August 24, 2012

Though he was just laughing a moment before, as soon as he's outside, he sobers up pretty quickly -- it isn't standoffish, his demeanor -- it's surprisingly open, really -- but he knows it's not going to be a light conversation. He doesn't move far from the door, just a handful of paces down from it. "So," he starts, and really can't think of what else to say. Glances at her, then gulps down most of his beer. He'd probably taken it with him for the distraction value more than the wanting-to-get-tipsy effect. "It doesn't ... Nevermind." And now he's laughing, though it's fleeting, unamused, born from tension, and he's hiding half of his face with one hand briefly. "Just go ahead."

She wasn't laughing. Following him out she set the extra beers in hand on the ground beside the door. Always be prepared. Jackie was like a drunken girl scout. She sipped at her beer, brows rising and falling when he began to say something and stopped. "It doesn't...?" Trying to urge him on to finish his thoughts. "I don't exactly know where tah start. I jus'... it ain't easy fer me tah jus' blow things off like it is fer you. And I know it ain't fair tah yah 'cause the thangs that happen ain't yer doin'... but I can't exactly wrap mah head 'round that. 'Cause when I hear the name Lyla all I can think 'bout is it bein' you wakin' up in bed with her. I can't sit there and be all sortsa logical 'bout it." Lips pursed tightly, trying to figure out how to explain before deciding to go with the simple approach. "It hurts me."

Ben takes a deep breath, lets it out in a slow sigh, leaning up against one of the alleyway walls, hands in his jacket pockets. He's not looking at her -- it's difficult to. "Yeah. I know it must be difficult. And I know ... it wasn't fair for me to expect you to just ... ignore it. Because you're right; I've had a lot of time to figure out how to deal with this, and for me, the only way to get by is to ignore it." Worrying his lower lip between his teeth for a few seconds, before, "I'm sorry it hurts you. It's not like I want to be waking up in bed with her," or other women, one night stands. "It bothers me too when that happens. A lot." He's frowning some, and when he shakes his head, it only fades a little. "I am sorry that it hurts you," the repetition is quieter. "I'm sorry you're feeling that way -- over me."

Jackie takes up her own lean against the wall beside the door. One ankle crossing over the other, the bottle of beer dangling at her side between her fingers. "I wish I could ignore it. I wish I could make that distinction, 'cause I know it ain't what yah want tah have happen." She had to pause, wincing at the word 'a lot'. "I know it ain't somethin' on purpose. I..." She took a deep breath followed by a slow exhale. "Goddamn, I might just sound like a downright nut, but I jus' gotta lay it out there. I like yah, Ben. I don't think that's mucha secret or nothin'. I like hangin' 'round you an' drinkin' an' alla that. I don't know exactly how yah feel 'bout me. I don't know where this is goin'. We already got strikes against us, but this one is big. An'... I feel like if I let m'self go any further when it comes tah bein' soft on you, I'm jus' askin' for trouble." She was squeezing her eyes shut, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. "I ain't makin' a licka sense an' I might even jus' be jumpin' ten guns at once, but... I jus' don't know." The ramble was ended flattly and it was the most concise thing she had to say. She didn't know.

"No, it, uh ... it makes sense. A lot of sense." Idly, he's starting to pick at the label on his beer bottle. Gives him something to look at that isn't her. "I was thinking the same thing, that ... you know, that we both ..." Another vague gesture -- she knew what he was getting at, right? Whatever they were, wanted to be. "And I kind of ... I mean, I'm almost glad this happened the way it did, because what if we started ... you know, seeing each other, and then you found this out?" Glances at Jackie just out of the corner of his eye, but the look doesn't last. "It's a really big strike, I know," rather subdued. "And it's probably better if you don't let yourself go any further. For your sake. You'll be setting yourself up for a lot of heartbreak, otherwise, I think." Very decidedly not looking at her now, though he's lost interest in his label too, just focussed on the wall across from him.

