trudes193-Stoppit, you're making me blush! That's good, though. I'll admit, at the beginning of the film I'm going, 'You'd better be nice to him, girlie!' and at the end I'm going, 'Shoot the sorry bugger! Teach him to respect the ladies!'
AN: Between you and me, Jill probably requested that Jackson be given some extra morphine to keep his complaints to a minimum.
Glass. Cool, unforgiving glass. He registers the feeling of it against his skin. The radio hums in his ears. The icy silence coming from his left makes him wonder what's going on. Shouldn't he be dead by now? Failure is never an option.
"Come on. Out."
He opens his eyes to see the apartment. Home. If he can call it home.
"Jackson."
Out. Right.
Everything protests as he stumbles out of the car. Why isn't he dead?
The elevator nearly knocks him off his feet on the way up. Then it's a Twilight Zone-esque hallway and then bed. Jesus.
He can hear her moving around. She's probably taking off her shoes and jewellery, and unbuttoning her shirt, maybe slipping out of her skirt. Always on the move. She's always on the move, always has been.
"You owe me, Jack." she says from the dresser. "I don't like begging, you know that. And that's exactly what I had to do to save your ass because your emotions got in the way." Yes, yes, there's no need to rub it in. "Never again."
He cracks his eyes open and blinks a few times to try and clear his vision. Blinking doesn't do shit and he stops. Does speaking still hurt, he wonders? Only one way to find out.
"Jill."
"Don't." It didn't hurt as bad that time. That's something. "Just be quiet and go to sleep."
The left-hand side of the bed sinks down a bit and he feels her start untying his shoelaces.
"I don't know why I bother with you." she says. "Anyone with half a brain would have left you in the hospital."
He blinks again. Everything's still blurry.
"Jill…"
"I said not to talk."
His shoes slip off and she starts unbuttoning his shirt. He watches her fingers-she's got so damn many, when did that happen?-move from button to button.
"You could have gotten us both shot." she says. "Or worse. I hope you're proud of yourself."
She eases the shirt off and goes to work on his pants. He says nothing.
"It turned out fine in the end, by the way. Everything's taken care of. All you got out of this was a firm reprimand."
And a completely shattered ego. Not to mention all the bumps, bruises, and puncture wounds. What kind of idiot stabs someone with a pen, anyway? A fucking Frankenstein's Monster pen! He wonders if that left a scar.
She redresses him and he feels a little like a doll. An oversized, broken doll that came from a thrift shop.
"Go to sleep, Jackson."
Where is she going? She went through all that trouble and she's just going to leave?
"Stay."
"I'm going to shower."
And that's the end of that.
He thought he could sleep. He dozed a little, but it's not the same thing.
The shower shuts off and he hears her come back ten minutes later. Maybe she'll have calmed down by now.
"Jill?"
"Stop talking." Her voice is softer. Good. "I thought I told you to go to sleep."
"Can't sleep."
She's probably glaring at him. Too bad. How else is he supposed to communicate?
"I mean it. Be quiet and go to sleep."
"Come here?"
"Jackson…"
He looks up at her, hoping he looks somewhat pathetic. If he's doing it right, she'll come over. That look can get him almost anything with her-it got him a date, anyway. It didn't get her into bed as soon as he would have liked, but hey. You can't have everything.
"Fine." Perfect. "But shut up, you sound like nails on a chalkboard."
That's not his fault. Blame the pen.
He hears the clicking of the remote and the low whine of the television turning on. The M*A*S*H theme reaches his ears and he yawns. He's tired, he'll admit to that.
She's warm. He waits for her to get comfortable before settling down against her side.
"Stop moving, you'll reopen something."
She's still a little upset, then. Fine. She'll get over it eventually.
"Sorry."
"Liar."
He's not as sorry as he thinks he should be, but he is sorry.
A little.
"Go to sleep. You're going to need it."
He toys with a loose thread on the blanket. She slides her fingers under his and makes him stop.
"What happened?"
"Plan B and a borrowed post office uniform."
"Mm?"
"Later. Stop talking or I'll knock you out."
She'll do it, too. He knows that only too well.
He shrugs-ow-and closes his eyes again.