Tags: jack and kathy are becoming SO boring, eric northman is one hot piece, fangirling means srs bsns

I've been twisting and turning in a space that's too small
I've been drawing the line and watching it fall

Jack never wanted a cigarette more in his life than he did at that moment. Scars and death and fucked-up childhoods shouldn’t be resurrected over cups of coffee with quasi-intellectual indie rock playing in the background as a soundtrack.
Kathy was looking toward the stage, her head nodding along with the song that seemed to be never ending. Jack caught her taking sidelong glances at him, though; he wasn’t fooled. She wanted to keep talking about feelings and the past and shit like that. If there was one thing he remembered about her, it was that she was one of the most persistent people he ever met. She could give Bobby a run for his money in the stubborn department.
Claustrophobia started to creep up on him, closing in around his shoulders, pressing down on him. Ever since he was kid, it had a way of catching him off guard, reminding him what it felt like to be trapped, to be caught with no way out. All of it – the people, the soft lighting, the laughter, the mellow singing of the girl on stage, the gentle strumming she was doing on the guitar, one note over and over again – all of it was cutting off his air, like a closet door slowly being shut on him, blocking the light and muffling all sound until all he could hear was his own breathing.
Standing up suddenly, he hastily told Kathy he’d be right back and he headed for the back of the place. He moved a little too quickly, putting too much weight on his leg and his bum knee. Pain lanced up his leg, nearly causing him to stumble, but he didn’t and managed to make it to the back office without making a fool out of himself.
His leather jacket was draped over a chair and his guitar case was propped up against the wall. He grabbed his jacket, fishing his pack of Marlboro’s and his silver lighter out of the pocket. He wished like hell New York hadn’t passed that stupid smoking ban, but the truth was he could use the fresh air almost as much as he could use a smoke. Ironic as hell, but the truth.
The waitress was next to their table when he made his way back, she had her order book in her hand, tapping on it with a chewed up pencil. Kathy was talking to her, smiling. For some strange reason he found himself noticing how straight her teeth were, how big her smile was, the way her eyes crinkled behind her glasses. He shook his head to clear it – forget the cigarette, he was beginning to think he needed a drink.
“Jack,” Kathy said, looking up at him, still smiling. “Want another coffee?” The waitress was looking at him too, waiting on an answer. He tucked the cigarette into the corner of his mouth and grabbed his guitar from the empty chair he’d placed it in earlier. He noticed the waitress frown at the cigarette and he grinned – he should light it up just to see what she’d do.
“Actually, I was thinking about getting some air,” he said as he unlatched the buckles on the case, gingerly placed his guitar inside and then refastened them.
Kathy’s response was a soft “oh” and nothing else. She looked down at her empty cup and sighed, not making a move to grab her coat or giving any indication that she would be joining him.
The waitress rocked back on her heels, looked between the two of them, muttered “nevermind” under her breath and walked away to another table.
“You comin’ or what?” Jack asked as he pulled on his leather jacket.
She looked up at him, blinking slowly. “What?”
“Come on – it’s gonna take you an hour just to get all that shit back on.” He gestured toward the multicolored pile of knitwear she had sitting on the table. Like in a trance, she grabbed the scarf and wound it slowly around her neck. He could tell her mind was working, he had a feeling her mind was always working.
“What are we going to do?” she asked, as she pulled her ridiculous looking hat down over her hair. The mittens came next and he bit back a smile. She was bundled up like one of his nieces, ready to make snow angels and build snowmen. He was fine with just his jacket and gloves. The cold got to him, but he welcomed the bite. Proved he was alive or something.
“Well, I’m gonna have a cigarette and you’re going to keep me company. How’s that sound?”
“Good,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Good?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Nice.”
He laughed. “Nice?”
She wrinkled her nose at him as she picked up her messenger bag full of books and slung it over her shoulder. “Shut up,” she said, shaking her head.
That just made him laugh harder and she blew out a sigh, rustling her bangs that managed to escape being trapped under the bright orange knit hat. He grabbed his guitar and headed toward the door, Kathy following behind him.

