Sidestory:
Pose for Me

by Angie and Tami

Frustrated, Jack balled up the sheet of paper he had been working on and sent it flying across the room to share the ignominious fate of so many other innocent sheets of paper that refused to cooperate with his pencil.  "Can't get her right," he muttered to himself.  "I just...  There's gotta be an easier way to get this sketch down."  He leaned back against his headboard and sighed.  Maybe if he tried real-life.  Maybe a model would work.  Who did he know that could be a Valkyrie-esque warrior?  Suddenly, he grinned and rolled over to fish around on his nightstand.  After a minute, he found what he was looking for, rolled out of bed, and found his phone on the floor.  If he could talk her into it, she'd be perfect for it.

A partially grumpy female voice answered after he dialed the right number and waited for it to be picked up. "Kellen household."

"Uh, Jace there?  Please?"

Most of the grumpiness dissipated and Jace grunted. "I can only think of two men who'd be phoning me. Jack?"

"Yep."  Jack paused for a second and then continued softly, "I was wondering if I could ask you for a favor."

"Want me to kill someone for you?"

"Eh, no thanks.  I need some help with my comic book and, uh, I was wondering if you'd pose for a character?"

Her husky voice was flat. "You. Must. Be. Joking."

Jack half-smiled to himself.  He figured she wouldn't be into it; she'll need some serious convincing.  "Nope," he replied.  "Dead serious."

"I didn't realize you had a comic centered around hideously ugly people," Jace said in a voice loaded with sarcasm. "Why me?"

"I don't and you're not," Jack replied simply.  "Anyway, I need a Valkyrie-type.  Thought of you."

"I'm not a Valkyrie type," she shot back. "They're tall and blonde and have cleavage you can ski down.  I'm tiny and red-haired and if you ever took the time to notice my own chest situation I'm the opposite."

"You're tough.  Valkyries were tough."  The tone of Jack's voice made it completely obvious that he didn't agree with any of her rationales.  "Anyway, I'm not doing a lousy German opera.  The blondes are in those things...  So will you do it?  Please?"

Jace put on her Nice Calm Jace voice, which was just one notch down from 'grumpy'. "Jack, Jackalope, Jack-O'-Lantern. There must be tens of thousands of girls who would suit a Valkyrie more than I would. Ask Sophie. She'd do it and strip for some peanuts at the same time."

Carefully, Jack matched her "nice calm" tone with his Logical Jack voice which was actually disturbingly similar to his normal one.  "I'm not doing a skin comic, Jace," he said slowly.

"She wouldn't care. Sophie strips if you just say 'boo'." Jace sounded grumpy. "Are you just using the face or what?"

"Face, mostly.  That okay?"

He heard her exhale a breath. "You must be sooo desperate, Reilly. Fine. I'll do it. But only because I'm bored and mildly depressed and this is more legal than going and having a shoot-up in the local Taco Bell."

"Thanks, Jace."  A faint sigh signaled his relief at the relative ease with which she had agreed.  "Anything I can do to make it up to you?  I can get some snacks or something.  Cheesecake?"

"Who told you I loved cheesecake?" Jace said suspiciously. "Don't think it's going to make me any less grumpy and surly, though. When d'you want me over?"

"A little birdie told me," he replied lightly.  "Eh, time, time...  Whenever you want, I guess.  Half hour mebbe?"

"Sure. I'll see you at your slum then. Sayonara, Reilly." There was the noise of the phone being hung up.

One half hour later, Jack was stuffing the final piece of dirty clothing in an old milk crate.  With a slight sigh, he again swore to himself that he would keep the place tidy from that point on as he pushed the crate into the closet and shut the door.  He shook his head suddenly to negate that thought.  He didn't like lying, even to himself, and that thought had been pretty borderline.  A quick knock on his door brought him alert again, though, and he strode over to open it.

Jace rolled in immediately, flicking her hand at him by way of hello. She wore, as per usual, a sleeveless white top and excessively cutoff jean shorts. "Hey, you cleaned up," she sniped. "This is supposed to be a slum. I see no slum-ness."

"Have to clean up for you, didn't I?"  Jack half-grinned and moved towards the area designated as the kitchen by the presence of a tiny sink, stove, and refrigerator arrangement.  "Not right to mistreat models."

"But you're ruining the experience. There are supposed to be roaches." Jace looked around expectantly as if looking for a cockroach to appear at any moment.

"They sprayed last month," Jack replied simply.  "Want a drink?"

"Water, thanks." Jace looked around his little apartment, fascinated with the utter... Jackness... of where he lived. "Unless you have a saving grace and your water's full of fucking bugs and stuff."

"Nope."  Jack retrieved a clean glass from the half-empty rack next to the sink and filled it.  Before handing it over to her, though, he raised it so the light could shine through it dramatically.  "No bugs.  I might have a fake one around if you were looking forward to that."  He half-smiled and handed over the glass.

