Bunny

“I didn’t want to wake you—but I figured you’d keep track of time even in your pretend dream state and begin to wonder why I’m not back yet.”

It all comes out rushed—occasionally you did speak fast but the older man picks up in this moment that this is a sign that you’re nervous.

Jack taps at his phone, minimizing the call to actually check the time.

You absolutely should have been back by now.

Sometimes you did tend to make other pit stops to whatever caught your eye out on the town. Which is exactly why Jack preferred to do the shopping or tag along, to keep your head on the right path.

He could be a vibe killer when he was set on getting in and out of establishments, a complete grump but you still loved him anyway.

It was in the way your voice shakes that didn’t sit right with Jack.

He tells, “None of that matters.”

Then he adds, “What’s wrong?”

You sigh.

Jack says your name.

Pressing.

“When something is wrong, you’re supposed to call me. I want you to. So whatever it is, it’s more important than my terrible sleeping patterns, honey.”

Your lips push out at how gentle Jack was being with you this morning. Especially after working overtime last night into the brand new day. He should be resting and here you are, bothering him.

Of course you keep that part to yourself.

“I…hit a deer.”

“Oh shit. You okay?”

“I’m a whole murderer, Jack!”

So that was a no?

Jack scoffs, “Those tick infested things like to play impulsive speed bumps. I’m sure it’s not your fault. Did you call it in?”

“The car behind me did, since I’m pretty shaken up about being a serial killer.” You whisper that last part into the phone.

“I’m positive that’s not how that works.” Jack spoke calmly, eyes already searching the room for his prosthetic, “You’re okay. It’s just an accident.”

“I’m going to hell.”

A crooked smile finds its way onto Jack’s face, “If there’s a choice between you and I, you’d be the last person sent there. Trust me.”

“…are you laughing at me?”

“No babe, I’m trying to keep you sane.”

“And probably secretly telling me, ‘I told you so.”

Jack blows out a breath at this.

He did tell you not to worry about heading out because of him. He had no intentions of eating anything at eight in the morning after getting home. All he wanted was a shower and to crawl into bed beside you. But he couldn’t tell a hardheaded, busy woman anything.

“Hey, where are you going?” Jack rasps as he sits on the bench by the front door, exhaustion finally settling in, all while you’re flying down the steps in a flowy white skirt, flats, and sky blue tank.

You’re moving around the home at great speed, like you’re late for something. Disappearing around the stairs, you open up the pantry door for a few more tote bags to tuck under your arm. Once you’re by him again, you reach for the hook that holds the strap of your main bag. “We ran out of those muffins you like and I slept through my alarm. I was supposed to be up by six-forty-five.”

Jack quirks up a brow, “Who? You? On the weekend?”

You send him a dry look for a solid second but of course he doesn’t falter. You grip the top of his scrubs, his eyes flicking down at your hold as you pull him in close. “No back talk to the woman who loves you and is heading off into the morning commute to get you those muffins. And do some light grocery shopping at that.”

Jack lightly shakes his head at you, “You don’t need to go anywhere. The muffins and miscellaneous shopping can wait.”

“…was it a shitty shift?” Your eyes soften, a flick of concern passing through them.

Jack blinks, “Definitely wasn’t a spa day but I made it back to you in one piece.”

The amount of water related incidents could be counted on two hands. Jack was just glad to be home. With you.

You smooth down his scrubs before running a thumb along the scruff at his jaw. Jack doesn’t even hide that he leans into your touch, nearly melting in your hand. His moss hues piercing into you as always. All he needed was you. He wasn’t worried about some muffins—although they were dangerously delicious…he preferred you.

“And I’ll make it back before you know it. My ringer is always on just in case.”

Your lips meet his cheek before you slip away.

Jack chooses his words carefully, “That wouldn’t be very helpful now would it? Send me your location, I’m on my way.”

“Jack it’s fine, I shouldn’t be here much longer—

“I’m not asking, honey,” Jack says firmly, making you chew on the corner of your lip.

You do so long before you two hang up.

𖤓 ｡𖦹°‧ ⋆☀︎. ˖°𓇼⋆

𖤓 ｡𖦹°‧ ⋆☀︎. ˖°𓇼⋆

𖤓 ｡𖦹°‧ ⋆☀︎. ˖°𓇼⋆

𖤓 ｡𖦹°‧ ⋆☀︎. ˖°𓇼⋆

𖤓 ｡𖦹°‧ ⋆☀︎. ˖°𓇼⋆

Dissociation was a powerful thing.

This you’ve known for a long time.

You’re not even sure how much time has passed until you feel familiar hands that touch your hips.

Normally you flinch when you’re so abruptly pulled from your thoughts but your eyes just drag to Jack’s face.

