Fic: like magic, play aces
title: like magic, play aces
word count: ~1600
disclaimer: Do I have a disclaimer? Well, frequent brushing prevents cavities. So does not reading my Jack/Renee fic;)
warnings: show spoilers, language
a/n: This is part three of the tiny series that includes yes the heart should always go one step too far and play hearts, kid, they work well.
So this should have been written last Christmas, but it wasn't because of reasons. In any case, this is for ws_scribe, in response to the following prompt: Jack/Renee; I don't want to run, just overwhelm me. The complete list of prompts is here. Big huge thanks to adrenalin211, lowriseflare, and dealan311 for awesome beta input and deep thoughts on airports.
Title is from 'Go Places,' by The New Pornographers.
++++++++++++
She goes running at 5:45 on Christmas morning, fingers crossed that the overloaded teaspoon of brown sugar she stirred into her coffee will power her through four or five miles, because it’s way too early to eat.
It’s darker than she expected and cold (apparently even the damn D.C. weather has been seized with the Christmas spirit). The air burns her lungs when she breathes, sharp and stinging. She yanks the sleeves of her hoodie down over her gloved fingertips and tries to concentrate on the rhythm, to make her mind blank until there’s nothing but her shoes on the pavement, the wind on her cheeks, and the pulse of Missy Elliott on her iPod.
It works, mostly.
The neighborhood’s quiet at first -- no light in the bay-windowed townhouses, frosted cars motionless and cold in their numbered spaces.
But by the time she’s completed her loop (five miles and change; she’s proud of herself for not caving to the dark side and writing a shorter run off to the holiday blahs), two houses are lit up.
In the first, all she can see is a sleepy-looking black lab puppy peering out the window. The air from his nose makes a foggy circle on the glass.
She only catches a glimpse of the second before she forces herself to look away, but that glimpse is more than enough. A Christmas tree strung with blinking multicolored lights, every inch of it packed with miscellaneous ornaments.
(There’s an angel at the top that looks kind of like an anime character, but somehow it still manages to be magic.)
Kneeling in front of the tree are two little boys in those fuzzy footie pajamas, holding gifts close to their faces and listening, as if the presents might suddenly decide to speak.
It takes her brain a second to access the word for the unfamiliar throb of heat in her chest that has nothing to do with cardiovascular exertion. When she finally finds it, it’s a mini-epiphany.
Anticipation.
She’s looking forward to something.
++++++++++++
Back in the canned radiant heat of her apartment building, she turns left out of the elevator, cursing under her breath when her headphones tangle as she tries to pull them off. When she finally unknots the thin black cords, she glances up and stops short, fingers clenched around her key.
Sitting in front of her door is a Christmas tree.
It’s maybe two feet tall, wrapped in a spiral of silver tinsel garland, nestled in a red and green ceramic pot with snowflakes on it. Glazed gingerbread men and candy canes hang from the tree’s tiny branches, and there’s a string of white lights encircling the greenery, cord waiting to be plugged in.
The needles tickle her fingers as she reaches for the note and pulls it out of the envelope with clumsy cold hands.
She sees Jack’s still-shaky scrawl, realizes she’s been holding her breath.
You said you hadn’t done anything Christmasy. This was the best I could come up with on thirty-six hours’ notice. If you hate it, throw it out. (It looked good in the online catalog.)
I’m so glad you met me at the airport.
Jack
She chews the inside of her cheek and reads the note three more times, her mind bouncing from thought to thought like one of those damn Lotto balls. It occurs to her, in a rush of aggregated evidence (seven phone messages, plane ticket arranged just so he could have coffee with her at DCA, his mouth on her cheek, so close to her lips, the sparkling tree in front of her), that maybe this goes beyond concern about his responsibility for collateral damage.
But maybe he’s just sorry that she’s alone for the holidays. Maybe he-
Her phone vibrates her hip through the pocket of her hoodie; she almost jumps. Managing to extract it, she studies the display.
Jack.
She’s set his caller ID to a pic of winter sunset in the mountains -- pink, orange, and violet glowing off white.
The picture’s calming.
His name isn’t.
“Hi.”
“I didn’t wake you up, did I? You said you were planning to run, and-”
“You didn’t wake me up.” She’s still breathing fast (the run, it’s just the run). “I love the tree.”
“Yeah?” She can hear him grinning, and it’s the strangest sensation, because she’d only seen him halfway smile twice before their impromptu airport snack. “I couldn’t decide between that and the Sees pumpkin spice lollipops.”
“You made the right call.”
“Well not-” He pauses, and it clicks before he says another word.
