[ his not-a-smile-yet drops completely at the words, knowing he doesn't like them but it takes a second to catch up to what they even mean, in context. frank watches her thoughtfully as he ever does, not jumping to help when he knows there's nothing he can do. her system will tell her when its through punishing her for her attempts to obliterate her own liver. he doesn't feel bad for her, since she did it to herself. but he certainly doesn't derive any pleasure from seeing her this way: in pain. it makes him feel helpless, which is exactly what he's always been when it comes to jessica goddamn jones. ]
That about sums it up. [ he agrees, tipping his head. he knows he has to say it now, that he has to respond to her neverending attempts to push him away with more than just acquiescence. it isn't in his nature and he's sick of fighting what he wants. especially when he's almost certain now she wants it too. with that one phrase he's realized that she's been fighting herself more than she ever fought him. and it was only his own self-loathing that kept him from seeing the truth. ]
No. Nothing works on me. You know why? Because the moment I saw you, I knew... I knew that I was gonna be here, watching you throw up at five am. If you vanish on me again, I'm gonna come find you. Because I'm an annoying, stubborn bastard who doesn't care that you hate yourself. Join the goddamn club. If being around each other makes life even a fraction of a percent of fucking liveable, then what's the point in fighting it?
[ there that's it. he's done. he knows... that he might have to make good on his threat to follow her right now. that she's annoying and stubborn enough to go out into the blizzard shitfaced. but he'll do it. she's pushed him to this and he's grateful for it. ]
[ Jess listens to him rant and rail, words beating at her head until they break through. her fingers curl at the crown of her scalp, tugging her hair at the roots and tangling it between her knuckles. now what the fuck is he saying? and if it shouldn't matter anyway then why is making herself listen so gruelling? before he gets to the question, an answer hits her with the subtlety of a freight train: god, the last time he went off, it hurt so much.
she does hate herself, for letting him have that amount of influence not in how she reacts, but in how she feels. for spending over a week hacking that pain into manageable pieces and stowing them in the familiar hiding spots of her other issues. for opening her mouth as she's about to and ridding herself of the most rancid thing to root inside her ]
I'm never going to be like her. [ it's a stony mumble as she releases her head, arms dropping. in some ways, she already is, enough to lure him to her in the first place, to smack him with that serendipity moment in the coffee shop, but it will never enough to satisfy him and he may not be able to stop himself from wanting it. there's no one to blame for any of this and that's the hardest part to deal with. it makes sense to put it on herself when she consistently fails to find comfort in or even recall his reassurance that Jess is who he chooses when confronted with the memory of a woman capable of so much more than she is. ]
[ the words hit him like a blow, after the initial shock of it, he's looking at her still. his expression is as open and readable as ever, the big bad punisher... who wears his heart on his goddamn sleeves. frank reaches out for whatever he can connect with, his hand settling on her knee and squeezing. even in this state, he wants to hold her. he wants to curl up next to her and forget the rest of the world is even out there in that snowy abyss.
most of all, he's just so grateful that she's still here. ] No, you're not. [ and if that's what he was looking for here he'd have blown his brains out already. but for as much as jess knows about him on paper, she doesn't know his heart and his head. not like maria did. and yet he'd said goodbye to her, willfully. before he'd ever even known jessica existed. he isn't chasing his wife's memory, he's trying to start fresh. maybe it's not enough... but what if it is? what if this is it for them and they squander it being retards? ]
What do you need from me? A Venn diagram? Because I'll draw one up right now. [ it's painfully earnest, as much as he is poking fun ever so subtly. ]
Shut up. [ Jess rolls her eyes behind closed lids and butts at his arm with her head. rather than rock back semi-upright again and risk another round of nothing vomit, she sags there with her temple tucked into his shoulder where a rifle butt ought to go. her insides are still searing from pumping her system empty and she's craving the ibuprofen she thinks she saw him put down but doesn't trust herself with water yet.
