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frannyzooey · 2 years ago

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Short Days, Long Nights: 1

Joel Miller x f!Reader

Rating: none — I’ll change it to E when we get there (slow burn, forced proximity, age gap — no age actually mentioned but rather more implied, competence kink)

Summary: Part of a band of travelers, your party is slowly picked off one by one, until there are only two of you left. Finding an abandoned cabin in the woods, you decide to make camp there until you figure out your next move. As the seasons change, the nights get longer and longer…..

A/N: Thank you endlessly to @mourningbirds1 for the incredible feedback, beta, and comments. As always, I couldn’t do it without you. Thank you also to @write-and-buried for her TLOU knowledge and constant support, and @the-ginger-hedge-witch for reading this one over and making me confront how much Joel Miller has rotted my brain 😉 Enjoy!

—

SPRING

The copse of trees surrounding you is dense, and from the overgrown path you’ve been following by groove alone, you almost miss it. A flash of muted, dingy blue in a sea of green.

“Hey,” you call to him. “What’s that?”

He turns, his features and body already taut with a practiced, ready tension and when he sees your face isn’t one of concern but rather curiosity, he relaxes. Walking over to you, he follows the line of your finger with his eyes.

At first, he sees nothing. Just a wall of clustered vegetation: sturdy trunks that hide behind branches heavily weighted with rain, the floor beneath them obscured by ferns that brush against your legs and growth that softens your footsteps. His eyes catch on something too angular for the setting and he frowns, focusing on it.

Barely visible in the distance and seen only through the filtered sunlight that catches the sharp edge: a moss covered roof. A structure, isolated like the two of you.

He glances over at you for a moment, reflexively reaching back for his rifle.

“Let’s take a look.”

Weapon out with his steps steady and slow, he approaches the cabin with a careful, defensive slink. As it slowly comes into view, you brace yourself for any type of movement. Second nature to now activate the constant thrum of self preservation inside you, you check for visible traps as you follow him, your eyes flitting between the building and the ground.

A specific sort of tension fills the air when something is close: you know that feeling now, have become so sensitive that it can wake you from dead sleep the second you feel it. Like a sixth sense forced to emerge due to evolution, you focus on it and feel none of that tension here: just the trilling sound of birds, the soft crunch of pine needles underfoot and the peaceful silence of total seclusion.

Joel catches your attention with the jerk of his head, motioning to stay close.

You approach the front of the cabin together. His hands white knuckle the gun, the butt tucked tight against the worn strap of his backpack where it curves around his shoulder and as his fingers flex in anticipation, you hold your breath.

There is a weighted beat as you wrap your hand around the knob and turn.

In the end, it’s all for nothing - the cabin you find, after roughly working the warped door open, is abandoned.

–

It’s like a time capsule in the middle of the woods.

A thick layer of dust covering everything, motes of it swirl lazily in the beam of Joel’s flashlight as you wander from room to room. His boots scrape against the floor with heavy footfalls, the two of you silently surveying the causally cozy and completely still disarray: a moth bitten handmade quilt thrown over the back of the couch, outdated magazines in a stack on the counter, cobwebbed toothbrushes by the bathroom sink. Bookshelves packed with faded spines, grime covered windows, dead plants in pretty pots lining sills.

Someone loved this cabin once.

Used to your partner through circumstance by now, you anticipate an order to scavenge for everything you can carry and then move on, so you’re surprised when he sets his pack down on the floor and lets himself fall back onto the couch. A cloud of dust bursts into the stagnant air, his hands coming up to wearily scrub his face. They rake through his damp, messy curls as he closes his eyes before laying his head back and letting out an exhausted sigh.

“This should do for the night,” he says. “Could stay until the rain lets up, at least. Be nice to sleep on something other than the ground for a change.”

You nod in agreement, rolling out the kink in your shoulder you woke up with. Your eyes drift over the exposed line of his tanned throat, lingering on the hollow just above his collar. You force yourself to look away. “Yea, the beds didn’t look too bad.”

There had been two of them, across the hall from each other and the idea of a mattress - no matter how old - had you yearning to climb into bed already. Nothing saying you can’t, you reason with yourself. Not when time is more of a concept than anything else these days but the gnawing hunger in your stomach immediately disagrees, knowing exactly how long it’s been since you’ve last eaten.

“I’m gonna go look for some food,” you tell him and he hums in acknowledgement, seemingly indifferent.

Not really expecting to find anything of substance, you feel a swoop of scarce felt joy when you discover a cache of canned goods in the pantry. A treasure trove.

“Hey Joel,” you call, wiping your thumb over a peeled, dried out label. “I think I found dinner.”

He doesn’t answer, most likely asleep given his ability to succumb whenever and wherever he can when he gets a moment and you take several, bringing them over to the counter. Brushing away the dust that sticks to the labels, you survey your choices: baked beans and peaches, two of each. Just what you would expect at a lake house.

Letting him rest and holding the beans in your hand and a spoon you find in another, you take bites straight from the can as you wander down the hallway of the cabin, looking at the pictures on the walls. Using the heel of your hand to wipe away the dust that covers the glass, smiling faces emerge from the fog. You study them one by one, slowly chewing.

They look like stock photos you used to see in stores: generically bland smiles, posed to perfection. An elderly couple with their children of various ages, a large family gathering photo, parents with children sitting between them. You try hard to picture those people here: sitting in the living room, sleeping in the bedrooms, playing outside. The concept seems too foreign to grasp, too far away to be real and you take another bite of food, pushing away the sudden unbidden reminder of similar photos you once had in your own home, now lost.

You hear the couch protest as Joel gets up, coming to pass you in the hallway. He stops for a moment behind you, looking to see what you’re staring at and when he sees what it is, he frowns. Letting a deep sigh escape him, he keeps moving down the narrow space and with his pack in his hand, disappears into a bedroom.

–

Wanting the safety of his nearness and given that it’s the only other bedroom, you set up across the hall when you’re done eating. Placing your own worn pack on the floor, you start to methodically strip the mattress, shaking out the bedding. Minimal creeping mold darkens the seamed edge of a mattress in otherwise good condition and you flip it, hoping for the best. Shaking out the pillow to make sure there is nothing hiding in it, you take the pillowcase with you, wanting to air it out on the deck now that the rain has stopped.

Wanting to do the same for him, you walk into the bedroom he’s claimed and even though he’s not in there, it already feels like an invasion of privacy to be standing in it. His pack slumped on the end of the bed a visual claim, you grab his pillow off the bed and start to tug off the case.

What does he look like, sleeping in a real bed? Does he bunch the pillow or tangle himself in the quilt? When he gets up, is there a rumpled form left behind, still warm with the heat of his body pressed into the sheets?

For all the time you’ve spent with him, the majority of Joel is a mystery to you. He gives away more than he knows, but that’s still not a lot. You knew of him back in the QZ: his broad frame a hard one to miss, his reputation even bigger and while your paths rarely crossed within the borders of those high walls, once you set out, it was hard to stay out of his orbit.

His handsomeness drew your eye initially, but it was his usefulness that made you stay in his shadow. His determination to fight for his own made you feel protected by proximity, even more so when he extended it to you.

Had to, once your group got picked off one by one.

You had been thankful, in a sick way, that he was the one that remained. The best one. The most ruthless one. A ruthlessness you admired, then revered, then thought about at night as you tried to drift off to sleep.

Without needing to sleep clothed to protect himself from the elements, does he still sleep in them, or will he be in less? If so, how much less?

Sharply snapping the pillowcase in the air, the sound brings you back to the present and you shake away the thoughts, leaving the room.

“Whatcha got there?” He’s sitting on the couch, a can of peaches in his hand and when you face him, you have to look away from the glistening juice on his lips.

“Oh, I was going to hang these outside, see if I can get some of the dust smell out.” Your nose crinkles and he smirks, taking another bite and shaking his head.

“Thought you’d be used to that by now.”

You shrug, taking a seat in a chair by the woodstove. Leaning forward to inspect it, your chair wobbles; the front leg rotted.

He nudges his chin in the direction of the stove when you open its door. “I thought about lighting it, but we better not. Don’t want the smoke showin’ people someone’s here.”

You nod, sitting back in the chair. “I can’t believe what a good find this is. There’s all sorts of stuff. I found some clothes in the closets, some more blankets too, if you need one.”

You watch him chew, his jaw flexing under the salt and pepper of his beard.

“There is more food where that came from, if you’re hungry. The pantry is pretty full.”

He acknowledges it with a nod, taking another bite and you glance towards the windows that run the length of the room. A miracle none of them are broken, thanks to the secured tarp that lined the outside.

“I think I’m gonna clean some of these and see if I can get a better view.”

“Cleanin’ the windows, doin’ the laundry. You lookin’ to move in?” His teasing tone is a dry one, and you smile, shrugging.

“Just so we can see what’s out there. In case someone comes.”

He looks at you, his eyes narrowing for a moment before he finishes the can, drinking the juice.

“Well don’t wear yourself out too much,” he says, standing with a soft grunt of pain. “We ain’t gonna be here that long. Not worth makin’ it all homey.”

He sets the can down on the counter, grabbing his bow and supplies off the surface. You watch him check his stock of arrows before reaching back to feel for the knife strapped to his belt.

“I’m gonna go see if I can find us something for dinner.” He gives you a look, his eyes quickly sliding down over your form and then back up. “Yell if you need me, okay? I’ll stay close.”

You nod, holding his eyes for a minute and when he goes, you use the pads of your fingers to wipe clean a clear circle on the window.

A creek lines the edge of the property, one that you didn’t even hear from the path with how thick the vegetation is and you watch him walk down along the edge of it for a moment, his head bowed. His hair is lighter in the sun, ruffling slightly in the wind and you keep watching until his form disappears behind the trees.

–

Searching the cabinets methodically for anything of use while he’s gone, you find them buried deep in a junk drawer, sealed inside a faded, dirty ziplock.

Seed packets. A lot of them.

“Holy shit,” you whisper to yourself, opening the plastic pouch. You handle each pack delicately, spreading them neatly and carefully out on the counter and marvel silently at the whole vegetable garden you’ve found in this tiny bag. The haul would be worth more than you can imagine back at the QZ, but the potential for it is even higher here, in this dim kitchen, with that patch of moist, fertile soil outside.

You pick them up one at a time, sorting them by recommended growth timelines and a thought takes root in your mind; the paper packets eventually gathered and put neatly back into the bag.

You let it stew the rest of the afternoon, into the evening. As the sky dims, then darkens, as he comes back with a skinned rabbit and cooks it, as you both sit in the living room after dinner, your dirty plates resting on the coffee table between you.

He’s sprawled on the couch, his arm behind his head with his thighs spread wide and the denim around his thighs is molded tight; his other hand resting limply against the inside of his thigh. When his eyes close, your eyes drop from his face to his hand, and then back up again.

“So I found something today,” you begin, and he answers with a slow drawl, content and full.

“Oh yea? Anything good?”

“Really good. Like, something really, really good.”

He opens his eyes then, looking over at you with a tilt of his head.

“Well? You gonna tell me what it is?”

You draw one of the packets from your pocket, holding it in your hand and he sits up immediately, leaning forward on his elbows to reach for it.

“Careful,” you warn, scared some will leak out of the thin, dried out paper.

“You found these here?”

“Yea, in a drawer. In the kitchen.”

You can tell by the way he is looking at them that he knows their value. His hands hold them more tenderly than you thought his hands capable of, and he flips the packet over, reading the front.

“I would kill for a fresh squash right now,” he mumbles, more to himself than anything, as he studies the front.

“Well…” you start, suddenly unsure of your idea when he brings his eyes back up to your face. It’s intimidating when he looks directly at you normally, but you feel it tenfold now. He’s always been the one to call the shots, his experience in this world outweighing yours and while you’re nervous to throw yours out there, thinking of the alternatives nudges you forward.

