Nurse Jackie, The More Things Change
Title: The More Things Change
Author: lowbatterie , archived here @ substitute_ego
Fandom: Nurse Jackie
Pairing: Jackie/O'Hara (if you squint. Really hard.) Mostly just gen.
Rating: PG-13/R, but only for language, because, well--I like swearing, they’re adults, and it comes on Showtime, for Christ’s sake.
Word Count: 676
Spoilers: Up to and including the finale of season 1. Seriously.
Disclaimer: I don't own it or any of the characters used within, I'm just borrowing them with the promise to put them back where they belong when I'm done with them, scout's honor.
Notes: This literally attacked me at one o' clock in the morning, but I'm pretty sure akte has been waiting for me to write NJ fanfic since she told me I should watch this show. Currently a one-shot, but I have the beginnings of a second part floating around in my head (but I'd hate to get y'all's hopes up and then not come up with anything).
When Jackie finally told Eleanor about the drugs, she was met with red puffy eyes, hatefully thin lips, crossed arms and an aura of betrayed rage that would have frightened her if not for the Percocet running through her system.
But Eleanor had to admit… it explained a bloody hell of a lot.
That didn’t mean she was ready to forgive her yet at all.
Of course, everything that was so carefully constructed and balanced in Jackie’s world was falling apart. Eddie went back to the bar a few more times while Jackie nearly OD’d on Vicodin, and finally confronted her husband about the whole thing.
Kevin was surprisingly calm about it. Which, for Jackie, was unbearable. Because anger she could handle. It was heartbreak she wasn’t good with. (At least not her own.) When he quietly told her he was moving his things to the tiny room above the bar, she refused to cry. The girls did plenty of it, and if Grace had one more panic attack-meltdown, Jackie thought she might die from worry.
So, when exactly one month later, Eleanor began requesting that Jackie be her nurse again, that little olive branch of familiarity was the tiny ray of hope that things might not have disintegrated completely in Jackie Peyton’s life. Not quite.
Zoey didn’t get fired, either. Somehow. Miraculously. No one knows how, especially with the mood Akalitus had been in recently. Actually, how Jackie herself wasn’t fired also was a bit of a mystery, but Jackie wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. If she could consider having to work here after all that… all this was any kind of gift. But, really, she did. Because she was still working. Jackie could do that. She could come in and deal with the regulars, and the addicts, and the crazies, and the tears, and the outraged, (and Coop, in all his tit-grabbing, sloppy-kissing glory) and she could do her job.
Two months to the day found Jackie buying a Snickers bar and a pack of cigarettes (because hell fucking yeah she was smoking again) at the convenience center with O’Hara strolling down the hallway, tugging on a pair of leather gloves, a peacoat half shrugged on. Jackie watched her from the corner of her eye (because staring was rude), collecting the last of her change from the counter when she realized the doctor had stopped to arrange herself, purse and scarf tossed to the bench to her left. The nurse moved slowly, dropping her eyes back to her wallet when Eleanor’s eyes flicked over. The brunette fixed her collar and pulled the scarf on, draping it for appropriate levels of warmth and fashion, then picked up her purse and faced Jackie with a fist on her hip.
“Well, are you coming to lunch or not?”
Jackie’s face was usually almost comically readable, especially to Eleanor. Those blue eyes were wide with shock and her lips were pursed in that way that they got when Jacks didn’t know what to say. (Eleanor frowned at herself internally for letting the pet-name slip even in her thoughts. Because she was still mad. And upset. She just needed an escort to lunch. That was all.) If O’Hara hadn’t been so concentrated on not trembling to hear her answer, she probably would have laughed. Also, she was ravenous, so if Jackie was simply going to stand there-
“No sushi.”
Eleanor’s mouth dropped open to protest and Jackie only shook her head. Her mouth clamped shut into a pout, her nose lifted a little higher into the air. “Fine. Just for that, I’m getting crème brulée.”
As the two women fell in step, neither commented on the tiny quirks of smiles that had been missing from their respective faces for the last eight weeks. Nor did they mention the shiny brightness of Jackie’s eyes. They got out onto the street and Jackie would curse the cold air as she wiped at her cheeks, claiming the wind was making her eyes water.
