#jackransom

____________

Jack’s towelling his hair dry in the bathroom and Ransom’s looking for crap TV and their pizza’s on its way and Ransom’s thinking, just maybe, tonight will be an okay night. If he can stop glancing at the bathroom every few seconds, if he can stop thinking about Jack rubbing his thumb over his mouth, then Ransom thinks he can make it through tonight.

“How d’you feel about NCIS,” Ransom calls.

“Is that one of Holster’s reality shows?”

Ransom groans. “Please tell me you didn’t just say that.”

“Sorry to disappoint” comes from the bathroom. Ransom rolls his eyes.

He flips through the channels idly, letting the game wash away from him. The channel stations are in the 500s before he realizes Jack still hasn’t come out of the bathroom.

“Jack?”

Jack doesn’t reply. Ransom’s pulse skyrockets immediately. He stumbles off the bed, nearly falling into the wall, and when he tries the doorknob it sticks and stays closed.

“Hey, open up,” he says. Somehow his panic doesn’t stain his voice. A small sliver of himself, the part that isn’t actively freaking out, is thankful for it.

“Not locked.” Jack’s voice is small through the door.

Ransom yanks the door open and Jack looks up at him so frantically that he bites down a curse. He reaches out a hand to pull him up, but Jack’s shaking so hard it’s impossible to lift him. Ransom sits next to him, leans against the counter, and takes his hand. Jack’s fingers squeeze so tight it hurts but he doesn’t let go.

Jack pulls himself upright enough to lean against the counter too, but it looks like it takes a tremendous effort. His mouth’s working in a way that suggests crying. Jack tightens his jaw.

“You don’t have to hide it,” Ransom says softly. Jack’s face relaxes for half a second and then tenses immediately. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

Ransom repeats this in as many different iterations he can think of. You’re not a disappointment. You’re the best captain we’ve had. One loss won’t kill our season. It was a group effort. Not your fault. It’s going to be okay.

Somehow he has his arms around Jack and Jack’s legs across his lap. Ransom runs his hand through Jack’s hair and Jack shudders, but he presses Ransom’s hand back to his hair to keep him from pulling back.

“Keep doing it. Please,” Jack gets out, so Ransom does.

____________

Jack’s buried in blankets and Ransom’s paying for their pizza and crap TV plays in the background and he’s thinking, maybe, they should talk about this. He snags a hand towel apiece and sets the pizza down on their shared nightstand. Jack whispers a hoarse thank you when Ransom tosses the towel to him.

“So,” Ransom says, as lightly as he can. He settles on his bed and pretends Jack isn’t watching him warily. “Do you want to talk about it? We don’t have to. I’m here though, if you want.”

There’s a long minute in which they eat pizza and pretend they’re watching the bachelor figure out who he wants to give roses to.

“It’s hockey,” Jack says. Ransom looks at him, but Jack’s staring at the screen like he doesn’t see it. “I don’t … it’s hard to explain.”

“Have I ever told you it’s my parents who want me to be a doctor?” Jack looks at him now; he knows full well he hadn’t told him any of this. He hasn’t even told Holster.

“I thought…”

Ransom waits in case he continues his thought, but Jack just frowns. He thinks, though, that it’s one of his thoughtful frowns.

He says, “Yeah. My older sister’s a pharmacist, my younger wants to be an engineer. And they’re both great at it, they are, it’s just. My parents never really asked what I wanted. Doctors pay the bills, eh?”

“They also write the bills. Is that why your handwriting’s so awful?”

Ransom says, “Asshole,” and throws his pillow. It smacks Jack’s face. Jack laughs and flings it back, but that frown line is still scrunching his eyebrows.

They both eat another slice. Ransom spares a second to hope Bitty’s tip will cover their room too, because he’s almost positive pizza grease has splattered the blankets. He sneaks a look at Jack, his face bathed in some rosy light from the TV, and he thinks even underneath the lighting some color has crept back into his cheeks.

“It’s not fair of them.” Jack seems to be waiting for Ransom to look at him, so he does. “To put that on you.”

Ransom shrugs. “It’s alright.” Jack raises his eyebrows. “It’s not, it isn’t. That’s part of the anxiety, but. I’ve been talking to someone at CAPS, psych counseling, you know? It’s helped.”

Jack looks at his hands. When he speaks, his voice is quiet. “Maybe I’ll schedule,” he says.

“It’s a good option,” Ransom says. “What works for me might not work for you, but trying won’t hurt.”

On the TV, one of the contestants tearfully details how unfair it is that the bachelor’s dating all the other women too. Despite himself, Ransom feels for her.