“I was sort of thinking this afternoon. About this place, and about these seeds.” You pause, looking away for a moment and then back at him. “About us, maybe staying here.”

He immediately frowns, scoffing to discourage the idea. “You can’t be serious. Stay here?”

Though you expected it, his immediate dismissive tone flares annoyance in you.

“Where else is there to go, Joel?” you ask, your voice gaining confidence. “Be serious. Every settlement has been a nightmare, every place we’ve tried —“

He shakes his head, cutting your argument off. “I said we could stay for a night, not stay forever goddamnit. We’re like sitting ducks out here, just waitin’ to get killed. In the middle of fuckin’ no where —“

“Exactly!” you say louder, before bringing your voice down. “Exactly. We didn’t even see this place from the road. Not even from the path off the road. Who is going to find us here? No one knows about this place, or else it would have been looted ages ago. The tarps hid it, the trees block it, the –”

“And then what, huh? The second we light that wood stove, it’s gonna give us away. Even so, what then when someone wandering down that path sees the same thing we saw, and they decide to come take a look for themselves? They are gonna see everything we have – everything you’re suggesting we start – and they are gonna kill us for it.”

He pauses, the next statement forcing you to look at the ground. “Just like we would have done if we found someone else here. Just like we do.”

You say nothing, letting the words hang in the air.

“Just —“ you pause, looking down at your hands. Flashes of the last few months play back in your mind: the hangings, the strict enforcement of rules for all made to benefit the few, the bleak apartment you live in. This mission, all the things you’ve seen along the way, all the fear and terror you’ve felt and how the only person who has ever made you feel safe since the Outbreak began is sitting right here in this room.

If ever this could work, it would only work with him.

You bring your eyes back to him, pleading. “Aren’t you tired of it? So restless, always fighting against everything. For everything you have. Aren’t you sick of it, Joel?”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m just fine.” His tone is clipped, but you can tell he’s thinking. He glances at his watch, the broken face staring back at him. It’s been broken for as long as you’ve known him, but he’s always treated it as carefully as his weapons, his supplies. You can see him illuminated by the moon profile in your mind, his fingers skating around the face as he kept watch, or brushing it with his thumb to delicately keep the dirt off. Seeing your opening, you take it.

“I’m not saying forever,” you press. “Hell, I’m not even saying a month. But let’s just stop for a second. Let’s… just stop. Nothing says we have to go back there. We could be dead, for all they know.”

He brings his attention back to you and placing his hands in his pockets, he straightens his spine. “Probably will be, sooner or later, if we stay here.” He looks you directly in the eye, holding your gaze. “It’s not just the supplies they’ll take. They’ll want way more than that.”

You raise your chin, ignoring the tightening of fear in your chest. He hasn’t let that happen yet, and even if it's foolish to believe, you know he won’t let it happen. When he sees you’re not going to answer, he sighs.

The lantern is bright between you, illuminating the room in a soft glow and his deep brown eyes study you. His expression is stern, like he wants to say no…but he doesn’t.

“It’s a dumb idea.” His statement is said with resignation, but with the authority of the last word and deciding not to push it any further tonight, you stand.

“Well, good thing it was just an idea.” Glancing over at the seed packet, you chew your bottom lip while he watches your face with a frown and your voice gets softer, quieter.

“I’m gonna get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

—

He isn’t there when you wake up, and finding his bow gone, you know he’s out hunting again.

You wander over to the coffee table to pick up the packet of seeds you left there last night when you see a book facedown next to it. Like he was reading something he found on the shelves after you went to bed, and left it there.

Picking it up and turning it over in your hands, a smile unfurls at the edge of your mouth and you sit down on the couch, opening it to the first page:

The Basics of Gardening

#joel miller #joel miller/you #joel miller/reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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wardenparker · 2 years ago

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Down the Rabbit Hole - ch 8

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When Jack accidentally shoots a civilian on a mission he takes on not only the guilt of the man’s death, but inherits his soulmate as well. To you, it’s a dream job with more perks than you can imagine - but for Jack it’s a nightmarish complication. Even more so when he starts to develop feelings.

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 17.5k Warnings: *Blanket warnings - mentions of deceased spouse, a lot of food and alcohol consumption, family recipes, age gap, cursing.* Angst, revelations, confessions, emotional vulnerability! Oh, and fingering. Summary: Physical and emotional healing is in the cards the day after Jack rescues you from the Rollins boys. Notes: Guys, I’m not going to lie. I just keep crying. Writing, editing, proofing, crying. All day every day.

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14 ~ Ch 15 ~ Epilogue

Exhaustion and an adrenaline crash combine with Ginger’s injection to keep you knocked out all the way back to the campus in Louisville. Six hours is all Ginger said you would need to heal completely and she was right - almost down to the minute. It’s past sunrise outside when you wake up, not that you can see the sun in Ginger’s lab, but when you groan slightly in your sleep and turn your head, the world doesn’t spin the way it had just hours before.

Jack grunts, leaning forward in the seat Ginger had finally relented and put next to the capsule where you were healing. Watchful for any tiny movement, he reaches out to the glass between the two of you with the need to touch you, to reassure you. “Come on sugar, open those pretty eyes for me.”

It isn’t easy to do. The lights are blindingly bright, and you’ve forgotten where you are, causing you to panic immediately before seeing Jack’s face staring back at you outside the pod that you don’t really remember Astrid explaining to you. It only calms you slightly though, seeing him, before guilt and a different kind of fear set in. If Jack is here, and you’re in one of Ginger’s isometric pods, then it wasn’t all just a terrible dream.

“Shhhhh shhhh it’s okay.” The chair scrapes back as he stands. “Ginger, open this fucking thing!” He doesn’t want you to panic and he can see the whites of your eyes already. At least they aren’t filled with blood anymore where vessels had burst. He punches in buttons and yanks on the handle for the door, opening it up. “It’s okay, sugar. You’re safe.”

“You’re here.” Though it’s obvious that you’re questioning why, with your voice so quiet it comes out almost awestruck.

“I’m here, sugar, I’m here.” Jack promises, reaching in and smoothing back your hair gently and cupping your cheek. He hadn’t been able to touch you for six hours, not even hold your hand and it’s burning through him to just reassure himself that you are here and okay. “You did so good, sugar. Hangin’ on. You’re so—” He swallows harshly, remembering how swollen your cheek was. “You did good. I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner.”

“I didn’t tell them anything.” Not even understanding who they were or what they wanted, all you could really go on was that not telling them anything was the only appropriate course of action. Apparently all those spy movies were good for something after all. “I—I promise I didn’t.”

“Doesn’t matter, sugar.” Jack murmurs, kneeling down and looking up at you seriously. “They’re never gonna hurt you again. You don’t hafta worry about that.”

“They wanted you.” That much was abundantly clear. Knowing what you do about Jack, you know they never would have managed to corner him without leverage. And apparently you made excellent leverage. “I’m…” You shudder with tears that won’t come. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Jack frowns, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. It’s me they wanted. They used you to get to me. You were innocent, sugar. I’m sorry you got caught up in something that you shouldn’t have.” He means the feud with the Rollins, not because you’re his soulmate. He’s so fucking guilty because they targeted you. Still unsure of why they decided to try to get into Statesman after all these years. Maybe they had been all along, and the restaurant was the opportunity. Doesn’t matter, they’re dead now.

“I wasn’t wearing the bracelet.” The one he gave you. The one you had faithfully put on your wrist beside the bangle from your little sister. “I was…I was mad…so I took it off…”

“Just means I need to track your earrings.” He jokes, the halfhearted smile that he had attempted sliding off his face when you are staring down at your hands and he sighs softly. “It’s okay, sugar. I— I found your bracelet. The one you dropped. Did you do it on purpose?” He pulls the charm out of his pocket and offers it to you.

“Yeah…” Tired despite feeling better, picking up your hands feels like weightlifting. “I thought…if you realized…you might recognize it.” It was a longshot, but it’s good to know it worked.

“You did perfect, sugar.” Jack’s hands are incredibly gentle, and he takes your wrist and puts the bracelet around it again. Making sure the clasp is secure and then brushing his thumb over it. “There it is, back where it belongs.” Just like you are back near him where you belong.

“Did Ginger…” Here, in her lab, she is Ginger. Her code name seems irreversibly attached to this place. “Did she…I asked her to get rid of everything.” Your hands are free of the nicks and cuts, arms bearing no trace of burns you had gotten all through your career. You’re unmarked. Unattached. So he should be, too.

Jack sighs softly, nodding. “Why did you do it?” He wants to hear you say it. He’ll hear you say that you want nothing to do with him and then he’ll leave you alone. Go work in the New York office or go back out to the field. Just as long as you are safe.

If you were feeling stronger you might have laughed. Or at least snorted. Some derisive sound of disbelief would have been much more intelligent than the way you stare at him in the blinding light of the lab. If he really doesn’t know then he’s an idiot, and if he’s just making you say it for his own satisfaction, then he’s cruel. Either way, you swallow thickly when you look away from him and shut your eyes. “For you.” You tell him honestly, because you don’t have the emotional energy to be mean spirited. “So you can be free.”

So he could be free. Jack swallows slightly and shakes his head. It doesn’t seem like you hate him now although maybe you’re just shellshocked. Shock does weird things to people. “Honey, it doesn’t work like that.” He murmurs softly. “We’re still soulmates.”

“She was your soulmate.” If you could, you’d be sobbing by now. Wracked with them. In agony. You’d be a sniveling, pathetic mess instead of the broken version of yourself you’ve become. “I’m…I don’t fuckin’ know. But at least you can pretend I don’t exist. I know that’s what you want.”

“Sugar, I was— fuck, I was so wrong.” Jack grabs your hands and holds onto them. “I was— I thought I was bein’ disloyal to her memory. Betrayin’ her by having another soulmate. You never did anything wrong. I just— I was scared of how easy it was bein’ around you and how quickly I could—” He cuts himself off, knowing you don’t want to hear about him falling in love with you. You’d never believe it, not after what he’s done to you. “I know I traded my life for yours in a heartbeat and I’d do it again.”

“Why?” In the moment it had made no sense to you, and no clear, shining light has shone on your confusion since then. Hearing Jack agree to take your place without hesitation had flared so much hope, despair, and confusion in your heart that it was like having a chorus of screaming fury in your mind. “I still don’t understand. You could’ve—” He could have let the men kill you. He could have been free of you that way instead and it might have hurt less than believing your soulmate hates you. “Is it just…company policy?”

Jack chokes, hating that you think it’s company policy to not let anything happen to his soulmate. “No sugar…it’s not.” He murmurs softly, knowing this is all his fault. He’s done nothing to make you believe he likes you. “I couldn’t let him hurt you anymore. I would have never let him hurt you if I—” he shakes his head. “If I hadn’t been a goddamn fool.”

He’s clinging to your hands almost desperately, and you could swear you heard his voice crack but it’s just wishful thinking. Even after what you just went through - what you survived - you still find yourself grasping at the impossible fantasy of him someday caring about you. You won’t even go all the way to love anymore. Just as long as he doesn’t hate you, that’s all you’re really asking for. “It’s okay.” The words feel almost alien, but you look over at him and offer him a pinched smile. “You’re a good agent, Jack. And you can go back in the field now. I’m sorry I was stubborn.”

“The field…sugar, someone from my past nearly killed you and you’re talking about me goin’ back to work?” He’s totally bewildered, wondering if you are in shock or denial about the entire damn thing. He knows that Ginger will set you up with the Statesman therapist. “I went to therapy for you.” He blurts out.

“I’m talking about you getting your life back after I—” You started in so quickly that when he blurts out the word ‘therapy’ you turn back to look at him with bewilderment. “What? Why?” Sure you’re both stubborn, but that’s not exactly therapy-worthy.

“After I—” Jack flushes with shame. “After I exploded on you, I – I knew I needed to fix it. Fix me.” He squeezes your hands gently. “You deserve more than a fucked-up soulmate who had his head so far up his ass he couldn’t see if the sun was shinin’.”

