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Fic: Jack/Renee [Broken Heroes]
Well! It's pretty clear that comment fic is not my forte. I need to learn from ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sardonicynic. In any case, four out of five so far have come in under comment length, and I'm absolutely determined the last three will, too. So for cybertoothtiger, here's one more that did: Jack/Renee [Not Without].
And this one is forcentury_fox, inspired by this lovely prompt. AU (I guess it could be either post S7 or S8), a little language. marinw, he's not in the hospital (I had to shelve that one for the moment), but at least he's all vulnerable? *G*
adrenalin211 and lowriseflare, you rock for commenting even on silly ficlets and being the best cheerleaders ever:)
“Can you lift your shoulder a little? I need to see if the bleeding is slowing down.” Renee looked toward the window. She’d drawn the cheap polyester curtains as soon as she’d locked and chained the hotel room door behind her and eased Jack’s trembling, sweaty body down on the slippery bedspread. Headlights from the highway lit the window at frequent but unpredictable intervals, and she could hear the wail of a siren, but the sound was becoming fainter so she didn’t add that to her list of reasons to panic.
She had enough of those already.
Eyes closed, Jack obediently leaned sideways, and Renee peeled back the fresh bandage she’d slapped over his shoulder when she pulled off the road half an hour ago. There was blood, but much less than last time. “It’s better. I’ll change the dressing again as soon as I check the room.”
“We can’t stay here.” Jack’s voice was a rough whisper. “We need to keep moving.”
Renee lifted her gun from the bedside table and walked to the door, listening. The hallway outside was silent, which wasn’t surprising at 2:30 a.m. “We’re not going anywhere until you can keep down half a fucking Vitamin Water, Jack. You almost passed out in the elevator.” He’d vomited three times in the last hour, and although she had no way of taking his temperature, she could tell by touching him that it was rising fast. While she was doing everything possible to keep her expression and her demeanor neutral, Renee knew she wasn’t fooling him.
She was terrified.
“Then you should keep going.” This time his voice was firm.
“And you’re delirious if you think I’m leaving you here like this.” She wiped a clammy hand on her blood-stained jeans.
“They’ll find us within half an hour.” His words vibrated a little with the tremors in his body.
“You’re so feverish you’re shivering. We’ll have to risk it. If we’re lucky, they don’t know we switched cars,” she replied, walking into the bathroom to grab a washcloth. She turned the hot tap on full force and looked down quickly after she made the mistake of glancing in the mirror. Her shirt and jeans were covered with blood – mostly Jack’s, but some of her own mixed in. Blood had congealed around a cut on her wrist, and her right cheek was bruised and swollen where that asshole from Division had punched her. The navy trench coat she’d grabbed before they ditched her car had covered the blood on her clothes while she checked in, but the desk clerk had still gotten a strange expression and asked if she was all right. Renee had tried to seem nonchalant, muttering something about the hazards of being responsible for mental patients. She was grateful that Jack had been able to hide in the car; explaining away his appearance would have been a lot harder.
She wrung excess water from the steaming washcloth and (rearranging her face back into neutrality) walked back out to Jack. The mold, grease, and stale tobacco scent of the room was making her nauseous; it had to be ten times as bad for him. “Can you lay on your side or does that make you feel worse?” she asked, rummaging in the bag for the plastic bottle of alcohol.
“It’s fine,” Jack answered, rolling toward her onto his good shoulder. His face was grey and covered with sweat.
Renee gently peeled away the adhesive tape where she had sloppily affixed the blood-stained gauze. She poured alcohol over the wound for the second time in as many hours. Jack didn’t flinch; but the fingers on his right hand clenched the fabric of the ugly orange and brown bedspread. Patting his shoulder dry with a hotel towel (vivid contrast of red on white), Renee ripped more adhesive with her teeth and recovered the wound. When she was done, she found a clean portion of the towel and smoothed it over his forehead. “Your shoulder looks fine.” She cleared her throat, hating the panicked tone she knew he could hear. “I can’t figure out why your fever won’t break.”
“Maybe it’s because I’m pissed off.” Jack turned her wrist toward him, surveying her cut. “Did that sonofabitch do this to you, too?” He reached up to touch her cheek, rubbing his thumb softly an inch or so below the throbbing bruise.
“No. I caught the wall in the parking garage.” She closed her hand over his, willing herself not to lose it now. “You should try to drink a little more.” She uncapped the Vitamin Water and handed it to him.
