#russianxroulette

((THIS IS THE CUTEST THING))

“Why did you do it? Why did you go?”

Jack looked away, huddling into the meager warmth of his coat and trying to figure out what to tell her.  He’d run because he had to.  It had started off so innocently, with Spot’s conversational remark that he’d seen Jack’s “old girl” in Brooklyn and that she was pregnant, and did Jack know who her husband was?  But Jack knew Anya; knew there was no way she could have gotten married that fast, and he’d snuck into the library to find out how long babies took to grow...and he was dumb, but he wasn’t stupid.  He’d realized the baby was his--and he’d run.

But he couldn’t tell her that.  He couldn’t tell her he’d spent four months in Santa Fe trying to forget, to convince himself that somehow he’d made a mistake, that it wasn’t his fault...but the West made a man see things more clearly than the New York did, and he’d finally come back to own up to it.

But there were some things he still couldn’t explain, and he just shook his head.  “...I don’t know.”

Who’s  shy about their first kiss?

Running up to someone and kissing them before they realize it’s you is pretty bold, and Jack was more surprised than shy, so I’m going to say neither :)

Who wouldhave to call the other, because they know that the other is bad at getting outof bed in the morning?

Anya would call Jack, because Jack is SO OUT OF IT in the mornings.  (He prefers kisses instead, though.) :p

Who has toforce the other to eat breakfast?

Jack would have to force Anya, unless she ate to show a good example to John.  Jack eats because he’s starving.

If onewould want a dog and the other would want a cat, who would get what theywanted?

It would depend on their living situation, because a dog would be a lot harder to take care of in an apartment, and Anya could probably convince Jack to wait.  If they lived in Santa Fe, though, they’d have a dog AND a cat.  Probably several of both, which would be Jack’s idea, but he found them and they need him (and once John catches sight of them there’s no turning back)

Who hangsup first late at night?

Anya.  Jack would sometimes fall asleep to her voice, but he’d never be the one to suggest hanging up.  He’d hate losing that contact to her.

Who readsfanfiction about them?

Jack.  There’s nothing like a good dime novel. :p

Who writesfanfiction about them?

ANYA.  I’m not saying some of it’s written while Jack’s still dating Sarah…but that’s exactly what I’m saying.  It’d be your classic “You Belong With Me” songfic-based angst-turned-romance when Jack realized the error of his ways. ;)

Who catchesthe other when they fall?

Jack.

Who makeshearts of the dough when they make bread?

It would have to be Anya; Jack wouldn’t get that far if he tried to bake.

Who eatstheir food cold, because the other was too impatient for the microwave oven tobe done?

Jack eats his food cold, but Anya WILL HAVE HOT FOOD NO MATTER WHAT.  And she expects Jack to wait with her while she eats, and claims she’s not going to share anything if he’s already done by then (she does, though.)

Who dragsthe other to watch their favourite band?

If Jack found out some cowboy singer was coming to New York, you can bet he’d go…but what’s probably more likely is that Anya buys him tickets, because she puts up with so much for this kid.

Who getsjealous of the other liking the band too much?

I don’t think either of them would have crushes on band members, but Anya seems more jealous in general.

Who getsmad at the other the easiest?

ANYA.  Although Jack does his part to make things worse.

Who kissesthe other’s cheek to cheer them up?

Anya.  Touch means a lot to Jack, so it’d probably work, but if Anya were upset, he’d try to distract her by actually getting her out of the situation (taking her on a walk or to get ice cream or something.)

When eatingout, who wants to stay just a little bit longer though they’re done eating?

Both of them.  They’re secretly hopeless romantics.

Who listensto the same song over and over, and annoys the other with it?

JACK KELLY

Who has ahard time opening the jam-glass?

They both manage pretty well, but if they can’t get it, instead of handing it to the other, Anya throws it and Jack tries “unsticking” it by slamming it against the edge of the counter.  It never goes well.

Who doesn’ttell the other that they love them often, but shows it with small gesturesinstead?

Jack wasn’t proud of what he was doing, but Mush had woken him up the night before, saying he’d been yelling in his sleep again—again—and no matter what Kloppman said, sometimes the whiskey helped.

Still, he was cutting through alleys, trying to avoid any of the boys who might be heading inside for the night, and also hoping the narrow passageways would provide some kind of shelter from the icy rain that slanted across the city.  It was nearly May, but Jack didn’t doubt there would be snow by morning.

He almost didn’t hear the groan over the sound of the wind.

It was coming from behind a few trash bins, and although Jack figured it had to be a drunk—even the street kids had enough sense to find shelter in weather like this—he couldn’t just leave someone if they were in trouble.  Cautiously circling around to look, wary of what he might find, he caught sight of a thin body, realizing, by the tattered dress and the sound of a second whimper of pain, that it was a girl.