She took a careful sip and relaxed back. "Thanks. So."  Jace cocked an eyebrow at him. "What do you do here?"

"Uh."  Jack shrugged.  "Sleep?  Draw?  The usual."  He shifted backwards and leaned against the refrigerator, thumbs hooked in the front pockets of his jeans.  "You have any trouble finding the place?"

She actually looked uncomfortable for a moment. "Nah - not really, actually. Found the street and the building was a piece of cake because..." Jace looked rather mortified. "I can sense you. And the other Graikos. It's a bitch when one of you is in the area I'm in."

"Yeah?"  An interested spark appeared in Jack's usually sleepy eyes.  "Does it feel like a creepy tingly headache?"

"Yeah. And biting down on tinfoil." Jace slugged down the water and carefully rolled past him to put it in the sink. "Nasty shit."

Jack was silent for a second, head down, thinking.  Finally, he lifted his head and replied, "I don't get the tinfoil with you...  Or the others."  He shrugged.  "I get that when it's an enemy.  You almost...  Tickle?"  Abruptly, he pushed off the refrigerator, turned, and opened it, the sudden movement the only indication that he felt stupid using that word descriptively.  "Cheesecake before or after posing?" he asked.

"After. We'll both need it." Jace shook her head. "I never get it with any sort of enemy - just you guys."

Jack shrugged again.  "Guess we're all different."  He closed the refrigerator door again and pointed towards the area of the apartment designated bedroom only by virtue of the double bed with the huge purple tiger on it.  "Mind working over there?"

Jace rolled her eyes at him, moving her chair carefully over the floor to where he pointed. "Jack, stop asking that so much. I don't give a damn where we work."

A grin lit his face as he followed her.  "Heh, sorry.  I don't use live models much."

She slumped back in her chair, her arms comfortably behind her head. "I still say you should've used someone else for this. Fuck's sake, haven't you got a girlfriend or something?"

"Nope.  Why'd they want to?"  Jack threw himself across the bed and stretched to reach under it.  After a minute's searching, he sat up with a large artist's case and a sketchpad.  "And I told you why I couldn't use someone else."

"Yeah, yeah. Couldn't find anyone else hideous enough." The girl busily tried not to flush, feeling incredibly self-conscious. "Damn artist hippies."

"Yeah, damn us and our eye for attractive people," Jack replied dryly.  He flipped the sketchbook open to a clean sheet, pulled one long leg up and under him, and then pulled a pencil from the case.  "Shouldn't be allowed out among decent people."

"Har, har. So funny my appendix is contorting." Jace crossed her arms. "You're not drawing my hair, right?"

"I'll sketch it in, of course, but I'll probably change it for the final pics.  That okay?"  Jack hunched over slightly, peering at her over the pad.

"Yeah. I guess." Jace watched him intently. "Though my face isn't exactly good with long hair, mind. I tried."

"We'll see."  Jack stared down at his pad, biting him bottom lip for a moment.  Then he glanced up at her with a faint grin.  "You'll get final approval, of course."

"Whatever." Jace pondered that for a moment, trying not to fiddle. "Like I care how ugly I am on paper or not. Do whatever the hell you want."

Jack merely nodded, only half-hearing her as he concentrated completely on his work.  Occasionally, he'd look up at her and stare, head cocked to one side.  Then he'd nod and turn back to the paper, sketching furiously.

The redhead played with the backs of her hands, obviously not used to this sort of thing at all, remembering to glare periodically. Otherwise, she kept her face impassive, almost vulnerable, eyes wide and inquisitive as she looked at him draw.

With a contented sigh, Jack flipped the page and laid out a new sketch.  Head still down, he managed to flick his eyes far enough up to glimpse Jace waiting as patiently as she could.  "Mind a profile?" he asked shortly.

"Nuh-uh." She swiveled her body around in her seat so that she was backed up against the arm of it. "That good?"

"Perfect."  Focusing back on his drawing again, Jack once more became uncommunicative, leaving Jace to amuse herself while still holding position.

Jace looked down at her hands, inspecting the short nails and quickly getting the urge to chew one, downing it by instead poking her calluses. She felt incredibly jumpy - her entire aim in life had really been to NOT have people look at her, so to have someone staring at her full-time was disconcerting.  However, this was nulled somehow by the fact that it was Jack and the industrious scribble of his sketch-pencil on his paper was slightly comforting.  She looked at him out of the corner of her eye; dark head bent, bright green eyes intent on the paper.

He hadn't been lying when he'd said "perfect."  There was something about the lines of Jace's face that made her remarkably easy to draw, he thought.  Clean and strong.  Yeah, that was it.  Tilting his head to study the emerging profile portrait, he smiled faintly.  Perfect.  Quickly, he scribbled a few costume ideas in the margin.  "Hmmm..."  The distracted rumble emerging from his throat was completely unnoticed by him but it spoke of contentment.

That brought an unexpected chuckle from her, shifting herself within her wheelchair to a more comfortable position. "You sound like a cat."