“Plenty of people have platonic soulmates.” It’s been a mantra for you for weeks now. Reassuring yourself that the world won’t end if he doesn’t feel the same way about you that you do about him. It’s not going to end your life. It will be okay. That’s what you told yourself, as you tried desperately to shake the blazing sensation in the memory of kissing him months ago. “I just don’t want you to be unhappy anymore, and…and I know you’ve been unhappy.”

“I’ve been unhappy because I want you.” Jack confesses softly. “And I didn’t think I deserved another soulmate because I couldn’t protect Abigail and I felt guilty because I thought it would be like forgettin’ her.”

“You could never forget her. You love her.” But the mere wisp of the idea that he doesn’t hate you? It seems to light you up from the inside out like a lawn ornament. Hope, as powerful and resilient as any other force in the universe, encouraging your heart to try beating again. “Honestly? I’m jealous. I never got to know anything about my first soulmate. But…I never would have asked you to forget her.”

“I can— I can show you his file.” Jack offers quietly. “Everything Statesman has on him. They had to, you know, investigate.”

“Thank you.” It isn’t quite the same, but you squeeze his hands in gratitude and try to remember to breathe. This is a much heavier conversation than you ever thought you would wake up to. “I don’t know what things would have been like with him, but he deserves to be remembered.”

“He seems like he was a good man.” Which made Jack killing him even harder to accept.

“I don’t blame you for protecting yourself.” Since you can’t ever say what you would have done in his position, and since it won’t bring the man back in the first place, there was no point in hanging on to that anger. It did nothing but make you upset and keep you from moving forward. “Not anymore. I know you didn’t do it on purpose.”

“I’m sorry sugar, I know I’m the worst possible kind of soulmate you could ask for.” Jack lifts a hand to his mouth and kisses the back of it gently. “I’m sorry for denying you the possibility of gettin’ to know him. He worked at the hotel. Where the weddin’ was.”

"That's why you backed out?" That little act of affection, as simple as it is, has you squeezing your mouth shut quickly so you don't sigh wistfully or something equally ridiculous. "If you had told me, I would have understood."

“I—” He shakes his head and sighs. “I’m— it’s been a long time since I’ve had to explain myself, sugar. And I was feelin’ fucking guilty because of - well, that kiss. Because if Diana hadn’t interrupted us, I would have had you spread out on your counter.”

"I think my exact words were that I would have worn a dress if I'd known you'd come by horny." It stings, still, but you have to laugh at yourself. If you don't you'll just...shrivel up somehow. "I would have let you. Happily."

“I know. I know you would have. And it scared me.” Jack presses another kiss to the back of your hand. “Because I know how easy it would be to love you, sugar. So I ran like a damned coward.”

"I stayed away." It's almost like you're begging somehow, pleading to be told that you did the right thing, even though you're fairly certain that there is no right or even better thing to do in this circumstance. You would genuinely be shocked if anyone in the world had ever been in this situation ever before. "I stayed away and I never asked you for anything except friendship. I tried to do what was going to make you happy, I swear."

“Honey, you were never the problem.” Jack assures you, looking up and begging you to believe him. “I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me. Never. You are kind and good and sweet and sexy, I— I fucked up.”

"Hate you?" You huff, shaking your head. Your reaction is instant, disbelieving, and out of your mouth before you can stop yourself. "I love you, you idiot. I've done everything you ever asked no matter how much it hurts because I love you."

Jack closes his eyes and inhales shakily. “Sugar, I don’t deserve your love.” He whispers softly. “I pushed you away, I didn’t protect you, I hurt you.” He opens his eyes and there’s a definite wobble to his chin as he tries to compose himself. “But all I could think about was getting to you. Making sure that the other portions of my soul was safe.” He swallows. “I love you too, sugar. I do.”

There's nothing in his face that tells you he's lying, or that he's forcing himself. If anything, he looks...relieved. Your eyes roam every minute expression you can see, trying to digest the situation and realizing that you might both have come around to this in the most monumentally dramatic and fucked up way possible - but that you still both came around to it. Whether that's the soulmate connection or the threat of almost losing each other making you be honest with yourselves, you can't ever know. "Really?"

“Really.” Jack bends down and kisses your hand again, one and then the other. Inching closer to you from his position on the floor in front of you. It’s not something he would do for anyone but he had meant it when he said he would grovel. “It’s why I ran, why I fought it so hard. Because I knew. I fucking knew that I was going to love you. And I do but I don’t want to fight it anymore.”

"What do you want, then?" Whatever it is, if there's any way for you to give it to him, the way your heart has jumped up into your chest tells you with absolute certainty that you'll give it to him.

“I wanna take you out on a date.” Jack decides, knowing that things need to be taken slow. “I want- would you go to therapy with me?” It surprises him that it comes out of his own mouth, but he’s not going to take it back.

"That's the weirdest damn proposal in history." He's down on his knees asking so formally that the whole thing would just read like a comedy routine if it weren't so serious. "Get up, Jack. And...help me sit up? I feel like an astronaut in this thing and this is an important conversation."

Jack pushes to his knees and helps you sit up. “Slowly— you can feel a little dizzy when you’re first gettin’ out of one of these.” He knows that firsthand.

He's completely right, annoyingly so, and you cling to his hand for a second while you adjust to sitting up again and the dizziness subsides. It reminds you of the time you got vertigo at that theater in Boston years and years ago. "Okay." Once you're feeling a little more like yourself, you breathe out slowly and tilt your head at him. "So...you want to take me on a date...to couples therapy? Do I have that right?"

“No.” Jack chuckles, shaking his head and rolling his shoulders down. “I’d like you to go out on a date with me. But then I’d also like to attend a couple’s therapy session with you. To work out the problems between us. To let you get out your issues and better explain mine.” He shrugs. “I don’t want to hurt you again.”

"Our issues aren't a little..." You cringe slightly. "Classified? Unless...Statesman probably has a therapist on staff, doesn't it?"

“They do.” Jack nods. “It’s the one that I saw before I – when I was such an ass to you. Got my tail handed to me for that.” He confesses, embarrassed at his behavior.

"Jack..." His hand is still in yours from helping you sit up, and you hold onto it a little harder out of nerves. "I don't want you to do this just because of what happened. But if you actually want to give us a chance?" You might just be able to muster some tears if he actually wants to be with you. Joy instead of sadness or fear. "Then my answer is going to be yes every time."

“I was watchin’ your cabin.” Jack murmurs softly. “Waitin’ for you to come out so I could talk to you. Apologize and ask if you would have dinner with me. To let me try to make it up to you.”

"Yes." It's as simple as that, as far as the request goes, and you rub your thumb gently over the back of his hand. "Anytime, anywhere."

Even though he’s relieved that you would be willing to entertain the idea of stepping out with him, Jack chuckles. “I don’t deserve you, sugar. At all.” He promises, staring into your eyes and wondering how you can be willing to do that after being beaten because of him. “Is there anything you want to know? Right now? About— what happened?”

“I don’t understand most of it,” you admit, wishing you could live in the glow of Jack’s willingness to give you a try but knowing that questions and answers will be less traumatic now than they would be down the line. Letting worries or wonderings fester won’t help either of you in the long run. “He liked to hear himself talk, so there was a lot that he said that I didn’t understand. But…who was he? Just someone from your past?”

Jack sighs, lifting a hand and smoothing your hair back again. “Do you want me to tell you here, or do you want to go home? Curl up with a hot toddy?” He offers softly. He knows your throat doesn’t hurt anymore, but it might be more comfortable than in Ginger’s lab.

“Will you ask Ginger if it’s okay for me to leave?” Going home and curling up with Jack sounds monumental, but you’ve never been one to go against a doctor’s advice. If she says you need to stay put, you’ll keep sitting here. Although the things you’d do for a shower and some clean clothes are pretty extensive.

"Ging?" Jack knows that Ginger is going to respond immediately when he presses the button on his watch.

"Yes Jack?" The answer comes through the speaker and allows you to hear her as well.

"Can I take her home?" He asks, keeping a hold on your hand and giving you a small smile.

"All the injuries are healed; she is okay to go home but I do want to follow up tomorrow after she's rested and get her scheduled with Dr. Masters." She tells Jack before he addresses you. "I want you to rest. Don't go into the restaurant today. Or tomorrow. Your sous chef is taking care of everything and your family has all been assured that you are okay. We are sending the jet for them to come see for themselves tomorrow. I managed to hold them off until then."

“What did you tell them?” Knowing your family, they would have demanded details. A journalist mother and a nosy father are not the kind of people that take ‘no’ for an answer or accept vague assurances.

“That you had been involved in a corporate espionage ordeal and the ATF was in charge for now.” The slight misuse of government names had proved ideal to get them to back off.

“My father is going to be making rum runner jokes for a year once he sees I’m okay.” You laugh, shaking your head and relishing the warmth of Jack’s hand still firmly in yours. As much as you want to resume your normal life and just put your head down at work, you know they’re right. You need rest and distance. At least the rest of your staff is excellent - Tripp Rollins notwithstanding. “Okay. Home, then. Home to rest.” Your eyes move to Jack and find him watching you intently. “And to talk a little bit more.”

Jack nods, helping you stand up and if he didn’t think you would yell at him, he would just pick you up and carry you. The clothes you had been in were ruined and cut off of you, so you are now in just a clean set of scrubs that were used when the lab gets messy. “We’ll get you home and I promise we will talk about whatever you want for as long as you want.”

“And maybe eat something?” The smile you shoot him is sheepish, but you’re just starting to realize how hungry you are. “I think the last time I ate anything was days ago.”

“Shit, yeah. I’ll— I’ll make you something.” Jack promises, hating how you’ve been treated. They could have fucking fed you.

“We’ll manage.” You’re not about to let go of him, but you do feel okay other than being tired. Jack walks you through the building, holding every door and helping you down every step, and you have a feeling that if he could he’d have just carried you all the way to the Bronco to make sure not so much as a pebble even got in your way. Once he has you settled in the truck it takes no time at all to get back to your neighborhood, and you sigh in quiet relief to see your little house again.

“Sorry I went inside.” Jack moves the lever into park and looks over at you once he’s parked beside your cabin, his Bronco tucked in next to the little car that was yours. “But I didn’t really go through anything.”

“It’s okay.” Being home again - and you really do think of it as home - is more peaceful and reassuring than you had expected, and you lean on his shoulder for a second. “If you hadn’t, who knows what would have happened to me.”

“I don’t even want to think about that, sugar.” Jack’s voice breaks and he opens the door to the Bronco to step out and help you out of the truck.

“You’re getting soft on me, Jack.” You tease, nudging him a little on the porch. The biometric scanner that opens your door isn’t satisfying like a physical key is, but you appreciate the security of it now more than ever.

“I don’t think you understand how badly I wanted to— how I hated myself for not getting to you sooner. For every second you spent in their gasp.” Jack murmurs, guiding you inside and closing the door behind you. He guides you to the couch and helps you down even though you can walk. “I’ll make you something to eat.” He promises, knowing that you would have plenty in your fridge, even if it was just the makings for some kind of sandwich or omelet.

“I really don’t understand.” The care with which he’s tucked you in on the couch makes you not want to get up again, convinced he’ll just come back to retuck if you fuss. But you twist around a little to be able to watch him in your kitchen, surprised when your chest clenches watching him in your space. Your sanctuary. “I thought you hated me. And even if I understand now why you were acting the way you were, it still…” You bite your lip momentarily and look down at your hands, remembering the scars you had removed for him. “It’s going to take a while for me to process, that’s all.”

“I’m not asking for anything, sugar.” Jack promises you. “Take all the time you need.” He opens the fridge and hums when he sees all the options and looks over at you. “What are you feeling like eatin’? You want some tea? Or that hot toddy I promised you?”