Eleanor wouldn’t say otherwise.
Author: lowbatterie , archived here @ substitute_ego
Fandom: Nurse Jackie
Pairing: Jackie/O'Hara (if you squint. Really hard.) Mostly just gen.
Rating: PG-13/R, but only for language, because, well--I like swearing, they’re adults, and it comes on Showtime, for Christ’s sake.
Word Count: 676
Spoilers: Up to and including the finale of season 1. Seriously.
Disclaimer: I don't own it or any of the characters used within, I'm just borrowing them with the promise to put them back where they belong when I'm done with them, scout's honor.
Notes: This literally attacked me at one o' clock in the morning, but I'm pretty sure akte has been waiting for me to write NJ fanfic since she told me I should watch this show. Currently a one-shot, but I have the beginnings of a second part floating around in my head (but I'd hate to get y'all's hopes up and then not come up with anything).
When Jackie finally told Eleanor about the drugs, she was met with red puffy eyes, hatefully thin lips, crossed arms and an aura of betrayed rage that would have frightened her if not for the Percocet running through her system.
But Eleanor had to admit… it explained a bloody hell of a lot.
That didn’t mean she was ready to forgive her yet at all.
Of course, everything that was so carefully constructed and balanced in Jackie’s world was falling apart. Eddie went back to the bar a few more times while Jackie nearly OD’d on Vicodin, and finally confronted her husband about the whole thing.
Kevin was surprisingly calm about it. Which, for Jackie, was unbearable. Because anger she could handle. It was heartbreak she wasn’t good with. (At least not her own.) When he quietly told her he was moving his things to the tiny room above the bar, she refused to cry. The girls did plenty of it, and if Grace had one more panic attack-meltdown, Jackie thought she might die from worry.
So, when exactly one month later, Eleanor began requesting that Jackie be her nurse again, that little olive branch of familiarity was the tiny ray of hope that things might not have disintegrated completely in Jackie Peyton’s life. Not quite.
Zoey didn’t get fired, either. Somehow. Miraculously. No one knows how, especially with the mood Akalitus had been in recently. Actually, how Jackie herself wasn’t fired also was a bit of a mystery, but Jackie wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. If she could consider having to work here after all that… all this was any kind of gift. But, really, she did. Because she was still working. Jackie could do that. She could come in and deal with the regulars, and the addicts, and the crazies, and the tears, and the outraged, (and Coop, in all his tit-grabbing, sloppy-kissing glory) and she could do her job.
Two months to the day found Jackie buying a Snickers bar and a pack of cigarettes (because hell fucking yeah she was smoking again) at the convenience center with O’Hara strolling down the hallway, tugging on a pair of leather gloves, a peacoat half shrugged on. Jackie watched her from the corner of her eye (because staring was rude), collecting the last of her change from the counter when she realized the doctor had stopped to arrange herself, purse and scarf tossed to the bench to her left. The nurse moved slowly, dropping her eyes back to her wallet when Eleanor’s eyes flicked over. The brunette fixed her collar and pulled the scarf on, draping it for appropriate levels of warmth and fashion, then picked up her purse and faced Jackie with a fist on her hip.
“Well, are you coming to lunch or not?”
Jackie’s face was usually almost comically readable, especially to Eleanor. Those blue eyes were wide with shock and her lips were pursed in that way that they got when Jacks didn’t know what to say. (Eleanor frowned at herself internally for letting the pet-name slip even in her thoughts. Because she was still mad. And upset. She just needed an escort to lunch. That was all.) If O’Hara hadn’t been so concentrated on not trembling to hear her answer, she probably would have laughed. Also, she was ravenous, so if Jackie was simply going to stand there-
“No sushi.”
Eleanor’s mouth dropped open to protest and Jackie only shook her head. Her mouth clamped shut into a pout, her nose lifted a little higher into the air. “Fine. Just for that, I’m getting crème brulée.”
As the two women fell in step, neither commented on the tiny quirks of smiles that had been missing from their respective faces for the last eight weeks. Nor did they mention the shiny brightness of Jackie’s eyes. They got out onto the street and Jackie would curse the cold air as she wiped at her cheeks, claiming the wind was making her eyes water.
Eleanor wouldn’t say otherwise.