After a few swallows, he passed it back to her. “You bought the blueberry crap again. No wonder I can’t keep anything down.”
“Jack-”
“We’ve got to figure out how to contact Chloe. She can end this shit right now if we can find a way to transmit those files.”
“I’ll call her,” she replied. “Right now I’m more concerned with getting you to the point where you can stand up without help.”
He fell silent. Renee heard another siren, its scream rising in their direction this time. She tensed, looking toward the window. After a few seconds, swirling globes of red and blue light flickered past the ragged taupe curtains and the sound of the siren faded away. She checked once more to be sure her gun was within reach and waited.
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“Can I have some more water?” Jack shifted, and the bedspread made a funny crinkling noise.
“You don’t think it’s too soon?”
“No. If anything it’s getting better. I don’t think the fever’s worse either.”
She handed him the bottle of maroon liquid and leaned over to put her unbruised cheek against his forehead. She exhaled, relief heating her from the inside. “You’re right,” she whispered, kissing his cheek. “But you still need to rest.”
“We need to call Chloe.”
“And if you’re still okay in the morning, I’ll go to the strip mall next door, buy one of those Trac phones, and call her.”
“We can’t wait-”
“Yes. We can,” Renee interrupted. “This isn’t up for discussion. When I’m the one who can’t walk without throwing up, you get to decide. But not this time.”
Jack smiled. “You’re so fucking stubborn.”
“Wonder where I learned that,” she retorted.
“Right. Before I showed up you did what you were told.”
“I did!” she exclaimed. “When I felt like it,” she added, grinning slightly. “Can you scoot over a little? I want to be closest to the door.”
Jack slid sideways a couple feet. Renee picked up her Glock and lay down on the bed facing him. He stroked her cheek. “When we get back, I’m gonna hurt him.”
“Not if I hurt him first.” Her voice was cold. “He shot you.”
“With aim like that I’d hate to be his partner in the field,” Jack muttered.
Renee shook her head. “He’s the least of our problems. Forget it.”
Jack didn’t reply. He was sort of blinking, but each time he closed his eyes, they stayed shut longer. His face wasn’t quite so grey now. She laced her fingers with his. “Go to sleep.”
“We can’t both be asleep,” he mumbled.
“God, Jack!” She sighed. “You think I’m going to sleep?”
“I’m sorry.” His words were starting to blend.
She rubbed the pad of her thumb over his palm. “It’s fine.”
He forced his eyes fully open again and looked at her, serious. “No, it’s not. I’m sorry. I’m used to-” He paused. “Running by myself.”
“Well I’m not going anywhere, so you’ve got until morning to adjust.”
“Okay.” His eyes drifted shut again. Renee looked toward the window, watching the lights stream by on the highway, her body on high alert for changes in color or motion. “Hey,” Jack said.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I didn’t do it just for you.”
“I know,” he whispered, and she felt his fingers relax in hers as he submitted to exhaustion.
She lay silent, listening to the way the bedspread swished if she moved her leg or Jack startled in his sleep. With her Glock secure against her stomach, she stared at the window and waited for the sliver of black between the tattered curtains to lighten.
sardonicynic. In any case, four out of five so far have come in under comment length, and I'm absolutely determined the last three will, too. So for cybertoothtiger, here's one more that did: Jack/Renee [Not Without].And this one is for
century_fox, inspired by this lovely prompt. AU (I guess it could be either post S7 or S8), a little language. marinw, he's not in the hospital (I had to shelve that one for the moment), but at least he's all vulnerable? *G*adrenalin211 and lowriseflare, you rock for commenting even on silly ficlets and being the best cheerleaders ever:)“Can you lift your shoulder a little? I need to see if the bleeding is slowing down.” Renee looked toward the window. She’d drawn the cheap polyester curtains as soon as she’d locked and chained the hotel room door behind her and eased Jack’s trembling, sweaty body down on the slippery bedspread. Headlights from the highway lit the window at frequent but unpredictable intervals, and she could hear the wail of a siren, but the sound was becoming fainter so she didn’t add that to her list of reasons to panic.
She had enough of those already.
Eyes closed, Jack obediently leaned sideways, and Renee peeled back the fresh bandage she’d slapped over his shoulder when she pulled off the road half an hour ago. There was blood, but much less than last time. “It’s better. I’ll change the dressing again as soon as I check the room.”
“We can’t stay here.” Jack’s voice was a rough whisper. “We need to keep moving.”