“A hot toddy sounds good.” Deciding that you don’t care what time of day it is, you nod. Surely being a victim of kidnapping disqualifies you from petty things like waiting until the afternoon to drink. “I’m pretty sure there’s leftovers in there from the night before I left. Probably enough for two, if you’re into reheated chicken pot pie for breakfast.”

“How about some chicken pot pie and some garlic bread?” He asks, finding half a loaf of French bread on the counter. “Unless you want me to make you an omelet? I’m not as good as you are, but I won’t kill ya with my cookin’.”

“Good garlic bread is worth its weight in gold.” Even the sound of it has you salivating and your stomach rumbling. “Let’s use the leftovers. I’d hate for them to waste.” You’re tempted to suggest omelets for dinner - one of your favorite comfort meals - but don’t want to presume that he’ll be spending the entire day with you.

"Okay. I'm going to use this garlic you've got in the fridge." The pot of garlic confit is only recognizable because Abigail craved it while she was in her second trimester. She would slather it on everything, making Jack joke that at least they knew she wasn't carrying a vampire. He chuckles to himself as he pulls it out along with a hunk of cheese to grate over the top.

“I have a feeling that if I offer to help I’m going to get a dirty look, otherwise I’d be in there with you.” It’s equal parts soothing and wrenching to watch him, and if you were feeling a little saucier you’d probably be focused on his ass as he moves around your kitchen.

"You're gonna sit your pretty little ass right there and let me take care of you." Jack warns, raising a brow at you before he flips the kettle on to boil water for your tea. "I was helpless when you were unconscious. All I could fuckin' do was hold you and pet your damn hair. Now I can make sure you're okay."

“You stayed with me?” After everything he’s said today, you’re not really sure why that surprises you. But reconciling Jack’s apparent true feelings for you to how he’s acted around you for the last few weeks isn’t exactly easy.

"Haven't left your side since gettin' out of that fuckin' warehouse." Jack admits, not looking over at you and instead focusing on mixing the garlic confit with butter to spread onto the soft interior of the bread so he can toast it.

“Shit…” The curse is soft under your breath, but it comes with a shake of your head and a fond smile that he can’t see. “We really have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

"We do and I guess that we should start at the beginnin'." Jack sighs, knowing that telling the story of his background would be easier while he's concentrating on something other than talking. It's not something he enjoys rehashing. "The Rollins boys and I have a history that is long convoluted. My family and his, settled into the same valley in the 1800s and started ranches."

“Hatfield and McCoy style shit?” It’s the first set of names that comes to mind with the whole ‘blood feud’ thing, which is certainly what all of the crazy shouting had sounded like.

"Kinda....'cept my family didn't engage in the crazy. It started as a land dispute. Which I'm sure was violent back then. But..." He shakes his head. "It seems like they've always had a few screws loose. And when our ranch was surviving when theirs was goin' under, it seems to make the grudge even worse."

“I don’t even know where you’re from.” It seems to occur to you out of nowhere, even as you watch him studiously avoid looking at you while he cooks. “I mean I would have guessed Southern, but I’m not exactly an ace with accents. You could be from Alaska for all I know.”

"I'm from Montana, but I've picked up more of a twang since I've been here." He tells you with a small grin. "Settlin' into my surroundings it seems."

“So you’re telling me I’ll be saying y’all in no time?” Small smiles are still warm ones, and you can feel your cheeks burn a little. He’s handsome no matter what, but when he smiles it’s a whole different level. “Go on. I’m sorry I interrupted.”

“Don’t be sorry.” He starts grating the cheese on top of the breath and butter mixture. “Abigail was— I knew she was mine from the playground. We were—hell we were swingin’ and I saw the scar I got from bein’ thrown from my horse and breakin’ my arm when I was nine. But Hank—” Jack shakes his head. “He always wanted what I had. Claiming that he was her soulmate. So we kept things quiet until high school.”

“I heard him claim it.” It was nothing you could have seen, obviously, but you heard every word that passed between the two men in that room. “He faked her scars, didn’t he? To try to pretend?”

“Yeah. Crazy bastard.” He growls, Hank’s confession of being behind Abigail’s death rocketing through him again. “I— we got married after high school. I was gonna run the ranch, take over for my daddy and let him enjoy his golden years. Although the man would have still poked his nose in and gotten up before the sun.” Jack chuckles. “She got pregnant right away. Everyone swearing she was expectin’ on our wedding day, but we actually waited.”

“Oh god…” You barely muffle a gasp. “You were just kids…”

“I’m not that old, sugar.” Jack huffs, turning around and placing the bread into the oven so he can work on heating up the chicken pot pie. “After - after she and the baby died, I took off. Joined the military and tried not to go back. Only went home when they buried my daddy.”

“Military?” That part surprises you a little, but the line from active service to private sector spy probably isn’t that difficult to traverse.

“Had a death wish.” He admits with a shrug. “Didn’t give a damn about anything, especially that fuckin’ valley, so it seemed like a good idea. Champ recruited me from there.”

“For what it’s worth?” You’re sitting up, hands in your lap as you play with the blanket that he spread out over you. “I’m glad that wish never came true.”

“I don’t know about that, sugar.” Jack hums, feeling guilty about all of it. “If it had, you woulda met your original soulmate and wouldn’t have been tortured at the hands of a fuckin’ psycho.”

“And who knows what that might have been like?” You’ve thought it over and thought it over so many times that you feel like you’ve tried to imagine every possibility even if that’s not possible. “Having my little tearoom has been my dream for my whole life and I know for a fact that I got it because of you. What would I have gotten in Boston? Definitely not a big enough paycheck to open my own place, that’s for sure.”

Jack wondered when you were going to bring up why you got your restaurant. “Champ is still thrilled at the idea.” He murmurs. “The word is spreading and Diana is tellin’ everyone comin’ in for tours.”

“Diana’s the one who ‘fessed up,” you admit. “We have lunch together at least twice a week…it’s kind of a ritual now.”

“You deserve it.” Jack insists, his reaction to your food hadn’t been an act. He loved everything you let him try. “Though they do try to make soulmates happy. It’s not easy bein’ with an agent.”

“I do…want to, you know.” Now that you’ve come to it – to the topic. The possibility. It makes you nervous. Something else could happen. Someone else could consider you a target. But…for Jack? You would have died zip tied to that chair for Jack. You had accepted that inevitability. “Be with you, I mean.”

Jack looks up from his task, spooning the chicken pot pies into bowls to heat up and he stares at you for a moment. “I— I want that too.” He confesses softly.

“I know it won’t be perfect.” Slipping out from under the blanket, you stand from the couch to cross the small divide, and you end up smiling at him like a dopey schoolgirl with her first crush from the other side of the kitchen counter. “But I would rather have something imperfect than have to spend another day pretending I’m not in love with you.”

“It’s another reason why I want to do therapy with you.” Jack admits, looking up and smiling at the expression on your face. “I come with a lot of baggage and I’ve hit you with a lot of it, but I don’t want you carryin’ it for me.”

“Don’t worry.” The soft look of love turns to one of teasing so easily. “I think we’ve proven that we’re a lot more likely to fight than to not speak up.”

“I’m tired of fighting.” Jack huffs, shaking his head. “And it’s not worth it when I know for a fact that I’m sunk.”

It’s like your own private miracle to hear him say it, and you inch closer at the counter while he works. “You don’t have to decide any time soon, because I feel like we should probably be slow and steady and all that…all things considered. But if you don’t want to get married again, I’ll understand completely. I’m not trying to take Abigail’s place and we don’t have to say another word about it ever again if you don’t want to. I only want to do what will make both of us happy.”

Jack turns around and shoves the first bowl into the microwave and covers it with a paper towel. “Sugar, I don’t want to count that out.” He tells you as he turns back towards you. “And I don’t think that you are tryin’ to take her place.”

“I just want you to know that I’m not gonna be sitting around here counting days for you to propose, that’s all.” Most soulmates would have been married already, at least from what you’ve seen and heard. The fact that you and Jack have known each other for months and only kissed once is extremely rare. “If we get there, we get there. And if we decide not to, that’s okay, too.”

“We’re kinda in uncharted territory here, aren’t we sugar?” He murmurs, stepping closer to you and sighing. “Second soulmates and tip-toeing around each other.”

“Seems like...” The forgotten tea kettle on the stove hisses angrily, shrieking to life with a shrill whistle that makes both of you cringe and laugh, spoiling the thick tension for now but easing some of the mood in the room.

“Why are you willin’ to forgive and forget?” Jack asks curiously, his turn to learn more about you. “You should hate me.”

“Maybe I should. I don’t know.” Since he hasn’t shooed you back to the couch, you move to pour hot water into the mug he has waiting for you - tea bag and whiskey already at the ready. “But the second you walked into the kitchen that first day Champ was pretending to interview me, you— you just took my breath away. And maybe all the bullshit would make some people pause. Maybe it should make me pause, I don’t know. But it just seems like a test to me now. That first week, getting to know you and spend time with you was everything I wanted. But the universe had to make sure I knew that things wouldn’t be easy, and maybe we’ll have plenty more bumps in the road in the years to come. But at least we know now that we can get past it, ya know?”

“I agree.” Jack murmurs, turning back to check on the garlic bread so he doesn’t burn it.

"I think we got dealt a difficult hand." You shrug, stirring your tea. "It's how we play it that counts."

“Yes it is.” He pulls the garlic bread out and right after that the microwave dings, making him hurry to put it down so he can pull out the bowl and put in the next one.

"I hated dating after I found out you're my soulmate." Studiously avoiding his eyes, you pull forks out of the drawer and plates for garlic bread out of the cupboard. The tray you keep on the counter can easily transport everything into the living room all at once. "Trying to force myself to not think about you was its own special kind of hell."

“Well, it seems like we are more alike than we thought.” Jack admits. “Because I hated you dating. Do you know how many nights I sat on my porch wishing those bastards would leave?”

It pains you to realize that you hurt him even accidentally, but you had been doing what you thought he wanted: moving on, trying to let him live his life, not force a new soulmate on him. If you had known what he was feeling, you never would have done any of it. You would have sat tight and let him work through things until he was ready to talk to you. "Never again." You can promise him that easily. "From now on the only person spending the night is you. Ya know...when we get to that point."

“You were doing what you wanted to, sugar.” Jack brings the bowl over to the countertop and searches for a knife to cut the bread. “I’d rejected you. Didn’t expect you to live like a monk. It just— I couldn’t— I hated that I wasn’t there instead of them and I hated myself for wantin’ that.”

"I was doing what I thought I was supposed to." The bread knife from your block is within arm's reach and you place it gently in front of Jack. "I'm glad to put it behind me."

“Me too.” Jack won’t tell you how many sleepless nights he had because of you, because of the entire situation. It wouldn’t be fair, but you know he wrestled with this ordeal a lot. “Thanks.”

With everything ready, Jack loads up the tray but only lets you carry your mug into the living room. You settle in again, letting the large throw blanket cover both of your laps, and eagerly reach for the garlic bread he made when he seems satisfied that you have everything you need. "Oh, holy shit." The hum turns into a throaty giggle, a pleased sound that comes with an expression so blissful that your eyes have closed on their journey to rolling back in your head. "It's so fucking good."

“I have made a lot of garlic bread in my day.” Jack chuckles, watching you enjoy yourself as you eat something he has made for a change.

“I’ll be calling you up every time I want to make Italian for dinner.” It’s a nice little thought - domestic - and you feel like you ought to be pinching yourself over this reality. One where Jack actually returns your affection.

He hums and nods. “Let me know. Like I said, I became an expert.” He takes a bite of your pot pie and moans at the flavor.

"So." His reaction makes you grin, always pleased when he likes your food. Which is every time, granted, but some things he obviously likes more than others. Your pot pie, apparently, is a big thumbs up. "Do you want to have our first real date tonight, or do you want to wait until after my family visits?"

“That is up to you.” Jack decides. “But you need to rest. You—it was a lot for you to go through. I know agents that could crack in that situation. You deserve a night off.”