Was it wrong that she almost wanted him to be able to tell her she was all wrong? That the way she saw things weren't even close to being right? No, it wasn't the case. She had too much time to roll this over in her head and, unfortunately, she knew it was the most sensible thought she had for herself in a long while. It didn't mean she enjoyed it. Her back slid against the brick wall behind her so she ended in a crouch, arms folding over her knees with her gaze pointed down at the ground. "Ain't that a downright kick in the a*s?" There was a sharp dry laugh, there and gone. "Better tah stop doin' whatever we're doin' 'cause me carin' is goin' to end in heartbreak. We were facin' down age like it wasn't no thang. Divorces. You playin' Dukes of Hazzard with mah brother. An' then it was that one last knife done slipped between the ribs." Her chin settled on folded arms. "I jus' don't want yah tah think it's easy fer me, Ben. It ain't. But you don't want that. Y'don't wanna have tah worry 'bout me bein' hurt in addition tah everythin' else yah got goin' on. That ain't fair tah yah. An'... I guess I'm jus' sorry fer bringin' more trouble yer way than yah already got goin' on."

"Yeah, it really is," but he's not laughing; his voice is near a murmur. "Jackie, I know it's not easy for you. Come on. I know you must really care a lot to even be talking with me after knowing what you know, let alone ... you know. Dinner plans, and ... everything." Since she's sitting and not looking at him, he takes the opportunity to study her for a moment -- but then he's closing the distance between them, sinking down beside her with his back against the wall. "And it's going to suck, still seeing you around, but knowing that we can't ..." Trailing off, sighing. "I envy you, if you really can just not let yourself ... whatever. If you can just stop it." Feeling. "Because that's going to suck too, once you start seeing some other guy." He doesn't sound jealous though, or bitter -- just quiet, and when he goes on, the look on his face is a little wistful, bittersweet. "Don't be sorry. It was nice while it lasted."

"I thought it could still work. I thought, somehow, it wasn't goin' to get at me none. It ain't even that it happens, it's jus'... I don' think you would ever really be mine, jus' mine, an' I ain't able tah handle that. Not mah heart, mah head, or... well... any poor girl who happened tah be in the wrong place at the wrong time." Did she really have to point out how badly she wanted to clock poor Lyla when the girl was, oddly, just as innocent in the matter as she was? She didn't want to, but she was sure he could figure it out.

Jackie was aware that he was sitting beside her now, but she kept her gaze pointed down at the ground allowing blonde locks to create a curtain of sorts around her head. The only give away was when she lifted her hand to briefly rub under her eyes before letting it sink back down again. "Ain't gonna be any easier seein' you. I don't know what yer gettin' in yer head, but it ain't like this is jus' gonna stop fer me. I don't know what I'm hopin' fer. I think I'm pretty much jus' bankin' on bein' f*cked no matter what I do. But I ain't gonna drag you 'long with me. Maybe it'll be better without me? You can start focusin' like yah started talkin' 'bout before. Figure things out tah get back home." It was supposed to be something positive, but it only made her heart ache more. "It was real nice, Ben." Agreeing without hesitation.

If she hadn't swiped under her eyes, he might have been able to keep his hands to himself, but seeing that -- he couldn't help it; he's moving to cautiously put one arm around Jackie's shoulders. It's meant to encourage her to lean into him, but if she doesn't seem like she's about to -- or, hell, if she outright pushes him away -- he'll understand, let go.

"It's going to take years. If it ever happens at all." Does he sound a little choked up there? If he does, it passes quickly, whatever hint of waver in his voice gone when he goes on. "I don't blame you for that -- not being able to handle it. I understand." And he did. It's why, from only a few moments after that first day they'd texted almost all day, he's considered having this exact conversation with her before it got too late (though maybe it already was). "Try not to feel too bad. You know what you're avoiding by not getting into this. It wouldn't be any good for you, right? You said it yourself; you wouldn't be able to handle it, me not being just yours."

There was the smallest of pauses when his arm was around her shoulder, but then she was easing herself against him. Her head turned to press against his shoulder, sitting in the quiet calm while she listened to him. When he spoke of home and there was that choked moment, she lifted her hand to reach for his. Taking it to offer her own squeeze of comfort for him. "Gotta stay positive, Ben." What a stupid thing to say in the middle of all this. She was making an effort, but even she had to wince the moment the words left her lips. There was a deep inhale followed by a slow shuddering exhale. Her face tucked further against him, letting the blonde locks practically blanket her face. She didn't like anyone seeing her like this. "I can work it out in mah head an' say the words all I want, darlin'. Don't mean it's gonna make it hurt less. Don't mean I'm not already hatin' m'self for it. But... somethin' had tah give I guess." The pad of her thumb brushed over his knuckles. No, it wasn't helping, but mentally she was demanding her one last moment for something she ached so much over even if it barely ever got off the ground.