"Huh?"  Jack looked up, surprised at the sound of another human voice so lost was he in the sketching.  "Cat?" he repeated blankly.

"The throat. You're purring."

"Oh."  Jack blinked and reached up to rub his throat.  "Eh, sorry.  I didn't know I was doing that."

"No, it's funny." The redhead slumped back again, fingers lacing together. "Jack the Cat."

"Been called worse."  Jack glanced back down at the sketchpad.  "Would you mind just one more?" he asked quietly.

Jace swiveled round back to her normal position, chin balanced on her hand. "Fine. What d'you want?"

Jack's eyes lit up and he smiled wide, the sudden change in facial expression almost startling.  "Right there," he said hurriedly.  "Hold that pose, right?"  Freshly inspired, he bent his head over his pad again, pencil flying over the paper.

She rolled her eyes amusedly. Artists - geez.

Deep into his drawing, Jack missed her reaction.  Instead, he just focused on his pencil and the paper, his lower lip caught between his teeth in concentration.

She waited as patiently as humanly - well, Jacenly - possible as he finished up the sketch, watching him curiously now with her chin rested comfortably on one tan hand.

"Mm-hmm."  Unconsciously, Jack began making soft, humming noises again as he worked.  Thoughtful, his green eyes flickered up at Jace warmly and then back down at the paper.  He seemed particularly determined about something in this pose.

Jace couldn't help cracking a smile at his entire look, her mouth turning up at the corners in a gloriously wry half-smile. He looked like he was going to run a marathon. Indiana goddamn Jack.

Finally, Jack relaxed, sighed, and stretched long arms above his head, a faint smile spreading across his face.  "Done, Jace," he announced.  "Thanks for being so great."

She stretched her arms and rested back, suddenly almost embarrassed. "Can I... um... see? You know, just to see how damn ugly I am. Etc."

Jack shook his head.  "You're not ugly, okay?  I wish you'd stop that."  He ran a hand through his tousled hair and added, "But, sure, you can see 'em."  Closing the book, he handed it over to her.  "But they're just sketches at the moment, right?"

She took the book carefully in her hands and opened it the same way, her gray eyes widening as she took in his sketches. "Um," she managed, and then after
scanning for a long while, the articulate "Shit."

A look of concern flashed over Jack's usually neutral face.  "That bad?" he asked with a hint of anxiety.  "They're just sketches.  Rough stuff, y'know, and..."

She waved him off. "Don't be a dumbass. These aren't... aren't bad." Jace stared at the paper once more before giving it back up to him. Before she had ever looked in a mirror, she had prepped herself with the mantra -you know you're ugly, you know you're ugly- so that she wouldn't be disappointed with what she would see. Now Jack had drawn her like someone who
didn't have a face like a concrete wall.  And even if it was just artist's creativity, still, it'd be him that saw her as... well, not ugly.  "Aren't damn bad at all," she finished lamely.

Jack accepted the sketchpad back and glanced at the pictures again.  Then he looked up Jace, his eyes watchful and almost guarded.  "Thanks," he replied softly.  He wasn't quite sure how to take her words.  Of course, this being Jace, "aren't bad" was probably the equivalent of DaVinci's work.  Still... She looked slightly disturbed by something.  Shrugging, he closed the pad up and set it on the bed beside him.  There'd be no use in trying to drag it out of her.  If she felt like sharing, she would.  Resolved to that thought, Jack pushed off the bed and stood.  "Cheesecake?" he asked.

Jace looked relieved to be torn away from her thoughts. "Cheesecake good." She pushed her hair out of her eyes and followed him slowly over to the kitchen. "So, how's the fighting situation at the moment? Been patrolling?"

Jack shrugged again.  "Eh, off and on," he answered, opening the refrigerator to retrieve the cheesecake.  "It's pretty quiet in this neighborhood.  Maybe all the others live in the suburbs?"

"That'd just be my luck. I go out patrolling and more often than not it's that stupid fuck Hyperion buzzing me because he thinks I'm that blue-haired bugger he's
always on about."

"Has a vengeance kick, huh?"  Jack fetched plates and forks and then took a minute to find a clean knife to cut the cake with.  Sliding into a chair at the small table and kicking the other one out of Jace's way with a nimble move, he shrugged.  "Seems nuts to me to focus like that.  There's a lot of the others, right?"

Jace shrugged heartlessly, attacking her cake with her utensils. She seemed to be eating food with a lot of young men lately; not a good sign? "Maybe they'll kill each other. Dumb bastards. Hyperion just gets in the way. There's bigger fish out there, I agree - like that jerk who knocked me over that building."

Jack looked up from his cake in concern.  "You got knocked off a building?"  A tiny crease appeared between his dark eyebrows.  She hadn't told him that...

She grinned at him amusedly. "I never told you about that? It was my first battle."

He shook his head.  "No, I didn't know..."  He laid down his fork and gazed at her.  "How?"

