Author's Note: I wrote this around Christmas and don't know how to finish it! It is nowhere near finished, nor has it been checked for grammatical errors. If anyone wants to give me ideas for this I am all open to it. Also still needing a beta...Anyway here's a five month late fanfic that was supposed to be Christmassy. Sorry it's so incredibly short! Thanks for reading!
The place was in a state of total vexation. It was her favorite day to stay in, an excuse to not face the world. All the holiday spirit, temporarily reversed as what felt like the entire world rushed to their store of choice to get the greatest deals. "How the hell did you convince me to go black Friday shopping with you, Jack?" she said with irritation throughout her voice.
He chuckled, his hand haphazardly wrapped around her upper arm to keep from being seperated. "Shouldn't you be the one convincing me?"
She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, because I just adore angry mobs of unsatisfied shoppers. I don't care this much about getting a new phone. Couldn't we just come back tomorrow? "
"You don't have a phone and we leave for New York tomorrow. This could have been avoided, you know?" "Oh, so now it's my fault we're here? I seem to remember you sitting on your ass doing nothing to help when my phone met It's end."
"Oh come on! You dropped your phone in a pot of boiling water. You are just as capable - if not more- of getting it out as I am. What could I have done?" She couldn't help but burst into laughter. "Of all the ways my phone should have broken." she managed to get out between breaths.
She was far too conscious of the scar on her wrist, a representation of the demons in her head telling her she wasn't good enough. Jack's thumb gently traced it, his fingers delicate like the way you softly rub an object drying with glue if you're not sure it's dry yet. On one hand she was in the slow process of reconstructing into someone that resembled who she used to be. A mosaic art piece that keeps breaking. At the same time, she was seconds away from twisting into a hurricane, a physical and emotional force spinning downward. Her perception and thoughts on the grim reality of her past with energy central to her guilt that she'd never overcome. There was something about his hands that made her feel at comfort. The calluses and scars that covered his palms surface was a reminder of everything he had sacrificed, and she knew he'd do it again. It was a gentle roughness, unlike the feeling of one's hands who had inflicted unbearable amounts of pain to every inch of her body. Jack's hands were a protective barrier from that, another thread of sanity that silently held her in one piece, killed (and worse) to protect her. Her eyes drifted downward and mapped out the simple motion of his thumb going up and down, up and down to the rhythm of her slow beating heart. Their silence was loud, breaking down walls that long stood. A peaceful uncomfortableness. She rested her head on his torso, breathing with the rise and fall of his chest. "It's not your fault." she whispered. "It never was." His body stiffened but he stayed quiet. "I love you," he whispered, kissing her temple. He knew she was wrong, but in that moment she needed him to accept whatever it was she perceived the truth to be. They were each others saviors.