Day 3: Ghosts

Jack couldn't sleep.

The mid-afternoon nap that he was supposed to be sharing with Allison had remained frustratingly elusive. He lay on his back, staring sightlessly at the ceiling, one hand shoved beneath the cool fabric of his pillow, the other resting lightly on her slender back as she slumbered peacefully beside him.

He had no idea how long he'd been lying there, eyes wide and blinking in the oppressive silence, trying desperately to ignore the urge to indulge in any meaningful self-reflection. It could have been seconds, minutes or maybe even hours, but time had seemed to stop altogether as the emotions that he'd become so adept at burying had risen up all at once and demanded reciprocity.

Except there was nothing even remotely reciprocal about what his emotions wanted from him.

They wanted to be acknowledged while he wanted nothing more than to pretend that they didn't exist. They wanted him to unleash the pain and anger that he'd been so successful at keeping bottled up inside. They wanted to be free when all he wanted to do was keep them locked away forever.

Fear…frustration…uncertainty.

They were always there, patiently simmering beneath the surface, waiting for him to relax just long enough to creep out from their hiding place and slowly make him suffer. Arduously, mercilessly, they would force him to face his insecurities and own up to the shame of his failures. And despite what he knew would eventually be a good thing—a healthy thing—there was no way that he was ready to deal with them.

Not yet.

Not when the utter helplessness of watching Allison struggle through this ordeal was so damn fresh. Or the guilt of not being there when she'd needed him most was so raw and brand new. And most importantly, most pressing…he was terrified of just what he might be capable of if he ever let his chaotic emotions truly have free reign.

Beverly had already stolen so much from them...from him. Had already nearly taken Allison away from him in the most permanent way possible once before.

Just the memory, still an open, festering wound that had yet to heal despite the months that had passed, made every muscle in his body tense with barely contained rage. And he knew right then, knew down to his deepest, darkest core, that he might not have the self-control he'd need if he ever came face to face with her again.

Because a part of him—a part that was growing larger and more vocal every day—wanted revenge. And that thought, that primal, almost irresistible instinct, scared the absolute hell out of him.

So he buried those feelings way down deep. Locked them up tight where they'd never see the light of day and he'd never have to worry about making a decision that he knew he would eventually live to regret.

Mentally giving himself a pat the back for having the foresight to leave the lights turned up to a warm, intimate glow, Jack turned on his side, his eyes searching out Allison's face. He was surprised to see that her eyes were open, watching him, dark and heavy-lidded and assessing. She was lying on her stomach, her head resting on her folded arms, the light blanket that he'd tossed over her earlier kicked down around her amazing legs.

His first instinct was to pull the dark-gray throw back up over her lush, exquisite curves, but selfishly, he decided to leave it right where it was.

"Hey, you," she said. Her voice was low, still groggy with sleep.

"Hey." He ran a tender hand up her bare arm and lightly fiddled with the cotton edge of her navy-blue sleeve. "Did I wake you?"

She shook her head, a small languid smile tugging at the corners of her full lips. "No."

Tucking her sleep-tousled hair behind her ear, he let his eyes roam across her lovely face appraisingly. She looked a million times more rested than she had when she'd lain down just a few hours ago, and he couldn't resist giving himself more silent kudos for talking her into doing this in the first place.

Although she couldn't have been more beautiful if she'd tried, Allison had looked so wan and drawn and exhausted today, that he'd felt compelled to coax her into taking a short nap. At first, she'd scoffed at the notion, joking that she was way past the age of needing a naptime. But she'd soon given in, unable to keep denying how tired she was after yawning her way through their entire Café Diem-catered lunch.

For his part, Jack hadn't planned on joining her. But after watching her strip down to her black lace underwear, slip into the same t-shirt that she'd worn to bed the night before—his t-shirt, he thought with a proprietary inward smile—and stretch out on what he'd come to think of as her side of the bed…well…ultimately he hadn't been able to resist the temptation.

And even though he hadn't slept a wink, he found that he didn't mind at all. After last night's nightmare debacle, watching her finally get a few hours of uninterrupted sleep had been well worth it.

"Any bad dreams?" he asked quietly, absently tracing the shell of her ear with his fingertips.

"None, thankfully." She paused then added thoughtfully, "Or if I did, I don't remember."

A large grin creased his face as relief poured through him.

He'd take that.

As quickly as it had appeared, the smile on Allison's face melted away. She rolled onto her side to face him, mirroring his posture. Peering into his eyes intently, as if she was searching his very soul, she reached out and cupped his cheek in her palm.

"Jack…is something wrong?"

Caught off guard by her question, he hesitated for a moment longer than he would've liked then covered her hand with his. "Nothing's wrong, Allie." He gave her hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "Nothing at all."