Jace swallowed what was in her mouth and grinned at him. "Went to the Roanoke Youth Science Fair, god knows why. Day started off badly - I ended up beating the snot out of this guy." Jace realized exactly where -that- story was heading and hesitated. "Well, never mind that bit. Anyway. I later saw a bunch of stupid idiots in the lamest clothes ever, and of course, they turned out to be fucking senshi - Astronomia - so I went in and kicked their asses. Then they got joined by this asshole Angelus and I challenged 'em all on the roof. I mean, hell; two of them were cream puffs and couldn't fight their way out of a paper bag. The Angelus was just all talk, but the
last one..."

Jace moodily stabbed at the cake. "Last one was called Horologium Kamen; senshi of clocks or of ass lube or something. He knocks me off the building and I'm tryin' to hold on because my legs weigh a ton, and then he makes these LOUD fucking clock sounds, and I
go down three stories and land in the bushes unconscious. There goes my first real fight." She
popped the piece in her mouth. "Lame, eh?"

Jack blinked at the sudden rush of information.  "Huh," he finally replied.  Then, realizing the utter lack of intelligence in that reply, he added, "No, not lame.  You were outnumbered."  He paused and scratched his chin.  Oh, shit, out with it, he thought.  It's so ridiculous it must be a joke.  Clocks?  What kind of power was that? Almost grinning, he then asked, "Clocks?  You're kiddin' me, right?"

"No, I swear." Jace separated another piece of cake with her fork. "He has a little dinky fucking watch and everything. I should've been on my guard but I was
too busy laughing my ass off."

Jack allowed himself a slight chuckle.  "Where did we get these messed up props?" he wondered aloud.  "He gets a pocket watch which, yeah, is a lot sillier than my walking stick but, geez...  I look like I should be tap-dancing all over the enemy."

"Sticks are cool," she reassured him, moving her fork.  "You can whack people with sticks."

"Yeah," he acquiesced, picking up his own fork and attacking his slice of cheesecake again.  "I still look like an idiot."

"Hah." Jace rolled her eyes at him. "You won't look incredibly lame until you put on my little skirt and my Playboy Bunny bow. At least you have pants. And a
hat," she added. Jace greatly admired the hat.

"And ruffles."  Jack injected some woe into his voice, glad they had moved away from whatever had been bothering her after the sketch session.  "I have ruffles."

"True," she acknowledged. "Ruffles are bad. However, have you seen ANYBODY with a cool outfit yet?"

"Haven't seen that many outfits."  Jack poked at his cake with his fork.  "Are they all bad?"

"Yeah. I've seen everything from spandex to bow addiction." Jace finished up her cake and wheeled into his kitchen again, putting her plate into the sink.  "We all look like circus prostitutes."

"Circus prostitutes," Jack repeated slowly.  "Huh.  Sounds like a topic on Springer."  He stood and dumped his plate and fork in the sink, rinsing both of their plates off quickly, mindful that he had a guest.

"Yeah. That and, 'You slept with my lesbian Eskimo twin sister.'" Jace moved away from him and put the chair back at the table.

"Missed that one."  Jack leaned back against his sink and watched her rearrange the chair.  "Good, was it?"

"Hah. Even if it was, I wouldn't watch it. TV is for the mindless many." Jace surveyed her chair efforts and deemed them worthy, turning back to him. "S'all Survivor II and shit like that."

"Guess I'm one of 'em then."  Jack indicated a small television resting on an arrangement of cinder blocks and a board.  "I like the cartoons," he admitted.

"Heh. I can handle Dragonball Z and Batman, but don't shove Disney on me. They make me puke."

"Dragonball Z?" Jack mock-shuddered.  "Awful.  Sorry...  Batman?   Definitely.  Any of them except the run where he was paired with Superman in those dual adventures things."

"He should've beat the shit out of Superman," Jace agreed. "Superman is gay."

"Superman's a boy scout."  The dislike of Superman was obviously a mutual thing and Jack smiled.  "And Lois Lane was the..." He paused, searching for a decent, non-offensive word.

"Unattractive boy scout's ho?" Jace suggested.

"Eh, I was thinking the densest person on the planet."  Jack lifted his hand to his face as if he were putting on glasses and then he slicked back his hair.  "Look.  I'm Clark Kent."  He mimed taking the glasses off and then pulled a section of his hair into a reasonable facsimile of a spit curl.  "Now I'm Superman."  He shrugged expressively.  "Dumb as anything."

She laughed and then grimaced at him. "Realize you're insulting us, Jackalope. We put on a little spandex and butt-revealing short skirts and nobody notices that WE'RE senshi, either. Clark Kent just gets a more unattractive uniform."

"Hey, there.  I have a mask."

"And I have legs, but anybody with a brain can work it out. I should ask Per - Percy or something why." Jace carefully avoided Perdix's name. That was something
she was not prepared to confide in Jack with yet.