“You bought those, too, didn’t you?” She peers around the back of the tree and yeah, there’s the Sees logo. The smile she can’t stop almost hurts her cold cheeks.
“Only in case you hated the tree.” She can hear him exhaling. “Pumpkin’s more seasonally neutral.”
“Why are you awake? It’s like four thirty your time.” She holds the phone with her shoulder and fumbles the key into the lock, shoving the door open with her knee.
Jack’s quiet for a second. “I guess I haven’t figured out how to stay asleep. Here.”
She almost says, I haven’t figured out how to stay asleep anywhere, but she bites that one back and substitutes, “Is Teri all excited?”
He laughs, and her face doesn’t feel as cold anymore. “She’s bouncing off the walls. Literally. Kim had to threaten her with being skipped by Santa to get her into bed.”
Somehow, Renee uses her foot to maneuver the tree far enough inside the door to shut it. She tosses her gloves on the counter. “What about you?”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.” She surveys her silent, empty apartment and thinks about the comfortable chaos of Christmas from another lifetime -- Andy Williams too loud from the speakers, the crunch of wrapping paper and cardboard, her dad cursing under his breath when he burned his fingers carving the turkey. “I’m so happy you get to be with Kim this year.”
“Me, too.” He pauses, but she lets the quiet sit, waits for him to fill in more blanks. “It still feels like a movie though. Like maybe . . . it’s not real.” The last few syllables are very soft.
“That’ll go away,” she says instantly, and she only realizes in the beat after how true the words feel.
“Hey.” He clears his throat and pauses. “Are you doing anything for New Year’s Eve?”
“Yeah, hiding.” She opens the cupboard, shoving aside a box of Special K so she can reach the Quik. “Watching Netflix. Probably eating half a bag of jalapeno Cheetos. What about you?”
“Can I bring you takeout?”
Puzzled, she squeezes her hand into a nervous ball. “Won’t you still be in L.A.?”
“I have an appointment with Dr. Macer on Tuesday. She couldn’t reschedule. But if you’d rather be alone-”
“No, it’s not that. I just-” Her heart is beating faster now than at any point during her run. She cycles through a jumbled pro and con list regarding what she’s about to say, but all the mental noise is trumped by the fact that she really, really needs to know exactly what’s happening here.
“Jack, listen. I didn’t get you a present.”
“I wasn’t expecting-”
“I thought about it. A lot. I had seven or eight tabs open on my computer.” She drags in only enough air to let her keep going. “But I didn’t want you to think I was making assumptions about-” She stops, stares at the red chapped crack in her knuckle.
“About what?”
“Well I didn’t know if you were thinking-” Goddammit. She’s never had any idea how to do this. “Is this New Year’s Eve thing a-” With all the fucking words in the English language, there isn’t a synonym in sight. “A date?”
It’s not possible that he’s silent for more than a second, but it feels like a fourth of forever. He sounds both nervous and amused when he says, “I can’t even remember the last time I used that word.” Then he adds, so quiet that it’s hard for her to hear, “I’d like it to be, yeah.” Excitement and terror twist through her. “But if you don’t want to-”
She cuts him off, trying to slam all the conviction she can find into a few words. “I do. Want to. Takeout sounds great.” She presses her hand into her jittery stomach. “I’ll make dessert. Do you like tiramisu?”
(Jesus Christ, where the hell did that come from? She hasn’t made tiramisu since she was seventeen, trying to impress Nathan Jackowski, who was 6’2” and captain of the soccer team but still used words like ‘serendipitous’ and ‘quintessential.’)
“I’m sure it’s great, but you could buy chocolate ice cream and I’d be happy.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Okay.” She’s pretty sure there’s no scale that could measure her gratitude for the way he just . . . says things.
“I’ll call you tonight.” His words have warm edges.
“Bye.” For a few minutes she stands there, cold hands clutching the phone, staring at the screen even after the display goes dark. Eventually, she remembers that she was trying to make hot chocolate.
Grinning, she watches the glow of the lights on her new tree while she stirs the milk in a figure eight.
Inside her hoodie, her thumb traces the rough corner of Jack’s note, back and forth until it’s bent into a curve.
++++++++++++
ANYWAY. Entirely non fic-related comments and conversation are also welcome. I find it pretty much amazing that this exists. If I had one, I would name it Larry Moss.
Tomorrow is December 1st, omg. I am just dying for a serious snow. What are the most excellent things you guys are looking forward to (or dreading, in your case, marinw) during the holiday season?
