Cold Storage
Cold Storage
Author: enigmaticblues
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: These aren’t my characters, which is really too bad.
Pairings/Characters: Jack/Nathan (pre-slash)
Spoilers: 1.08, “Right As Raynes”
Word Count: ~1300
Summary: Jack isn’t exactly used to Nathan Stark calling him for help.
A/N: Written for the
hc_bingo prompt “cuddling for warmth.” I love hypothermia fics, for real. Many thanks to S. for the beta help.
Jack has just gotten Zoe settled for the night when SARAH notifies him that he has a call from Dr. Stark. “I know it’s late, Sheriff, but I thought you would want to know,” SARAH says apologetically.
“No, it’s fine, SARAH. Go ahead.”
“Sheriff.” Stark’s stiff tone tells Jack that as much ground as they had gained over the course of the evening, it hasn’t been enough to completely smooth over the rough edges in their relationship. “I need your help.”
Jack frowns. “Now? It’s late, and-”
“I’m well aware of what time it is, Carter. Just-please.”
That last word gets to him; courtesy is not Stark’s strong suit, and he doesn’t often ask politely. In fact, Jack can’t remember Stark ever using that word to get something from him.
“Where do you want me?” Carter asks.
“My old lab,” Stark replies. “And thanks.”
With that, Jack doesn’t have any other choice than to head out to see what trouble Stark has gotten into now. The old lab echoes strangely as he enters, and Jack can see very little in the dim light from a back room.
“Hello?” Jack calls out. “Stark?”
“Back here!” Stark’s voice sounds strange, and Jack makes his way past the battered equipment and scorched tables to a room that appears untouched by the fire. The set-up seems a little more high-tech, too, and the oddness in Stark’s voice is explained when Jack gets a good look at him.
Stark is seated in a desk chair, shuddering, his lips almost blue in color. His teeth are chattering, and Jack has no idea what the hell is going on, because it’s probably in the 60’s in the lab. There’s no reason for Stark to be that cold.
“What the hell?” Jack asks.
Stark grimaces. “I was putting Callister in cold storage, and I was exposed to some of the cryogenic liquid. I’ll be fine, but I know better than to try to drive myself home.”
“So, you call me,” Jack says flatly.
Stark shrugs. “Technically, Callister’s body is the property of GD. I couldn’t call anybody else.”
Jack processes that statement for a minute; he’s tired, worn out from chasing Zoe down, and the emotional fallout that went along with it. He realizes that is someone from GD knew what had gone down with Callister, they’d take the-remains? Body? Jack isn’t sure-to dissect.
“Allison?” Jack asks, because she knows about Callister, and he thinks she’d understand.
Stark shakes his head, wrapping his arms tightly around himself. “No. She wouldn’t-she doesn’t get it.”
Jack has no idea what Allison doesn’t get-that Callister had been like Stark’s child, or that Stark wanted to lay him to rest. Or maybe Stark just doesn’t want to deal with his soon-to-be ex, but Jack suspects that it’s their newfound bond that had Stark calling him.
Jack doesn’t count on this understanding lasting.
Stark sighs and adds, “Allie follows the rules.”
In this case, Jack figures “the rules” probably include giving Callister’s remains back to GD, and he asks, “And I don’t?”
“Do you really care?”
Jack shrugs. “No, not really. You want me to drive you back to your place?”
“That would be good,” Stark replies, still shivering.
Jack frowns. “Are you sure you don’t need to go to the infirmary?”
“Sheriff,” Stark begins, speaking through clenched teeth. “I don’t particularly feel like making up a story about how I came into contact with cryogenic fluid. I’ll be fine in a few hours.”
Jack considers that for a moment. He can’t say he’d shed any tears for Stark, but Jack doesn’t want anybody dying on his watch.
Even if that someone is Stark.
“If you’re sure,” Jack says, mostly to clear his own conscience.
“Carter,” Stark growls.
Jack shrugs. “Fine. It’s your funeral.”
He regrets the words almost as soon as they come out of his mouth, and Jack quickly says, “Sorry.”
Maybe Stark is feeling too awful to really respond, because he just says, “Let’s go.”
Jack doesn’t offer Stark any assistance getting into the Jeep, and he drives Stark home in silence, pulling up in front of Stark’s house and parking. When Jack opens his door, Stark snaps, “What the hell are you doing?”
Jack fixes him with a glare. “Look, you don’t want to go to the GD infirmary, I’m not going to make you, but I’m not leaving you alone while you’re still in danger.”
Stark sneers, but the effect is marred by his chattering teeth. “I’m not in danger, Sheriff.”
Jack rolls his eyes. “Humor me.”
It turns out that Stark needs Jack’s help to unlock his front door-Stark’s hands are shaking too badly to punch in the security code-and Jack manfully refrains from saying, “I told you so.”
The shaking is bad enough at this point that Jack has to help him upstairs to the bedroom. Once there, Stark’s hands are shaking too badly to manage the buttons on his dress shirt, and Jack slaps his hands away.
After a brief protest, Stark goes silent, and Jack gets him under the covers, where Stark shivers quietly.
“What’s the treatment for this?” Jack demands, not wanting to leave before he’s certain that Stark is going to survive the night.
His personal feelings about Stark might range from irritation to fury most of the time, but that doesn’t mean he’ll risk letting the man die.
Stark glares and speaks through chattering teeth. “It’s the same treatment as for hypothermia. I’ll be fine.”
As though to underscore the lie that was, Stark’s teeth chatter even harder, and the bed shakes with his shivering.
“Dammit,” Jack mutters angrily, taking off his gun belt with quick, angry movements.
“What the hell are you doing?” Stark demands.
Jack rolls his eyes. “I’m following the standard protocol for hypothermia victims. What do you think I’m doing?”
Stark glares at him ineffectually. “I’m fine.”
“You could have fooled me,” Jack grumbles. “Just shut up.”
Jack’s uniform drops to the floor, although he leaves his undershirt and boxers on. Stark is still shivering when Jack crawls under the sheets, and Jack spoons up behind him.
“You’re such a boy scout,” Stark mutters.
“Yeah, well, lucky you,” Jack retorts. “Seriously, shut up and go to sleep.”
Slowly, slowly, Stark’s shivering eases, and his rigid body goes pliable next to Jack, who tries to stay awake and alert. Jack can’t help but notice Stark’s muscular form, and the way he slots in next to Jack perfectly.
Jack might be more attracted to Allison, but it’s not by much. At least, it wouldn’t be by much if Stark didn’t normally regard Jack as too stupid to live.
Eventually, Stark stops shivering entirely, and he breathes deeply and evenly. Jack moves so that he can see Stark’s face. His lips are no longer blue, and Jack glances out the windows, seeing the first change in light that indicates dawn is on its way.
Jack disentangles himself, pulling on his uniform and belt as silently as possible, glancing at Stark, who still appears to be deeply asleep. Stark rolls over onto his back, into the warmth left by Jack’s body, his left arm flung over his head.
For a moment, Jack allows himself to wish for something else. He wishes like hell that Stark didn’t hate him. He wishes he didn’t find Allison so fucking attractive. Jack wishes he could understand his own heart, and make a choice and stick with it.
But he smiles when Stark shifts and says, “Jack.”
And then he slips out of Stark’s house and heads home.