There was actually something really sweet about that, her saying something so simple and, yes, sort of stupid under the circumstances. Ben doesn't find it trite or ill-timed; it actually gets him to smile a little, even though Jackie wouldn't see it. When she goes on, he sighs, "Yeah, I know. I can talk all I want -- doesn't change a thing." Falling silent for a moment. He must have been of a similar mind, because he's idly, and a little bit clumsily, twining his fingers with hers, tilting his head so his cheek is pressed to her hair. Only a moment. And f*ck if he was ever going to let himself get anywhere close to feeling this way about anyone ever again. "You should probably go back in," voice low, "or else your brother's going to worry."

There was no use in echoing the words. They had said everything that needed to be said. Even more than that, unfortunately. She laced her fingers within his and gave one last squeeze before going still within his grasp. The longed for moment ticked on and it was his next low urging that pulled her back to the gut wrenching present. "I can't see 'im like this. He'll know somethin' is wrong with me before I even get in the door. I'm jus' gonna head on home an' I'll drop him a text on the way. I promise yah won't be gettin' no stink eye tomorrow." She lifted her head and leaned away from him only slightly. Her free hand rose to brush blonde locks out of her face and tuck them behind her ears, but the other hand still lingered within his.

"Thanks, I appreciate that. He's bad enough without thinking ... whatever he's probably thinking." Trying to move the conversation back to something light as she pulls away -- but she doesn't go far, and of course, he makes eye contact with her, and of course, that would be his heart in his throat right then, wouldn't it? And of course, he almost leans in to kiss her -- almost, almost, but the self-control has got to start now -- and too late, after it's obvious what he was about to do, the momentum shifts, he turns it into a sort of hug (with one arm, because he hasn't let go of her hand either), his cheek brushing hers, just barely. "This sucks, it really, really sucks." He's almost laughing, something close to it, at the sheer unfairness of the situation, the utter mess this is. Making to get to his feet then unless she stopped him, and there -- he can use that hold on her hand to help her to her feet too, and then it's more natural to let go, isn't it?

"He's the least of our troubles." She realized too late he was trying to help move onto something else. The bitter words had already left her mouth before she could stop them, but she didn't press. An attempt to let them float and drift off between them. Besides, any sort of sensible thought came to a screeching halt when there was that moment of will he? won't he? please don't. stop. please don't stop. It ended with a hug, but she savored the feel of his skin to hers. "Tell me somethin' I don't know." The soft reply. She couldn't muster any humor into her flat tone. Using his grasp she rose to her feet as well. She didn't want to get up, but if she stopped him now it would backtrack on everything they had just discussed and accomplished. Could you call it an accomplishment even if it was so horrible? Her fingers slowly uncurled from his, waiting for him to follow suit even if it was obvious it was the last thing she wanted to do right now. "I should go. You should, too. You got another long day tomorrow an' that case ain't be treatin' yah kind at all. Yah need sleep."

He lets go, just about as reluctantly. There's some hesitation, but he shoves his hands into his jacket pockets where it's safer. At the last thing she says, he's laughing again -- sort of; it's a quiet, dry, short-lived thing. "Yeah, I do. I don't think I'm getting any tonight though. You probably aren't either." The smile he gives her is a little bit wry, a little bit sad. Still a little bit lopsided. "Goodnight, Jackie." He's taking one step back from her, two, toward the mouth of the alleyway. "Be safe getting home." There were dozens of other things he wanted to say, none of them wise -- but he bites his tongue, gives her one last fleeting, faded smile, and turns to head down the alley to the street.