Also, has anyone seen Silver Linings Playbook? If so, thoughts?
word count: ~1600
disclaimer: Do I have a disclaimer? Well, frequent brushing prevents cavities. So does not reading my Jack/Renee fic;)
warnings: show spoilers, language
a/n: This is part three of the tiny series that includes yes the heart should always go one step too far and play hearts, kid, they work well.
So this should have been written last Christmas, but it wasn't because of reasons. In any case, this is for ws_scribe, in response to the following prompt: Jack/Renee; I don't want to run, just overwhelm me. The complete list of prompts is here. Big huge thanks to adrenalin211, lowriseflare, and dealan311 for awesome beta input and deep thoughts on airports.
Title is from 'Go Places,' by The New Pornographers.
++++++++++++
She goes running at 5:45 on Christmas morning, fingers crossed that the overloaded teaspoon of brown sugar she stirred into her coffee will power her through four or five miles, because it’s way too early to eat.
It’s darker than she expected and cold (apparently even the damn D.C. weather has been seized with the Christmas spirit). The air burns her lungs when she breathes, sharp and stinging. She yanks the sleeves of her hoodie down over her gloved fingertips and tries to concentrate on the rhythm, to make her mind blank until there’s nothing but her shoes on the pavement, the wind on her cheeks, and the pulse of Missy Elliott on her iPod.
It works, mostly.
The neighborhood’s quiet at first -- no light in the bay-windowed townhouses, frosted cars motionless and cold in their numbered spaces.
But by the time she’s completed her loop (five miles and change; she’s proud of herself for not caving to the dark side and writing a shorter run off to the holiday blahs), two houses are lit up.
In the first, all she can see is a sleepy-looking black lab puppy peering out the window. The air from his nose makes a foggy circle on the glass.
She only catches a glimpse of the second before she forces herself to look away, but that glimpse is more than enough. A Christmas tree strung with blinking multicolored lights, every inch of it packed with miscellaneous ornaments.
(There’s an angel at the top that looks kind of like an anime character, but somehow it still manages to be magic.)
Kneeling in front of the tree are two little boys in those fuzzy footie pajamas, holding gifts close to their faces and listening, as if the presents might suddenly decide to speak.
It takes her brain a second to access the word for the unfamiliar throb of heat in her chest that has nothing to do with cardiovascular exertion. When she finally finds it, it’s a mini-epiphany.
Anticipation.
She’s looking forward to something.
++++++++++++
Back in the canned radiant heat of her apartment building, she turns left out of the elevator, cursing under her breath when her headphones tangle as she tries to pull them off. When she finally unknots the thin black cords, she glances up and stops short, fingers clenched around her key.
Sitting in front of her door is a Christmas tree.
It’s maybe two feet tall, wrapped in a spiral of silver tinsel garland, nestled in a red and green ceramic pot with snowflakes on it. Glazed gingerbread men and candy canes hang from the tree’s tiny branches, and there’s a string of white lights encircling the greenery, cord waiting to be plugged in.
The needles tickle her fingers as she reaches for the note and pulls it out of the envelope with clumsy cold hands.
She sees Jack’s still-shaky scrawl, realizes she’s been holding her breath.
You said you hadn’t done anything Christmasy. This was the best I could come up with on thirty-six hours’ notice. If you hate it, throw it out. (It looked good in the online catalog.)
I’m so glad you met me at the airport.
Jack
She chews the inside of her cheek and reads the note three more times, her mind bouncing from thought to thought like one of those damn Lotto balls. It occurs to her, in a rush of aggregated evidence (seven phone messages, plane ticket arranged just so he could have coffee with her at DCA, his mouth on her cheek, so close to her lips, the sparkling tree in front of her), that maybe this goes beyond concern about his responsibility for collateral damage.
But maybe he’s just sorry that she’s alone for the holidays. Maybe he-
Her phone vibrates her hip through the pocket of her hoodie; she almost jumps. Managing to extract it, she studies the display.
Jack.
She’s set his caller ID to a pic of winter sunset in the mountains -- pink, orange, and violet glowing off white.
The picture’s calming.
His name isn’t.
“Hi.”
“I didn’t wake you up, did I? You said you were planning to run, and-”
“You didn’t wake me up.” She’s still breathing fast (the run, it’s just the run). “I love the tree.”
“Yeah?” She can hear him grinning, and it’s the strangest sensation, because she’d only seen him halfway smile twice before their impromptu airport snack. “I couldn’t decide between that and the Sees pumpkin spice lollipops.”
“You made the right call.”
“Well not-” He pauses, and it clicks before he says another word.