He promises immediately not to tell Holster, ever, and Jack laughs as if he knows what he’s thinking.

____________

Jack’s laptop dyes the dark room a cool blue.

Ransom thinks about saying something. They’d agreed to turn the lights off and head to bed, and the light’s a little distracting. He flips around to face the wall and then shoves his head under his pillow; the laptop light caught on the lamp, and the shadow’s just as annoying as the light itself.

There’s no sound other than the air conditioning kicking on and off. Jack has, thankfully, muted the tape. Ransom’s pretty positive he’s already memorized the commentary anyway.

He can’t breathe under his pillow. He flops around onto his back and stares at the ceiling.

All at once it’s much too quiet and Ransom has to force down the fact that Jack’s watching him screw up not ten feet away, watching the goal go in right between Ransom’s skates, and Ransom apologized to all of them in the locker room and Chowder told him immediately that it wasn’t his fault, it happens to everyone, but Jack — Jack hadn’t said anything—

He tries to bite down a gasp but he can’t breathe and it’s the loudest thing in the room.

“Rans?”

He curls in on himself, focuses on the feeling of his fingernails in his palm. Sharp and crisp in an attempt to draw himself back.

Dimly, Ransom registers the snap of a laptop closing and sheets being drawn back. Then there’s someone warm at his back and then Jack — it must be Jack, this makes sense —  holds him against his chest. Jack’s breath is warm and tickles Ransom’s ear, and he grasps at this to anchor himself. It helps that Jack’s heartbeat is steady against his back.

“It’s okay,” Jack whispers. The pieces of Ransom that aren’t panicking focus on how close Jack’s lips are to his neck.

He leans back experimentally.

Jack presses a kiss to his neck just under his ear.

“It’s okay, Rans. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

____________

“Rans?”

“Jack.”

“Are your feet always this cold?”

“There’s another bed if you’re complaining.”

“Oh. Then I’m not complaining.”

“Good.”

____________

“Rans?” Jack whispers. Ransom puts the pillow over his head again and squints through the sunlight at him. Jack looks too soft to be allowed, his hair sticking up in all directions.

“If this is another crack about my feet I swear Zimmermann—”

Jack laughs and sits up. “No, it’s.”

Ransom yawns. “What.”

“Last night,” Jack says, and Ransom would believe he was blushing if it wasn’t Jack Zimmermann. “Was that … okay? Or, if it wasn’t, what can I do next time? If you have another anxiety attack, I mean.”

Now he’s pretty positive Jack’s cheeks are pink. “Good,” Ransom blurts. “It was good. Physical contact is grounding.”

Jack’s rubbing his thumb across his lip again and this time when they make eye contact Jack looks like he knows what it’s doing to Ransom. Fuck.

“So if I,” Jack says, before leaning down to press their lips together and suck gently on Ransom’s bottom lip. “If I do that, that’s okay?”

Jack breaks the kiss too soon. Ransom tries to follow, but Jack pulls away entirely, straightening their blanket in such a way that looks like an attempt to avoid Ransom’s eyes.

Ransom frowns and sits up too and says, “Ah.”

Jack’s face clouds. He starts analyzing the stitching of the hem.

“No I mean,” Ransom says, lacing their fingers together atop the blankets. Jack looks first at their hands, then at him. “That’s okay. But if you’re really wondering, if I’m having an anxiety attack, don’t kiss me. It’s fine after, probably, but. Not during.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack says. He rubs the back of his neck. “Trying to ease the tension.”

Ransom arches an eyebrow. “So did you want to kiss me or were you just lightening the mood?”

Now Jack’s face is bright red. It’s the prettiest thing Ransom’s ever seen. Jack’s accent is noticeably more Québécois when he says, “Both?”

“Then come back down here,” Ransom says, leaning back, “and ease the tension.”

____________

Lardo takes one look at the purpling bite mark poking out of Ransom’s shirt and says, “How’d the room assignment work, boys?”

Ransom says, “It worked,” at the same time Jack says, “I learned why Ransom’s handwriting sucks.” Ransom bumps his shoulder with his own.

“Glad to hear it,” Lardo says. She types something into her phone and then slings her duffel underneath the bus. “C’mon guys, we have to leave now if we want to miss rush hour.”

Holster affects the most wounded face Ransom’s ever seen when he sees Jack in his usual spot next to Ransom. “How could you,” he says, flinging his arms out dramatically before heading to the back of the bus.

Bitty elbows his way past too, tossing Ransom a wink.

He doesn’t have time to wonder about it when his phone buzzes. Lardo turns and grins at him from the front row.

Jack groans at his phone. “Lardo!”

“What’d she do,” Ransom says, leaning into Jack’s space to look at the screen. Jack puts his arm around him.