Her hands found her pockets as well. Safer. "I ain't. Not at all." There were no jokes. No attempts to cover anything up. No bending the truth. It was all out on the table now, might as well continue. "Goodnight, Ben." She watched him all the while. Lost, sad, broken. It was all on her face. Finally, for his sake, she tried her hand at one weak smile. She managed to keep it there until he turned his back. "Be safe." She waited there in still silence, allowing the sound of his footsteps to fade off before she followed along. Out of the alleyway and homeward bound, bootsteps thumping just as heavy as her heart currently was.

August 28, 2012 -- late evening

Ben had, without a pause, gone on ahead without Jackie when they left the bar. He'd been to her house before (if only outside, the couple of times he's walked her home), so he knows which way to go. The time alone, while she's talking to Colt, is both good and bad for him: he tends to be a little bit of a loner at times (though it's sometimes by necessity), and after spending the early evening in makeshift surgery with Jackie, and then the tension from the confrontation in the bar ... he's happy to have just a minute or three to breathe. Still, he's glad when Jackie catches up to him -- feels a measure of relief, really, though he'd never admit it.

He's not talkative on the walk to her home, but it's a companionable sort of silence, not a standoffish one (at least on his end). He can't keep the silence forever though, especially considering his faint, but still increasing anxiety about the situation. Part of him couldn't believe he'd actually asked her if he could stay (and another part is busy telling him what an awful decision this will turn out to be). He might have been more surprised at his asking than at her unhesitating answer. He wasn't the type to lean on others, even when he obviously needed to. What was it about her that changed that in him? Instead of thinking too much on that, he clears his throat as they're just coming into view of her place. "So ... you've got a comfortable couch at least, right?" He isn't looking at her, choosing instead to idly flip his half-full water bottle in his left hand, over and over, burning off some of that anxious energy, providing a little bit of distraction from her.

Jackie was looking forward to sleeping and putting it all behind her. Well, she hoped she could sleep. She realized there was a small knot of anticipation lingering in her stomach at the idea of Ben staying at her house. There were no ulterior motives to her agreeing so quickly when he asked to stay. She simply couldn't stand the idea of him returning to the attic, a crime scene of blood splatter and chaos.

There was a blink when his voice pulled her from her own silent thoughts. A look was shifted from her house, towards him, then back again when it seems he was making an effort to not look at her. "Actually, mah house has previously been the home fer wayward Daniels girls when they first arrive in RhyDin. I think at one point I had about... four girls crashin' here includin' m'self. These days it's jus' Chey an' I an' she's gonna be gone fer a coupla weeks visitin' her sister. So, I got an extra guest bedroom you can call yer own an' it'll be quiet 'round the house."

She moved up the porch steps while withdrawing a key from her pocket. Even in the dim lighting of the night the cedar clapboard house stood out against the background of a large lawn and woods surrounding it. Considering the sort of girl that Jackie was it seemed to be a surprise to most when they found out this is where she lived. A far cry from the mobile home most assumed she inhabited. When the door was pushed open she stepped inside, leaving the door hanging open for Ben while she moved to turn on the light in the foyer.

The layout of the house was rather open, with cream colored walls and dark hardwood floors. The furniture and decor was a mix of modern and rustic, oversized and welcoming. She hesitated in the foyer, glancing around briefly before nodding her head towards a nearby staircase. "I can show yah tah yer room? I figure yah ain't lookin' tah linger much. 'Less yah wanted a drink or somethin' first. I promise I got some sorta passable hostess skills."

There's a ghost of a smile at his mouth for 'wayward Daniels' -- just sounded funny -- but it doesn't last long. He wasn't completely sure what her living situation was --hadn't assumed a trailer! But he figured she was renting a room or something. Definitely wasn't expecting that he'd be sleeping in a bed tonight, probably the best one he's been in in months. He stops messing with his water bottle and follows Jackie inside, shutting the door behind him.

"I..." Whatever it is, he changes his mind. "You know, a drink is really tempting right now, but I probably shouldn't." A few reasons for it, not the least of which that he's been drinking more often and is a little concerned about his recent tendency to use alcohol for a sleep aid. That's a road he doesn't need to go down. "If you want one, I can keep you company if you want. Otherwise, I should probably just get to bed. It's been a, uh..." Searching for the right word. "Trying day," he settles on, even though they both know that that doesn't even come close.