Jack noticed her hesitation but decided to let it drop again.  It hurt a little that she didn't feel completely comfortable with him.  After all, he did with her.  Everyone moves at their own speed, he reminded himself.  Aloud, he replied, "Probably some arcane nonsense that we mere mortals aren't supposed to understand, yeah?"

She nodded, although the clouded look had not quite left her eyes yet.  "Yeah.  Some magic bullshit.  Being a senshi's bad enough without having to understand it."

Jack bit his bottom lip and nodded.  "I guess."

The redhead moved her hands behind her back and stretched, looking away from him. "Ever worried that you'll cark it someday?"

"Worried?" Jack repeated.  He thought for a second and then shook his head, dropping simultaneously so that his shaggy hair covered his eyes.  "Not when I've been lucky to make it this long," he answered softly.

Jace laughed wryly. "Forgot about that damned luck of yours. Well, if you're going to be left, at least you can bury the rest of us bastards somewhere quiet, eh?"

"Don't say that."  The words came out harsh, amazingly harsh for anyone who was familiar with Jack's usual velvety calm tones.  He reached up and rubbed at his right shoulder in agitation, not looking up.  "Don't ever ever say that," he repeated.

Jace looked at him oddly. "Don't get so het up, boy.  Hell, you're probably the one out of all of us that I want to actually live. Me and Sophie, we're probably both going to end up getting our asses kicked off buildings too high for us - but you stay out of trouble, hey? We need SOMEONE fucking left behind and the others I don't give a damn about."

If she had looked closely, Jace would have seen the muscles in Jack's jaw tighten as he seemed to fight for some sort of control.  Finally, he jammed his hands in his pockets violently and pushed off the refrigerator, head raising to fix his green eyes, no longer sleepy or merely bemused, on Jace.  "No," he said flatly.  "I don't want to be the one left fuckin' behind.  I'm completely fuckin' sick of that."  He exhaled sharply and a slight change in his eyes highlighted pleading.  "You have to make it, too."

Jace looked utterly bemused for once in her life, dark gray eyes shocked out of their usual cover and soft in surprise. Jack didn't act like this. Jack was... Jack.
"I'll make it if you make it, if you promise."

"Anything."  A faint tremor ran through his lean frame and he visibly relaxed.  Slouching back down into his usual posture, he offered her the slightest of smiles, halfway apologetic.  "I promise, you promise...  Shake or something?"

Jace gave him a wicked smile. "I'll do you one better.  How about a blood pact?"

"A blood pact?"  Jack blinked.  "Gee, nothing like in 'It'?" he joked, not sure how serious she was being.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to steal your soul, idiot. Just go get a nice sharp knife and I'll do it to you if you're such a pansy."

He half-moved towards his silverware drawer and then paused.  "How do you know I'm clean?" he asked softly.

"I don't," Jace shrugged. "But I trust you enough to do it anyway."

Jack nodded.  Trust was a hell of a thing, made you do lots of things that you wouldn't normally think of doing.  Hesitating again slightly, Jack switched his focus to an upper cabinet and produced a small first aid kit.  "If you really want to..." He didn't bother finishing.  The bandaging and the iodine that he pulled from the kit said it all.  Then he reached into the silverware drawer and pulled out a knife, merely setting it down on the table with the other things.

"It's either this or wild monkey sex on the floor to prove my allegiance and I don't think I'm up to that today." The redhead looked at his knife in approval.  "Where do you wanna get blood from? Hands? Arms?  Somewhere that doesn't involve major arteries?"

"I vote C.  No major arteries."  Jack lowered himself into a chair and rubbed at his right shoulder again.  "And nothing that'll leave more scarring."

"More?" Jace inquired softly, the gentlest he'd ever heard her husky, usually rough voice.

Stone-faced, Jack lifted his hair slightly to reveal a small scar along his hairline.  Then he stretched the neck of his t-shirt down to expose the four-inch scar on his right shoulder.  Both had been neatly stitched but still showed a faint angry red against his fair skin.  "Scars," he said simply, letting his shirt go back into place.

Jace took hold of the knife on the table. "We all have scars. Some're more - vivid than others, I guess?" She patted one of her stumps, smooth and visible out of the cutoff shorts. "You just have to be fucking careful not to let it scar on the inside. That's what somebody told me, once. Without the use of the word 'fuck', of course."

Jace hiked the shoulder of her top down so that it exposed most of her shoulder, looked at him carefully, and then dug an agonizing line mirroring his own down her tan skin with the blade, handing him back the knife.

"Shitfucking sons of goddamn bitches, that hurts," she announced cheerfully. "Can you cut your palm or something before I have to bite your hand off in pain?"

"Sure thing," Jack replied shortly, gripping the knife hard.  With a quick, decisive motion, mindful of the fine tracery of muscles under the skin, he slashed across his palm, outside edge towards thumb.  "This is a serious promise," he cautioned her softly.  His voice grew warm and dropped in register, amazingly comforting to the ear.  Gently, he reached out and placed his hand on Jace's shoulder, letting their blood mix at the contact.  "Know that?"