She slid her hand from beneath his and let it drop like a dead weight onto the rich, dark comforter between them. "Why don't I believe you?"

"I don't know…why don't you believe me?" Jack intentionally injected a playful note into his voice in the hopes of deflecting her curiosity, but she didn't bite.

Instead she reached up and slowly ran her index finger over the blond slash of his right eyebrow before continuing her journey down over his closed lid. Her touch was soft and calm and so soothing that he had to fight the impulse to surrender to its seductive power.

"Because I know you, that's why," she told him. "And there's something in your eyes…something hiding just below the surface that you don't want me to see."

Despite being slightly taken aback by the unexpected turn in the conversation, he was amazed by this incredible woman yet again. He'd called himself watching over her. Protecting her. But somehow, Allison had known—just like she always did—that he was the one that needed a guardian angel.

She knew him. Better than any woman ever had in his entire life. And if he planned on building a future with her—and boy did he—he'd have to come to terms with the fact that hiding anything from her would be nearly impossible. Not that he'd ever purposely set out to deceive her. But his natural instinct to protect those that he loved most in this world couldn't be contained, and there were going to be times—like now for instance—when telling a little white lie would be the right thing to do.

The necessary thing to do.

"Allie, I'm fine. There's nothing to worry about—promise."

Her hand fell away from his face once more.

"Funny," she said although she neither looked nor sounded the least bit amused. "When I say that, you get this…look."

"What look?"

"The one that says that I'd just force-fed you a huge crock of bull."

"Well…you were brain-jacked." Jack knew that he'd said the wrong thing the second the words had left his mouth.

The shadow of a frown flitted across her face, making her sculpted eyebrows dip and the corners of her mouth turn downward ominously. She propped herself on her forearm and leaned back a little. "Meaning?"

"Meaning," he began hastily, now in full damage-control mode, "that after what you've been through, your feelings have got to be a bit more complicated than just…fine."

"And yours aren't?"

"My feelings don't count."

"What?"

"I wasn't the one who was kidnapped and vio—" Mouth twisting like he'd just been punched in the stomach, he stopped, sat up, and ran an agitated hand across the back of his head. "I wasn't the one that Beverly harmed...you were. And in my mind, that's the only thing that matters here."

"How could you even think such a thing?" She sounded thoroughly bewildered. As if she couldn't quite make sense of what she'd just heard.

"Because it's true."

Pushing herself up into a kneeling position, Allison shook her head in wide-eyed disbelief. "I swear, Jack Carter…you have got to be the most stubborn man that I've ever…" Cutting herself off with a heavy sigh, she moved closer and placed a small hand on the back of his neck. "Honey," she said in a hushed voice, "look at me."

After a moment of mulish resistance, he finally turned to face her and instantly got lost in her eyes. The rising ire that had begun to blossom only seconds ago had faded into a marked sadness that made him feel like a world-class jerk.

"Allie…" he began, but she shook her head again and put a silencing finger to his lips.

"Jack, every day, you ask me if I'm okay...if I want to talk about what happened to me. And I know that it's probably unfair of me to expect you to open up when I haven't been very forthcoming myself, but…at least you know what my issues are." She took a moment to gently rake her fingers through the short hairs at his nape before continuing solemnly, "I can only guess at yours."

He nodded, but didn't say anything more and something in her eyes shifted and withdrew. It was barely there, just the subtlest of flickers, but he'd become so attuned to the slightest changes in her mood, that it was as obvious to him as a neon sign.

And right then, even though she nodded in understanding and kissed his lips and graced him with one of her beautiful smiles, Jack could feel the earth tremble beneath his feet as a fissure—small but significant—opened up between them.

He only hoped that in the end it didn't swallow them whole.

A/N: I have no excuse for the long delay between chapters except a massive case of writer's block. I hope its run its course because I really don't want to go through that again. Thanks to everyone who favorited, reviewed and is following this story. I know it didn't seem like it, but they really did help keep me motivated.

Originally, this chapter wasn't supposed to be told from Jack's point of view, but when the words finally started flowing again, this is what came out. Although the show never really delved into his state of mind after Beverly's scheme had been thwarted, knowing him, I can only imagine that he felt a whole lot of anger toward Beverly for what she did to Allison and plenty of (unwarranted) guilt for not being able to protect the woman that he loves. But I also think that he would call himself protecting her by not "burdening" her with his issues despite the fact that he thinks she should talk about hers. He's adorable, but maddening that way. Gotta love him.

ETA: In keeping with canon, from now on, I'll now be spelling Allison's nickname as "Allie" instead of "Ally" (as shown on the personalized tool belt that Jack gave her on The Honeymooners).