"I can't decide if it will be more wildly uncomfortable for them all to be able to interrogate you about your intentions before or after the fact." Knowing that the only thing that could stop your family from being well-meaning but overbearing, you take a sip of your tea and shrug. "We can just not tell them yet. About...what we are to each other."

“You’re my soulmate.” He’s come to accept that, tired of fighting it even though there isn’t a mark on your bodies to distinguish that fact anymore. “I’m not going to hide that from your family.”

"Well, then prepare yourself for childhood stories, endless teasing, and extremely unsubtle hints about how my sister didn't fit into my mother's wedding dress so it's my moral obligation to wear and fulfill her life dream of passing it on." It warms you right from the inside to hear him actually say the words out loud, tingling through you like sparks crackling under your skin.

Jack snorts and shakes his head. “We just have the Daniels family veil.” He tells you. “It’s considered a requirement for any wedding in our family.”

"Then I hope they match." Your head shake matches his, and you both end up smiling a little more sheepishly than before. "My family is great. Don't let me give you the wrong impression or anything. They just get really excited."

It’s strange to think about weddings, but he’s not panicking, so it’s an improvement. “You can tell them whatever you want. I’m actually easy going.” He manages this lie with a straight face.

"Bullshit." You snort, reaching for your garlic bread with a smirk. "I'll tell them the truth, and you just be yourself. Your not-at-all easy going self."

“I’m complicated, but I’m also a professional spy sugar.” He reminds you with a smirk. “It’s a part of the package.”

"I don't mind that you're particular. It's a hell of a lot better than guys who have no opinion about anything and half the time you feel like you're just playing a guessing game trying to figure out if they even care about anything at all." Just being able to sit and talk is more relaxed than you've felt in weeks, even if sometimes it does make you a little jittery. It's the good kind of jittery. Excited.

“What do you want to do?” Jack asks, sitting back and watching you closely. The swelling is gone, the contusions healed, bones mended, but he can see that every time he glances back at you. Never wanting to see it again.

"When we go out?" Go out. With him. On a date. You hope you're hiding your beaming smile well enough behind your drink. "I'm the easy going one, Jack. We could go sit in the backyard and watch the stars and I'd still love it." All you need is for him to be there, but you're afraid that saying it will be too overbearing.

He huffs at you and shakes his head. “That’s not a very good date.” He grumbles at you. “Although it’s a romantic one.”

You tilt your head at him, wondering how many dozens or hundreds of dates he's been on over the years with women he never wanted to spend serious time with. How many times it might have been boring, or he might have wished he had chosen something else altogether. How many times he actually had fun and didn't want to admit it to himself. "What's something you've never done before?" You ask him, wondering if there even is such a thing.

Jack thinks about it for a moment and grins. “Never took a girl up in the Pony Express.” He answers finally. “Always wanted to.”

"You're on." You agree immediately, knowing that he loves that plane and genuinely finding yourself surprised that he's never used it to impress anyone before. That would have been a go-to move if you were him.

He raises his brow and grins at you. “Really? You want to take a ride on the Pony Express?” He asks, shuffling closer.

“Well now you’re making it sound dirty.” The grin on your face as you set down your bowl is pronounced, but you’re not going to pretend you don’t like how excited he is at the prospect. Like a kid getting to show off his favorite toy.

“I mean, it could be dirty.” He grins at you and sends you a small wink. Flirting with you has never been hard and now it seems as natural as breathing.

“And here I was thinking you would want to go slow.” It seems an almost silly thought, since you had been on the receiving end of the mild form of his flirting right when you had first known him.

There is a serious look to his eyes even though the wicked curve of his lips is there. “Sugar, we can go as slow as you want.” He promises.

“I want us to do what feels right for us.” Maybe it’s a cop out, you don’t know. But since you would have happily taken him home with you after that trip to Shootouts the very first day you met, you have an inclination that maybe ‘slow’ isn’t in the cards. “I just don’t want you to feel pressured.” That’s the key.

Jack chuckles and shakes his head. “Sugar, I would have taken you to bed the first night. Especially if I didn’t know who you were to me.” He puts his own bowl down and picks up your hand. “I just don’t wanna make you feel like I’m tryin’ to make up. I want you to feel like I’m here. In this.”

“Then let’s just see what happens naturally.” It’s good to know you’re both on the same page. To know that what you had felt right from the start was mutual and natural. “It might not be slow,” you admit sheepishly. “But it will be what’s right for us.”

“Right now, you need to eat.” Jack squeezes your hand before he lets you go. “Then I want you to take a nap. The hyperbaric chamber wasn’t sleep, it was you healing.”

“You don’t have to babysit me while I’m sleeping.” The offer is made gently, trying to be courteous and not be possessive of his time even though you want to be. “If you sat up with me while I was in that thing, then you need sleep too.”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere.” Jack insists, knowing he wouldn’t be able to stand having you out of his sight. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just stretch out on your couch and shut my eyes while you nap.” What he doesn’t say is that he will be checking on you every two minutes for his own peace of mind. The kidnapping had rattled him to the bone and it’s gonna take a while for him to settle down.

“This couch will wreak havoc on your back.” It’s stylish and attractive, and comfortable for sitting, but definitely not a good sleeping space. You found that out in your second week here. “If napping together is too forward of me to mention, you can at least use the guest room.” It doesn’t matter that you desperately want to find out what waking up with him is like. If he’s not comfortable with it, it’s a nonissue.

“No!” Jack jumps at the opportunity to curl around you and protect you while you sleep. “I—I mean, it’s okay if you want to nap together.” He tries to play it off subtly but is probably failing miserably. “I don’t…mind.”

The urge to tease him about it is so strong on the tip of your tongue, but it’s fully overruled by that blossoming, pleased feeling of warmth that unravels through all your limbs. “We’re both adults,” you reason, as though you’re not doing a happy dance and giggling on the inside. “We can survive a nap together, I’m all but certain of it.”

“We’re adults.” Jack nods, pointing at your food. “So finish your food, missy.” He teases. “This old man is tired, and you look like you need some sleep too.”

You roll your eyes at him dramatically but comply, picking up your bowl again to finish off your leftovers quickly. The warmth and calming effect of the hot toddy isn’t lost on you either, and by the time you’re done eating you’re smothering unsubtle yawns behind your hand. He doesn’t even let you load the dishwasher, shooing you upstairs to change into your pjs and get into bed. It seems like Ginger had gotten you cleaned up when they cut away your ruined clothes and got you into the scrubs, but you’ll probably shower after you wake up anyway. Just to feel clean again.

Jack takes his time, going through your home and securing it. Ridiculous, but it makes him feel better. Finally, he’s walking up the stairs, leaving his sports coat tossed over the back of a chair and hovers just outside the door. “Ready, sugar?”

“You’re not getting under these covers with your boots on,” you tell him, aiming for an amused tone and ending up grinning as you pat the empty space beside you with butterflies launching themselves around in your belly. “C’mon Jack. I don’t bite unless given permission.”

Huffing at you, Jack moves closer, toeing off his boots and placing them beside the bed before he looks at you again with his fingers on his belt buckle. “You sure? You want me to get comfortable?”

There’s a part of you that wants to tear that belt buckle open with your damn teeth, but it’s not the loudest part of your brain right now. It’s deeper than anything physical, and that’s the part that makes you hesitate. Honesty, you decide, nodding slowly. “I would feel safer.”

He’ll accept that. Slowly starting to undress as you slip under the covers and settle into your bed. He would feel more comfortable out of the tight jeans and button down, but he leaves his boxers on as he joins you. “Now we can get some sleep.”

It’s about safety, you tell yourself sternly. It doesn’t matter that he’s stripped down and your mouth is practically fucking watering. It doesn’t matter that your threadbare t-shirt and shorts are all that’s between you. It’s about safety. “Yup.” You gulp. “Sleep.”

“Do you mind if I hold you?” Jack asks as he turns towards you. You are tired but still so damn beautiful. “Maybe— I mean, you might feel safer.” He offers. “Knowing that I’m right here?” He will feel better, touching you but it’s your decision.

Mind?! You would have begged for it if necessary. But it’s also just…how you sleep if there’s someone else in the bed with you. “I would have ended up cuddling against you,” you admit, shutting off the light so he doesn’t see the embarrassment on your face. “I’m a cuddly sleeper. Sorry…I should have warned you.”

“That’s good, sugar.” Jack coos, drawing you into his arms with a happy rumble in his chest. Feeling relaxed for the first time since he discovered you were missing. You are safe, healthy (again) and in the protection of his arms. “You just curl into me and sleep as long as you like.”

******

It’s a good four or five hours that you sleep, held fast against his chest and so deeply that when you do toss or turn - the product of nightmares that you’re sure you should think about talking to that therapist about - you end up settling down with his shoulder as your pillow again before too long. The midafternoon sun is shining brightly through your windows when you start to move one last time, shifting lazily as though you’re trying to burrow even deeper into his side.

Jack actually sleeps, cradling you in his arms and feeling your gentle breathing against his hand. Reassuring him that you are safe and secure. Your warmth combines with his and creates a little cocoon under the sheets. Your leg wraps over his hip and he kisses you hair, settling back down and falling back under the sweet waves of sleep.

Even with the nightmares it might qualify as the best nap you’ve ever taken, and you try not to move too much when you finally open your eyes to the sight of Jack looking so peaceful in his sleep. Lips barely parted, skin flush with warmth, and immaculate hair mussed from the pillow, this might be your favorite sight in the whole world. The way it makes your heart swell and clench all at once is a beautiful new sensation. One you want to hang on to for as long as possible.

For his part, Jack is blessed with dreamless sleep. Or maybe it's more that his brain is still fucked up from being shot, he can't be sure but he doesn't dream about seeing you bound to a chair and head covered with a gun to your head, thankfully. He grunts, feeling a slight movement and he starts to stir before tightening his arms around you. "'s okay." He mumbles. "'m here."

“I know.” Taking a chance that the gesture won’t be too forward, you place a kiss on the back of his hand where it holds yours on his chest and revel silently in how good it feels. “Go back to sleep, Jack. Everything’s okay.”

He grunts again and hums, twitching slightly and stretching in the bed with you. "''ou awake?"

“More than you.” You laugh softly, almost more of a single breathy chuckle.

Finally managing to peel one eyeball open to tilt his head down and try to focus on you. "Makin' fun of me?" He huffs when he finally manages to clear the haze of sleep.

“Maybe a little.” The grin that splits your face is beaming, and you don’t care to hide it. “You’re cute when you’re all sleepy.”

It's natural, the way his lips pout, shooting you a narrowed eyed playful glare. "I didn't get any sleep."

“Close your eyes, then.” It’ll keep you from kissing the pout right off of his face if he does, and that might be the only thing that can stop you. “I know you stayed up to keep an eye on me. We can spend today drifting in and out of sleep.”

"Is that what you want to do?" The rasp of his voice is deep, laced with sleep and the need to clear his throat. "Or do you want to get up?"

“Nah.” Shaking your head and nuzzling closer feels like an absolute dream. “I wanna stay right here with you. We’ll order pizza for dinner and I’ll text my mom to see what time they’re flying in tomorrow, but let’s stay in bed.”

Jack grunts and rolls you over to where you are on your side, facing away from him so he can wrap his body around yours. "Then go back to sleep, sugar." He murmurs in your ear.

It’s easy to do just that, letting yourself be absorbed by the comfort and safety of Jack’s broad frame at your back and his steady breathing in your ear. There are no more nightmares, mercifully, just good dreams. Specifically dancing, hips swaying in your sleep like you’re having a premonition of some wonderful date that has yet to happen.

Jack Daniels had always had a healthy sexual appetite and since you’ve been in Kentucky - hell, since he killed your soulmate, he’s been abstaining. So it should surprise no one that he ends up hard as a Texas rock in a heat wave, pressed up against your ass like he is melted into you. Still sound asleep.