Congrats boys, it says, with a picture of Ransom’s bruise.

Holster’s sock slaps Ransom in the back of the head. “FOOOINE! A million times fine!”

“Sorry brah,” Shitty says, tapping Jack on the shoulder with the fine jar and not sounding at all sorry. “All’s fair in revenge-fining your bros.”

Ransom tilts his head to the side, considering. “Jack,” he says slowly, “wanna make it worthwhile?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” Jack says, grinning.

____________

They end up with a $200 fine.

“Bro, we’re heading over to the caf to grab some food.”  Holster’s voice cuts through the haze.  “You want us to sneak you anything?”

Ransom pauses for a second, assessing.  He doesn’t feel like he could eat if he tried, his stomach churning.  It’s late, though; he can feel it in the way his muscles are sore, his body held still in one spot for too long, time passing at uneven intervals.

“Get him a couple PB&J sandwiches and some ginger ale,” Jack says firmly before Ransom can get his thoughts together.  “I’ll catch up in a sec, save me a spot.”

Ransom only hears the team trudging out because the Samwell Hockey Team is incapable of doing anything quietly.  Along with the footsteps and the chatting, and the ensuing loud shushes, Ransom hears something quieter, though.  Something closer.  There’s a muted thump of weight on the rug next to him, and Ransom lifts his head.

Jack is staring at him, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth set.  

“Um,” Ransom says, a little uncomfortable.  He hasn’t seen this kind of intensity directed his way from Jack outside of a hockey rink or locker room since Ransom was a frog, when Ransom made every excuse he could to spend time with Jack, when he hadn’t yet gotten over his initial hero worship and settled into something less embarrassing but just as jumbly.  “Hi?”

“I’m going to move your textbook,” Jack says calmly.  “I’m not going to take it from you.  I’ll give it back when we’re done talking.  Is that okay?”

Ransom takes a very, very deep breath.  “Yeah.  That’s fine,” he says.  He unfolds his body and shifts, slowly dragging himself up off the ground.  He’s watching from a sitting position, wincing through the pins and needles in his right leg, as Jack moves Ransom’s textbook to the table with Ransom’s bag.  Jack brings Ransom’s water bottle with him and hands it to Ransom.

The water is warm.  Ransom takes a sip anyway.  He didn’t realize how dry his mouth was.  He downs almost half the bottle, his shoulder aching from too much time spent trapped under his body.

“Take your time,” Jack says, in that same steady tone.  It would be maddening if it weren’t soothing, having someone talk in subdued tones.  Too much noise and too much contact sets Ransom’s nerves on edge when he’s this tightly wound, everything inspiring annoyance in a way he never experiences when he’s better rested and less stressed out.  “Do you need to do some stretches?”

“Probably,” Ransom says.  He sets his water bottle down next to him.  “I can handle that, though.  You can head off to dinner with the rest of them.  Make sure Holster gets the peanut butter ratio right.”

“I can,” Jack agrees.  “But I’m not going to.  Does this happen every semester?”

“Ch’yeah,” Ransom says, waving it off.  “You don’t have to do the captain shit, dude, I’m fine.  I just gotta get through my finals, and then it’ll pass.  Sophomore year, y’know?”

Jack’s brows furrow even more deeply.  Ransom’s pretty sure he could stick a nickle between them and have it stay.  “I don’t think most…” Jack pauses, rethinks his words as he stares at Ransom, then goes quiet again.  “Can I touch you?  You can say no.”

Ransom feels Jack’s gaze heavy on him.  He thinks if it were anyone but Jack or Holster, he’d say no.  But he nods his head and tells Jack yes.

He’s rewarded by one of Jack’s broad hands gently rubbing his back.  Ransom isn’t sure if the contact is to ground them both or whether Jack’s feeling for knots, but Ransom leans into the touch.  It’s warm and oddly reassuring and not too intrusive, and Ransom’s grateful.

“I’m not your captain right now,” Jack says seriously.  “I’m your… your friend.  Your friend who has anxiety.  I know a panic attack when I see one.  They feel horrible, and they can have serious health effects.  I’m not… I won’t push you to do something about it.  It’s helped me, when I did it right.  I just want you to take a little time to breathe and stretch and eat.  I could use the break, too, and this always helps me.”

Ransom has a head full of arguments.  Jack’s being so careful not to make him bristle while dropping conversations about panic attacks and mental health and seeking help into this, and Ransom’s gut impulse is to tell him that he doesn’t need it.  He’s been dealing with this kind of pressure, the weight of his expectations and his parents’ expectations and his entire family’s expectations, really, all his life.  He can handle this.  He has a routine.  And, sure, it may look kinda weird from the outside, but this is coping as well as he knows how.  

