status ongoing
background still in late Season 2 (SPN), pre-series (Revolution)
notice So, I'm having an inpiration rush. Anyway, nevermind the fact that the hiatus is getting on my nerves, I'm rewatching some episodes from the first season and oh my God, I miss Jason. Pfft. Storywise, Bass and Jo's relationship is starting to bloom, as of this chapter. We'll also see Miles soon, and maybe even Dean. I haven't decided yet. Also, I'll be having some time off between the 17th and the 22nd. Later, bitches.
vii. delicate cruelties
She takes Bass back to her apartment because she's got absolutely no idea where he lives, and she doesn't think that they've reached that point in whatever it is that they have where she can snoop around his phone in search for a friend to take him home.
At this point, she can't even tell if the guy has any friends at all.
She drops him off on her bed, because even though she might be a bitch to him sometimes, he is about to experience a hangover of great proportions, and she can at least offer him a good night's sleep to help with that. Besides, he couldn't fit in her couch even if he tried.
Jo grabs a spare blanket and makes herself comfortable in the living room, ignoring the fact that she is housing the man who has been stalking her for the past few weeks. Clearly, her mom should have taught her better. But then again, she never really did pay attention to Elle's lectures.
The next morning finds Bass clinging to her toilet seat for life and emptying his guts in a professional fashion. It takes all in Jo not to laugh at his self-inflicted misery. She can be kind of a bad person at times.
"Still thinking you can take on anything I dish out, soldier?"
Bass growls with half a heart as he hurls again, and Jo leaves her spot against the doorframe to make the man Ellen's great antidote for raging hangovers. It's not pretty, and it's definitely not tasty — in fact, it tastes like horse shit — but it's effective, and after puking for the better half of the morning, she thinks bad taste is the least of Bass' worries at the moment.
He still has the nerve to notice it, though.
"God," he spits, putting a hand over his mouth to prevent himself from vomiting again. "This is awful."
"And a lifesaver. Drink up; it'll help with the hangover."
"What's in this?" Bass asks, taking another gulp and managing to simply squint his eyes at its sour taste.
"Trust me, you don't wanna know." She plops down on her ugly green armchair across from him, crossing her arms and pining him to his seat with her eyes. "So. Is this your usual way of approaching a girl? Stalking her, getting drunk off your ass in the bar she works, puking your guts out in her place—I can go all day with this."
Bass winces as he sets his now empty mug on the coffee table. "Yeah, I got the picture. I've been nothing short of an asshole to you lately."
"Try since the day you met me," she replies sassily and he raises his hands in defence.
"Alright. I may have taken the wrong approach with this. I'm not really good at this stuff. Catching a girl's eye. Making her stick around for more than just a good laid."
She snorts in disbelief. "Your excessive faith in your abilities is really amusing."
"My point is, I kind of like you. That's why I've been making a fool of myself in the past few weeks."
At this point, Jo can't think of any other way to reply than laughing at him. "That's gotta be the oldest trick in the book. Why do you boys think it has even the slightest chance of working?"
"Man pride?" he asks sheepishly, scratching at the back of his head and he looks so much like Sam at that moment, all puppy-eyed and innocent-looking that Jo has to shake the imagine out of her head rather violently. Thank God she's not the one with the hangover.
"Well, whatever it is you're doing, stop it. Because I don't kinda like you, and I'm not looking for a good laid," she tells him honestly. There is a light that seems to die in his eyes at that proclamation, but she sees it swiftly come back on a second later, and dare she say that it looks even brighter than before. Goddamn men and their fucking challenges.
"So, you're not gonna give me even half a chance?"
"Not a quarter of it." But deep inside, as she looks into those oddly vibrant eyes, she knows that she already is.
"That's good," the dumb bastard says, squinting his eyes against the sun that's slipping through her drawn curtains and biting back a smile that no hangover person should be capable of cracking. "'Cause I'm gonna earn it."
Jo mentally curses herself into oblivion for shooting a challenging smirk his way.