It might have been what woke you up. Or it might have been the way your dreams turned to other things with Jack - not just dancing. Either way, the evidence of what brought those thoughts on is pressed snuggly against your ass when you start to stir again hours later. You practically groan at the feeling, realizing that it’s not because he’s moving beside you but because his thick hard on is twitching eagerly against your ass. If you were any kind of decent you would ignore it. You would just take the subtle, unconscious compliment and not say a word later on. Besides, you shouldn’t even be thinking about anything sexual after what you went through over the last two days. But maybe that’s exactly why your body reacts the way it does. The need to feel alive and more like yourself overwhelming you, melding with your attraction to your soulmate and making your hot cunt flood with arousal as you studiously try not to guess how long Jack’s cock is. He’s sound asleep, you tell yourself when you shift a little and he just keeps on dozing. He’s sound asleep and he’ll never know. This is just your secret. That’s what you tell yourself when you crush your eyes shut and slip your hand into your pajama shorts to coat your fingers in slick that will make them glide over your clit so gorgeously.

Jack’s breath huffs against your neck, deep and slow as he sleeps. Groaning quietly as his arm around you tightens. Lost in the best damn sleep he’s gotten in weeks; he sighs softly as his cock throbs.

Being as careful as you can not to move his arm, the tight circles that you rub around your aching clit barely scratch the surface of the deep need that has built up so quickly. If you can manage to get yourself off without jarring him awake it will be a miracle, if he wakes up you'll have to pretend to be waking up and pray he doesn't smell your arousal in the air.

It takes another two seconds before Jack wakes up. A great thing about his training is that he doesn't change anything. His breathing stays the same and there is no movement this time. Allowing him to wake up more alert this time, listening to the sounds you are making.

It takes biting down on your lip to keep from whimpering out loud. To hold in the sighs and whining as tightly as you can. As much as instinct makes you want to drag this out and enjoy it, you have no idea how easily Jack might wake up and you do not want to have to explain that you just couldn't fucking control yourself imagining his thick cock sliding inside of you to throb and pulse in your pussy instead of against the curve of your ass.

You move subtly, softly grinding back as you work your clit. Jack's cock throbs even more and he doesn't want to interrupt you, he wants to take over. The beautiful pants that you are letting out are steadily gaining. Instead of speaking, Jack moves quickly, plunging his hand into your sleep shorts and pushing your fingers away in favor of his.

"Oh my— oh my GOD." The original exclamation of surprise is swept away by a deep moan and breathless pant, the sound finally breaking free of your lips as Jack's calloused fingers replace yours faster than you can blink. Your heart leaps into your throat but doesn't manage to stifle the gasp when he doesn't miss a beat, keeping the pace and pressure of how you touch yourself expertly.

"Imagine my surprise waking up to find you playin' your pretty pussy like it was a fiddle." He coos in your ear, wrapping your arm around your waist and pulling you back against him even more. "Apparently you're a dirty girl, sugar."

"How could I n—not?" You shudder in his arms, grinding back against his hard on shamelessly now that you have such obvious encouragement. "Waking up with you hard as fucking stone."

“’Course I was hard.” Jack rasps in your ear. “Always hard around you, sugar. You should have known that.” He knows that you didn’t know, because he’s been an ass, but with every swipe of his fingers, his cock pulses against your ass. “Drive me fucking crazy.”

"Don't know how you h-hide it," you pant heavily, moaning again when his fingers slip for just a bare second and nearly push inside you. "You wear the tiniest fucking jeans in the world."

Jack chuckles, the sounds vibrating through his chest. “Tucked under the belt, sugar.” He teases, wanting to push his fingers inside you but he doesn’t. He keeps the pressure on your clit.

"Fuck Jack." That thought is going to live rent free in your mind for an extremely long time, and you cling to his arm a little tighter with every firm rotation of his fingers. "Of course you're a fuckin' tease."

“How am I teasin’?” His tone is syrupy sweet and full of mischief, teasing. “I’m givin’ you what you want, aren’t I?” He hums, lips pressed against the shell of your ear and his thumb swooping in to press against that little button while he plunges two thick fingers into you like he had been wanting.

"Fuuuck." The gasp you let out is sharp, keening as you grind your hips down on his fingers shamelessly. Every time you rock back you end up feeling the heat of his cock against you and when you push forward his thumb is pressing against your clit with that perfect amount of extra pressure that makes you want to cry his name so loudly the neighbors will hear. "Your hands are so fucking big."

He chuckles again. “Use ‘em then, sugar.” He croons softly. “Want you to pour that sweet honey of your cunt into my hand.”

With his arm pinning your hands down there's no way you can do anything to help him except continuing to rock your hips, doing your best to ride his fingers like he so gorgeously requested while still giving him some kind of friction to enjoy for himself. What you really want is to strip away the thin fabric between you and find out exactly how thick that cock would feel inside you, but this is already crossing the line into definitely not moving slowly, so you're going to thoroughly enjoy this moment for all it's worth.

This is so wrong right now. Not because of who you are to him or anything. No, Jack’s accepted that. He accepted that the moment he knew that he was going to tear your kidnappers limb from limb for touching a hair on your head. This is because you are freshly healed. He shouldn’t take advantage of you like this when your emotional state is so off kilter. Still, he continues to grunt into your ear, pouring praises in it for you. “Good girl, sugar. I know you can do it. Ride my fingers.”

Good girl, sugar. You shudder, whimpering at how good he feels touching you and how he managed to goddamn guess at your praise kink. Or else it’s a perfect accident, making you cling to him that much tighter as you move. The coil of fire in your belly says you’re so near to your peak that you can practically taste it but the getting there is so sweet.

He can feel your body tensing, priming to explode under his hands. “Come on baby.” He urges you, letting go of your side to snake his hand under your thin shirt to squeeze your breast as he pushes his fingers deep and curls them up in a beckoning motion. Drawing you to your prize. “Cum for me.”

It feels like someone gave him a map of your pussy, letting him find all of your most sensitive points perfectly. When his fingers curl it’s like your whole body locks down. Your back arches against his chest and your cunt clenches down on his fingers, squeezing them tight as your orgasm slams into you with a strangled cry of his name dripping from your lips.

Jack loves it. Loves how you cry out his name. It's hoarse, but not because of your throat being bruised from screaming, but because you are overwhelmed. His cock pulses against your ass and he swears that he would cum if he slipped inside you right now. Instead he concentrates on your pleasure, making you ride out the sensations until you are limp against him.

"Fuck." The deep, throaty giggle that blossoms in the middle of your chest bubbles out of you as you catch your breath, and you bury your face in the pillow momentarily. "I know I was trying not to get caught but I'm really okay with you waking up."

He chuckles in your ear, squeezing your tit one more time before he reluctantly lets go and starts to unwind himself from your body. Easing his hips back so he can calm down. "Happy to help, sugar." He promises.

When he moves away you turn around, a frown painted on your otherwise relaxed face. "You don't want me to take care of you?" It's okay if he doesn't, obviously. Not pushing him into anything clearly includes not pressuring him into any kind of intimacy. But he should never doubt that you want him.

“Sugar— you’re still recovering.” He huffs towards you. “I don’t want to push that on you. I’m okay.”

"I'm okay, honey." You promise him, letting the little pet name warm through you. "When you're ready, I'm ready."

Jack knows that physically, you are probably better than you’ve ever been, but he knows what it’s like to not take a moment after a big ordeal. “Believe me, I want you sugar. That’s not the problem.”

"Then what is?" There's a box of tissues on your bedside table, and reaching for one or two to help him clean up seems kinder than sucking his fingers into your mouth like you want to. If something is bothering him then offering him the chance to open up is the best thing you can do. If he isn't ready to take it, that's up to him.

Jack wonders why you are grabbing tissues, but maybe it's because you don't like the way cum feels between your thighs. His fingers slip into his mouth and he groans at the tangy taste of your juices, imagining drinking them from the source and tasting you in his mustache. "I— I got shot about six months ago. In the head." He tells you quietly.

You barely manage to stifle a groan of your own, watching your slick disappear past his lips before you register what he's saying. "You—in the head?"

"Pointblank." Jack still doesn't remember anything beyond demanding the antidote from Eggsy and then waking up in Ginger's lab a completely different man. The man he had been after Abigail had died and he had gone through his whoring ways – ignoring the hole in his heart. "We have something called 'Alpha gel'. It's what saved my life."

"I'll be sending Ginger an incredibly large 'thank you' basket for that invention." It had seemed almost cartoonish when it was described to you during your tour of the lab after learning the truth about Statesman. "What the hell happened? Was it a mission?"

"It was." Jack sighs softly. "I – we were dealing with that Poppy Adams incident." He tells you, nodding when your eyes widen. "For obvious reasons, I held a very long, very personal grudge against drug dealers, drug users, drug pimpers, all of them." He frowns when he remembers that it hadn't been druggies. It had been Hank Rollins and his personal brand of crazy.

"I'm so sorry, honey." Whatever he's thinking, you'll let him get there in his own time. The fact that he's opening up to you is a very good thing. You just wish there was something more you could say to comfort him.

"That's not the point." Jack shakes his head and frowns more. Knowing that what he might say could possibly change your opinion of him. "After I was healed – in the hyperbaric chamber – I was different." He explains. "I would have never – ever – let my personal feelings get in the way of a mission, but I did. I wasn't thinking fully like myself." He takes a breath and meets your eyes finally. "I almost let everyone in the world who was affected die because of it."

Letting it sink in takes a moment. Working out his meaning until you shift your head on the pillow to find worry in his deep, brown eyes. "You're worried that I'm not myself?"

"You have to admit that you don't exactly know how you were affected in that chamber." Jack murmurs softly. "I wouldn't want you to wake up and realize that you wouldn't touch me. Or feel like I took advantage of you."

"Jack, I promise you didn't take advantage of me." If anything, you were the one pushing the envelope first, but you'll just leave that aside for now. "But if it will reassure you to wait a little while so you can see that I'm still the same me, then I completely respect that." Leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek, you offer him a smile and squeeze his hand for good measure. "But the least myself I've ever felt is these last two months trying to pretend that I didn't want to spend every spare minute with you. This finally feels right."

"Let an old man worry." He gets it, he really does, but he needs to be sure. The feelings that are budding in his chest aren't ones that will be pushed away easily. Losing another soulmate for real might actually kill him this time.

"Alright." You'll concede it for the sake of this brand new whatever you are-ship, but you don't make any moves to get out of bed or even out of his arms. "Let's make sure we go over it with the therapist, then?"

"As soon as we can." Jack promises, knowing that he wants nothing more than to slide into you right now and make both of you happy, but he needs to do the right thing by you, for once.

"It might be better if we distract ourselves?" You offer, knowing that the proximity of him and knowing what he can do with those overly large hands of his is going to make you focus on him alone unless you bring something else into the equation. "I can turn on the tv? Or order dinner if you're hungry? We've slept most of the day away."

"Whatever you want to do, sugar." Jack sends you a wry smile. "I can restrain myself from attacking you and making you scream my name." He teases with a small wink.

"I'm not so sure I have your restraint." A rueful shrug of your shoulders is the best you can do while you try to wipe the sheepish grin off your face, but you grab the television remote for the flat screen in your bedroom and turn on a movie channel on low for background noise.

"Are you saying you would have your wicked way with me?" Jack sounds scandalized but the grin on his face is undeniable. Mischievous and spread from ear to ear.

"Not without your eager consent." When you settle back down there's a smirk on your face that you try twisting into a dramatic frown, but it just doesn't work at all and you end up huffing a laugh. "Wanted you since the second I laid eyes on you. But I can wait."

"Believe me, sugar. I think you have more than enough proof that I want you." He glances meaningfully down between you and chuckles himself. "I just want to do right by you, for once."