He’s saying something to you, your hands are still holding onto the skin at your elbows. Your fingertips are sticky when you pry them off, shoulders slumping by the time you blink and actually focus on what Jack is saying to you.

Well…you actually missed the tail end of that because he’s tugging you by the waist into his embrace.

Of course you lean into him.

Your safety net.

Nose against the slope of where his neck meets his shoulder.

You breathe.

His hand warms at your upper back, rubbing soothing circles while he squeezed at your lower spine with his other hand.

“That’s it.” He encourages, “You’re good. It’s just a car.”

You hiss back, “I don’t care about the car,” which makes Jack give a side eye to the pretty extensive damage behind you, almost having a comical, ‘really,’ in his eyes but you ignore his very telling facial expressions at this time, “It was a baby. A teenager. Just starting to grow his antlers! And I un-alived them.”

Jack rubs at your shoulders now, “Honey…I understand you’re upset. These things happen just like I’m sure PennDOT told you. And it’s okay to feel the way you’re feeling. Dealing with death is…grappling…yet we keep on the best way one can.”

You slowly nod listening to his words as sadness seeps over your face.

“First Rue, now this.” You mumble.

“Don’t tell me you named the deer.”

You scoff, “No Jack, just shut up and squeeze me while I mourn.”

“I can do that,” Jack replies pulling you back into his arms, briefly leaning away to press a tender kiss to your cheek that has your eyes closing at the feeling, “And I’ll mourn the totaling of your car for the both of us.”

That earns him a nice shove and you attempting to walk out of his arms.

Jack only laughs, catching your wrist before you can slip away, guiding you effortlessly back into his arms.

He whispers sweet nothings in hopes of soothing your empathic heart.

𖤓 ｡𖦹°‧ ⋆☀︎. ˖°𓇼⋆ 𖤓 ｡𖦹°‧ ⋆☀︎. ˖°𓇼⋆ 𖤓 ｡𖦹°‧ ⋆☀︎.

It’s a week later…

After the tragedy and the gloom still lingered for you.

Jack surprisingly had a random Saturday off in July and actually didn’t tell you.

You could sleep through earthquakes if you wanted to but you found Jack’s side of the bed to be neatly made by the time you got up.

If you slept through his alarm when he decided to take morning shifts, it wouldn’t be the first time.

It’s when you get outside on the back porch, sipping on some fresh squeezed OJ in a cow shaped mug Robby awkwardly gave to you from one of his trips, you enjoy the view until you hear a, “Hey!”

Which has you slapping a hand against your chest, “Jack! What the hell are you doing here?”

He’s dragging a bin from the side of the house, making you slowly move down the steps to see the red doors to the basement thrown back.

“Uh…I live here?” Jack furrows his brows at you as he gets to the middle of the yard.

“Don’t get cute with me, mister.”

Jack snorts at you, dusting off his hands before making his way over to the gravel path that leads to the house.

“I don’t think I have to try very hard in your eyes, goregous.” He jokes with his hands on his hips.

And you shamelessly take in his outfit, sleeveless dry-fit gray top, maroon mesh shorts, and sneakers cause it gives better support for his prosthetic. 

A hand goes up to block the little of sun as you squint over at him playfully, “Who said that?”

“The way you’re eyeballing me did.”

“…oh please.” You take a big sip of the citrus juice while Jack chuckles to himself, “What’re you doing up so early anyway?”

“Eleven am is early to you?” Jack questions then quickly answers, “Nevermind. I forgot who I’m talking to.”

All you can do is laugh.

He continues, “I thought we could uh—have our own game day in the backyard? The highest is going to be eighty today and partly cloudy so no complaints about the humidity getting to your hair.”

You slowly nod, “And what does this game day entail, Abbot?”

“I filled up some water balloons. Strapped the target up on the tree—I used the big ladder before you start yelling at me. Think we take turns throwing from different obstacles around the backyard. Whoever gets the most points decides what the loser’s punishment is.”

“Oh wow. You really thought this through.”

“Course I have. I’m a soldier.”

You playfully roll your eyes, “Well…guess it’s a good thing it’s wash day for me tomorrow.”

Jack grins, “I had a plastic bag waiting for you too. I learned my lesson from last time.” 

With a wink, you answer, “I bet you did, Jack-Jack. I bet you did.”

𖤓 ｡𖦹°‧ ⋆☀︎. ˖°𓇼⋆

Now you stand some feet away from Jack.

He’s in front of the lemon tree, hands clasped behind his back while lightly swaying from side to side, chin up and dark moss hues set only on you.