He needs this time to study.  He doesn’t have time to be wasting staring down Jack’s earnest blue eyes, to be leaning down into the way Jack’s arm feels around him.  

He can already feel himself breathing easier, some of the tightness in his chest loosening, and it’s the only reason he finally folds.

“You could use the break, too?” Ransom asks.  Jack smiles gently, and Ransom’s heart skips a beat.

“Yeah,” Jack says.  “I could use a walk and some fresh air.  Just walking to the dining hall, if you want to join.  Get some protein in you.  Brain food.”

Without Ransom’s organic chemistry outline staring him in the face, it seems a lot more reasonable.  Ransom could use the break to recharge his brain.  He knows it’ll make him more effective.  And now that he’s actually focusing on it, he is a lot more hungry than he realized.

“Let me pack my stuff,” Ransom says.  His legs are a bit unsteady when he stands up, the blood rushing into his limbs, but Jack is there, hovering to make sure he’s okay.

Ransom doubts that this is the last serious conversation they’re going to have about this.  He would bet, knowing Jack, that they are going to have an awkward and stilted and very, very earnest conversation about it half the way to the dining hall.  Ransom can already picture Jack giving him one of his subdued, understated pep talks that Ransom has always found more compelling than the chest-thumping kind.  

Ransom can deal with that when they cross that bridge.

For now, though, Ransom packs his bag back up, carefully marking his place in his notes.

“It’s called being strategic,” Jack said.

The rest of the team watched them fightfrom the sidelines.

“I’ve always wanted to be foughtover,” Holster muttered to Bitty. “But not like this.”

Bitty shook his head. “I know Jackcould get competitive, but I always figured it was just hockey that didit.”

Holster scoffed.

“No way, man,” he said.“You should have seen the Gold Tournament Extravaganza of me and Ransy’ssophomore year. It was something else.”

The argument of who got Holster went onfor another ten minutes until Shitty finally yelled, “Just get on with italready!”

Jack and Ransom glared at each otherwithout saying anything. Holster reluctantly went over to Jack’s side, staringat Ransom forlornly.

The choosing ceremony went back and forthuneventfully until Bitty was the only one left. Then they were back to squareone.

After the first comment, everyone else loweredthemselves down on the grass. Bitty sat on the front steps and tucked in forthe long haul. He was glad they’d at least left the beer cooler on the porchwith him.

Shitty stared at the cooler longingly. Hehad been taken in by Ransom as payback.

“Bitty is from Georgia. There’s no way he—”

“Rules are rules, Ransom, and youagreed—”

“You already took Holster from me!How could you—”

“Y'all,” Bitty interrupted.“I could just—”

“No,” Jack and Ransom said simultaneously.Bitty closed his mouth.

At some point, Ransom pulled a Canadianflag out of nowhere and started waving it around. Holster joined the argumentwith his own booming voice.

“He is a delicate ecosystem, Jack! Lethim have this.”

“This isn’t one of his exams, thisis—”

“About winning!” Ransomfinished, pointing the flag in Jack’s face. “And I plan on being KingMoose Almighty of this Haus-hold indefinitely, so—”

Lardo snorted loudly at the title. Ransomshot her a look.

“Y'all,” Bitty tried again.“How about I—”

“No,” they said again.

Bitty sighed. It was going to be a long day.  

BONUS:

Jack and Ransom got closer and closer withevery comment and comeback they made until they were nearly on top of eachother, almost no space between their chests. Neither of them seemed ready toback down.

“You should just give up rightnow,” Ransom said, his fingers curled into fists. Jack squared him with alook.

“Feeling nervous, eh?” He said.“I can see why you should be intimidated. I wouldn’t blame you for givingup now.”

“Hey,” Holster said loudly.“Are you guys—”

Ransom said something too quiet for Bittyto hear, and then suddenly he and Jack really were on top of each other. Kissing. Furiously.

“Oh my,” Bitty said, blinkingrapidly. The image didn’t change.

Jack’s hand came up to bury itself inRansom’s hair as he fell back half a step. He regained his footing soon enough.It didn’t seem like they planned on stopping anytime soon.

“THINK OF THE CHILDREN!” Shittyscreeched, diving into Chowder and Dex’s laps. He slapped a palm over both oftheir eyes, ignoring Chowder’s surprised “Whoa!” and Dex’s indignant,“Hey!” He then added, “Also, congrats! This is way moreproductive!”

Ransom broke away from the kiss just longenough to announce, “The Games aren’t off! We’re still doing this!”

Then he went right back to kissing Jack.