What frightens you? Jack awoke feeling restless and his mind reeling with questions. Caterpillar's cryptic words looped endlessly in his mind, yet his pondering provided no further insight to their true meaning. He eventually gave up trying interprete their significance and pushed the troubling thoughts aside. He had more pressing matters at the moment.
Jack rose gingerly from the bed, trembling only slightly from the exertion, and winced as a dull ache blossomed in the back of his head. He'd almost forgotten about Seven's parting gift. Well, whatever. A little pain might even help him focus for the long day ahead.
He rummaged through the small corner closet and retrieved his nicest outfit. He hadn't worn clothes even close to this caliber since his official induction to the throne, and the silky material felt odd against his callused hands. One of the perks of being a prince meant his entire wardrobe was custom-made to ensure the best fit. He'd been properly measured for this button-down shirt over a year ago; the Pride coursing through his veins at the time demanded the very best from the over-worked tailors.
It was rather irritating that the shirt was now entirely too small. The fabric strained across his upper arms and chest. It was highly constrictive, not to mention downright uncomfortable. Maybe it shrunk during a wash? Despite the long hours of work poured into the shirt, he'd only worn it one time…the day he'd visited his mother in the Hospital. It had fit perfectly then. He entertained the idea of simply destroying the long-sleeved monstrosity. It had brought nothing to him but pain and misery. But it was red. If he could – quite literally – paint himself as a target, then perhaps he could shield his friends from future Spades' attacks. It was worth a try.
But surely he could find something a lot less irritating! Jack tore through the rest of the closet and small dresser, throwing clothes to the floor in his haste. His frustration bristled. He had lost many of his possessions during the Casino's destruction, but he thought he'd managed to salvage at least one more garment befitting of a king. The silken shirt would have to do. He cast about for an appropriate dress jacket, but came up empty. He sighed and combed a shaky hand through his sandy hair. The majority of his current garments were of poor quality. They were meant to induce a chameleon effect so he could blend seamlessly amongst his subjects. Today, however, he needed to channel power. He needed to demonstrate regality, confidence and resilience in the face of adversity. He needed to embrace his birthright.
He also really needed to get out of this shirt. It already felt like it was cutting off circulation to his arms. Another half-hearted glance at his strewn clothes verified ripping said monstrosity into satisfying tatters was not viable, given his lack of better dress options. He found some pressed pants which, to his relief, fit reasonably well. His boots needed a shine, but otherwise they would suffice. His wardrobe was swiftly coming together, except…he surveyed the accompanying tie with mild disgust. It would undoubtedly provide a more polished appearance. He hated it. He grit his teeth and tread over the offending article in defiance. Never again.
Jack managed – just barely – to button up the ridulous silken shirt when a hesitant knock appeared at the door. "Come in," he called loudly, not looking up when the door creaked open. He flexed his arms experimentally and grimaced. Hopefully the seams would hold.
"Wow, I mean – WHOA." Duch's startled reaction coaxed Jack into looking up. He took in the state of the room and cringed.
"I'm not usually this messy," he said by way of explanation. His sleeves stretched taut across his shoulders and forearms as he bent to scoop the scattered clothes into a more respectable pile on the floor.
"No, that's not…I mean, your shirt."
He grimaced as the silk creases cut lines across his skin. "I know. It's utterly awful." Jack made a show of straightening his bedsheets so he'd have an excuse to avoid eye contact. Duch always saw him at his worst. Why could he never be his best around her? "But it's the only nice shirt I have left."
"I…remember it." Duch said softly. "It's the only reason I was able to track you down that day. But it wasn't so—"
"Small?"
"—filled out back then."
Jack quit fiddling with the sheets and stared at his fiancee in wonder. Unexpectedly, he laughed. The action sent tight ripples across the damning material. "Very funny, Duch. I haven't changed quite that much in the past year." He grinned good-naturedly at the blonde, but was surprised to see disbelief spread across her face.
"You really don't see it, do you?"
"See what?" He made the mistake of shrugging in the tight fabric, which bunched snugly around his neck. "Okay, this thing is coming off!" Jack wrestled with the top two buttons, breathing a sigh of relief when they popped free, before Duch approached and stilled his hands.
"Jack, keep the shirt on. I didn't realize you had no idea." Her eyes were clear and purposeful. They didn't reflect any of the confusion that lined his face. He felt unusually vulnerable under her searching gaze.
"No idea about…? Look, this shirt is driving me crazy. It shrunk and I need something to wear when I address the public this morning and…" his voice died when he realized she was no longer looking in his eyes. She was focused on his chest and his stupid shirt. He wanted to die of embarrasment.