Brows rose faintly as his original thought died before it barely left his mouth, but she wouldn't push. "I understand. An' I'm more of a social drinker. Ain't one tah really tip the bottle by m'self at home." She reached down to tug off a boot and drop it on a rug near the front door. The second boot followed, listening to him.

They're both fully aware that 'trying day' doesn't even begin to explain their day, but it still gets a dry laugh out of her. "Yeah, mighty tryin'." The usual hard thump of boots that sounded whenever she walked around was replaced by the silent padding of socks against hardwood. She didn't make a sound, moving towards the steps and upward. "C'mon, I can show yah to yer room."

Ben's actually lingering in the entryway a few seconds after Jackie heads to the stairs. He thinks about insisting on the couch -- getting a guest room makes this too easily semi-permanent, so easily able to last past just a couple of buffer days before facing harsh reality and going back to deal with the wreckage of his own place. Then, he thinks about straight up leaving. Just a few days ago, they're telling each other it's best to stop everything between them, and now he's sleeping at her house? Even platonic -- this is more than he's leaned on someone in ages, getting Jackie way more involved than was fair to her, her feelings, her heart. Wasn't that the point of that talk -- can't get too close? Will only cause heartbreak?

He actually lists a little toward the door, but then he's slipping off his shoes and following after her. "Thanks," he's telling her on his way up the stairs behind her. "I won't..." Another thought unfinished. "I don't usually ask people for help." The way he shrugs, a little roughly, is his way of attempting to make that statement come off as typical alpha male, not as something related to any other issues. "So thanks for being understanding about this and not making it a big deal. It makes it easier."

It doesn't escape her that he's not instantly following after her. She's far too aware, moreso than she would ever admit, of every little movement, word, or sound that is coming from his general direction. Was he contemplating what she already knew? This was a bad idea, there was no way around it. It was impossible to twist it around into anything other than that. But where else was he going to go? It wasn't just the attic being such a mess, but what would happen to him when Sam had him alone all over again? Especially after the events of this evening. Would Sam make sure that the wounds wouldn't be so easily stitched this time? Her eyes were shut tight and a shake of her head followed, doing her best to force the thoughts away. It's only for a night or two. It was worth it. It would be okay. They could handle this.

"It's alright. I'm jus' glad I can help. I figure lendin' a hand tah others makes up fer all the other stupid sh*t I do in the eyes of the Maker." It was her own way of making the situation seem less monumental than it felt it was. "Course yah don't. All guys get a sore spot when they gotta ask fer help, but there ain't nothin' wrong with it. 'Sides, consider it you helpin' me, too. I would rather know yer safe t'night 'cause I don't think I would sleep a lick otherwise." She was still trying to sound so calm as she continued up the stairs and around the corner to the first guest bedroom on the right.

The room itself was a mixture of pale wood and muted mint green accents. Across from the door was a full size bed with small side tables next to it. To the right of the room was a closet that took up majority of the wall. On the other side of the room was a tall dresser with a few stray nick knacks set on top it of. Jackie was moving inside the room and straight towards the dresser. She seemed to know what she was looking for because once a drawer was opened it didn't take much time for her to withdraw a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a Georgia Bulldogs t-shirt. Even in hand it looked like they belonged to a man rather than one of the Daniels girls.

"Everyone tends tah leave some extra laundry here in case they end up stayin' over or what have you." The drawer was closed and she took a step towards him, extending the handful of clothing. "Colton's. Yer welcome tah 'em if it ain't gonna bother you. I'm sure he won't much mind."

Ben's wincing a little when Jackie goes on to explain that she wouldn't be able to sleep because of worry over him. It's part that he simply feels bad, knowing she's concerned for him, but maybe almost as equally, it's admitting to himself that, yes, she probably would have reason to worry if he was on his own right now -- on his own with the rest of him, anyway. Since Sam's reemergence at the Inn, threatening Lyla, Ben's had a splitting headache, but he has a feeling that'd be the least of his worries if he was on his own for the night. But he knows there's no point in telling her not to worry, so he doesn't even voice the wish.

