Following, Part Twenty-Five [Jack/Juliet] [R/NC-17] [WIP]
“Of course I did,” he said, picking up the scissors and stretching the wet gauze between the shears before cutting through it, “which is exactly why I went into a specialty where I’d never have to do it again.”
She grinned, her eyes brightening with amusement.
“I don’t know, Jack: On a scale of intensity, I think most people would rate spinal surgery a little higher than setting broken bones.”
“That’s because you’re forgetting the best thing about spinal surgery.”
“What’s that?”
“Anesthesia.”
She snickered as he tucked the end of the bandage underneath the uppermost layer, smoothing it against the top of her shin.
“Even you have to admit that it’s easier to concentrate when you don’t have to hear your patients moaning in pain every time something cracks,” he elaborated distractedly, his hand tightening on her knee, his fingers stiff with drying plaster.
The water in her blue eyes, he realized as he spoke, had reminded him of something else: For a fleeting second, a silent, single image had flashed before him-Boone Carlyle dying on the floor of his tent. Jack swallowed, trying to blink it away, not sure why it had occurred to him now.
“Come on,” Juliet answered playfully, “I wasn’t that bad, was I?”
He looked up at her quickly.
“No: that’s not what I- You were pretty much a perfect stoic, Juliet. I just-” he shook his head, “I guess I just don’t like seeing people in pain, stoic or not. Kind of makes my choice of career seem a little ridiculous, huh?” He tried to smile, looking down at himself, but even he could feel how faint it was. He was thinking about-he didn’t know quite what he was thinking about. The image of Boone was still there in pieces, shaded and overlaid with pale layers, thick with memories of his father and others that he couldn’t identify.
“It makes sense to me,” Juliet said softly, sliding her hand against the back of his. He raised his eyes to meet hers, suddenly buoyed by the bright, kind look she was giving him.
“Juliet,” he began, tamping down on his jumbled thoughts to focus on her, “Are you sure you don’t want any painkillers?” he tilted his head toward the tangle of drugs that was spilling out of the cabinet, “It’s not exactly like we’re in danger of running out.”
She pressed her lips together contemplatively, as if she was considering the proposal, and then squeezed his hand.
“Would you mind getting me some water?”
“Uh-sure,” he agreed, taken aback by how quickly she seemed to have changed her mind. When she released him, he turned toward the cabinet behind him. After he had filled a cup in the sink, he moved to face the shelves.
“Which one do you want to take? I guess you know what’s in here better than I do-”
“Jack-” she interrupted him, “I’ve already got what I want to take.”
“What?” He turned to face her and saw that she was holding a small white pill-a birth control pill, he realized almost immediately-between her thumb and index finger.
“Jesus,” he couldn’t stop himself from exclaiming, “You still have those?”
“Yeah,” she smiled softly at his disbelief, taking the cold cup from his hand before he had sense enough to offer it to her. After she had swallowed, she set the paper container down carefully on the table beside her.
“Come here,” she instructed him. As soon as moved closer, she reached out for him, sliding her arms around his neck. “You can close your mouth now, Jack,” she offered, but then her expression changed again as she pulled his face toward hers, and murmured, “Or better yet-”
He was still too dazed to shut his eyes when her lips found his, caught and held and parted them in a single, smooth motion that would have had trouble separating into distinct movements if he had tried. He’d forgotten how good she was at this: before he was fully conscious of it, the room was sliding away from him, the thoughts in his head growing warm and hazy. She eased him closer, kissing him slowly, before she hooked her good leg around his hip and began to rub gradually up and down: he could feel his pulse jump audibly as he started to harden against her.
“Juliet,” he murmured, blinking to fight to the overwhelming impulse to shut his eyes.
“Hmm?” she looked at him for a second before moving past his jaw, undeterred, kissing him behind his ear. He took a deep breath.
“You’re telling me that you-that you kept taking those the whole time we were in the Temple? Even when they put you back in the cell-?”
“I’m pretty persistent,” she smiled against his throat, “You’d be surprised.”