Renee lifted her gun from the bedside table and walked to the door, listening. The hallway outside was silent, which wasn’t surprising at 2:30 a.m. “We’re not going anywhere until you can keep down half a fucking Vitamin Water, Jack. You almost passed out in the elevator.” He’d vomited three times in the last hour, and although she had no way of taking his temperature, she could tell by touching him that it was rising fast. While she was doing everything possible to keep her expression and her demeanor neutral, Renee knew she wasn’t fooling him.
She was terrified.
“Then you should keep going.” This time his voice was firm.
“And you’re delirious if you think I’m leaving you here like this.” She wiped a clammy hand on her blood-stained jeans.
“They’ll find us within half an hour.” His words vibrated a little with the tremors in his body.
“You’re so feverish you’re shivering. We’ll have to risk it. If we’re lucky, they don’t know we switched cars,” she replied, walking into the bathroom to grab a washcloth. She turned the hot tap on full force and looked down quickly after she made the mistake of glancing in the mirror. Her shirt and jeans were covered with blood – mostly Jack’s, but some of her own mixed in. Blood had congealed around a cut on her wrist, and her right cheek was bruised and swollen where that asshole from Division had punched her. The navy trench coat she’d grabbed before they ditched her car had covered the blood on her clothes while she checked in, but the desk clerk had still gotten a strange expression and asked if she was all right. Renee had tried to seem nonchalant, muttering something about the hazards of being responsible for mental patients. She was grateful that Jack had been able to hide in the car; explaining away his appearance would have been a lot harder.
She wrung excess water from the steaming washcloth and (rearranging her face back into neutrality) walked back out to Jack. The mold, grease, and stale tobacco scent of the room was making her nauseous; it had to be ten times as bad for him. “Can you lay on your side or does that make you feel worse?” she asked, rummaging in the bag for the plastic bottle of alcohol.
“It’s fine,” Jack answered, rolling toward her onto his good shoulder. His face was grey and covered with sweat.
Renee gently peeled away the adhesive tape where she had sloppily affixed the blood-stained gauze. She poured alcohol over the wound for the second time in as many hours. Jack didn’t flinch; but the fingers on his right hand clenched the fabric of the ugly orange and brown bedspread. Patting his shoulder dry with a hotel towel (vivid contrast of red on white), Renee ripped more adhesive with her teeth and recovered the wound. When she was done, she found a clean portion of the towel and smoothed it over his forehead. “Your shoulder looks fine.” She cleared her throat, hating the panicked tone she knew he could hear. “I can’t figure out why your fever won’t break.”
“Maybe it’s because I’m pissed off.” Jack turned her wrist toward him, surveying her cut. “Did that sonofabitch do this to you, too?” He reached up to touch her cheek, rubbing his thumb softly an inch or so below the throbbing bruise.
“No. I caught the wall in the parking garage.” She closed her hand over his, willing herself not to lose it now. “You should try to drink a little more.” She uncapped the Vitamin Water and handed it to him.
After a few swallows, he passed it back to her. “You bought the blueberry crap again. No wonder I can’t keep anything down.”
“Jack-”
“We’ve got to figure out how to contact Chloe. She can end this shit right now if we can find a way to transmit those files.”
“I’ll call her,” she replied. “Right now I’m more concerned with getting you to the point where you can stand up without help.”
He fell silent. Renee heard another siren, its scream rising in their direction this time. She tensed, looking toward the window. After a few seconds, swirling globes of red and blue light flickered past the ragged taupe curtains and the sound of the siren faded away. She checked once more to be sure her gun was within reach and waited.
_________________________
“Can I have some more water?” Jack shifted, and the bedspread made a funny crinkling noise.
“You don’t think it’s too soon?”
“No. If anything it’s getting better. I don’t think the fever’s worse either.”
She handed him the bottle of maroon liquid and leaned over to put her unbruised cheek against his forehead. She exhaled, relief heating her from the inside. “You’re right,” she whispered, kissing his cheek. “But you still need to rest.”
“We need to call Chloe.”
“And if you’re still okay in the morning, I’ll go to the strip mall next door, buy one of those Trac phones, and call her.”
“We can’t wait-”
“Yes. We can,” Renee interrupted. “This isn’t up for discussion. When I’m the one who can’t walk without throwing up, you get to decide. But not this time.”
Jack smiled. “You’re so fucking stubborn.”
“Wonder where I learned that,” she retorted.