"Which is why I turned on the tv." It would be completely awful of you to push, but you settle down again against his shoulder and pick up your phone from the bedside table. "And find out what time my family is getting here tomorrow. Distractions, so I don't take a peek under the blanket."

Jack snorts and shakes his head at you. "You can look all you want." It's fun to tease you, and he knows that things are going to progress faster than he would probably want, but that's okay.

"Not if you want me to keep my tongue to myself." You throw him the same kind of wink he used to aim at you when you first met and pull up the family text thread on your phone. There's been plenty of activity in these texts over the last few days but you ignore the worried and panicked messages for now. You don't have the stomach to read them right now.

"They are going to fuss over you." He reminds you. "Just like I'm fussing over you now."

"They'll see that I'm okay." There is no reason to involve your family in anything that happened in that warehouse in Brooklyn, and you're certainly not going to describe any of it to your siblings, so you'll probably keep the nightmares and any future possible PTSD bullshit under your hat as well. "I don't want them to worry about things they can't have helped or changed," you explain, when his brow furrows slightly. "I think...I might see the Statesman therapist on my own, too. For a little while at least. Just...to make sure I work through everything that happened properly. Pretending it wasn't a big deal isn't healthy."

"That's a good idea." Jack can firmly get behind it, knowing it will be good for you to talk it out with someone who had no part in what happened. You can talk to him, but he will always have a biased slant on you, so it is best you work with someone professionally.

"Turns out my soulmate has a few of those." Smiling when you put down your phone, you slip your hand into his easily.

"I'm glad you think so." Jack huffs playfully, squeezing your hand and giving you a soft smile.

"Well it was a damn good way to wake up from a nap, and you picked out the most beautiful dress I've ever worn in my life. So that's at least three excellent ideas you've had, counting therapy." Lifting his hand to your lips lets you leave a soft kiss there, and you revel in the ease of just being with him like this.

It's almost laughingly easy how this thing seems to flow between you when he's not fighting it. Making him shake his head at the irony of it all. "Sounds like I need to suggest orderin' pizza now, to make it four." He teases, remembering how you had mentioned wanting a pie later on.

You grin, letting the playful tone of his words warm you through until you giggle quietly and pick your phone back up again. "Do you have a favorite place to order from?"

"There's a secret place. Hole in the wall. It's called Tony's pizza shop. Best fuckin' New York pizza outside of the five boroughs." Jack groans. "Guy moved down from the city and I swear it's the only reason I don't have pizza flown in on the Statesman jet."

"Tony's it is." Handing your phone over so he can make the call feels as natural and low-key domestic as just lying in bed together could possibly be. "Whatever your favorite thing is from there, that's what we'll have for dinner."

"Porcini and truffle pizza coming up." Jack hums as he dials the number he knows by heart and waits for it to connect.

“Thanks for calling Tony’s.” The underwhelmed sounding teenager on the other end of the call smacks his gum into the receiver. “Pickup or delivery?”

"Delivery." Jack declares, rattling off the address of your cabin on the Statesman property and he looks over at you. "Can I get a medium porcini and truffle...and, uh, you got any special pies?" He asks, knowing that Tony was always creating something in that pizza oven of his. Feeling like you would enjoy the man, what with your own culinary creativity.

“Special of the day is the shakshuka pie with lamb sausage and a fried egg and fresh herbs on top.” The teenager reports, trying not to sound like he’s drooling over the phone. “It’s absolutely killer.”

It sounds like it would be right up your alley and Jack nods. “Lemme get one of those too.” He decides.

“Sure thing, Mr. Daniels.” It’s not like Jack isn’t a regular customer. Every employee there knows his voice after just a couple of words. “That’ll be thirty minutes. You want it on your tab?”

"Sure thing kid." Jack grins. "Tell the driver that if they get it here in twenty, it's a double tip." He promises, disconnecting the call after the boy agrees and waggles his brows at you. "Pizza'll be here in seventeen minutes."

Instead of sinking into him for a kiss like you want to – despite the fact that his fingers were inside you twenty minutes ago – you just smile and take your phone back to see if your mother has texted about their flight. “What kind of specialty did they have?” You ask, genuinely curious as to what passes for specialty or experimental flavors around here. If you were home you’d be fighting with your dad not to order clams or something equally bizarre.

“Shakshuka?” He asks, not quite sure what that means. “Lamb sausage with fried eggs and herbs?” He shrugs. “I just know if Tony sells it, it’s worth eating.”

“Ohhhhh I love shakshuka, that sounds amazing.” You’re instantly in a state of near-drooling that can normally only be achieved by sweets or a very attractive and usually naked man. “It’s basically a spicy Middle Eastern tomato sauce that sometimes has meat in it but can be a really killer vegetarian meal. You crack eggs into it and bake them like that to dip bread in.” A small, proud smile graces your lips but it’s just the warmth in your chest filling again. “If you like it, I’ll make you my version some morning for breakfast.”

“Sounds delicious.” Jack has always loved spicy meals anyway, though he might have to have an antacid now after dinner. Getting older changes things. “I think you’ll love Tony’s.”

“I hope so.” He has good taste, generally speaking, so you aren’t worried. Instead you lay back against your pillows and tap out a quick reply to your mother before putting your phone away. “My family are landing at noon tomorrow. Mom says Champ offered to send the jet for them, so they’re coming straight here. No airport trip.”

“I figured he would send the jet.” Jack hums. “Plus they have to get the Pony Express back.��

"And it looks like my brother-in-law is staying behind with the kids, so you'll be spared diaper changes while they're here." Who knows if he minds or not. If being around little kids still reminds him of his son. You wouldn't blame him if it did. "I say it like that, but I love them. My siblings are my best friends in the world."

“Why are the littles staying behind?” Jack asks, frowning slightly. “Between my cabin and yours, there should be enough room for everyone.”

"If you want to meet everybody at once, I can tell them to come." Anybody else might have considered it a blessing to be able to only meet a portion of your loud, enthusiastic family the first time, but Jack looks positively offended that they aren't all descending on Louisville en masse. "They know I only have one guest room here, so they probably figured there wasn't enough room. I don't...you don't have to give up your space to my family, Jack. I can't ask you to do that."

"I don't mind." Jack shakes his head and twists to look at you fully. "You deserve to have all of your family here. I'm sure they all want to be here." He sends you a half smile. "Family comes first, sugar. If I need to bunk somewhere else, I can - but you tell all of them to come."

"There aren't so many of them that we'd run you out of your own home." That would be unforgivable in your opinion, and you're fairly certain your grandma Jane's spirit would rise up and smack you upside the head for it, as well. "Champ's sent an email that I'm not supposed to go back to work at all this week. Only doctor's appointments and spending time with my family. So I promise I'll keep them busy. You'll only have to spend time with us when you choose to."

Jack snorts and gives you a shrug. "I can make myself scarce sugar, you don't have to make it seem like it would be a blessin'." He promises, sure that once you explain how he had treated you, he wouldn't be well liked by your family anyway.

"That's not when I meant." Embarrassment flushes hot in your cheeks and you sink under the covers. "I would love for you to spend time with us. Time to get to know my family and time that you and I can spend getting to know each other better. I'm just apparently more paranoid about you feeling forced into anything than I thought I was."

"How 'bout this?" He poses seriously, sliding down to where he was once again eye level with you. "You tell me where to be and when to be there and I'll be on time." He offers, sending you a small wink. "Plus, I have a bigger kitchen and three spare bedrooms."

"If you let me use your kitchen I might never leave." It's a joke, of course it is, but it still makes you smile and you shift forward on your pillow until you're almost nose to nose. "Thank you, Jack. You have no idea how much it means to me."

"It's not a problem, sugar." Jack loves the way you light up at the prospect of having your entire family around you and he wants to encourage it. "You can always bunk with me to make another bed available if needed." He teases, winking at you playfully.

"Sure," you huff playfully, adding a dramatic eye roll to make him laugh. "If you wanna see how really little self restraint I really have, I will absolutely share a bed with you."

Chuckling, Jack reaches out and cups your cheek. "You mean you couldn't restrain yourself with me walkin' around my room naked as a jaybird?"

"No. Absolutely not. No way in hell." The answer is immediate and sure, and you shake your head emphatically. "I can barely restrain myself now and you've already gotten me off once today."

Jack's grin blooms on his face and he leans in, raising a brow at you. "Sounds like you're needin' to get to the therapist then, sugar." He's not above a little blackmail to make sure you get the help you need to process everything. So that you don't end up as fucked up as he is.

"Ugggggh." Groaning even more dramatically this time, you practically wail in hysterics that you can barely get through without giggling at yourself. Throwing one arm over your eyes, you toss yourself onto your back and sigh as loudly as you can. "Why did I have to get the only man in the world who wants a healthy, lasting relationship and won't just tear my clothes off?"

That makes Jack stare at you for a moment, realizing what you are saying is true. Normally he would be that man, but he’s not. Just like with Abigail, he is taking it slow. He hums. “Sorry sugar, clothes ripping will happen later.”

"Just as long as it happens eventually." You tease, peeking out from behind your hand and grinning at him. "Physical strength is a turn-on and I will never deny it."

“Is it?” He contemplates that seriously and smirks. “So sweeping you off your feet literally will get me into your panties?” He asks, arching an eyebrow at you as he asks, as if there would be any answer other than ‘yes’.”

"Since you've already technically been in my panties, I don't see the harm in being honest." It's easy. So easy with him. Even as much as you've enjoyed other men's company, no one has ever made you feel quite the way that Jack does on a basic level. It's almost its own kind of therapy right here in bed. "The night we went to the bar together?" You raise an eyebrow right back at him. "I touched myself thinking about that barfight for days."

“I might have been showin’ off just a bit.” Jack admits, smirking slightly. “Believe me, I wanted to show off, fuck– I probably could have bent you over the hood of the Bronco in the parking lot, couldn’t I?”

The groan that elicits from you is pitiful, as much a whimper as anything else as you squeeze your thighs together and consider yourself lucky that he can't see you doing it. "Yeah," you admit, not even upset about it for a second. "In a heartbeat."

“Hmmm.” Jack grunts, the conversation not helping his throbbing cock, but he is learning about his soulmate. “Exhibitionist.” He intones solemnly.

"Only a couple of times." It's barely a defense, and you bite your lip for a second while you contemplate how much to tell him. "Three times grand total." He stares at you for a moment in shock before he throws his head back and laughs. A deep belly jiggling laugh that echoes through the room. "What?" Your cheeks burn all over again and his contagious laughter takes you right along with it. "I'm just being honest!"

“Nothing.” He shakes his head, not wanting you to think that he’s making fun of you. “It’s a good thing, I promise.”

"Have we got matching kinks or something?" It's one of those things that people with soulmates - like your sister - talk about all the time. That sexual compatibility is supposed to be part of the package.

“I have no problem with anywhere, anytime.” He assures you with a wink.

Saved from whatever dramatic groan your mind is about to make, your ringtone cuts through the boisterous tone of the room and you glance at the unsaved number before realizing you shouldn’t send it to voicemail. “That must be dinner. You want me to throw on my robe and go down while you answer, or the other way around?”

“I’ll go get the food.” Jack shuffles out of the bed and grabs his pants so he can slide them on and take his wallet out to pay.

Meeting him downstairs means throwing a sweatshirt over your thin t-shirt, and you're just walking down the stairs when he shuts the door with two pizza boxes in his hand. "I'll grab drinks and plates if you want to bring those into the living room."

“So you aren’t an eat in bed type of girl?” He asks, smirking slightly at the very messy look that you have going for you. It’s cute and he can imagine you cooking just like this.

"Snacks or a drink, maybe. But not so much for meals." You do crack a grin, though, reaching the floor and wiggling your toes on the cool wood floor. "And washing tomato sauce or oil out of my bedsheets doesn't sound like fun."

“No, it doesn’t.” Jack has to admit that and the special pie sounds like it could potentially be messy. He brings the pizzas into the living room and decides that the floor seems like a good spot to eat, pushing the coffee table back to make more room and layering throw pillows to cushion your backs.