a sigh billows from her as she rests there insofar as he lets her. she breathes for several long seconds, treacherously close to imagining herself passing out like that with him, and strung aloft from sleep by the phrase "it's not you". Jess hates saying it and come morning, or whenever she next sees him, and if not then not long after, she'll sling it again despite its proven uselessness. and he won't reject her cowardice, either. confidence and recklessness are synonymous to her. she has just enough from his acceptance of her ugly admission to spit out the words straining the empty spaces in her most honest moments with him. ]
There was this guy. I had to be someone else for him, for a long time. [ there's no good way to slip brainwashing in there and she's already pushing her luck, so even though that's not all, she verbally shrugs, ] That's all.
[ he frowns even though he's happy -- to see her finally let go. he more than willingly lets her slump against him, his arm not being pinned by her body coming up to hold the back of her head where it is. frank closes his eyes for a moment, taking comfort in the blank darkness behind them. ] I don't want you to be someone else. I just want you to be here. [ with me. not just physically, but mentally present whatever that means. if either of them are even fully capable of that. ]
[ he's happy too to finally have a mention of the shitbag who hurt her in less abstract description. they both were dismantled by assholes, but that doesn't mean they have to be alone. maybe it means... they should come together, because no one else gets how fucked up it feels. ]
Can I put you to bed now? [ an incredibly gentle ask. before he can edit himself, his lips lunge forward to brush across her clammy forehead. ]
[ she won't let go of the belief that he will come to regret that. or maybe it's that she won't all at once. it's nice to question it that meagre amount, if nothing else.
her thoughts become strangely benign after that. mostly, she wonders what to do with her hands. she wants to touch him more than anything but doesn't know where or have the muscle memory to instigate a self-contained caress. christ knows she can't kiss him and he can probably smell her breath as they are presently (making it his call and taking something else off her shoulders). she just wants to stay there, imperfectly held and peripherally ill, where she barely has to fear her own contentedness, until the need for sleep gives up on her and she can be hungover in peace.
Frank's voice nudge her from her daydreaming while her body remains hunkered against him like a boulder. Jess shoots back the twofer: noncommittal and unintelligible ] Couch.
Shhh. [ he shushes her, because she's not sleeping on his couch in this state. or any other. it's a shitty couch and her hangover will be bad enough as it is. frank's hand moves down, tracing each one of her vertibrae and nuzzling his cheek against hers. his body language is more than clear: he'll stay right where he is until she's ready to move. hell, maybe they just sleep here. he doesn't care what happens next now that she's in his arms. ]
[ Jess utters a token grumble, persuaded to shhh by his hands, finally touching her like he's not afraid her skin is going to betray them. she's been starving for some sort of contact ever since he left her bed, to the point that she contemplated fuelling up to black out and getting it from someone else. seemed too cumbersome, in the end. self-sabotage overkill. plus it's always good to have an ace up her sleeve.
when she feels herself drift off, she pulls herself back by moving her hand to his thigh. he's warmer than a radiator and rough in denim, like her. if she falls asleep, she can't have this anymore, unless it's contorted by her memories. the past few nights (or days or units of sleep, whenever they swarmed her side of the battlefield) she hasn't seen him, only knows he's there, through the window and far away, with his eye planted on a scope. watching Kilgrave fuck her, watching her like it, just like he tells her she does, and somehow she knows Frank can hear them too, her name spat onto her again and again as he shoves himself into her. at least if it's a different dream, she may not remember it so well. with how things have worked out, the rationale that helped bring her hear is no longer holding up. her fingers move gently over the fibres of his jeans, her other hand limply grasping at the hem of his leg.
oh, he's stopped shushing her. waning, Jess tips her head toward him to be heard, unable to raise her voice. ] Four hours. Wake me up.
