#ipmicki

There was barely a moment in the last few days that Jacob's eyes weren't reading something about Witches. He had begun obsessing over finding some kind of exploitation or weakness that could be used to protect his pack and his family from her fury. He had to read and know everything that he could get his hands on. Almost every margin of every page of every book he had in front of him  scrawled with his sporadic, anxious handwriting. On regular days - good days - Jacob's handwriting was notoriously perfect by typography means and legible even by a semi-blind person. But, on days like this, one could see from his chicken scratched, barely discernible, scribbling that he was caring more on his shoulders than he was letting on.

"Door was locked for a reason," Jacob said reflexively when the door to his office in the bar opened up. He didn't look up, eyes still trained on the book. "If you're here to steal something, go right ahead, but I'll rip out your intestines as payment."

Jacob had been yelling in his sleep. Nothing could wake him, not Micki, not the screams of his scared daughter in the next room - nothing. He had started tossing and turning early in the night until his restlessness became impossible not to notice. Not long after, the yelling started. It wasn't until a heartbreaking sob escaped him in his unconscious state that he suddenly jolted forward in the bed, heart racing and sweat clinging to his forehead. His hands gripped his head, pain surging through his pain as every synapses went off at once, not letting him realize that he was awake and that everything had just been a dream.

"I know I've probably told you this before, but shit, you look really beautiful without makeup on, too."

"You know, I'm all in support for you learning to cook a shockingly delicious meal, Micki, but don't you think that cooking it five times in one week is a little excessive? You can try out other recipes, you know. I'm not going to hate you if I get food poisoning," he waved his hand defensively, smirking kiddingly while he leaned against the entryway of the kitchen with Artemis held up in his left arm. His little girl didn't seem quite as bubbly and hadn't giggled all day. Jake being the paranoid father that he was already, had already started talking about taking her to the hospital to make sure she wasn't sick. He still persisted on trying to make her laugh, but little seemed to work, and he looked as though he was personally offended by it. "Maybe -- maybe you should take her for awhile. I think she's had enough of me for one day. I can finish cooking." 

Good morning to you too, Beautiful.