“Right. Before I showed up you did what you were told.”
“I did!” she exclaimed. “When I felt like it,” she added, grinning slightly. “Can you scoot over a little? I want to be closest to the door.”
Jack slid sideways a couple feet. Renee picked up her Glock and lay down on the bed facing him. He stroked her cheek. “When we get back, I’m gonna hurt him.”
“Not if I hurt him first.” Her voice was cold. “He shot you.”
“With aim like that I’d hate to be his partner in the field,” Jack muttered.
Renee shook her head. “He’s the least of our problems. Forget it.”
Jack didn’t reply. He was sort of blinking, but each time he closed his eyes, they stayed shut longer. His face wasn’t quite so grey now. She laced her fingers with his. “Go to sleep.”
“We can’t both be asleep,” he mumbled.
“God, Jack!” She sighed. “You think I’m going to sleep?”
“I’m sorry.” His words were starting to blend.
She rubbed the pad of her thumb over his palm. “It’s fine.”
He forced his eyes fully open again and looked at her, serious. “No, it’s not. I’m sorry. I’m used to-” He paused. “Running by myself.”
“Well I’m not going anywhere, so you’ve got until morning to adjust.”
“Okay.” His eyes drifted shut again. Renee looked toward the window, watching the lights stream by on the highway, her body on high alert for changes in color or motion. “Hey,” Jack said.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I didn’t do it just for you.”
“I know,” he whispered, and she felt his fingers relax in hers as he submitted to exhaustion.
She lay silent, listening to the way the bedspread swished if she moved her leg or Jack startled in his sleep. With her Glock secure against her stomach, she stared at the window and waited for the sliver of black between the tattered curtains to lighten.
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And thank you:)
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ALSO. Because I am a stalker loser like that, I went to your userpics. Is the Jack STFU icon yours? Because holy shit that one is amazing, and I would love to take it, with credit of course.
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And dude! You don't have to write epic reviews of everything -- for goodness sake! It makes me happy just knowing you like it, because it was written for you. The last thing I want this to be is a list of things to stress about. It's supposed to be non-stressful, dammit! &hearts
Oh! And have this icon I found, which is obviously NOT directed at you but is too made of awesome not to share:)
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Well I was trying to have a sense of urgency in comment fic, and obviously that didn't . . . quite work out like I planned! But I'm glad you liked the H/C:) I swear I'll try to finish the hospital one a some point!
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One of the things I liked about XK is how Muldner and Scully seemed to live like the mid-level civil servants they were. Except for Scully's endless wardrobe of pantsuits.
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I will now bow before the writing gods and pray that something about this exercise will make the AU work. Do you think that's a good plan? &hearts
I gotta use the happy icon tonight. Yep.
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I think this strategy will definitely help you with your AU! That is a good working theory and when you have good working theories you have to test them out!
<3<3<3 Here is the happy icon back at you, which just made me smile at 6:09 AM, which I think definitely means it is a happy icon.
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You're like... omg Adrienne has an imagination?
I am NOT. I know you have an amazing imagination. And I think you should write me some Jack/Renee because I woke up so spectacularly uninspired I'm beginning to wonder if I'll ever write the damn AU at all. Woe. Well and also obviously because you're amazing.
Hmm. I'll go find another icon that makes me smile.
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*scowls*
*hurls a heavy table at you*
Huhwhatoops? ;)
If I may say so, and with all due respect, shut the fuck up. You're just lacking in confidence. If you DO give up on the whole idea *coughscaredycatcough* <--yeah I just used a 1st grade taunt, then you should at LEAST draft an outline of your grand scheme or do SOMETHING to preserve the storyline. Lest it disappear into NOTHINGNESS thanks to your FEARS of ruining it!
But in all honesty, :). Sometimes, it sounds like I'm yelling, when I'm really only encouraging. In my own, *ahem* unique, way.
(Sorry about that table, btw.) :\
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A whole table? WAS THAT REALLY NECESSARY?
Hehe. Well part of pretending I'm a writer is throwing epic fits about my sudden lack of anything in my brain. I'm hoping it will pass? However, regardless of whether a word of this ever makes it onto paper, I'm unlikely to forget, given that I've been writing this story in my head for about four months now. Possibly more.
