to move back.
A halting half-step.
"What?"
_________________________
She twists and wiggles against the unyielding angles of the hospital chair, too tired to get up and go home but not tired enough (yet) to fall asleep with her shoulder jammed into her jaw and her knees almost up to her chin.
Well.
It’s probably good that she can’t sleep. A couple nights ago she managed to pass out for a few hours. It took five Advil for her to make it through the motions of showering and getting dressed the following morning.
She squints at a thin place in her jeans that will soon become a hole and replays this afternoon’s conversation with Kim.
“Does he ever ask you for anything?”
Kim had paused, thoughtful. “Yeah. A blanket or the remote.” And then flustered, as if she’d said the wrong thing, “But not very often. And it usually takes prompting.”
Renee shuts her eyes and drifts, thinking about pajama pants and hot chocolate and those pillows that shapeshift around your neck and shoulders.
“Hey.”
She startles awake to his voice, low and crackly. Before she can speak, he adds, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I can’t-” He still has to pause in the middle of sentences. No matter what Dr. Macer says, he refuses to accept the pace at which his body wants to heal. “I can’t reach my water.” A breath. “Could you hand it to me?”
She pushes herself out of the chair, careful not to let the pain that shoots down the left side of her neck show in her face. Pouring a cupful of water from the blue plastic pitcher, she watches him, the way he looks at the bed rail and rubs his thumb over a wrinkle in his sheet.
She sticks a straw in the water and holds it out to him. He reaches up with both hands, but they’re trembling. Badly.
He’ll spill it if she lets go.
“Jack, for Christ’s sake. Let me hold it. Just this once.”
For a second she thinks he’s going to grab the cup anyway and take his chances, but instead he drops his hands, nodding and leaning his head sideways when she extends the striped straw.
_________________________
They’re almost to the door of her apartment when she identifies the nervous jittery feeling that’s been nagging her all evening.
It’s their third date.
Or their third . . . whatever you call what you do with someone after you’ve spent almost two months hanging out in his hospital room -- doing crossword puzzles, reading The Tenant of Wildfell Hall out loud, debating politics at 3 a.m.
Third dates are supposed to be . . . significant or something, although she’ll be damned if she can remember why.
When they reach her door, she spends longer than necessary rummaging through her purse for her keys, disappointed when her fingers touch the cool notched metal. The truth is, she doesn’t like very many things about her life right now.
And she likes him.
“I’ll call you tomorrow after PT.” He’s already turning to go, but the hand that rests against the wall wiggles, unsteady.
“Hey Jack?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s early. Why don’t you come in and let me make you a cup of decaf?”
_________________________
He wakes up naked and overheated, covered by half of Renee’s body and all of the down comforter that usually serves as her bedspread.
He blinks in the darkness, trying to decipher the numbers on her alarm clock.
2:47.
Shit.
He’d only meant to shut his eyes for a second. Recover a little.
Edging sideways, he eases his shoulder from under her cheek. He’s almost extracted his leg when she rolls over onto her back, rubbing her eyes.
“Time is it?” He works to ignore his body’s reaction to the soft sleepy honey of her voice.
“Almost three. I’m sorry I woke you.”
“Jack.” She flips back over and squishes her face into the pillow, arms snuggled underneath.
“Yeah?”
“Wouldn’t you rather stay?”
He swallows. “I just assumed that-”
“That I want you to go home at 3 a.m.?” He can hear her grinning, the way her smile shapes the words. “Because I don’t.” She slips an arm from underneath the pillow and lifts the blankets, holding them up in invitation. “Aren’t you tired?”
After that? he thinks. Fuck, yeah. “Kinda.”
“So stop making me hold up this damn blanket and go to sleep.”
He can’t help smiling at that one. He crawls back into bed and lets her drop the covers over him.
He’s still too hot, but it doesn’t matter now.
_________________________
The wind is freezing; it chaps Jack’s bare knuckles as it whistles down the alley, displacing dry leaves and trash. He flexes his fingers and listens for Chloe’s voice on the comm.
“Kill shots in three. Two. One.” A pause, broken by two near-simultaneous thuds. “Okay Jack. Perimeter’s clean. You’re clear until you enter the building. Once you’re in there though-”
“I know,” he mutters. “We’ll handle it.” He glances back at Renee. She’s crouched a few feet behind him with her Glock in one hand, cheeks and nose red in the frigid air.
It’s her first field op since she was released from the hospital.
Whoever’s inside the building has managed to scramble even Chloe’s most sophisticated attempts at surveillance. They’re going in blind.
He kind of wants to throw up.
He kind of wants to be the first one through every door until the end of time.
But he can’t.
So he catches her eye, gives her a quick tense smile. “You take point,” he whispers. “I’m right behind you.”
I think Annie's on Hawaii 5-O tonight. I might have to watch it. Or you know. Say I'll watch it, forget, and then watch it tomorrow on Hulu. Happy Monday everybody!
marinw -- I'm doing your prompt first to make sure I actually do it this time! These are all (except the first one, which is mid-canon 7x18) set in some not necessarily connected AU. Don't ask me. I just work here;)"No one dragged her into anything. She’s been trying to see you all day."
Her eyes (directed downward a second ago in the face of his fury) meet his now, challenge and defiance behind the sadness in her expression.