XxXxXxXxXx

He could hear Bobby bitching at him all the way back in Detroit as flicked open his lighter, holding the flame to the end of his cigarette, but he didn’t care. Not even months spent in the hospital and then recuperating at home could shake his nicotine habit, and one loud mouth brother wasn’t going to change that.
He was standing outside the coffee shop, the brick wall cool against his back as he leaned against it, sighing as the smoke filled his lungs and he felt his mind clear a little. Kathy was right next to him, trying to stay out of the way of the people rushing by. She had the ends of her scarf in her hands and she was twirling them around and around, every once in a while catching some passerby in the face. She’d call out an apology, then do it again to another unsuspecting victim. She was like a walking booby trap.
He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and glanced at the time. It was getting late and he had a long day ahead of him – catching a train at the crack of fucking dawn to make it home in time for Daniela’s holiday play at school. She was playing a reindeer and he wouldn’t miss it for the world, despite Jerry swearing she was only in the background and didn’t have any lines. She could be on the stage crew for all he cared; he’d already missed three years worth of school plays and family dinners and birthdays and shit like that. He may have chickened out with Thanksgiving, but he knew he’d be the biggest asshole in the world if he missed Christmas.
Kathy was now humming softly and kicking apart a pile of slush that was on the sidewalk. She looked bored out of her mind. “Live around here?” he asked as she jumped out of the way of a group of tacky tourists who were looking up at the buildings instead paying attention to where they were going.
“Not far,” she said as she took up residence against the wall next to him, bending her leg and bracing her foot against it. He looked down, staring at the top of her silly hat. He still couldn’t believe that after all these years he was standing outside a coffee shop in New York City with Kathy Price of all people. He always imagined her holed up in some library in middle America, her nose buried in a book, not in one of the craziest cities on earth – wearing orange yarn on her head and listening to bad poetry and drinking designer tea.
He pushed away from the wall, dropping the cigarette butt on the ground, grinding it out beneath the toe of his boot. “I’ll walk you home,” he said as he picked up his guitar case, shifting it slightly to keep it balanced in his grasp.

“Oh, I’m fine. I mean, it’s not far and I’m sure you have better things to do. And …” she trailed off and he fought a grin. He was starting to really dig her rambling.
“Which way?” he said.
She looked both ways, like she was trying to remember the way to her place. “Right.”
He held out his hand. “Lead the way.”
They’d walked roughly one block when she stopped dead in her tracks, catching both him and the people behind them off guard.
“We can take a cab,” she said out of nowhere.
“Huh?” he asked, wondering how “not far” turned into a cab ride.
She looked up at him, her hands twisting her scarf. “We can take a cab. I didn’t realize you were hurt.”
“I’m hurt?” That was news to him.
Her eyes got that misty, worried look in them. “You’re limping.”
He let out a sigh and shrugged. “I’m always limping,” he reassured her, only it must not have been reassuring because her eyes grew wide and her face paled a bit.
“What do you mean?”
He swallowed heavily, suddenly needing another cigarette. “I, uh …” he hesitated. He hated saying it. It always sounded so dumb, so strange to actually come out and say it. “I got, um, hurt last year.”
She looked him over, like she could see the evidence and fill in the blanks. There was no way she would – he had trouble believing it himself; no way in hell her mind would jump to that conclusion.
“I got shot,” he said, answering the question before she had a chance to ask it. Someone pushed into him and he realized they were in the middle of the sidewalk and committing one of the worst sins someone in New York could commit – standing still.
He started walking again, slowing down for Kathy to catch up to him. He cut across the mass of pedestrians, reaching a set of stairs that led up to a brownstone. The lights were all off, so hopefully no one was home to bitch at them for using their steps as a place to sit for a couple of minutes. He knew Kathy wouldn’t let him leave it at “I got shot” and he didn’t want to shout his tale of woe over the heads of strangers as they dodged cabs and tried not to trip over cracks in the sidewalk.
They sat down, not saying anything at first, just people watching for a couple of minutes in silence. Jack wasn’t really seeing them, though; it was just a blur as his mind tumbled through the events of a year ago. He could still taste the blood if he concentrated hard enough. Feel the cold seeping into his bones.
“What happened?” she eventually asked as he pulled another cigarette from the battered pack. He lit it and exhaled, watching as the smoke drifted up into the glow cast by the streetlights. Some snowflakes drifted down through the smoke; he hadn’t realized it was going to snow and he hunched his shoulders deeper into his jacket, suddenly feeling very cold.
He took a deep breath, figuring he should start at the beginning. “My mom died.”