And thank you for your encouragement -- really. Unfortunately (well really fortunately for you, to be honest) you don't know me well enough to know what a complete pain in the ass I become when I'm trying to write a longer fic, especially when it's not working. So yeah, at the moment, empty brain = depressed me. But we'll see! Things change. Sometimes?
tl;dr version -- your encouragement is awesome, and thank you:)
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Because, selfishly, I want to read it SO badly.
I'm gonna find an icon that makes me smile now.
*pondersJack'sjunk*
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Hee. Amen, sister. :)
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Pondering Jack's junk is always an excellent plan. But that wouldn't help with writing most of the story. Most.
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Panicking is for the disco. Not for the word document.
It would TOO help write the story. If Jack's junk is your motive then you'll have great inspiration for Renee to get to it! How come I deleted that junk icon from my icons? *reachesandgrabs*
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Panic! at the disco. That is me. Only not in a disco. In my ugly light blue fleece sweatpants!
Mmmmm Jack's junk.
*is distracted*
*has grabbyhands*
But ahahahaha at using it for inspiration for Renee to want to get to it. You do have a point there . . .
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Sometimes caffeine is just the best drug there is.
*crosses fingers that massive doses of caffeine help your outlook*
P.S. *insert coffee icon here*
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SOOOOO. Inopportunistic scenario #1. Sometimes your brain is overflowing with great ideas, but you don't have the time to sit down and write.
Inopportunistic scenario #2. Sometimes you finally do have the time to write, but feel seized with panic that when you do so all of the ideas you had will come out wrong and that will be the end of them.
But do you step back and logically review the situation? It seems like you are so stuck on the idea that whatever comes out first is all that possibly CAN be. Let me take this moment to tell you that I'm suddenly (as in, as of this moment) a big proponent of the idea of *drafts* and reworking. What if you sit down and, instead of trying to write it word for word exactly as you want the final product to be, write a more vague overview of what you'd like to see come to fruition? (No, I don't write fiction so Idk if this is how it works, but...) Then you can flesh out the vague skeleton as the inspiration strikes you.
I realize I might sound a bit ridiculous, like a child trying to advise a parent in how to handle a situation they have no grasp of, but seriously. You're not thinking proactively enough, you're just letting yourself dwell in the comfortable realms of your own insecurities. Try to break out of that box.
*hopes that wasn't insulting or whatever*
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But do you step back and logically review the situation?
Well, in theory I should be able to, but especially when I'm worked up over something, my logic goes right out the window. I'm trying to improve on that one. However, you're absolutely right that any writing can be improved through revision and editing. I am just a dork because, given that I know how easy it can be when things are flowing, sometimes I get really ticked off when they're not. It's lame. Also, when things aren't working and I send stuff out to my betas, then I really have to buck up and be ready for their awesome constructive criticism. ANYWAY. I'm probably making no sense. The short version is thank you for trying to improve my outlook on this, and I will do my best to remember that editing can make a huge difference in writing, and that it does NOT have to be perfect on the first try:)
p.s. You are so right that my insecurity is comfortable. Boy do you have me busted there!
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Is there such a thing as being TOO into Jack Bauer? :\
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NO! You guys don't have to worry. You can never have enough Jack Bauer love. Think of all the love Jack DOESN'T get in his life and all how much it's gonna take to compensate! We're just doing a good deed.
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I hate it when my own icons make me swoony, because that is like, gross and obnoxious. AND YET.
Also, I just said that your comment was below and it is not, which means that I still fail to understand comment nesting. Moar woe.
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And I figured if anyone would understand the concept of "TOO MUCH" in regards to this it would be you guys.So if it doesn't make me a ludicrous freak for doing so, I'll continue with the Jack!love, in the interest of... *ahem* good deeds ;) :)no subject
AUGH HE NEEDS RENEE.
Woe.
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insanityinterest appeared over-the-top even to YOU, b/c if that was the case then HOLD THE PHONE it would be time to slam on those (metaphorical) brakes and try to do a reality reassessment.And yes AUGH he DOES need Renee. *pouts like a child* I take it back. No more reality.
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She’d drawn the cheap polyester curtains as soon as she’d locked and chained the hotel room door behind her and eased Jack’s trembling, sweaty body down on the slippery bedspread. Headlights from the highway lit the window at frequent but unpredictable intervals, and she could hear the wail of a siren, but the sound was becoming fainter so she didn’t add that to her list of reasons to panic.--
See? And that's in the FIRST paragraph. Already my heart beats faster. Teach me to do that please!