Once she leads him into the guest bedroom he's watching Jackie retrieve the folded clothing from the dresser; when he takes it from her, he's careful not to make contact with her hands accidentally -- a change from his sometimes carelessness with touch or casual invasion of personal space. His eyes are focused there for a couple of seconds, but then he's lifting them to meet Jackie's. "This is fine. Thanks." It's only to break the heavy quiet that he goes on to ask, "Where's your room? --not that I plan on sneaking in in the middle of the night or anything. Just so I know."

If she notices the wince, she doesn't make it obvious. Was it that surprising that she would worry over him? A girl doesn't exactly play nurse and offer up a guest bedroom to someone she couldn't care less about. Once he takes the clothing her hands find their way into her pockets. They were constantly used as a safe haven for her to put them, somewhere they couldn't get in her in trouble. "Don't mention it. I'm still rackin' up alla yer IOU's." A small joke, but his next question had her brows rising. Why? She didn't know. It was an innocent enough inquiry. "Right, course not." A faint stumble and she caught herself, sliding right back into a smooth tone. "It's right down the hall at the very end, hard tah miss. I sleep with the door closed outta habit, but if yah need anythin' don't hesitate in knockin'." She was sliding past him, as careful as he was about not making contact. "Anythin' else I can get yah tanight 'fore I turn in, Ben?"

"Right, the IOUs..." A faint smile for her light joke. At Jackie's verbal stumble, though, the amusement flees from his features, leaving him blank faced for just a second, before neutrality. "Yeah. Of course not," quiet. God, this was a bad idea.

He lets her pass, actually moving to avoid contact as well. "I'm fine, I think. Thanks for ... everything, Jackie." The day had been long, full of things to thank her for, but the way she always seemed to brush thank yous off, that was all he said to cover the day: for staying calm, for playing nurse, for giving him a place to stay without mentioning why he needed it. It was too much to go into right then. Instead he just gives her another crooked little smile, and a, "Goodnight." Best to leave it at that.

September 1st, 2012 -- late evening

She had insisted she was alright when they left the Inn, but Jackie had lapsed back into silence on their way back to her house. Wasn't this what they were trying to avoid? Attempting to fix? Though, her thoughts were now on something other than Ben's soft voice rumbling a few bare inches from her ear. It was focused on the happenings of the bar, the conversation tossed around so willingly, and the end of the night. "You were tryin' to leave me back there." It was almost jarring to finally have some words spoken amongst the silence and the thought might have seemed to come from nowhere, but it was on her mind since the moment it occurred. Hands were stuffed into her jean pockets again, a safe place, but Ben received a sidelong glance.

Did this even have a fix? Ben was starting to think not. Jackie's sudden words almost startle him, really -- the way they break the silence, and what she says, too. "What?" Glancing aside to her too -- slightly dangerous, considering his level of inebriation, but he manages to look at her and keep walking in an approximation of a straight line. "Are you-- I was, but just so, you know ... people wouldn't..." He trails off, sighing, facing front again. "I guess I just didn't want it to be obvious we were leaving together. To spare you some headache." He'll leave it at that for now.

Her best effort was made to not waver under his look. She realized how silly it sounded, a ridiculous thing to focus on out of all of this whether it was true or not. Lips were pressed together when he admitted it was his attempt, but his reasoning got a frown out of her. She turned her head to look forward once again. "Well, I'm sorry I sorta ruined yer plan." It wasn't a snarky apology, it was genuine. "People are goin' to talk no matter what." The words didn't contain malice, it was more like a simple statement of fact.

"Well now that I know that, I won't try it again." It's a little bit of a joke; there's another glance at her, a hint of a smile, and he's lightly nudging her in the arm with his elbow. The humor doesn't last long though, and he isn't looking at her anymore when he goes on to ask, "So was your brother just trying to needle me, or do you really have to check in with him because of me?" There's no malice in his voice, either -- just quiet, contemplative, and maybe a touch ... apologetic? Sad? Something in that vein.