[ the second she fully yields to him, he's enveloping her with both arms, zero hesitation in his frame. he finds the best spot for himself, his back rigid against the bathtub, but he's slept much worse places with much worse people. pick any spiderhole with billy fucking russo for example. her fingers traveling up his leg has the barest shiver tracking through his middle, and he holds her. he holds her like she's precious because no matter what else has happened, she is to him. ]
Copy. [ a gravelly murmur as he recalls his own words to her. i set an alarm for four hours. he doesn't need his phone. he can keep track of the minutes in his head easily. his chin slots in against her forehead as she falls under the tide, gathering her even a little closer with one strong arm around her shoulders and the other still cupping her waist. frank drifts off after the first hour, dozing more than truly sleeping, though the effect is the same. everything but the hands tight around her slacken and he closes his eyes at long last, even unconscious loving the way their bodies fit.
he only shuts his eyes for maybe 45 minutes, though it's enough to leave him a bit disoriented and groggy. he shifts, almost accidentally waking her before he realizes his mistake. frank pushes stubborn, damp hair out of her eyes and watches her sleep. she doesn't look peaceful, but she doesn't look in distress either. she's just... being. complacent. which is something he's never really seen from her before.
around the 3 1/2 hour mark, he wakes her just to be safe. the sun coming up persistently through the trees and shining through the tiny bathroom window cluing him in that it's time. steeling himself, he shakes her shoulder, knowing it'll really hurt if she punches him for startling her. ] Jess? Jess, wake up.
Edited (i lied i wasnt done lma o) 2018-01-15 21:00 (UTC)
[ the military jargon elicits a soft snort, her last vestige of stubbornness as she lets go, less scared than she has any right to be despite his promise.
she lies there heavily for hours, coming out of it now and then to weakly adjust the angle of her legs. they've gone to pins and needles; it's her hip that aches from the angle at which she relented to his support. it's easier to ignore than to correct it, and then be coaxed back to rest, Frank's heart beating close to her ear. without his knowledge, she makes him promise again, wake me up. every time he doesn't, she falls under with relief, whether it means five more minutes of sleep or fifty. thank god she's too tired to talk because her blood alcohol level would encourage her to and it's so goddamn pleasant to fall asleep with someone without timing their breaths from the burrow at the back of her skull.
her time is up all of a sudden, as though she only just fell asleep, and Jess groans petulantly into his shoulder. she has to get up, she knows that, but christ, is the knowledge all that gets him to do it? because its argument to her is pretty paltry. her consciousness is already slipping back from her swollen eyelids to the wreck in her head, and her mouth tastes like shit. she sighs, refusing to lift her head or open her eyes, though she is crawling towards wakefulness. that ibuprofen can't have gone anywhere. sounds like breakfast. ]
You up? [ he asks, jolting her a little with his shoulder, more because it hurts than anything. don't get him wrong, this was 100% worth it on his end and then some, but he needs to move before he gets frozen this way for good. frank gently starts to sit up, taking her with him. ] We have to get some water in you, okay? Advil. I'll make more coffee. [ she needs food, but that always seems to be a touchy subject for some reason so he's leaving it off for now. ]
Yeah, fine. [ she murmurs sourly, pushing against him cursorily while leaning on him almost completely, both of her legs numb below the knees. the room is hardly bright but she can only take it in squinting. her head is starting to pound like the pressure in the room has changed. as surreptitiously as she can, she starts to flex her toes in her boots and get her blood circulating properly so that he doesn't have to carry her.