He edged between the wall and the trash bins, bending down to touch her hand.  It was freezing cold, and so thin he could see the bones.  “I’m gonna help you, all right?” he said.  He wasn’t sure if she even knew he was there, but if she did, he didn’t want to scare her.  Fighting for space near the girl’s head, having to push some of the trash aside, he managed to crouch down, brushing her hair back as gently as he could and shocked by how hot her skin was.  “Listen, do you have a—”

The first time Jack fell in love with Anya, he didn’t even know her name.

He’d been in solitary for three days, so hungry and weak he wasn’t sure what was real, stuck in a half-dream where the Refuge was a Western jail.  He’d barely heard the knock, and even when he did, it took an effort to get to the door.

He was dizzy, but when his eyes focused, the girl looked like an angel—and better yet, she passed him some water and a potato.

She was only there a moment before a noise down the hall made her run, but that moment meant everything.  Her image was burned into Jack’s mind: a savior and friend.

*The second time he fell in love, they were huddled together in a freezing cell, desperately trying to stay warm and keep their hopes up.  They had shared so many bad times, and now they shared their dreams, Jack telling Anya about Santa Fe, and she about her childhood in Russia, both of them seeming so out-of-reach.

Jack kept saying he’d help her, and Anya kept saying she didn’t want him to get hurt.  But Anya was his friend, and the rush of protectiveness, the willingness to fight for her, told him she was as good as family.

*The third time he fell in love, he’d thought Anya was dead.

There was no other explanation for why she was gone—not in the Refuge, not at the trial, not in the wagon of kids who’d been rescued with Crutchy.  Anya had been so sick, so often, that Jack had finally accepted what he thought was the hard truth.

But then she was standing on the courthouse steps, and they’d run to each other, and she’d kissed him, and he’d kissed her.  He didn’t know what was happening, or what was right.  He only knew Anya was still alive.

*The fourth time he fell in love, it was from one kind of love to another.

He barely remembered the night before, only that Snyder’s sentencing had been postponed yet again, and he and Anya had walked over to Medda’s, and now his head was pounding, but she was asleep in his arms.

…No, she wasn’t.  She was crying.

Jack frowned, pulling her closer and cracking an eye open.  The dim light hurt his eyes.  “Whatsamatta?” he mumbled, still mostly asleep.

Anya just whispered “Jack—” and put a hand on his chest.  –His bare chest.  Jack sat up, confused, and then realization hit.  He swore, scrambling back, figuring out where they were, what had happened—

He swore again, suddenly crushed by a weight of guilt.  “Anya,” he said, his voice shaking, “I’m so sorry—”

He expected her to hate him, but instead she clung to him, sobbing into his chest so he felt the hot tears on his skin.  “No, I am sorry,” she whispered.  “I was so scared—of Snyder, and—I should not have drank so much—”

“No, I shouldn’t’ve either, I—hell, Anya—”  He wrapped his arms around her, feeling lower than he ever had, knowing nothing could make up for what he’d done.  What they’d done.  He should have known better.

He pressed a kiss to her hair, knowing all too well what the gesture meant.  Last night, in a fear-driven whiskey-flooded haze, he thought he’d loved her like someone in Medda’s songs.  But now he knew better.  He loved her—but not like that.

He didn’t know if she still loved him.

*The fifth time he fell in love, it was too late.

He was out on the fire escape, Anya’s last letter in his shaking hand while the five-year-old son he’d never known they’d had sat inside with Sarah.

He didn’t know what to do.  A kid, a wife, a dead friend whose love for their boy was tangible even in someone else’s transcription.

Jack hadn’t seen Anya for five years, but he could still picture her face, the one he’d seen through the bars of the Refuge, and then so many places beyond.  They’d just been so young.  Maybe it would have worked, and maybe it wouldn’t, but it just…

…This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Jack didn’t know what she was anymore; a sister, a former love, maybe simply a close friend.  But now she was gone.

He folded the letter, slipping it back into its envelope, and then tucking the envelope into his vest pocket.

He didn’t know, but it didn’t matter.  What mattered was that he still, in some way, loved her, and he always would.

He opened the window, climbing back inside, seeing so much of Anya in the little boy at the table.

Jack had been winning ‘til Anya walked in.

He had Ryker pretty well figured out, and knew he was faster, able to dart in to throw punches and back to avoid getting hit, and he could tell the other man was tiring, more content to stay in one spot and not get drawn around the ring.

It was cold for early spring, and until the crowd had showed up they’d been able to hear the rain pounding on the auto shop’s metal roof, but now Jack’s vision had narrowed to the space inside the circle of bystanders, their cheering barely registering as he fought for five thousand dollars.  That was a quarter of a semester right there, more if he was careful about how much he spent on food and housing, and the faster he got a full year’s worth the faster he’d make it to Santa Fe...

But then the opening door caught his eye, and he glanced up, and--

Anya.

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