Fic - Too Many Words Left Unsaid (Jenna, Jenna/John) pg, 1/1
Title: Too Many Words Left Unsaid
Summary: She wishes for the millionth time tonight that she didn't know now what she didn't know yesterday.
Rating: pg
Author's Notes: 986 words. Spoilers for everything to date with speculation for future episodes. For empressearwig on the event of her birthday. Also because I'm sure she is the only other person alive that cares about these two? I hope you enjoy! Thank-you to leobrat for the quick beta. All mistakes are mine. These characters, however, are not.
Jenna's drunk.
Not that long ago it would have been considered a usual occurrence, but today it only serves to further contrast the differences between her life before and her life now and the bitterness that stings the tip of her tongue has nothing to do with tequila. There is a bottle in front of her nearly gone and she feels John before she sees him. Recognizes the heavy beat of his steps, the feel of his presence that lingers deep under her skin. She's too exhausted to breathe that sharp, customary intake of breath. Too tired to prepare herself for the battle she knows will somehow ensue.
With a certain amount of grace she has forgotten he possessed, he slides onto the couch next to her, the cushion shifting under his weight. Jenna does not move, does not falter at his presence. There are things she remembers and things she often fails miserably at forgetting. This is one of them: everything John does is to gauge a response. Every movement he makes is carefully calculated and experience has taught her that it's best to do nothing and say nothing in response because John has always known her better than most. Always knew the reasons behind every movement and every word uttered. It’s where the hatred that burns for him stems from, really.
John always understood her in a way nobody else ever did.
"I was just trying to protect you, Jenna," is all he says, his version of a greeting.
His voice is smooth like the glass of the bottle she reaches forward to grasp and her name drops from his lips so easily, so reverently that it makes something ache in the base of her spine. The feeling burns and fizzles out like a firework. Sets her world on fire for a fleeting second and there's something painfully familiar that settles deep in her belly and between her legs. She swallows more tequila in an effort to wash it away. It's a fruitless effort.
Instead she takes to staring at his hands. Takes in the way one flexes and fists simultaneously - the only hint of nervousness he only ever shows - while the other carries the scars and the reminders of a war she hadn't known they were fighting. Her stomach turns at the presence of something else, something still unfamiliar and horribly foreign and she listens for a beat for movement upstairs, for signs of life. At the faint sounds of Elena's soft footsteps she breathes a small sigh of relief and sets the bottle she's been gripping tightly in her hands aside.
She can't protect them - these children she loves as if they were her own - like this.
John moves to say something but all that comes out is her name, the consonants and vowels dropping between them with too much ease and she shakes her head as she moves to stand. She’s too tired to fight; too exhausted to play these games and pretend she cares. John’s fingers are around her wrist in an instant, pulling her back and there's a moment all too familiar where he looks at her, lips parting to say words she doesn't want to hear.
She kisses him to stop the words from falling out of his mouth.
She kisses him without thought and hesitation because she's always been the inappropriate one. Because once upon a time this is how it all started - tequila and misplaced loyalties, an effort at forgetting.
A year ago it would have worked. The feel of his mouth solid and supple under hers would have further fueled that always present spark, would have made it completely unbearable and pushed her towards the point of no return. Tonight she forgets everything for that first, beautiful second when her mind goes blank as his tongue flicks across hers with practiced precision, with experience and skill and just the way she likes.
But then the second passes.
The memories return with force and all she's left with is Ric on her mind, his touch still seared into her skin. The heaviness of war presses down on her shoulders without pause and a man that breeds hatred wherever he goes kisses her like he still has a right, like he never even stopped. It makes her blood run cold and she wishes for the millionth time tonight that she didn't know now what she didn't know yesterday.
When she pulls away her stomach is turning from too much tequila and too many mistakes and her hands are shaking as she reaches up to wipe at her mouth. John says nothing, just watches her for a long span of time that stretches her to the point of breaking. The sigh the moment elicits from her is shaky at best, more exhausted than anything.
When he stands she's thankful, eyes on her feet and fingers itching for the bottle in front of her. She resists the urge and is surprised when his hand clasps around hers suddenly, his fingers pressing something solid against the clammy skin of her palm.
"You need this more than I do," he breathes, so quiet it almost burns with an amount of sincerity she forgot he was capable of possessing.
Jenna stares at their hands for the second they're intertwined and thinks, maybe, he loved her once in the only way he's capable of. She thinks that maybe she even loved him back - even if it was only momentary. Even if she knew it was never meant to last. It’s neither here nor there now. She knows this just as surely as she knows the sun will rise tomorrow. There's too much time and distance between the people they thought they were then and the people they are now to make any difference.