His emotions shake and tumble as if his brain were a fucking dryer. He’s almost angrier than he was a second ago, because all he’d wanted was a target, a specific location where he could direct the rage.
She’s taken that away, too.
Complicated everything, again.
The entire room separates them, but he sweats; there’s not enough space for him to breathe.
She’s a walking assault on his infrastructure, and right now he hates her.
Still, for what must be the fifteenth time today, he moves forward (towards her) when he wants to move back.
A halting half-step.
"What?"
_________________________
She twists and wiggles against the unyielding angles of the hospital chair, too tired to get up and go home but not tired enough (yet) to fall asleep with her shoulder jammed into her jaw and her knees almost up to her chin.
Well.
It’s probably good that she can’t sleep. A couple nights ago she managed to pass out for a few hours. It took five Advil for her to make it through the motions of showering and getting dressed the following morning.
She squints at a thin place in her jeans that will soon become a hole and replays this afternoon’s conversation with Kim.
“Does he ever ask you for anything?”
Kim had paused, thoughtful. “Yeah. A blanket or the remote.” And then flustered, as if she’d said the wrong thing, “But not very often. And it usually takes prompting.”
Renee shuts her eyes and drifts, thinking about pajama pants and hot chocolate and those pillows that shapeshift around your neck and shoulders.
“Hey.”
She startles awake to his voice, low and crackly. Before she can speak, he adds, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I can’t-” He still has to pause in the middle of sentences. No matter what Dr. Macer says, he refuses to accept the pace at which his body wants to heal. “I can’t reach my water.” A breath. “Could you hand it to me?”
She pushes herself out of the chair, careful not to let the pain that shoots down the left side of her neck show in her face. Pouring a cupful of water from the blue plastic pitcher, she watches him, the way he looks at the bed rail and rubs his thumb over a wrinkle in his sheet.
She sticks a straw in the water and holds it out to him. He reaches up with both hands, but they’re trembling. Badly.
He’ll spill it if she lets go.
“Jack, for Christ’s sake. Let me hold it. Just this once.”
For a second she thinks he’s going to grab the cup anyway and take his chances, but instead he drops his hands, nodding and leaning his head sideways when she extends the striped straw.
_________________________
They’re almost to the door of her apartment when she identifies the nervous jittery feeling that’s been nagging her all evening.
It’s their third date.
Or their third . . . whatever you call what you do with someone after you’ve spent almost two months hanging out in his hospital room -- doing crossword puzzles, reading The Tenant of Wildfell Hall out loud, debating politics at 3 a.m.
Third dates are supposed to be . . . significant or something, although she’ll be damned if she can remember why.
When they reach her door, she spends longer than necessary rummaging through her purse for her keys, disappointed when her fingers touch the cool notched metal. The truth is, she doesn’t like very many things about her life right now.
And she likes him.
“I’ll call you tomorrow after PT.” He’s already turning to go, but the hand that rests against the wall wiggles, unsteady.
“Hey Jack?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s early. Why don’t you come in and let me make you a cup of decaf?”
_________________________
He wakes up naked and overheated, covered by half of Renee’s body and all of the down comforter that usually serves as her bedspread.
He blinks in the darkness, trying to decipher the numbers on her alarm clock.
2:47.
Shit.
He’d only meant to shut his eyes for a second. Recover a little.
Edging sideways, he eases his shoulder from under her cheek. He’s almost extracted his leg when she rolls over onto her back, rubbing her eyes.
“Time is it?” He works to ignore his body’s reaction to the soft sleepy honey of her voice.
“Almost three. I’m sorry I woke you.”
“Jack.” She flips back over and squishes her face into the pillow, arms snuggled underneath.
“Yeah?”
“Wouldn’t you rather stay?”
He swallows. “I just assumed that-”
“That I want you to go home at 3 a.m.?” He can hear her grinning, the way her smile shapes the words. “Because I don’t.” She slips an arm from underneath the pillow and lifts the blankets, holding them up in invitation. “Aren’t you tired?”
After that? he thinks. Fuck, yeah. “Kinda.”
“So stop making me hold up this damn blanket and go to sleep.”
He can’t help smiling at that one. He crawls back into bed and lets her drop the covers over him.
He’s still too hot, but it doesn’t matter now.
_________________________
The wind is freezing; it chaps Jack’s bare knuckles as it whistles down the alley, displacing dry leaves and trash. He flexes his fingers and listens for Chloe’s voice on the comm.
“Kill shots in three. Two. One.” A pause, broken by two near-simultaneous thuds. “Okay Jack. Perimeter’s clean. You’re clear until you enter the building. Once you’re in there though-”
“I know,” he mutters. “We’ll handle it.” He glances back at Renee. She’s crouched a few feet behind him with her Glock in one hand, cheeks and nose red in the frigid air.
It’s her first field op since she was released from the hospital.
Whoever’s inside the building has managed to scramble even Chloe’s most sophisticated attempts at surveillance. They’re going in blind.
He kind of wants to throw up.
He kind of wants to be the first one through every door until the end of time.
But he can’t.
So he catches her eye, gives her a quick tense smile. “You take point,” he whispers. “I’m right behind you.”
I think Annie's on Hawaii 5-O tonight. I might have to watch it. Or you know. Say I'll watch it, forget, and then watch it tomorrow on Hulu. Happy Monday everybody!
