geeky_agent | (no subject)

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(no subject)

From here.

June 19, 2011

Still half-asleep, Chris rolled over, trying to move a little farther from the sunshine steaming though the window.

The apartment was quiet and she snuggled down in the covers, ready to sleep some more till a thought pushed through her mind. Jack's here. She opened her eyes, blinking, and for a second the night before seemed like a dream.

But she knew it wasn't and wondering if he was still here, she got out of bed, threw her robe on and tiptoed into the living room. Jack was still asleep on the couch, Coco had parked herself near his feet and raised a lazy head to look at Chris.

Without waking him, Chris crept back into her room. First, a shower then the store.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Well from the glimpse I had in your fridge, that isn't all that surprising."

"Not much you can do with olives and some beer." Though there's probably a recipe out there somewhere that combines the two.

"There's probably a lot yhou can do, you just need more than just the olives and the beer. Otherwise it's just...beer-soaked olives."

"Just like mom used to make."

"What, that wasn't a family favourite around your house too?"

She takes a sip of her orange juice and wrinkles her nose. "It sounds like one of those college experiments in food. Like Skittlebrau."

His face wrinkles in distaste. "One of my buddies in the Army tried that with M&Ms once, if I remember correctly."

Chris makes a gagging noise. "That sounds disgusting."

"It was." That hadn't prevented him from chugging a glassful on a dare, though. "You never tried anything like that, I'm sure."

"Ew.

She smiles. "Not with M&Ms and beer, no. Though some friends and I did attempt some variation of Skittlebrau involving Skittles and Fuzzy Navals." Chris pauses, thinking. "The red and orange Skittles didn't really make a difference."

"Well I'd guess not, though it's been ages since I've had a Skittle. Or a Fuzzy Navel."

"You're not missing out, trust me."

"Yeah, somehow I thought that," he says, shoveling another forkful of eggs in his mouth. "What are you up to today?"

"Not much." Aside from ignoring the date. "I'll probably do some housework."

She doesn't want to ask because it means he'll be leaving and she doesn't want to think of that. "When do you have to catch your bus?"

He glances over at the clock on the microwave--around 7:30. "About quarter to ten." Not that he particularly wants to leave. He's a little too comfortable at the moment, he knows that. It doesn't mean he's not enjoying it.

She looks down at her plate, pushing the eggs around. "Do you know where you're going?"

"Home. I'll head north, cross the border at Vancouver, then head east. It'll take a while, but I'll get there."

She nods, then glances up at him. "Hopefully, you'll get back to the bar soon."

"Yeah, hopefully," he says. Things might be better, but he doesn't want to leave Kim for too long. "I have a door to the bar in my cabin, so I've been able to come and go from a stable door for the last little while. At least until yesterday."

"Jack? When you get back, could you tell my dad that you saw me and that I'm ok?" They hadn't left things on the best terms and each day that passed that Chris couldn't return, her guilt grew.

He nods. "Sure I will. Anything else you want me to tell him or anyone else?"

Chris thinks for a moment, then shakes her head. "No. Just that."

He nods. "Okay. Whenever I get back I'll tell him. Hopefully you'll be able to tell him yourself, though."

"Yeah. Hopefully," Chris says dully. It sounded as if a few months had passed in the bar and ever since her dad had seen the door, she'd been reminded of how temporary this situation was.

He reaches across the table on impulse, putting his hand on hers, wanting to reassure her but unable to find the words. You never knew with the Landlord just when you'd be picked up again, so he can't just mouth the empty words that wouldn't be reassuring anyway.

After a moment he pulls his hand away and goes back to eating breakfast, the conversation picking up on some other topic and moving along until they're both finished, their dishes stacked in the sink.

After washing the grease off his hands, Jack looks over at the clock, wishing tme wasn't moving quite so fast. Not sure when he was going to see her again--or if ever--he's reluctant to leave. "I guess I'd better be going."