Jess raises her hand for the glass of water, stagnant by a few hours. the idea of it has stopped reigniting her nausea, so it might be okay, but she's still glad they didn't stray from the bathroom. ]
[ he wiggles his toes too, a fact he doesn't try to hide given that he's wearing no shoes. one hand still on her waist, he pitches forward and manages to get the water and hand it to her before repeating the process for the pills. ]
It's really coming down out there. [ he notes idly, wondering how much has already piled up outside. a fleeting but serious expression crosses his face, but he doesn't offer up his thoughts, still mostly focused on taking care of her. ]
[ Jess is too consumed by the nerves starting to buzz under her skin to notice anything about him except that he's still there, right there. if she didn't feel so shitty, she would think she's dreaming. hangovers are good for something, sometimes. Jess sips carefully at the water, pills stowed in her hand. the smallest amount is enough to smooth her throat for as long as it's going down. she pops the advil into her mouth and gulps down over half the cup, then takes a breather to ensure her stomach won't send it back up. ]
The snow? [ she croaks, glancing up and regretting it instantaneously. Jess ducks her head and that leaves her looking at her legs, which twitch imperceptibly when she tries to move them. ok back to toes ]
Yeah. [ he goes back to absently rubbing her back while she tries to get her legs to work again. he's purposefully keeping his own head empty as well, knowing whenever things filter in from past lives for either of them shit gets dicey. maybe they can actually enjoy a snowed in day together. would that be so bad? ] Do you like it? Snow.
I don't hate it. [ especially not if it gives her another reason to put off touching base with Trish. she can always lie about her phone dying. her sister will see through it right away but it's the thought that counts.
Jess runs her tongue over her lips, a huge mistake. the water may have soothed the cracks before the skin could break but it did nothing to wash away the dregs of coffee and bile. she might be off the stuff for a couple days but she won't bother him with that until he's dislodged them from the floor. if it's as bad as he says it is out there, she's in no rush to get going. just thinking about the glare off the fresh snow gives her the tickle of a headache.
whispering hurts and her normal volume is painfully amplified in her head. Jess murmurs, tipping her head up to be heard (eyes both lowered and closed), ] Could stay a while, though.
No, me either. [ he allows himself a brief interlude where she starts feeling better and they go outside to play. maybe they could have a snowball fight. it's not too fantastical is it? frank snorts when she finally speaks up again, nudging his nose against the side of her face even if she doesn't smell great right now. he's pretty sure neither of them do. ]
You could, could you? [ it's fond, tinged with a bit of his own drowsiness he still hasn't shaken. carefully, he peels himself up off the floor, bracing one foot against the tile and wrapping both arms around her middle so he can pull her to her feet with the motion. he waits, holding onto her in case she can't stand, but also ready to let go in an instant if she needs to puke again. ]
[ she's pretty sure she remembers most of what they talked about last night... earlier this morning, and it doesn't merit the tone of his voice. talk about finding joy in the little things.
she hums warningly as he drags her up with him. Jess wobbles from the sensation of all the blood in her brain staying down about where her knees are. the heels of her feet are still numb; it doesn't help to feel like she's floating an inch off the ground, at the same time immobilized in quicksand. ]
Shit. [ sinking down, she finds the bathtub's edge with her hand and plants her ass on it. the water in her stomach jostles menacingly but the rest of her stabilizes well enough. she keeps a hold of Frank's side until she notices what she's doing, then lets her hand drop. ] Can you give me a minute in here?
[ he lets go so she can sit, having anticipated as much, though he's happy to stand here while she clutches to him and gets her bearings. it's almost melancholy when she pulls away. ] Just one? [ she looks like she needs a few, his face creasing with concern though he'd told himself not to feel sorry for her. and he still doesn't, not really, he just wants her to feel better instantly though they both know that isn't how this works. ]
What do you need? [ he finally asks out of desperation. if she doesn't answer he's going to start bringing her everything he can think of to combat a hangover so she better start talking. ]
[ she'd roll her eyes at his semantics, if it didn't hurt like hell. shaking her head is a no-go too, she assumes. nobody ever died of a hangover so it's not like he's going to come busting in, no matter how long she takes. ]
Bread. And peanut butter or something. [ whatever he's got to make it go down. she's wondering what happened to the rest of that bottle, too, but fuck, she has to eat even though she isn't hungry. Jess sags with her elbows on her thighs and lets her head hang, deflating with a massive, tired breath. she vaguely recalls that what he described cooking yesterday sounded good but she's going to stick to what she knows, where she can. ]
Jelly or just p-b? [ he asks brightly, like he's delighted just to have the chance to wait on her. all the sleep is shaken from his voice and what's left there instead is an unmistakable eagerness to do whatever she says right now.