Jace placed her hand over his and shuddered as their blood mingled, painful but somehow... different. It was sad that this was the closest she'd ever been to anybody before. "Of course I know that. I don't bloody slice myself open for just anyone or anything, Reilly.  Promise is a promise - I don't die if you don't. Right?"

"You got it."  Jack carefully squeezed Jace's shoulder.  It was a weird feeling, this blood sharing, he thought.  Not at all unpleasant, though.  "Vicious retribution otherwise, right?"

She nodded. There was that tinfoil taste in her mouth now, too intense to be entirely comfortable, too far away to be normal. "Yeah. You can have full rights to piss on my grave."

"Right.  Piss on grave."  Jack's eyes slid closed and he leaned back slightly against the table, keeping his hand on her shoulder.  "Same on me," he added.

Jace closed her eyes and leant back a little, both of their crimson oozing from beneath his warm fingers as she applied pressure to his hand. It hurt like fucking hell - and it must have been the same for him - but she would rather have died than back out now.  

She pressed her fingers down around his and was suddenly intricately aware that she had her t-shirt hiked down and Jack's hand on the soft skin of her lower shoulder. It sounded like some bad vampire porn movie and she let out a chuckle.

One eyelid rose sleepily at the sound and Jack fixed a slightly out-of-it green gaze on her.  "What's so funny?" he asked mildly.

"Just realizing how fucking odd this looks." She gestured with her chin to their hands. "My shirt half off and both of us bleeding. Zombie cult, anybody?"  The redhead shrugged awkwardly. "Then again, I'm not used to people... well, touching me, so maybe I'm just fucking wigged out for no apparent reason. I'm emotionally screwed that way."

Jack hesitated for a second, his other eye opening to study her face thoughtfully.  Finally, he brought his free hand up and touched his first two fingers to her chin gently, angling her face up slightly.  "You and me both, Jace," he muttered.  Abruptly, he released her chin and ran the hand through his hair.  "This feels..." Unsure of how to phrase it properly, he hesitated again.  How was he supposed to tell her that he hadn't been this close to another human being in over a year himself?  He shrugged.  "Kinda odd," he finally finished.  "But it's...  Right, too...  If I'm making any sense?"

"Yeah, you are." She was suddenly reminded achingly of Tibby, which just served to remind her how screwed up she really was. The only things she had closest to friends - and one she tried to avoid because she got frightened and the other she was currently doing a mimic blood transfusion with. It looked fucking hilarious on paper. "I know how you feel, anyway."  Jace looked down. "Doesn't even hurt any more."

"No, it doesn't."  Jack stared at their overlapped hands, face thoughtful.  "But, then, it never really hurt hurt."  He flexed his hand on her shoulder experimentally and smiled faintly.  "Real hurt was the knife."  Or a car accident, bone through the skin, he added mentally.  He looked up at her again and suddenly grinned brightly, the expression changing his face completely.  "This was just surreal."

"You're telling me." Jace gently let his hand go and prised it off; the skin surrounding the slash was red-brown with drying blood, as was his palm. "Ewww.  Man. I wasn't even drunk."

Jack chuckled, the sound only barely tinged with a bitter memory.  "Hell, I never even did anything like this when I -was- drunk," he countered. Then he turned back towards the other supplies on the table, simultaneously motioning for her to stay put.  "Hold still, okay?" he continued.  "I wanna fix that before it breaks open again."

"Okay." Jace watched him with the iodine and shuddered at the prospect of disinfecting pain to come. "Don't bust up your hand, there. It already looks like shit."

"Don't worry about me, Jace," he replied.  "One more won't kill me and it didn't hit any muscles.  Anyway, I can use both hands."  He turned back to her with an iodine-soaked gauze pad.  "I don't want you scarring up."  Then he hesitated, pad in uncut hand and a concerned look on his face.  "This is gonna hurt," he warned.  "Wanna hold my hand or something?"

Jace looked at him pityingly. She could either hold his hand and let him walk away with it sprained, or be nice to him. She chose the latter. "You must be fucking joking. I'm a big girl now and it's only a drip of iodine. If you held my hand I'd break it off by accident, Jackalope."

"Gotcha."  Jack nodded.  "I'll do it quick then."  True to his word, he swiftly ran the pad over Jace's shoulder, cleaning the wound as gently as he could.  Then he dropped the pad to the table and grabbed a tube of Neosporin and a fresh gauze pad.  Slathering the Neosporin over the cut, he then adjusted the pad over it, reached behind him for the bandaging tape, and taped the pad in place.  The whole process had taken less than two minutes.  He rested his hand briefly on it and met Jace's eyes.  "Okay, then?" he asked.

She nodded, pulling her shirt over her shoulder relievedly and rubbing the spot he had bandaged.  "Yeah. Ought to keep me from bleeding to fucking death, at least. You?"