“You bought those, too, didn’t you?” She peers around the back of the tree and yeah, there’s the Sees logo. The smile she can’t stop almost hurts her cold cheeks.
“Only in case you hated the tree.” She can hear him exhaling. “Pumpkin’s more seasonally neutral.”
“Why are you awake? It’s like four thirty your time.” She holds the phone with her shoulder and fumbles the key into the lock, shoving the door open with her knee.
Jack’s quiet for a second. “I guess I haven’t figured out how to stay asleep. Here.”
She almost says, I haven’t figured out how to stay asleep anywhere, but she bites that one back and substitutes, “Is Teri all excited?”
He laughs, and her face doesn’t feel as cold anymore. “She’s bouncing off the walls. Literally. Kim had to threaten her with being skipped by Santa to get her into bed.”
Somehow, Renee uses her foot to maneuver the tree far enough inside the door to shut it. She tosses her gloves on the counter. “What about you?”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.” She surveys her silent, empty apartment and thinks about the comfortable chaos of Christmas from another lifetime -- Andy Williams too loud from the speakers, the crunch of wrapping paper and cardboard, her dad cursing under his breath when he burned his fingers carving the turkey. “I’m so happy you get to be with Kim this year.”
“Me, too.” He pauses, but she lets the quiet sit, waits for him to fill in more blanks. “It still feels like a movie though. Like maybe . . . it’s not real.” The last few syllables are very soft.
“That’ll go away,” she says instantly, and she only realizes in the beat after how true the words feel.
“Hey.” He clears his throat and pauses. “Are you doing anything for New Year’s Eve?”
“Yeah, hiding.” She opens the cupboard, shoving aside a box of Special K so she can reach the Quik. “Watching Netflix. Probably eating half a bag of jalapeno Cheetos. What about you?”
“Can I bring you takeout?”
Puzzled, she squeezes her hand into a nervous ball. “Won’t you still be in L.A.?”
“I have an appointment with Dr. Macer on Tuesday. She couldn’t reschedule. But if you’d rather be alone-”
“No, it’s not that. I just-” Her heart is beating faster now than at any point during her run. She cycles through a jumbled pro and con list regarding what she’s about to say, but all the mental noise is trumped by the fact that she really, really needs to know exactly what’s happening here.
“Jack, listen. I didn’t get you a present.”
“I wasn’t expecting-”
“I thought about it. A lot. I had seven or eight tabs open on my computer.” She drags in only enough air to let her keep going. “But I didn’t want you to think I was making assumptions about-” She stops, stares at the red chapped crack in her knuckle.
“About what?”
“Well I didn’t know if you were thinking-” Goddammit. She’s never had any idea how to do this. “Is this New Year’s Eve thing a-” With all the fucking words in the English language, there isn’t a synonym in sight. “A date?”
It’s not possible that he’s silent for more than a second, but it feels like a fourth of forever. He sounds both nervous and amused when he says, “I can’t even remember the last time I used that word.” Then he adds, so quiet that it’s hard for her to hear, “I’d like it to be, yeah.” Excitement and terror twist through her. “But if you don’t want to-”
She cuts him off, trying to slam all the conviction she can find into a few words. “I do. Want to. Takeout sounds great.” She presses her hand into her jittery stomach. “I’ll make dessert. Do you like tiramisu?”
(Jesus Christ, where the hell did that come from? She hasn’t made tiramisu since she was seventeen, trying to impress Nathan Jackowski, who was 6’2” and captain of the soccer team but still used words like ‘serendipitous’ and ‘quintessential.’)
“I’m sure it’s great, but you could buy chocolate ice cream and I’d be happy.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Okay.” She’s pretty sure there’s no scale that could measure her gratitude for the way he just . . . says things.
“I’ll call you tonight.” His words have warm edges.
“Bye.” For a few minutes she stands there, cold hands clutching the phone, staring at the screen even after the display goes dark. Eventually, she remembers that she was trying to make hot chocolate.
Grinning, she watches the glow of the lights on her new tree while she stirs the milk in a figure eight.
Inside her hoodie, her thumb traces the rough corner of Jack’s note, back and forth until it’s bent into a curve.
++++++++++++
ANYWAY. Entirely non fic-related comments and conversation are also welcome. I find it pretty much amazing that this exists. If I had one, I would name it Larry Moss.
Tomorrow is December 1st, omg. I am just dying for a serious snow. What are the most excellent things you guys are looking forward to (or dreading, in your case, marinw) during the holiday season?
Also, has anyone seen Silver Linings Playbook? If so, thoughts?