frank walks out into the kitchen as he waits for her reply, the place is so small that even in her quiet voice now he'll hear her. he gives a look to the bottle still propped up against the wall. there's maybe a finger and a half in the bottom of it. he sighs and goes to make her sandwich and put on coffee. and then he's tearing through the fridge because he could have sworn he bought gatorade. ]
[ she can't have slept so deeply that he was able to get out from under her, set an alarm, and perfectly reposition himself without stirring her enough to wake her up, which means he's so used to this it can't be overly taxing to be chipper on top. the scant amount of rest she accrued is a slight in its wholeness: any more and she would have preferred not to sleep at all. what's the world record for most hours spent awake? she can beat it, easy. ]
Sure, jam, whatever. [ Jess says once she's stumbled her way to the sink and is closing the door with a bat of her hand. she twists the cold knob on the faucet all the way open and cups water in her hands, splashing her face and filling her mouth to rinse. she combs damp fingers back through her hair, wets her palms again and wipes her chin and throat, and then grabs the toothpaste from his medicine cabinet.twice, she does her best with her finger as a toothbrush, swishes, spits and rinses. as a test of her balance, she bends to grab the glass from the floor, empties the remaining third and fills it with fresh tap water.
it's almost as good as whiskey, not that she'd ever admit it.
Jess rolls her sleeves back a few times and then leaves the bathroom, declining the mirror's invitation to contemplate herself as critically as possible. wiping the corner of one eye, she scans the wall for the light switch and crosses to shut it off. ]
[ he doesn't turn on any lights, closing the blinds in the small space preemptively before making it across to fix them what passes for breakfast at this hour. by the time she makes it to the kitchen "nook," he's placing down a plate with a peanut butter and jelly, strawberry jam and smooth (sorry malcolm.) the sandwich is precisely cut on a diagnal and there's a bottle of orange gatorade on the table in lieu of any type of juice. and so she can at least pretend to hydrate before drinking again, if he can help it.
coffee is still brewing as he fixes his sandwich, not looking up from his task as she slips in. twelve long years of being a dad and eighteen of being a marine had taught him to sleep anywhere, anytime and be woken just as quickly. violently if you were frank jr. it's why it's no tax on his system at all to be a morning person, though just from the slight effort exerted here he's already deflating just a bit.
once the coffee is done, he pours some for her in a clean mug. one that declares her as the 'world's best grandma.' he rinses out his hoosiers mug and uses that again for himself, despite again the chip on the rim. frank sets everything on the table, their plates mismatched too, and sits down with her. it's hard not to draw comparisons to all the times they've sat here before, and what's different, but he's still doing his best to keep his mind quiet. ]
[ even the clinks coming from the kitchen are fucking chipper. Jess shuts her mouth on a sigh, pushing it out through her nose, and trudges slowly to the dining table. the spread is all the more appetizing for how small and simple it is, though she mistakes the gatorade for orange juice initially. ]
Anything you don't do better than me? [ Jess jokes, kinda, and hefts herself into her seat using the back of the chair. the aroma of coffee is strong, whipping up an uncertain rumble in her stomach that nonetheless begs for food. Just to be safe, she distances her mug by the length of her reach before staring the sandwich down again. half. half is all she has to manage. she can eat the rest later, if the disappearance of her hangover reveals an appropriate hunger. one of the reasons she practically lives on sandwiches. ]
Leap tall buildings in a single bound? [ he quips without missing a beat, taking a bite of his own sandwich and leaning back in his chair. the immediate glucose spike is welcome after that rollercoaster ride of a night. ]
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That about sums it up. [ he agrees, tipping his head. he knows he has to say it now, that he has to respond to her neverending attempts to push him away with more than just acquiescence. it isn't in his nature and he's sick of fighting what he wants. especially when he's almost certain now she wants it too. with that one phrase he's realized that she's been fighting herself more than she ever fought him. and it was only his own self-loathing that kept him from seeing the truth. ]
No. Nothing works on me. You know why? Because the moment I saw you, I knew... I knew that I was gonna be here, watching you throw up at five am. If you vanish on me again, I'm gonna come find you. Because I'm an annoying, stubborn bastard who doesn't care that you hate yourself. Join the goddamn club. If being around each other makes life even a fraction of a percent of fucking liveable, then what's the point in fighting it?