"Right? I figure I'm gonna catch hell no matter what. Might as well be a good cause." The brief smile was returned as well as the nudge. It was amazing how that brief amount of contact could put her so much at ease. Well, until his next question. Brows rose and her features shifted towards something guilty looking. "I'm sorry. I figured it wasn't somethin' worth tellin' yah. Wouldn't help nothin'. Uhm..." A hand was pulled from her pocket, shoved through her hair, then allowed to rest at her side. "After that one night... when I was talkin' to 'im on the porch before yah came tah stay at my house. He told me I had tah check in if I insisted on hangin' 'round yah. Said I can stop when well... I stop. So, I get a text in the mornin', usually sends one 'round the evenin' or when I get off work, and then there's one at night." She was frowning deeply now, staring straight ahead. It sounded so horrible when said outloud.

It did sound horrible. Ben's quiet for a moment afterward, biting his lower lip, nodding slowly as he's processing what Jackie's telling him, trying to decide what exactly to think about it. The moment of silence probably seems longer than it is, and eventually, "You're right; there wasn't any reason for me to know, I guess. And I can't say I'm really surprised to hear you say it." There's another pause, a short one, while he's pulling his right hand from his pocket, giving his fingers an absent little flex. The stitches hidden under his sleeve were holding fine, had been since she fixed them the second time, but they were still irritating. "Frankenstein next." A subject change, sudden -- though really, it's not so far off from the previous one at all. "May as well go in chronological order," as though that's the reason he's suggesting that one next.

She didn't have anything to add to the silence as it dragged between them even if she so badly wanted to. "I'm sorry." It was such a general response, but it covered so many things. It was impossible to pinpoint only one. "Do I even wanna know why it ain't surprisin'? I mean, I guess I can figure, but I hate assumin'. It only ever leads tah trouble." She was looking aside at him with the added movement of his hand. With his hand free along with hers, this was the opposite of the safety she had constantly been striving for. It was temptation smacking her straight in the mouth and it was hard to face down. The backs of her fingers brushed against his. An innocent gesture? An accident? She was looking ahead again. "Is it another silent film?"

He's shrugging a little, one shoulder, lazy, nonchalant. "He's seen a lot of..." Trailing off, starting over. "Who knows what Lyla was telling him that night. I'm sure he doesn't believe that she was just mistaken. And then whatever Sam did that night to her..." He's shaking his head a little, barely -- and it's then that her fingers barely touch his. Even drunk the way he is, he notices it -- and it probably is because he's so inebriated that he returns the gesture in a way, and more, taking her hand for just a second, a heartbeat to press his palm against hers, twine their fingers together. A second, and then he's letting go, pressing his hand back into his pocket. This was too goddamn dangerous. "No, you don't have to suffer through that again, at least." Casual answer, like nothing had just happened.

"It shouldn't matter. I don't take tah hangin' 'round trouble an' he should trust me tah be able tah make a decision on whether a person is worth mah time or not. Gonna hurt me..." She was trying to focus on her reply when it was melted away at the press of his palm against hers, fingers lacing between one another. It was remarkable, simply holding someone's hand and how it could suddenly make things feel alright. A lift of the weight of the conversation. And it only lasted for that second. She's not only released, she's refused as his hand is shoved back into his pocket. Her own hand stays hanging in the air, fingers curling in on themselves. It was the same feeling of when he was trying to leave her at the bar, but worse. It shouldn't be like this, it shouldn't be so heartbreaking. They were keeping things platonic, staying friends, so why was it all becoming worse and harder to handle with each passing day, hour, moment? Silence once again lingered, only interrupted by a few soft words. "I didn't suffer. I enjoyed it."

It was getting so, so much worse. Going to the bar hadn't helped so much after all, had it? Maybe temporarily, for a little while, while there, but now? That tension they'd been trying to escape, that need for closeness, the ache, had returned for Ben, gotten worse. He's not sure what hurts worse -- knowing that she's upset that he's denying her, or his own hurt from trying to keep the distance himself. "I'm not trouble," he says to her, and leaves it at that, because he knows she'll understand what he means. After that, he leaves that topic alone, easier to do now that they were coming up on her house again. "You enjoyed it, really? There wasn't even any screaming." Trying to tease, to lighten the mood, even if he's subdued in it.