A moment later, you reappear with beer bottles, plates, and napkins, and grin at the little sitting area he’s set up. “Do you want to watch a movie while we eat?” It’s the sort of low key, comfortable, domestic little thing that you honestly just love and the fact that you didn’t suggest it at all makes it even sweeter.

Jack watches as your grin gets wider and you nod. Feeling like he’s making the right choices and he frowns for just a second. “Is–” He sighs and tries again. “Would you be offended if I talked about her?” He asks quietly.

“Honey, of course not.” You drop down amongst the pillows he’s set up and reach for his hand immediately. “She’s important to you. If you ever want to talk about her or share a memory or something, then I want to hear it.” It’s such a peculiar situation and - as far as you know you’re the only two who have ever been in it. There is no blueprint for behavior here. The best you can do is go with your instincts and your instincts are always for honesty.

“I just– I don’t want to upset you if I mention something about her, or things we used to do together.” He explains. “I was going to tell you how when we were younger, these were our ‘dates’. Curled up on the floor watching movies and eatin’ junk. When I wasn’t workin’, of course.”

“I’m not going to be upset if you want to share with me.” Holding his hand in both of yours, you press a kiss to his palm, somehow still afraid that kissing his lips could lead to losing that careful thread of control. “If it gets to be too much, or overwhelming somehow, I promise I’ll tell you.”

“Please.” Jack begs softly. “I don’t–I don’t want her to be a taboo subject, but I also don’t want you to feel like I’m hanging on to a ghost.” It might be the first time he’s ever said those words out loud before and they are profound for him.

“Jack…” One of your hands leaves his to cup his cheek, finding so much sadness in his eyes when you meet them. “I think you loved her very much, and she was taken from you unfairly. You deserve to be able to remember and talk about her. Hell, I’ll probably talk about my exes sometimes and they didn’t mean anywhere near as much to me. We’re just going to have to check in with each other sometimes; that’s all. Just to make sure we’re balanced and equal and all that.”

He nods after a moment, feeling emotional and instead of pushing it down or letting it fester inside him, he faces it. “He was gonna take you too, sugar.” Jack’s face turns deadly at the thought. “I couldn’t let that happen. Not twice.”

“I didn’t think you would come.” There’s shame in it, you can admit that, and you drop your hand back into your lap as your eyes fall away from his face. “I still thought you hated me…and I didn’t know how you ever could have found me anyway…”

“Never.” Jack promises you. “I’ve never hated you and I will always come for you. No matter what.” It’s easy to promise that to you now, but he wants you to know that no matter what ever happens, he will protect you with his life.

“It’s done now.” It was literally just yesterday, but the part of you that’s trying to cope with how it made you feel is analyzing it like it was a decade ago or more. “It’s done and you’re here and that’s what matters.”

He stares at you for a moment and then snorts. “Hell, sugar. I think you’re better than some of our agents. Myself included.”

“I definitely prefer my kitchen.” His laughter is contagious, though, and you end up cracking a half-smile. “Gives me a hell of a lot of respect for what you do though. Shit.”

“Never been scared on a mission before.” Jack admits. “This time, my heart was in my throat the whole fuckin’ time.”

"We're both okay." You promise him softly. "We apparently just needed some extremely dramatic bullshit to happen for us to get our heads out of our stubborn asses and talk to each other."

“I don’t like you thinkin’ that I wouldn’t have come for you.” He murmurs, reaching out and taking your chin in his hand. “I’d die for you, sugar. I promise.”

"I know that now." Then, just a day ago, you hadn't had any reason to think that things would ever take a turn for the positive between you. "But I'm hoping we never have to put that to the test."

“Me too.” Today doesn’t need to be weighed down by the maybes or what ifs. Jack smirks and nods towards the pizzas. “You ready to have the best pie you’ve ever put in your mouth?” It’s a bold claim, but he knows this pizza backs it up.

"You talk a big game Daniels." Plates, drinks, napkins, and slices are distributed and you settle on just leaving the television on whatever channel it's on and heckling the movie that's playing if you decide you don't like it. Your first bite of the mushroom and truffle pizza is accompanied by such a groan that anybody else would have thought that Jack had his hand in your shorts again. "Holy shit you weren't kidding."

He chuckles, not even denying how sexy that noise you make is. “Told you.” He hums. “Best fuckin’ pizza. And it’s fresh, every day that man is makin’ his mozzarella. Or at least that’s what he told me.”

“I’m a convert,” you declare about four bites later when you can finally force yourself to come up for air. Everything is perfectly balanced and gorgeously fresh and if this isn’t the best pizza you’ve had in years you’ll eat your hat instead.

“Knew you would be.” Jack grins, his own slice already halfway devoured. “Tony is why I knew you would do well here. The artistic food setting is starting to grow.”

"I can't believe there's only a couple of weeks left before the restaurant opens." It feels like every possible second has been spent in that kitchen since you got here, but only in the best possible way. Sometimes it's hard to remember that you haven't actually been serving customers this whole time. But that is mostly because there is such a handful of fellow Statesman employees who have been steadily dropping by to act as your taste testers on their lunch breaks.

“Do you need anything?” Jack asks you seriously. “I know that Champ has given you carte blanche to design and set it up like you’ve wanted, but is there anything we are missing?” He’s already talked to Champ about flying your family down again for the opening. It’s only fair they witness the celebration of your achievements.

"A new line cook for the savory side." You blow out a regretful sigh. "I'll have to go back through the resumes I kept on file and bring in some more interviews, but other than that?" A slight shrug of your shoulders is one thing, but you offer Jack a small smile. "I just really want my favorite people to be there. The opening night party is all reservations and almost every seat is sold already. So...I wasn't going to ask, obviously, but...do you want to be there? I mean I want you to be, but you don't have to."

“I will be there.” Jack rolls his eyes and grins. “Of course I’m going to be there. You think I’m missing out on your cookin’?” He tuts and shakes his head in disappointment. “Besides…I’ve already got the jet reserved for your family to come in again for the openin’.”

"You do not?" The squeal that accompanies the question is shattering, and you throw your arms around his neck so carefully so the residue from pizza on your fingertips won't stain his shirt. "Honey, that's so fucking sweet of you, oh my god..." No one had come down to visit yet specifically because of the cost of airfare, because you had talked it through with your mother a month ago and decided to split the cost of the five round-trip fares plus hotel rooms that would be needed for them to come to the opening. Even with everyone doing well, the cost of existing in the world today is high. With your face buried in the crook of Jack's neck, you sniffle quietly. "You're incredible, you know that?"

Jack chuckles, basking in your adoration and kisses the side of your head. “I have a lot to make up for, sugar.” He murmurs softly. “But this was something I had done before I came to my senses. Your family should be here. It’s not every day you open your own restaurant.”

"If I do this right, this will be the last opening night of my career, and the only one I've ever been chef for." You squeeze him tightly before sitting back, knowing that your face reads nothing but awe and excitement. The opening night party is set to be an incredibly special event and you've been looking forward to it with equal parts anxiety and excitement.

“You will do amazing.” Jack promises. “We decided that we are cracking open a barrel of the whiskey to go along with it. If you want, of course.”

"It will be perfect." To a certain degree, it has to be. Your career rides on the success of The Rabbit-Hole, even if you came by it in a sort of round-about way. You have no problem acknowledging the fact that Champ wouldn't keep a failing restaurant open just to appease Jack. "We'll open a barrel as a surprise sneak peak. We're going to have both the afternoon tea menu and the full dinner menu available that night so there will be no shortage of good things to pair it with."

“It’s going to be amazing.” Jack promises you. He looks at the other flavor of pizza. “Ready to try his newest creation?”

"Absolutely." You press a kiss to his cheek before you move away again, and pick up the slice of tomatoey, spicy smelling pizza. The first bite has you moaning again, doing a happy little dance in your seat on the floor beside him. "'S so fuckin good," you mumble happily, grinning while you eat.

Jack grins, watching you eagerly as you eat. “Good to know what I can order on nights where you’re too exhausted to do anything but lay on the couch and let me take care of things.”

"That's some real domestic talk there, Jack." The grin on your face spreads, cheeks warming through, and you put down your half-eaten slice to wipe your hands. "I like it."

“What can I say?” He teases with an exaggerated drawl. “I’m just a simple, traditional man.” He sends you a small wink. “Besides, I like the way you look when you’re flustered and still looking like the cat who got the canary.”

"That's pretty much how I feel." You can admit that fairly easily, and being able to open up to him even a little is such a relief. "I guess I would technically consider myself traditional, too. At least I wanted to be. But life throws you curveballs, ya know?"

Jack nods, frowning slightly since he was the one who hurled the curveballs your way. “I can see that.” He murmurs, wondering if you regret removing your tattoos. Now there is no proof you are soulmates.

"Now, why does that upset you?" As you both sit and eat, the noise of the television fades into the background and you shift your position to face him fully. "I already said that we don't have to push any of that."

“It’s stupid.” Jack shakes his head and gives a small shrug.

"Your feelings aren't stupid." You promise him, frowning slightly yourself.

“I was just thinking about the marks you got removed.” He admits, rolling his eyes at himself. “There’s zero proof we are soulmates now. Beyond us knowing.”

"I know I should have talked to you about it." There's more than a little guilt attached to that decision, especially now that you've talked and decided to explore whatever it is that's between you. "But now you can go back to work. And isn't that a good thing?"

He can’t deny it was what he wanted, but now that he has it, he’s not happy with it. Maybe it’s because it had been meant to cut ties with him visually. He’s a selfish asshole and can confuse himself sometimes. “Yes and no.” Jack huffs, reaching for your hand and taking it. “I’m just– you loved that tattoo and I don’t want you to, hell, regret it.” He tells you. “I’m not making any sense, am I?”

“The situation isn’t exactly cut and dry,” you remind him. “It’s okay to feel conflicted about something complicated.” God knows you do, and you have nothing like his reasons for having such conflicting wants. “Which part upsets you more? That I gave up a piece of art that I loved, or that there’s no proof we’re soulmates anymore?”

Jack sighs, rolling his eyes at himself again. “That there’s no proof.” He admits quietly. “Everyone always wants to see proof.”

“But is there any way to have proof that’s safe?” Given what you’ve just gone through, safety is officially at the top of your list of concerns.

“Not until I come out of the field.” Jack shakes his head sadly. He looks down at his hand. “Used to have a bullseye tattoo right there.” He muses. “Hated having it removed.”

“I’m not asking you to give up your job.” Nothing could be further from your mind, especially with how much he’s been itching to get back to things and how he begged you to remove the tattoo before this. “You love your work, and the fact that I’m sitting here right now is first hand proof that you’re good at it.”

“I…could give it up.” Jack murmurs slowly. He’s made being an agent his entire life because he had nothing beyond that. It wasn’t exactly the case anymore. “I do love it, but…”

“Jack.” You shake your head fiercely, squeezing his hand in yours. “You’re miserable with nothing to do. I’ve only known you for a few months and I know that. Please don’t make any rash decisions?” The fear in your eyes is obvious, and you sigh quietly. Honesty. Honesty. “I don’t want you to give up your work so there can be proof of us and end up resenting or regretting the decision down the line.”

“How about a compromise?” He offers quietly. “The second I’m ready to come out of the field, you put that tattoo back and however many others you want?”

“We’ll talk about it again when you start to think about it.” That is an easy enough promise, and one that you can make sincerely. “You can get your bullseye back, too. But not before you’re ready.”

There’s a moment where the two of you just stare at each other, gazing into each other's eyes and seemingly coming to an agreement. Jack tilts his head once and flashes you a grin. “Yes ma’am.”

______ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101

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My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Jack Daniels #Jack Daniels x reader #Jack Daniels x you #Jack Daniels x female reader #Jack Daniels x f!reader #Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels #Agent Whiskey #Kingsman Golden Circle #soulmate au

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