Other things I love about this? Besides everything, just the way it's so fucking in character, with Jack all wanting to move, saying he not used to running alone. Renee knowing she can't hide the fact that she's totally terrified from him. The kink you totally
moistenedhit when you had Jack all wanting to kill the dude who hurt her. Vitamin water, the lovely phraseology and descriptions of this piece. The way I can picture Jack, and his breathing, and all the senses captured the way you elaborate. Jack clenching his fingers as a reaction the the pain, the orange and brown bedspread=incredibly accurate bad-hotel a la X-Files detail, parenthetical "vivid contrast of red on white", the fact that he calls her out on being fucking stubborn and their hilarious exchange there, the fact that I think you hit the perfect balance of ambiguity/specificity about the whole scenario; leaves us curious/interested but doesn't get too much into information not pertinent to the moment. The bedspread swishing.The quietly perfect ending is like Detour when Scully is holding wounded Mulder and saying she's not gonna get tired, minus goofy singing, plus intensity raised to the power of 252344, because it's Jack and RENEE! Augh!
With her Glock secure against her stomach, she stared at the window and waited for the sliver of black between the tattered curtains to lighten.-- That is all things poetic and evocative and AUGHTHEYARESOPERFECT-inducing.
Thanks for writing this. For procrastination I come back and reread this. I've done it like 6 times now. I thought you might like to know that. I just think it's this... awesome snapshot and I keep wanting to read it again.
Love you.
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Hee, ALSO. I have such a kink for protective Jack. It's dreadful. I mean what kind of wrong person am I that enjoy watching him torture and kill people when he loves somebody? THAT'S SICK MAN. Even the Pavel thing -- I was like, AUGH HE LOVES HER I LOVE HIM SO MUCH. Ahem. So there you go with that silly kink.
It's entertaining, because once I actually wrote the dialogue there, I thought about "Detour," but I didn't while I was writing it because in my head Renee's a lot more upset about Jack thinking she might sleep than Scully was with Mulder. But Renee isn't as calm and cool as Scully.
Love you, too! It makes me smile that you just randomly read this when you have procrastinating to do. I do that with your fics, of which there are way too few. Now if only I could corral some brain power . . .
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“We’re not going anywhere until you can keep down half a fucking Vitamin Water, Jack. You almost passed out in the elevator.” aksjfakhfasjkfa. Renee being concerned for Jack and trying not to let him know how scared she is but knowing that he sees right through her, just….GAHHH. I can’t even. Their concern for each other KILLS me and you do a flawless job of conveying that.
“rearranging her face back into neutrality” I love the way you phrased that. And then the fact that you included the nauseating scent of the room, with the mold, grease and stale tobacco- the amount of detail you include never ceases to amaze me.
“Did that sonofabitch do this to you, too?” He reached up to touch her cheek, rubbing his thumb softly an inch or so below the throbbing bruise. And this is why Jack is the most fucking perfect fictional human to ever exist, because despite the fact that he’s so sick and in such bad shape, he’s still thinking about Renee’s well-being. djkghajkdghadjfga. <3
swirling globes of red and blue light flickered past the ragged taupe curtains Again, the way you describe and phrase things is SO fucking awesome.
“God, Jack!” She sighed. “You think I’m going to sleep?” I was totally going to say how that part reminded me of Detour, but Adrienne beat me to it. XD
she felt his fingers relax in hers as he submitted to exhaustion. <3
The ending is absolutely perfect, with Renee being on the lookout for “changes in color or motion” and just the fact that she’s there with her gun and looking out for Jack and “she stared at the window and waited for the sliver of black between the tattered curtains to lighten” is just such a beautiful phrase. This entire fic is so brilliant and I can visualize it so clearly and just…I don’t even have words. You are amazing.
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As to Jack and Renee being concerned for each other, wow that's so one of my biggest kinks and I can never get enough of watching/reading/writing about it. AUGH they slay me with their incomparable awesome. And I'm glad I conveyed the nasty motel appropriately -- I spent a lot of time in places like that going cross country as a kid;)
And this is why Jack is the most fucking perfect fictional human to ever exist, because despite the fact that he’s so sick and in such bad shape, he’s still thinking about Renee’s well-being.
RIGHT? He's so perfect. And if I get even close to conveying that in words on a good day, I'm so happy. *snugs him*
I'm so happy that you liked this, because it was a little different than what I usually do, but I try to consider the prompter when I'm writing meme ficlets. Have an amazing Sunday, and thank you so much for the unbelievably lovely comments:)