[ there that's it. he's done. he knows... that he might have to make good on his threat to follow her right now. that she's annoying and stubborn enough to go out into the blizzard shitfaced. but he'll do it. she's pushed him to this and he's grateful for it. ]
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she does hate herself, for letting him have that amount of influence not in how she reacts, but in how she feels. for spending over a week hacking that pain into manageable pieces and stowing them in the familiar hiding spots of her other issues. for opening her mouth as she's about to and ridding herself of the most rancid thing to root inside her ]
I'm never going to be like her. [ it's a stony mumble as she releases her head, arms dropping. in some ways, she already is, enough to lure him to her in the first place, to smack him with that serendipity moment in the coffee shop, but it will never enough to satisfy him and he may not be able to stop himself from wanting it. there's no one to blame for any of this and that's the hardest part to deal with. it makes sense to put it on herself when she consistently fails to find comfort in or even recall his reassurance that Jess is who he chooses when confronted with the memory of a woman capable of so much more than she is. ]
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most of all, he's just so grateful that she's still here. ] No, you're not. [ and if that's what he was looking for here he'd have blown his brains out already. but for as much as jess knows about him on paper, she doesn't know his heart and his head. not like maria did. and yet he'd said goodbye to her, willfully. before he'd ever even known jessica existed. he isn't chasing his wife's memory, he's trying to start fresh. maybe it's not enough... but what if it is? what if this is it for them and they squander it being retards? ]
What do you need from me? A Venn diagram? Because I'll draw one up right now. [ it's painfully earnest, as much as he is poking fun ever so subtly. ]
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a sigh billows from her as she rests there insofar as he lets her. she breathes for several long seconds, treacherously close to imagining herself passing out like that with him, and strung aloft from sleep by the phrase "it's not you". Jess hates saying it and come morning, or whenever she next sees him, and if not then not long after, she'll sling it again despite its proven uselessness. and he won't reject her cowardice, either. confidence and recklessness are synonymous to her. she has just enough from his acceptance of her ugly admission to spit out the words straining the empty spaces in her most honest moments with him. ]
There was this guy. I had to be someone else for him, for a long time. [ there's no good way to slip brainwashing in there and she's already pushing her luck, so even though that's not all, she verbally shrugs, ] That's all.
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[ he's happy too to finally have a mention of the shitbag who hurt her in less abstract description. they both were dismantled by assholes, but that doesn't mean they have to be alone. maybe it means... they should come together, because no one else gets how fucked up it feels. ]
Can I put you to bed now? [ an incredibly gentle ask. before he can edit himself, his lips lunge forward to brush across her clammy forehead. ]
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her thoughts become strangely benign after that. mostly, she wonders what to do with her hands. she wants to touch him more than anything but doesn't know where or have the muscle memory to instigate a self-contained caress. christ knows she can't kiss him and he can probably smell her breath as they are presently (making it his call and taking something else off her shoulders). she just wants to stay there, imperfectly held and peripherally ill, where she barely has to fear her own contentedness, until the need for sleep gives up on her and she can be hungover in peace.
Frank's voice nudge her from her daydreaming while her body remains hunkered against him like a boulder. Jess shoots back the twofer: noncommittal and unintelligible ] Couch.
