For better or worse
Title: For better or worse
Author: ardvari
Rating: PG
Pairing: Sam/Jack
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Sequel to Shine a little light.
( For better or worse )
Author: ardvari
Rating: PG
Pairing: Sam/Jack
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Sequel to Shine a little light.
( For better or worse )
Jack throws the remote down on the couch cushions by his side in disgust. At the beginning of the week, this would have caused Thor to rise up of his dog bed and come and investigate, as he tends to when one of his pack is out of sorts and in need of companionship and solidarity, but by now he is so used to Jack's mood that he doesn't find it worth more than a cursory lift of his head from between his paws. Thor huffs and settles his head again, and Jack makes a similar noise, and rises to his feet, placing the remote back in the clever little plexiglass pocket Sam designed for it, on the wall just to the left of the screen. There are no sports on at this hour of the day, at least none that aren't reruns of games he caught as they aired live, he can't find a Simpsons or a Family Guy rerun anywhere, and even the Cartoon channel is showing something so insipid he can't bear to watch it. Unless he can learn to find Blues Clues riveting, he's out of luck.
He wonders if he can possibly convince himself that the place needs to be vaccuumed again, but a cursory glance proves what he already knows: Even his most demanding drill master with his whitest glove couldn't find a speck of dust. Anywhere. He knows just where to put the blame, too. Sam did something with the machine a few weeks ago when she was bored, and ever since it has been frighteningly efficient.
He wanders in to the kitchen,but it already reeks of glass cleaner. A glance at the clock on the stove lets him know that it is way too early for lunch.
His bed is made.
The toilet bowl sparkles.
There's a load of laundry, but he's saving that for later. It's worse after dark, when the house closes in on him more. He refuses to fight it by lighting up the house. Even with every light blazing it's still too quiet and too empty.
In the end he stuffs his feet into his heavy Bean boots, throws on his deep blue parka and some puffy fingered gloves, whistles for Thor, and heads out to shovel. The driveway is done, as is the sidewalk, but he can start on the deck... and the patio... and the walkway from the front back to the patio...
A few hours later, as the bulk of the Rockies to the West are bringing an early winter's twilight down on Colorado Springs and its suburbs, Jack and Thor come back in. He is disgruntled. Who knew that the neighbors would be so territorial about their snow? He was just clearing their sidewalk for them, for cryin' our loud!
He has a sneaking suspicion that when Sam hears about this, she's going to make him feel sheepish. Which he shouldn't. He was providing a service!
After some coffee, a can of chicken noodle soup, and a grilled ham and cheese sandwich, he heads for the shower. He reconsiders, and draws himself a bath. After all, Sam isn't here to tease him about choosing the girly option, and his muscles are telling him that men of his age probably don't spend hours shoveling snow and get off without any reminders. The warm soak will help keep the stiffness down.
His hope for a long soak is stymied by the fact that no sooner does he settle in, than his body announces that his lunch was salty, and coffee is a diuretic. He is blindingly, tongue-thickeningly thirsty. Ever since his time in Ir-- so not going there - he hasn't tolerated being thirsty with good grace. He soaks a few minutes, and then surges out of the bath, secures the towel around his midsection, and heads out in search of several tall glasses of water.
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