He leaves, finally, and Jenna curls her fingers into a fist around the ring as she watches him go.
Summary: She wishes for the millionth time tonight that she didn't know now what she didn't know yesterday.
Rating: pg
Author's Notes: 986 words. Spoilers for everything to date with speculation for future episodes. For empressearwig on the event of her birthday. Also because I'm sure she is the only other person alive that cares about these two? I hope you enjoy! Thank-you to leobrat for the quick beta. All mistakes are mine. These characters, however, are not.
Jenna's drunk.
Not that long ago it would have been considered a usual occurrence, but today it only serves to further contrast the differences between her life before and her life now and the bitterness that stings the tip of her tongue has nothing to do with tequila. There is a bottle in front of her nearly gone and she feels John before she sees him. Recognizes the heavy beat of his steps, the feel of his presence that lingers deep under her skin. She's too exhausted to breathe that sharp, customary intake of breath. Too tired to prepare herself for the battle she knows will somehow ensue.
With a certain amount of grace she has forgotten he possessed, he slides onto the couch next to her, the cushion shifting under his weight. Jenna does not move, does not falter at his presence. There are things she remembers and things she often fails miserably at forgetting. This is one of them: everything John does is to gauge a response. Every movement he makes is carefully calculated and experience has taught her that it's best to do nothing and say nothing in response because John has always known her better than most. Always knew the reasons behind every movement and every word uttered. It’s where the hatred that burns for him stems from, really.
John always understood her in a way nobody else ever did.
"I was just trying to protect you, Jenna," is all he says, his version of a greeting.
His voice is smooth like the glass of the bottle she reaches forward to grasp and her name drops from his lips so easily, so reverently that it makes something ache in the base of her spine. The feeling burns and fizzles out like a firework. Sets her world on fire for a fleeting second and there's something painfully familiar that settles deep in her belly and between her legs. She swallows more tequila in an effort to wash it away. It's a fruitless effort.
Instead she takes to staring at his hands. Takes in the way one flexes and fists simultaneously - the only hint of nervousness he only ever shows - while the other carries the scars and the reminders of a war she hadn't known they were fighting. Her stomach turns at the presence of something else, something still unfamiliar and horribly foreign and she listens for a beat for movement upstairs, for signs of life. At the faint sounds of Elena's soft footsteps she breathes a small sigh of relief and sets the bottle she's been gripping tightly in her hands aside.
She can't protect them - these children she loves as if they were her own - like this.
John moves to say something but all that comes out is her name, the consonants and vowels dropping between them with too much ease and she shakes her head as she moves to stand. She’s too tired to fight; too exhausted to play these games and pretend she cares. John’s fingers are around her wrist in an instant, pulling her back and there's a moment all too familiar where he looks at her, lips parting to say words she doesn't want to hear.
She kisses him to stop the words from falling out of his mouth.
She kisses him without thought and hesitation because she's always been the inappropriate one. Because once upon a time this is how it all started - tequila and misplaced loyalties, an effort at forgetting.
A year ago it would have worked. The feel of his mouth solid and supple under hers would have further fueled that always present spark, would have made it completely unbearable and pushed her towards the point of no return. Tonight she forgets everything for that first, beautiful second when her mind goes blank as his tongue flicks across hers with practiced precision, with experience and skill and just the way she likes.
But then the second passes.
The memories return with force and all she's left with is Ric on her mind, his touch still seared into her skin. The heaviness of war presses down on her shoulders without pause and a man that breeds hatred wherever he goes kisses her like he still has a right, like he never even stopped. It makes her blood run cold and she wishes for the millionth time tonight that she didn't know now what she didn't know yesterday.
When she pulls away her stomach is turning from too much tequila and too many mistakes and her hands are shaking as she reaches up to wipe at her mouth. John says nothing, just watches her for a long span of time that stretches her to the point of breaking. The sigh the moment elicits from her is shaky at best, more exhausted than anything.
When he stands she's thankful, eyes on her feet and fingers itching for the bottle in front of her. She resists the urge and is surprised when his hand clasps around hers suddenly, his fingers pressing something solid against the clammy skin of her palm.
"You need this more than I do," he breathes, so quiet it almost burns with an amount of sincerity she forgot he was capable of possessing.
Jenna stares at their hands for the second they're intertwined and thinks, maybe, he loved her once in the only way he's capable of. She thinks that maybe she even loved him back - even if it was only momentary. Even if she knew it was never meant to last. It’s neither here nor there now. She knows this just as surely as she knows the sun will rise tomorrow. There's too much time and distance between the people they thought they were then and the people they are now to make any difference.
He leaves, finally, and Jenna curls her fingers into a fist around the ring as she watches him go.