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when she feels herself drift off, she pulls herself back by moving her hand to his thigh. he's warmer than a radiator and rough in denim, like her. if she falls asleep, she can't have this anymore, unless it's contorted by her memories. the past few nights (or days or units of sleep, whenever they swarmed her side of the battlefield) she hasn't seen him, only knows he's there, through the window and far away, with his eye planted on a scope. watching Kilgrave fuck her, watching her like it, just like he tells her she does, and somehow she knows Frank can hear them too, her name spat onto her again and again as he shoves himself into her. at least if it's a different dream, she may not remember it so well. with how things have worked out, the rationale that helped bring her hear is no longer holding up. her fingers move gently over the fibres of his jeans, her other hand limply grasping at the hem of his leg.
oh, he's stopped shushing her. waning, Jess tips her head toward him to be heard, unable to raise her voice. ] Four hours. Wake me up.
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Copy. [ a gravelly murmur as he recalls his own words to her. i set an alarm for four hours. he doesn't need his phone. he can keep track of the minutes in his head easily. his chin slots in against her forehead as she falls under the tide, gathering her even a little closer with one strong arm around her shoulders and the other still cupping her waist. frank drifts off after the first hour, dozing more than truly sleeping, though the effect is the same. everything but the hands tight around her slacken and he closes his eyes at long last, even unconscious loving the way their bodies fit.
he only shuts his eyes for maybe 45 minutes, though it's enough to leave him a bit disoriented and groggy. he shifts, almost accidentally waking her before he realizes his mistake. frank pushes stubborn, damp hair out of her eyes and watches her sleep. she doesn't look peaceful, but she doesn't look in distress either. she's just... being. complacent. which is something he's never really seen from her before.
around the 3 1/2 hour mark, he wakes her just to be safe. the sun coming up persistently through the trees and shining through the tiny bathroom window cluing him in that it's time. steeling himself, he shakes her shoulder, knowing it'll really hurt if she punches him for startling her. ] Jess? Jess, wake up.
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she lies there heavily for hours, coming out of it now and then to weakly adjust the angle of her legs. they've gone to pins and needles; it's her hip that aches from the angle at which she relented to his support. it's easier to ignore than to correct it, and then be coaxed back to rest, Frank's heart beating close to her ear. without his knowledge, she makes him promise again, wake me up. every time he doesn't, she falls under with relief, whether it means five more minutes of sleep or fifty. thank god she's too tired to talk because her blood alcohol level would encourage her to and it's so goddamn pleasant to fall asleep with someone without timing their breaths from the burrow at the back of her skull.
her time is up all of a sudden, as though she only just fell asleep, and Jess groans petulantly into his shoulder. she has to get up, she knows that, but christ, is the knowledge all that gets him to do it? because its argument to her is pretty paltry. her consciousness is already slipping back from her swollen eyelids to the wreck in her head, and her mouth tastes like shit. she sighs, refusing to lift her head or open her eyes, though she is crawling towards wakefulness. that ibuprofen can't have gone anywhere. sounds like breakfast. ]
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We can take another nap later.
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Jess raises her hand for the glass of water, stagnant by a few hours. the idea of it has stopped reigniting her nausea, so it might be okay, but she's still glad they didn't stray from the bathroom. ]
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It's really coming down out there. [ he notes idly, wondering how much has already piled up outside. a fleeting but serious expression crosses his face, but he doesn't offer up his thoughts, still mostly focused on taking care of her. ]
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The snow? [ she croaks, glancing up and regretting it instantaneously. Jess ducks her head and that leaves her looking at her legs, which twitch imperceptibly when she tries to move them. ok back to toes ]
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Jess runs her tongue over her lips, a huge mistake. the water may have soothed the cracks before the skin could break but it did nothing to wash away the dregs of coffee and bile. she might be off the stuff for a couple days but she won't bother him with that until he's dislodged them from the floor. if it's as bad as he says it is out there, she's in no rush to get going. just thinking about the glare off the fresh snow gives her the tickle of a headache.
whispering hurts and her normal volume is painfully amplified in her head. Jess murmurs, tipping her head up to be heard (eyes both lowered and closed), ] Could stay a while, though.