XxXxXxXxXx

Her mom pulled away as soon as she’d dropped her off so she only had two choices – ring the doorbell or sit on the step until her mom came back for her in three hours. She was about to sit down when the door opened.
She recognized the man at the door - his scowl wasn’t one that was easy to forget. She tightened her grip on her books, wondering how long the walk home would be. “We don’t need any Girl Scout cookies,” he practically barked at her.
She gulped and took a step back. “Is Jack here?” she asked, her voice unsteady and small.
This was not how she imagined today was going to. Jack was going to open the door before she even had a chance to knock, his smile perfect as he took her hand and led her inside his house. He’d take her on a tour, showing off all the things he loved, like his guitar and the record collection she’d heard him talking about. He’d introduce her to his mom and they’d get along famously, Kathy already feeling like a part of the family. And she couldn’t forget the end she’d devised for them – the part where he professed his love for her and asked her to be his girlfriend. That last part may have been a stretch, but never at any point did her fantasy include the mean older brother.
The scowling man scowled deeper and looked her up and down, a smirk forming on his pursed lips. He laughed suddenly. “Jackiepoo! Get your ass to the door, your girlfriend is here.”
Someone stepped up behind Jack’s brother and swatted him across the back of the head. “Where are your manners, Bobby Mercer?”
He moved out of the way of the door, rubbing his head. “Ma, I’m just jokin’ around. Jackie loves it when I give his scrawny ass a hard time.”
Bobby retreated into the house and was replaced a woman Kathy assumed was Jack’s mom. She was a lot older than Kathy would have thought – her hair gray and her smile kind. She looked more like a grandmother than a mom, but Kathy remembered that Jack was adopted, so that might explain it.
“You must be Kathy,” she said simply, stepping aside so Kathy could enter the house.
“Yes, ma’am,” she answered and the woman laughed.
“Please, call me Miss Evelyn. Ma’am is for old ladies who knit and drink tea.”
Kathy smiled, instantly feeling welcome despite the scary guy who answered the door. “Miss Evelyn,” she said, testing it out. She never had an adult tell her to use their first name, it was a little weird.
She led her through the house to the dining room, past Bobby who was ignoring them, his eyes glued to the TV. Evelyn pulled out a chair for her and she sat her books on the table and sat down, folding her hands on top of her Algebra book.
“Jack should be down in a minute. He has trouble waking up early, especially on Saturdays,” Evelyn explained as she disappeared into the kitchen.
Early? Kathy thought to herself, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was almost noon and she’d been awake since eight. Her mom’s rules. All homework had to be finished before she could do anything else on the weekend. Of course, it wasn’t like she was clamoring to go outside and play with her friends. No, she spent her free time in her room, writing in her journal, jotting down poems and the failed beginnings of the great novel she planned on writing. Her mom hated it – calling it a waste of time, but it was one of the only times Kathy ignored her and did it anyway. Writing was hers and something her mom couldn’t have control over.
Bobby was shouting curse words at the TV when Jack finally made an appearance. He was half asleep and he walked through the dining room without even saying hi. It looked like he’d gotten dressed in the dark – his t-shirt was on inside out and his jeans were dragging on the floor, his bare feet shuffling across the carpet. He went into the kitchen and she heard him rustling around a bit; he reappeared holding an orange juice carton up to his mouth as he chugged its contents. His eyes locked with hers and he slowly lowered the carton.
“Um, hey,” he said gruffly.
“Hey,” she replied.
He ran his hand through his hair, making it stick up even more than it already was. She could tell he was confused and it was adorable. Squinting, he looked down at the carton in his hands and shrugged, holding it out to her. “Want some?”