Jack reminds you, “The goal is the tree.” He moves one of his clasped hands to point his finger above his head towards the target mat way up on the bark, “If you hit the shed, you lose.” His eyes shift over to the Santorini blue painted building off to your left of the tree, then peers back at you in warning, “If you hit me, you REALLY lose."

A flat look is sent his way while you lightly bounced the chartreuse water-filled balloon in your hand.

“I’ve gotten way better with my aim since you’ve met me. Please, have some faith.”

Jack could have easily brought up how you nearly took Ellis’ eye out that one time last year when she tried to prep you for Shen’s Grand Slam he hosted every year (and was actually coming up again at the end of month). You did try to get out of it but Jack made the mistake of vaguely mentioning that you played softball growing up. He must have left out the short-lived part. Parker also lost her patience and you were too embarrassed to ask Jack to coach you—even if he quickly avoided participating himself.

“I will…after you prove otherwise.”

“Okay,” you sass with a nudge of your head, the bun on top of your head becoming lopsided as you did so, “Watch and learn.”

Jack gives a single dip of his head, steadying you as you inhale. Your tongue sticks out the corner of your mouth, stepping forward on your right foot as you as you raise your arm back.

It’s like slow motion as soon as you chuck the balloon, aiming way above Jack’s body.

So you think.

The balloon pops.

Right at Jack’s shoulder, the rubber flattening against his shirt while water splatters and sprays up against the side of his neck and jaw.

Jack blinks…trying to figure out how you screwed that up.

Your hands go up to your mouth, holding back laughter.

He looks up at you.

“So I think your aim got significantly worse if you ask me.”

“That wasn’t on purpose!”

“You’re laughing.”

“I’m doing facial exercises, I heard it helps with toning your face. I’ll have a snatched jawline and high cheek bones until I’m ninety.”

Jack flicks his arm out, brushing the flattened balloon onto the ground, huffing to himself.

“You know…that might just be one of the most awful excuses I’ve heard yet,” Jack states before waving his hand at you, “You lose. So get over here.”

You twist your lips around, “Uh uh. You got that look in your eye.”

“What look?” Jack grunts.

“Like you wanna make me target practice now. And I’m not signing up for that. This was your idea, remember? Don’t be a sore loser.”

Jack runs a hand through his salt and pepper hair that almost looks a little blond at some angles underneath the sunlight, “I am not the loser here.”

“Tell that to your face.”

“That’s it. Come here!”

You let out a scream taking off into a run, quickly lifting up the sheet that he placed on the clothesline at some point in the morning, ducking underneath it, halting as your arms flail around, attempting to catch yourself from tripping over a random laundry basket sitting behind the sheet.

A set up?

“WHY? Would you put this here?” You yell behind the sheet, sensing he’s somewhere but you can’t even see his silhouette imprinted on the other side of the sheet.

He peeks around the sheet from the left, holding onto the material, “It’s part of the challenge.”

“You made that up!”

“Believe what you want, sweetheart.”

Then he does the most devastating thing.

He pulls the hose from behind his back, aims it at you and sprays you right in the torso, followed by a red balloon hitting your chest.

“JACK FUCKING ABBOT!”

“Present.” Jack replies innocently, laughing and watching as you brush the remnants of the balloon away from your damp chest.

“First you try to break my ankle—

“Always gotta watch where you’re going back here for now. It’s practically like a landmine.”

Your jaw sets.

Then you mock him.

“I don’t sound like that.”

You mock him again.

“…How’s your ankle?”

You smile at him, not blinking, maybe not even breathing…then…you lunge.

He doesn’t run.

Just throws the hose to the ground in time before you get your hands on him.

His arm locks around your shoulders and if it was any other time, you might have said you’d be happy dying in his arms, just like this.

Even considered licking his bicep before you both ended up in the grass with a thud.

He takes the brunt of it but you still find yourself wincing.

Jack groans.

Your head tilts back against his collarbone.

He meets your stare, breathing and checking, “You okay?”

Slowly you sit up, hands steadying on his chest as you peer up at him, “…Course. Always am when I’m with you.”

His thumb brushes a wet curl that sticks to the side of your neck back. His signature crooked grin taking over his features, “Damn right.”

Then he lifts his head to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Now remember that the next time you’re mad at me.”

Your eyes roll before you rest your chin on his chest.

Maybe the target could wait. Right now, you’d already landed exactly where you wanted to.

The specs of summer sun stays warm against your skin as the two of you linger in the grass, in no hurry to move. For now, this little space of backyard is big enough to hold every heavy thing the week prior tried to leave behind.

𖤓 ｡𖦹°‧ ⋆☀︎. ˖°𓇼⋆ 𖤓 ｡𖦹°‧ ⋆☀︎. ˖°𓇼⋆ 𖤓 ｡𖦹°‧ ⋆☀︎.