A/N: So I wrote this chapter over the course of the last few days, and was just going over it one last time before posting when I realised I really didn't like it. The flow was all wrong and it seems disjointed, and yeah. Not good. So I change it. A lot. There might be 10% of the original left. Hence the delay. So I'm sorry. Hopefully the end result make up for it. Thanks for being patient with me.
She follows him out the door. (Of course she does.) She's not about to let him leave thinking she thinks he could in any way shape or form harm her because she knows, she knows, he wouldn't. (Despite his earlier assertion that she doesn't know what he's capable of, in this she is sure.)
As close as she was behind him however, now there is no sign. (Seriously, what is he? A magician?!) Rain has begun to fall again, and she briefly considers rushing on as she is, but common sense prevails. There is no point in her risking illness by chasing after him for however long it takes to track him down, (because she will, even if it takes her all day!) dressed as she is in just her blouse.
A quick detour back inside for her coat, she is back on the street minutes later. She knows he is traveling light (his bag was still propped up in her hallway), but she hopes he has at least had the foresight to keep his phone on him. Quickly dialling his number, she hurries left out of her car park, towards the nearest shopping area. If he wants to hide from her, he'll head towards a crowd; it's easier to be lost amongst the throng of people than to be spotted alone on the pavement.
The phone call goes unanswered, and so leaves a hurried voicemail. "Jack. It's Nikki. Where are you?! I need to explain… Look, I'm sorry about James. He said something about a sister, and I tried. I swear I tried to tell him you wouldn't do that. I know you wouldn't do that. But he wouldn't… Look. Call me back. Please, Jack. I'm worried about you. Even if it's just to let me know you're ok."
Hanging up, she realises she has come to the start of the street market being held today, the stalls filling the road between the established shops on either side. Ducking into the doorway of the first shop on the street, she stops to think.
While crowded, there are less people here than she would have thought there would be (the rain obviously keeping shoppers indoors). There are still enough people to pose a problem for her to spot Jack easily, however. She gives his phone another try, but again it rings through until is only met by a robotic voice informing her that her call cannot be connected, and to leave a message. With a sigh, she does so again, this one more to the point. "Jack. Call me."
She sends him a text as well for good measure, the two words to the point. Call me! (He obviously has signal if it's rung through to voicemail and she hasn't been directed straight there (which means he might be screening her calls. This hurts more than she's prepared to admit.)) She waits, giving him a few minutes respond. When her phone remains stubbornly silent, she gives a quiet curse. (Of all the men in the world, she had to go and fall for this one. What is she, glutton for punishment?)
Deciding to give the street market a miss after all, (even if he was still there the likelihood of her being able to spot him in the crowd is minimal at best) she turns and heads back towards her flat, feeling utterly dejected. She tries his number again, more out of hope than expectation, but again it goes unanswered. This time she doesn't leave a message (because what's the point?).
She feels the despair begin to overwhelm her again. Jack's vanishing act is all her fault. If only she'd checked she had her phone. If only she'd managed to convince James she was ok. If only she'd given the stupid business card that started this whole mess off back. If only Jack had let her explain. If only he'd stop running away from her. If only they could actually talk to each other. If only…
Rounding the corner of her complex, still berating herself for letting the situation get so completely out of control that she has no idea how to fix it before having to face the others at work, (God, it'll be a miracle if Clarissa will ever speak to her again after all this) she stops short at the sight that greets her on the buildings doorstep, unable to hold in the gasp. "Jack? Oh my god."
She hadn't stopped to think that when he had ran out of her door earlier he had already taken off his jacket, nor had she noticed it when she had returned for her own. Hurrying towards his slumped figure as he rests his weight against the door now though, she is suddenly very aware that all he has had in defence against the elements is his shirt and jeans; both of which are now soaked through. The way his hair is plastered to his head and the slight tinge of blue to his lips and the violent shivering he seems unable to control only add to the picture of misery before her.
Grabbing his hand, almost balking from the sheer iciness of his skin, she opens the door, leading him back to her flat. The almost docile way he follows her lead scares her almost as much as the dead look in his eye as he does so. She's not even sure he knows she's actually there until he lets out a soft, "Sorry."