XxXxXxXxXx

Jack was practically laying across the table, half listening to her as she tried to explain the equations he was having trouble with. Being in the National Honor Society meant she had to sign up to tutor and she checked off the math box without a second thought. It was a foregone conclusion that she was a math whiz and her future was with numbers. Numbers bored her so much, but they somehow arranged themselves in her brain in a way that made her understand them. Understanding did not equal love, and her passion for math was lukewarm at best.
She looked at her student and chewed on the end of her pencil. Jack’s passion for math was decidedly less than lukewarm and she still couldn’t understand how he wound up in her class in the first place. It was probably the placement tests, but he was in the easier classes for everything else.
She was about to turn the page and move onto the next set of problems when Evelyn came in, a plate of cookies in her hand. “Thought you guys could use a break,” she said, placing the cookies on the table. Jack reached out and grabbed one and started eating it, not even bothering to lift his head up.
Kathy stared at the cookies but didn’t take one.
“Everything okay, sweetie?” Evelyn asked and Kathy nodded.
“Kathy doesn’t do cookies,” Jack explained, finally pulling himself up off the table so that he was sitting upright. “She also doesn’t do tater tots or Twinkies.” He grinned at her and she blushed, looking down at her notebook and the numbers she had carefully and neatly written across the page the night before to prepare for their tutoring session.
“Got any carrots, Ma?” Jack continued and Kathy kicked out without thinking, connecting with his knee. He let out a startled yelp and leaned down, rubbing the spot she’d connected with.
“Is that what you want? I think I have some in the crisper. They were still orange the last time I checked,” Evelyn said with a laugh. She was waiting for an answer and Kathy felt so embarrassed. Her mom and her stupid rules. No junk food or she was going to get fat. No candy or she was going to get fat. No nothing or she was going to get fat. She didn’t know why her mom was so worried about her being perfect.
“She wants a cookie. She just won’t admit it,” Jack said, grabbing two more cookies. “She thinks her mom will know somehow. Like she’s the cookie police.”
Evelyn sat down with them with a sigh. “Jack, sometimes kid’s listen to what their parents tell them to do.”
Jack sat up straighter. “I listen.”
Evelyn raised and eyebrow and Kathy laughed. Boy was he a bad liar. Evelyn kept staring at him and it was amazing – like a silent lie detector. He shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “Usually,” he mumbled. Evelyn laughed and Kathy found herself joining her.
Without saying anything, Evelyn pulled the plate closer and took one of the cookies off the top, placing it on top of Kathy’s notebook. Kathy looked over at her and Evelyn winked.
Leaning over, the older woman whispered to her. “There’s nothing wrong with rebelling every once in a while. The trick is to know which battles are worth fighting.”
Tentatively, Kathy took a bite, the chocolate melting in her mouth and making her smile. “Thank you, Miss Evelyn,” she said through a mouthful of cookie.

XxXxXxXxXx

My mom died. The words hung in the air and Kathy didn’t know what to say.

My mom died. What do you say to that? “Sorry” didn’t seem like enough, felt hollow and useless.
Instead she opted for silence. Leaning into him slightly, letting him know she was there as he let that horrible sentence turn the key in the lock that was keeping all of it bottled up inside. It was so hard to listen to; she couldn’t fathom what it would have been like to live through it. That Jack was there with her, on the steps of some random brownstone, able to tell it was a testament to his strength.
His hands were braced on the steps and he was looking forward at the sidewalk and the street in front of them, but Kathy knew it wasn’t New York he was seeing, it was Detroit and it was terrible. She placed her hand on the step next to his, not quite touching him, wanting for all the world to hold onto him, but knowing it was too much. Her breath caught when, instead of pulling away from her, he reached out and took her hand, his fingers lacing with hers.

He finished the story, his shoulders slumping as though the burden had been lifted. He was still looking blindly ahead, still not looking at her, but he gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

“Thanks, Kathy,” he said quietly.

She ran her thumb over his knuckles. “You’re welcome, Jack.”

That's all f-list :)


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