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You could, could you? [ it's fond, tinged with a bit of his own drowsiness he still hasn't shaken. carefully, he peels himself up off the floor, bracing one foot against the tile and wrapping both arms around her middle so he can pull her to her feet with the motion. he waits, holding onto her in case she can't stand, but also ready to let go in an instant if she needs to puke again. ]
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she hums warningly as he drags her up with him. Jess wobbles from the sensation of all the blood in her brain staying down about where her knees are. the heels of her feet are still numb; it doesn't help to feel like she's floating an inch off the ground, at the same time immobilized in quicksand. ]
Shit. [ sinking down, she finds the bathtub's edge with her hand and plants her ass on it. the water in her stomach jostles menacingly but the rest of her stabilizes well enough. she keeps a hold of Frank's side until she notices what she's doing, then lets her hand drop. ] Can you give me a minute in here?
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What do you need? [ he finally asks out of desperation. if she doesn't answer he's going to start bringing her everything he can think of to combat a hangover so she better start talking. ]
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Bread. And peanut butter or something. [ whatever he's got to make it go down. she's wondering what happened to the rest of that bottle, too, but fuck, she has to eat even though she isn't hungry. Jess sags with her elbows on her thighs and lets her head hang, deflating with a massive, tired breath. she vaguely recalls that what he described cooking yesterday sounded good but she's going to stick to what she knows, where she can. ]
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frank walks out into the kitchen as he waits for her reply, the place is so small that even in her quiet voice now he'll hear her. he gives a look to the bottle still propped up against the wall. there's maybe a finger and a half in the bottom of it. he sighs and goes to make her sandwich and put on coffee. and then he's tearing through the fridge because he could have sworn he bought gatorade. ]
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Sure, jam, whatever. [ Jess says once she's stumbled her way to the sink and is closing the door with a bat of her hand. she twists the cold knob on the faucet all the way open and cups water in her hands, splashing her face and filling her mouth to rinse. she combs damp fingers back through her hair, wets her palms again and wipes her chin and throat, and then grabs the toothpaste from his medicine cabinet.twice, she does her best with her finger as a toothbrush, swishes, spits and rinses. as a test of her balance, she bends to grab the glass from the floor, empties the remaining third and fills it with fresh tap water.
it's almost as good as whiskey, not that she'd ever admit it.
Jess rolls her sleeves back a few times and then leaves the bathroom, declining the mirror's invitation to contemplate herself as critically as possible. wiping the corner of one eye, she scans the wall for the light switch and crosses to shut it off. ]
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coffee is still brewing as he fixes his sandwich, not looking up from his task as she slips in. twelve long years of being a dad and eighteen of being a marine had taught him to sleep anywhere, anytime and be woken just as quickly. violently if you were frank jr. it's why it's no tax on his system at all to be a morning person, though just from the slight effort exerted here he's already deflating just a bit.
once the coffee is done, he pours some for her in a clean mug. one that declares her as the 'world's best grandma.' he rinses out his hoosiers mug and uses that again for himself, despite again the chip on the rim. frank sets everything on the table, their plates mismatched too, and sits down with her. it's hard not to draw comparisons to all the times they've sat here before, and what's different, but he's still doing his best to keep his mind quiet. ]
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Anything you don't do better than me? [ Jess jokes, kinda, and hefts herself into her seat using the back of the chair. the aroma of coffee is strong, whipping up an uncertain rumble in her stomach that nonetheless begs for food. Just to be safe, she distances her mug by the length of her reach before staring the sandwich down again. half. half is all she has to manage. she can eat the rest later, if the disappearance of her hangover reveals an appropriate hunger. one of the reasons she practically lives on sandwiches. ]
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are you ready to take this to turbo cute because it's boyfriend shirt time
um HALE YEA who do you take me for huh
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