She shakes her head at him, letting out a soft sigh as she does so. "C'mon. You need to get dry and warmed up or you'll catch a chill."
Teeth chattering (at least his body can still attempt to create body heat itself), she leads him into her living room, eventually dropping his hand, nodding back to the doorway. "Wait here a minute. I'll get you a towel."
Stopping by her airing cupboard, she cannot help the sigh that escapes. The ways in which he can hurt himself never cease to worry her, but this one is a new one for her. She knows how to deal with his fights and excessive work outs, but she's never had to deal with him running out in the rain from her before. She's still not sure if she's the right person to help him through it either, but the thought of leaving his care to someone else (even Clarissa) doesn't even cross her mind.
With a rueful shake of her head, she grabs the thickest towel she sees, returning to her living room to see he has at least started on trying to get his sodden clothes off. His hands are still shaking, his fingers appearing clumsy and uncoordinated, and she hurries to him to help. Placing the towel on the arm of her sofa, she starts fighting with the buttons on his shirt, managing to eventually get the top few undone. Giving up on the rest of the resilient wet fabric, she simply reaches round and helps him pull the soaking shirt over his head, before wrapping the towel around him tightly.
Automatically her hands start to chafe the material over his arms trying to get him warm. She is stopped when he pulls the material tighter against his torso, his eyes, now at least no longer dead but still unreadable, holding hers for a moment before dropping away. Feeling abashed, her own gaze drops, landing on the soaked though material of his jeans.
She knows in order for him to warm up he needs to get out of all his wet clothes, and her hands fall to his belt. She has managed to wrestle the wet leather through the cold metal clasp before she feels his hands grip her wrists tightly, stilling her motions. Raising her eyes to his, she is met with a deep intense gaze.
"I can manage," he tells her, voice dark and with a hint of… something that she can't quite identify. (But she wants to, oh, does she want to.)
She nods, turning away from him to give him a modicum of privacy. Her wandering eyes fall on the mugs she still has out on the kitchen counter from earlier, and she nods in their direction. "I'll just…"
Stepping away from him, she switches on the kettle, before giving him a cursory glance out the corner of her eye. He has seemingly won the battle with his wet jeans, and they are now lying next to his shirt on the floor, along with his socks which he has evidently also diacarded. Knowing she hasn't got anything close to his size for him to wear instead, she heads over to the discarded clothes, pointing over her shoulder as she does so.
"I'll put these in the dryer for you."
"Thanks." His voice has still yet to return to normal, and it worries her. Before she can say anything though she seems him track his eyes over her own (until now ignored) wet clothes. "You should get out of your jeans too."
There is a beat of silence before he seems to realise what he's said, and he blushes. If she wasn't doing the same thing, she might have called him on it. Suddenly the air between them is awkward for a completely different reason. "I mean, uh, because they're wet. From the rain. You should take them off. Change. You should change. I, uh…"
Finally taking pity on him (because seriously, how is she supposed to cope when he's acting like he is?) she nods. Hearing the kettle begin to boil, she nods towards it. "OK. I'll go change. You get coffee duty."
He gives her a quick, "Yes, ma'am," as she passes him on the way to the bedroom, and she stops, turning to give him a glare. He has his head down, however, appearing to be deeply involved in making their coffees while keeping the towel in place. Giving a shake of her head, she continues on down the hallway to her bedroom.
Not wanting to leave him alone with his thoughts for too long, she quickly changes out of her own wet jeans, changing them instead for a dry set. Bundling up the wet demin, she returns to the kitchen, placing her jeans in the dryer with the clothes he's already placed there. Closing the door and switching the machine on, she turns to see he has found a comfortable position on her sofa, warm cup of coffee in his hand.
Picking her own mug up from the counter, she takes a grateful sip before taking a seat next to him. Finding his hand with hers, she gives it a gentle squeeze. When she feels him squeeze back in response, she sighs. Air filled with tension again, she turns to look at him.
"We really need to talk."
A/N: Ok. I know this isn't exactly fluff. But it does involve an all-but-naked Jack in Nikki's living room… after she's helped him undress… does that in any way make up for making you wait for this chapter?