Prompt: It's never about the job. Jack/Teri
xxxxx
It's never about the job. Not directly.
It's the feeling, the subtle signals that what he does is more important, more worthy, than what she does.
She knows that's petty. It's petty because it's true: his job is more important. He's out… what, exactly? Saving lives? Busting drug dealers and violent criminals and rescuing little old ladies, or something.
She supposes. He doesn't talk about it.
All she knows is that he comes home late, tired, smelling like smoke and vomit and gunpowder, sometimes. All she knows is that when there's a schedule to be rearranged, it's her world that has to be turned upside down, not his.
And the funny thing is, the schedule is supposed to turn his world right side up.
Deep down, it's not about the job. It's the worry that he's missing out on the little things, the events and family occasions that make life something more than going through the motions. It's the loss of the person who can take time to enjoy everything they've worked for – that's what she really resents. She knows he feels the resentment. How could he not? But the feeling itself has become a barrier to him, one he doesn't want to breach. If he could find a way around it, he would discover that she is still here, waiting for him.
It's never about the job. Not really.