Duch didn't respond right away. She moved her right hand so it lay over his heart. "So, let me get this straight. You think some silk changed more than you over the course of a year?"
Her question took him aback. "I…what?"
Now it was her turn to sigh. Her voice held a hint of exasperation. "I want you to tell me what's changed about you since last year."
"Uh…"
"And don't tell me 'nothing'. I need to hear you say it."
He cleared his throat. "Alright, sure." His fingers were still frozen by the top buttons of his shirt, so he repositioned them over her delicate hands. He was sure he'd disappoint Duch, but he wasn't about to lie to her, either. "I became the King of Wonderland. I stopped drinking tea." He hesitated, wondering if he should go on. She had mentioned the shirt. Maybe she wanted him to talk about clothes? "I stopped wearing suits. Never liked them. I'd rather blend in than have the appearance of wealth indicate my social status."
Duch rested her head against his chest. He caressed her hair softly and she melted into his arms.
"And, uh, yeah, that's it." He finished lamely. He could feel the blonde gently shake her head.
"There's more. Plenty more. You've changed more than you think. Tell me."
He scoured his brain for anything else. He didn't know what she wanted him to say. "Well, there's really nothing else. I still wear red, though. That hasn't changed."
"Why not?" Her voice was quiet and the world seemed to still around them.
Jack shifted awkwardly, which had nothing to do with the infernal silk. He hadn't known the answer himself until this exact moment. "It's funny. I've been forced to wear red my entire life. But I was also wearing red when we first met…So, I guess the color makes me think of you. And this is getting really embarassing so can we please stop." Jack took a step back to encourage some distance, but Duch stepped forward with him and tilted her head up to catch his gaze. Her eyes were glistening with tears. Of course he'd made her cry. He was Jack freaking Heart, what did he expect?
"I'm sorry, Duch. If I've said anything to offend you—"
She wrapped him in a crushing hug. He returned the embrace stiffly at first, then drew her closer, resting his chin lightly on the top of her head. His breath hitched as her fingers worked up the nape of his neck. He allowed himself to relax into the cool touch.
"You should wear shirts like this more often." He detected her sly smirk even with her face hidden from his view.
"Oh yeah? For whose benefit? Because I'm chafing up a storm over here." He didn't seriously expect Duch to answer. Just holding her in his arms was enough.
"Well, my benefit, for one. I am your fiancee." She said cheekily.
"Surely my future wife wouldn't sabotage the rest of my clothes?!" Jack exclaimed in faux horror. Her petite frame shook against his chest as she failed to hold back a string of giggles.
"You won't have any clothes left if you continue working out at the rate you're going," the blonde murmured when she regained her breath. Jack shook his head in bewilderment. His busy schedule didn't exactly allow for extended leisure activities, especially during a period of political upheaval. He barely had enough time to eat and sleep, let alone improve his physique.
"I don't see what you mean—"
Duch pulled away from his grasp and placed her hands on her hips. "Your life of luxury was pulled out from under you in an instant, but you persevered. As soon as you came to power, you stopped treating the suits like servants. You made yourself visible to your people and proudly walk among them. Like, literally walk. You hardly ever use the flamingos."
"Yeah, but—"
"You train with Charlie everyday. You don't have to, but you accept his crazy methods and do everything he asks. Afterwards you turn around and practice swordfighting."
"A lot of good that did when Seven—"
"You help rebuild. You recommend improvement projects then physically assist with the labor. In the span of one year, you've developed skills in metal-working, carpentry and excavation."
"No…well, yes, but it's not like—"
"You shouldn't cover yourself up so much. You're always wearing long sleeves or jackets. You've worked hard to become a worthy leader and your body happened to reap the benefits. Show it off."
A thoughtful expression crossed Jack's face. He didn't feel any different. But Duch was right; he had been more active these past few months than during his adult life within the Casino. He worked a few more buttons open and smiled craftily. "Far be it from me to deny my lady her request."
"Stop!" She exclaimed, her bell-like laughter ringing through the air. "Besides, you're just doing this to get out of that shirt."
"Uh, yeah. This shirt sucks. Did I mention the chafing?"
She rolled her eyes and began to re-button the shirt all the way up to the collar. He groaned miserably as the material tightened aginst his will.
"Grow up, you big baby. This has got nothing on a corset," Duch chastised when she finished. "There. I'd say you're ready. You mentioned a speech?" Jack extended his arm mockingly, but Duch accepted it all the same.
"Together, then," he said and gave her a playful push with his shoulder. She returned it in kind.
"Together."
"And then I can burn the shirt?" Their banter continued as they made their way to the clamoring subjects below.
