as the rock bears the weather

over patient heads and across bay’s, in company and all alone in a quiet break room, jack tries to prompt your gaze with dedication. eventually you’ll have to look at him, but you just don’t. it’s statistically impossible to not meet his eyes at this point, and it’s breaking his heart wondering what the hell it is that’s upset you. that’s gotta be what this is, right?

but the day chugs on and you sound like you’re in good spirits. jack listens to you talk to doctors, nurses, patients and porters with your usual dulcet tones, but forces himself to play things cool.

so, he says eventually, decidedly uncool about your downturned gaze, any plans tonight? finally, finally! you raise your head and meet his eyes. it would’ve been rude not to, and you’re his polite girl. nothing exciting, just… stuff, you say.

he ducks his head when your eyes drift, forcing the contact. what stuff? tell me about it.

your eyes squeeze shut. you won’t like what i’m gonna say.

oh, so you won’t look at me because you’re feeling guilty? here i was thinking you’re a big girl. what am i not gonna like?

have to go home, sorry. my plants need watering.

you’re not looking at me because you can’t come to my place? jack laughs. laughs hard, wrapping his arm over the front of you so you can wear his bicep like a belt, his chuckle warming your temple as he attacks you with scratchy kisses. i thought something was wrong. all day i’ve been– he snorts. hey, listen, i’ll forgive you if you let me look at you, yeah? let me look at those eyes and we’ll pretend my heart’s not breaking.

you can’t be everything, he says, pressing his half-full beer into your hand. why don’t you take a drink and relax for a second?

honey, he doesn’t add. not until you’ve lined your mouth over the shared bottle and melted into him, tired eyes fluttering in a losing battle against the Longest Ever shift. a quiet aw honey lost in your hair. jack remembers the way your eyes filled with tears when you realised he was a widow. he’s wondering if you still feel sorry for him when you pass back the beer and shift. rub my back more? you murmur.

jack grins. does as he’s ordered like a good soldier and ignores the knowing glances he garners from robby on the opposite bench. javadi recounts the day’s drama in a panic, loud enough to cover the sound of him as he turns into your ear, and says, she can get another job, but she can’t make more time.

you’re making me more sad. you glare at him sideways. and you’re not rubbing my back enough.