"Gimme a sec," he muttered as he lowered himself into a chair and winced as he picked up the iodine bottle with the cut hand.  Quickly, he set it down again and positioned a gauze pad on the table in front of him, using his uncut hand to pour iodine over it.  Then he swabbed at the bloody slice on his hand, wincing again, a faint hiss of pain escaping from between his pursed lips.  Once the wound was cleaned to his satisfaction, he picked up a fresh pad and moved it into place.  Then he frowned.  "Uh, Jace?  I don't think I can manage the tape with one hand.  Could you help there please?"

"Idiot." She wheeled closer and picked up the tape meaningfully, pulling it away from the spool and securing the pad on his hand. "What'd you think you were going to do, put it 'round psychically? There."  Jace surveyed her handiwork, satisfied.

Jack shrugged.  "Thought maybe chew it off," he replied dryly.  "I don't know really."  He gazed down at his hand and her bandaging job for a second.  Then he looked up at her.  "Thanks, Jace."

She waved it off. "Don't, believe me."  Jace fiddled, slightly anxiously in the lull that followed before looking up. "Want to go patrolling some time? I usually go at night. We could kick Zach's butt and bring along Sophie or something to make it a
party. What d'you say?"

Jack leaned back in his chair and lightly massaged his bandaged hand as he studied her.  "Sure," he finally responded.  "Feel safer out there with someone to watch my back.  No one better than you, I think."

"Hmph." She grunted but looked slightly pleased at the compliment. "Not like anybody'd get to your back with me around. They're all moronic."

"As you say."  Jack flexed his fingers experimentally.  "Gotta have a few screws loose to do what we do, though, right?"

"Either that or a goddamn death wish. Or both."

"Well, we just took care of any death wish today," Jack replied softly, lifting his hand slightly and indicating her shoulder.

The redhead flushed a little. "Aww, damn, Jackalope.  Like I'm dumb enough to go die on you now." Her eyes hardened. "I'm not Acacia."

"Yeah, good thing."  Jack gnawed slightly on his lower lip.  Then he raked his good hand through his hair, setting the dark strands even more on end, and slouched more.  After a silence of a few seconds, he suddenly looked up at her and stated, matter-of-factly, "My hand feels weird."

She nodded glumly, eyebrows drawn in a scowl. "So does my shoulder. We've probably just done something fucked up and we'll end up morphing into one fucking blob or entity or something. Typhaestos. Hyche."

"Hyche?" Jack repeated.  "Sounds like some sort of, well...  STD."  He shrugged.  "But I don't think we did.  Don't want to think we did something stupid," he continued, shifting to prop his feet on the free chair beside him.  "How could it?  Friendly fire, right?"

"Friendly fire still hurts," Jace reasoned. "You get a bullet in your head, doesn't matter who the fuck fired it, it's a bloody bullet."

"Point taken," he agreed.  "But that wasn't a bullet.  It was a promise."

Jace moved her hands behind her head. "Bullets, promises, same things. Words are just as dangerous as weapons, especially in the Magical Shit business. Say a word and you end up pregnant or bound for life to a goalpost or some other crap like that."

"Hmm, really?"  Jack raised a dark eyebrow and eyed her flat stomach.  "Not looking very pregnant there, Jace," he commented, adding, "And I'm pretty sure I'm not a goal post."

She glared. "I can bend you into something resembling one, if you like." Jace gave him the evils, then rubbed her shoulder idly. "And if I get pregnant, that'll mean there'll be more little Jaces running around. Not bad."

"Nope, I'll even baby-sit them if you want," Jack offered, seemingly unaffected by her death glare.  "Fun times all around."

"And wouldn't -that- be a happy little family." Jace rolled her eyes and went back to brooding.

"Mebbe... Family's a funny thing, y'know."  Jack seemed to sink even lower in his chair, eyes darkening slightly.  "Sometimes the best family you get is the kind you find yourself."

"The Graikos isn't exactly the fucking Brady Bunch," Jace noted dryly.

Jack half-smiled.  "If it was, I'm betting Leta is Marcia."

"And Zach's that... other guy. And Sophie's the dad.  And I get to be the dog."

Jack shook his head, simultaneously bringing his hand up to muss his hair.  "You don't," he replied softly.

"Don't get me wrong. The dog was the coolest one there. You think I wanna be any other of those retards?"

Jack shrugged.  "They got guest stars on," he pointed out.  "You could be one of those, eh?"

"Why do I have to even be on the Brady Bunch?" she quizzed.

"Hey, you brought it up."  Jack half-smiled.  "I always hated the show, myself."

"Yeah."  Jace sobered. "It really sucked, didn't it?"

"Of course."  Jack scratched at his chin and winced slightly as he realized that he had used the bandaged one.  "Most TV of those years did," he quickly finished, trying to hide the faint discomfort.

"It's not that great now." Jace looked up at the ceiling. "So, when d'you wanna patrol? Tomorrow? This week some time?"