“I think you’ve done enough surprising me today,” he joked weakly, his voice growing husky as he thought about the question he wanted to ask, “Juliet- If you didn’t-if you didn’t stop- Was that, uh-”
“Lucky number seven?” she pulled away to look at him, her eyes soft and dilated, and nodded, “Uhuh.”
A hard shudder wracked through him and she actually giggled at him when she felt it.
He paused, holding her close, almost too absorbed in listening to the warm, joyful sound to feel the flush in his cheeks, deep as it was. He squeezed her hips where his hands rested against her, trying to figure out all the while what it was that made the sound affect him so much: Was it the rarity of a real, genuine laugh on this island, which already seemed like some kind of victory against it? Or was it the way that the sound began to transfigure all the lines in her face, making him think he saw-for just a moment-the trusting, naïve woman she had described to him when she’d spoken of her life before the island? Or maybe it was just the novelty of the idea, half-unbelievable still, that he could’ve caused such a reaction in her. He hadn’t made anyone laugh like this-hadn’t made anyone really happy-since Sarah, and after the divorce, he hadn’t even been sure he’d ever done that.
“Jack-What’s going on up there?” she ran her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. “I hope you aren’t thinking of welching.”
“Welching?”
“On your promise.”
“My-huh?” his eyes focused on her suddenly, incredulously, “You’re not talking about-the shower?”
“That’s the one,” she agreed, grinning, “I didn’t think you’d forget.”
“Juliet-you’re wearing a plaster cast,” he said, feeling ludicrous somehow for even addressing the suggestion.
“I never said anything about turning on the water.”
“You’ve got a fractured rib,” he stressed the words as though the emphasis would make what he was saying clearer.
“It’s just a hairline fracture,” she dismissed him, nodding in the direction of the tiny broken line of bone still illuminated in the x-ray behind her. “It’s nothing.”
Since she seemed determined not to acknowledge the ridiculousness of what she was proposing, he lowered his voice, trying to address her practically.
“You know it only took me a few days to heal after the appendectomy,” he said in an undertone, “If we-if we just wait until tomorrow, you should be-”
“Jack,” She stilled for a moment, her smile draining away, a somber expression rapidly replacing it. The tense, nervous way that she was pressing her lips together reminded him suddenly of look she used to wear when she was still living with the Others.
“Ben’s still out there-” she began.
He tried to pull away from her almost as soon as he heard the irritating name, made even more irritating by the unmistakable sound of fear in her voice, but she clutched his shoulders, keeping him close.
“Listen to me,” she whispered insistently, “Ben’s still out there, and we’re going to see him again, whether we like it or not. And there are going to be more flashes, and more people trying to kill us. Nothing is safe on this island: Just waiting-and thinking that that makes you safe-is the most dangerous thing you can do.”
She tilted her head at him, her eyes going soft and hot: he felt her gaze against his face like a touch.
“I-I want you, Jack-”
The admission alone would have undone him even if she hadn’t pressed against him at the same moment, her parted lips almost touching his, her full breasts grazing his chest-without knowing quite what he was doing, he felt his body taking over, as if it had decided that it liked her reasoning better than his own. When she kissed him again, he couldn’t help kissing her back, squeezing his eyes shut, the muscles in his fingers nearly spasming as they tightened on her hips.
“Juliet-” he breathed between kisses, his voice the only part of himself over which he seemed to have retained any control. Her mouth moved away from his and back over his throat as if she wanted to let him speak, but wasn’t willing to stop kissing him. He tried to catch his breath, nuzzling her gently and running his fingers through her hair. “I get what you’re saying, and I- uh, I want you too, but- Remember what I said about not liking to see people in pain? That-um, that includes you, you know.” He barely realized that one of his hands was moving until it had found its way to the snowflake-shaped scar at the small of her back. As soon as he touched her there, she stopped kissing him abruptly and looked up at him in surprise.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he explained, his eyes flicking back and forth between hers half-guiltily as his fingers hovered over the scar. He felt himself coloring a little under the directness of her gaze, “I’ve already-God, Juliet, I’ve already done enough-”
“Hey,” she cut him off with a soft smile, her eyes shining back at him meaningfully, her fingers slipping over his, “I’ll let you know when you’ve done enough.”
~~
Part Twenty-Six