"Whenever you want."  He followed her gaze up at the ceiling and sighed at the few hairline cracks running across the white surface.  He'd have to bother the super again about that.  "Maybe not tomorrow, though," he continued softly.  "Just to give this hand and your shoulder a rest.  I don't want us reopening 'em."

She nodded. "Sometime later this week, though. I go almost every night anyway."

Moving quickly (well, quickly for Jack), he sat upright and leaned towards her, reaching out one hand slightly.  "Can you let it wait tomorrow?" he asked gently.  "Cuts tear something awful.  You don't need a scar to match mine, right?"

She looked at him suspiciously, then conceded. "I guess I am slightly tired. Too much training today.  Okay, I'll forego it."

Jack's face transformed with a sudden bright grin.  "Great," he replied.  "Then it's a date for the next night?"

She rolled her eyes at his beam but nodded, grinning slightly herself. "As much of a date as any. If you can call prowling out for teenyboppers dressed up in lycra and claiming they're Romanus is a date. I'll call you tomorrow or something."

"Sure thing."  Jack nodded.  "You pick the time and place."

"Preferably somewhere where the blood won't show if we spill it." Jace checked her watch. "Hmm. I think I might go and call my dad to pick me up. I am NOT going to attempt moving through the city again."

With a nod, Jack pointed to the plain phone hanging on the wall next to the refrigerator.  "Help yourself," he offered.  Then he pulled his feet down off the chair and spun to watch her move towards the phone, elbows propped on knees and chin in hand.  "I'd offer you a ride but I don't have a car yet," he explained.

Jace grinned at him complacently, tucking the phone under her chin and dialing. "Like I'd let you drive me anywhere. What with your luck, we'd either end up home in record time or in a car crash."

"Car crash," he repeated softly and shifted, suddenly uneasy.  "Yeah," he muttered as he reached up to rub at his right shoulder again.  "Not good."

She ignored him momentarily, muttering into the phone and pausing at intervals. "Yes, dad." Pause. "No, dad.  I didn't get raped or murdered, spindled, folded, or mutilated. No, dad. Not that either." Another pause.  "Oh, stop cross-questioning me. He doesn't even live
in a slum. Can you just get here, you old oaf?" One last long pause. "Yeah, yeah. You too. Bye."

Jace put the phone back up and nodded at him. "He'll be here in a little bit. I'll go hang around outside the building and scare the pedestrians."

Jack roused himself from the half-trance he had fallen into and shook his head.  "Only if I can wait down there with you," he insisted.  "This place isn't the complete safest this time of night."

"Of course it won't be the safest. -I'll- be going down there. Everybody better bugger off or I'll bite off their knees."

"Still..." Jack smiled softly.  "Let me go."

"Okay. I better look after you, eh?" Jace opened his door and mock-bowed to let him go past. "Hurry up, ass."

"Yeah, ma'am."  Suppressing a larger smile, Jack ducked out the door ahead of Jace and then turned to hold it as she rolled through.  Then he locked it and pocketed the key.  "After you."

Trying to suppress her own smile and rolling her eyes pointedly once more at him, Jace lead the way.

An hour later with Jace gone and his apartment returned to its usual silence, Jack sprawled on his bed, massaging his bandaged hand slightly. The evening had gone considerably better than he had thought.  Jace had cooperated completely with his annoying art project.  Thinking on this, he rolled over on his stomach and picked up his sketchpad from the floor.  It was amazing, her reaction to his quick sketches.  She really seemed convinced that she was unattractive.  Sighing, Jack flipped to the appropriate pages and stared at them.  She wasn't, though.  Not even close.  

Suddenly, he winced and looked down at his hand.  What on earth had happened tonight, he wondered.  Stupid question, he corrected himself.  We shared blood... And what was that gonna mean in the long run?  Rolling over on his back again, Jack stared at the ceiling, counting the cracks in it, bandaged hand over his heart.  If this was some crazy story, he thought, it would mean that we could read each other's thoughts and I'd always know where she was.  He laughed softly.  Maybe that should go in his comic.  Freaky blood-bond ritual between two characters.  Might work.

Carefully, he unwound the bandage from his hand and studied the thin slice across his palm.  Red and angry with a slight sheen of blood outlining it.  It's not deep, he thought.  It won't scar.  With a slight shake of his head, he reached over and picked up the sketchpad.  He glanced at the sketch again and smiled faintly.  Then he frowned, quickly switching it to his other hand and rubbing at the corner of the page with his thumb.  Blood on it.  Damn.  With a sigh, more at his stupidity than anything else, Jack closed the pad and set it on the floor.  Then he rewrapped his hand before he could do anymore damage.  Sloughing off his jeans, boots and shirt, he slid under the covers and turned out the light.  Dreams might just be different tonight, he thought as he closed his eyes.  Jace and knives instead of car crashes and alcohol.  Snorting softly, he pulled the blanket over his head.  God, I'm such a fun guy...

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