"Yah don't gotta tell me that, Detective. I know yah ain't. If I thought you were trouble or out tah wrong me, yah think I would be havin' yah stay at my house? Yah think I would be so inclined tah spend a night alone with yah? Worried that yer gonna leave me behind?" It was more than she should have said, needed to say, but apparently all she wanted to say. Or maybe it was the lubrication of alcohol that made the words come so freely. Jackie wore her drunkenness well when it came to walking a straight line and keeping her eyes focused, but it always seemed to bring everything lingering around inside her to the surface. The abandoned hand was lifted and busied itself with tugging the key from the pocket of her shorts. Up the porch steps and to the front door, unlocked and she was pushing her way inside. "I liked it. It wasn't the sorta thing tah make yah scream. It made yer heart stop. Fer what it was, it was good." There was no teasing in reply, only honesty. She couldn't seem to properly joke right now.

Something she said -- leaving her behind -- it hits him, resonates. He doesn't address any of it, though; there isn't anything that needs to be said, not anything she doesn't know, anyway. Jackie knows, maybe trusts him, and what he's told her about the others. Probably trusts. Colt, Harper -- they've got no reason to. They can only go off of what they've seen, and a lot of that hasn't been pretty.

Ben's a little slow to follow Jackie up the steps and in through the door, but it's just a little bit of lag-behind, and then he's following her in and shutting the door behind him. "That's a good way to put it. Makes your heart stop." He's watching her for a few seconds, quiet, and then he's heading for the stairs, and over his shoulder, "I'll be back down in a minute."

She's already tugging her boots off one at a time and leaving them on the rug. Her expression is a little distracted now, her body moving without much thought. Instead of looking forward to the next movie, she's mentally stuck in a loop of replaying the events of the evening over and over again in her head. The good, the bad, the line between them was too thin. "Figure there ain't much better way tah explain it. That's what it did." She gave a sound of acknowledgement when he moved for the stairs, but she's following right along after him. That simple act alone, following him towards his room even if she has no intentions of going inside with him, it's enough to make her realize she needs another bout of pacing. "I gotta change an' then I'll be back down, too."

"Right, okay." To her explaining why she's going up the stairs after him. He figured that was it, though it didn't stop his mind from wandering to places it shouldn't -- couldn't, because those kinds of things just can't happen, right? After he gets into his own room, he's not doing any pacing, but he is leaning back against the shut door, rubbing his hands over his face, swearing under his breath. "This is crazy," a murmur to himself -- and then he's laughing too, almost silently. Crazy's a good word for it.

When he comes back downstairs he's in sweats again, but he's left his hoodie upstairs. It's too warm, suddenly. He goes about switching movies, cuing up Frankenstein and settling onto the couch, and even though he does not need it, pouring himself another glass of Jack.

The moment she got in her room, true to her self promised word, she was pacing around the room. She was getting changed in the process, but it all should have been a lot quicker considering it was only changing out of her current shorts and back into the pajamas laying on the bed. There was a lot of mumbling under her breath. Words of encouragement mostly. You can do this, Jackie.

When she's bounding down the steps she's once again in the same cropped grey tank top and plaid shorts. Her pace slowed and bare feet were padding back to the couch before she was turning to sink down into the cushions beside him. "Frankenstein." Reading the title card. She had obviously heard of the monster and knew a little of the story, but she had never seen the movie. She pours herself a glass of Jack as well before sinking back into the cushion. Her legs are extended out, the balls of her feet catching on the edge of the coffee table. "Ready when you are."

Without much of a pause he's starting the movie, setting the remote down on the side of him opposite Jackie. Like before -- even more than before, maybe -- he's pretty intensely focused on the action, though it's obvious he's seen it as many times as Nosferatu, the way Jackie might be able to catch his lips moving along with the dialogue from time to time, the more intense parts: the iconic 'it's alive, it's alive!', the 'now I know what it feels like to be God,' and 'you have created a monster, and now it will destroy you' -- but he's not doing it to show off (like he might have been last time), because he never looks to see Jackie's reaction, his eyes glued to the screen the entire time. It's not a long movie either, not even an hour and a half, and like before, he's quiet at the end (the end -- the monster presumably burned alive in a windmill by the villagers), waiting for her reaction? Or taking it all in. As many times as he's seen it, it certainly doesn't seem as though it's old to him.

With the start of the movie she's lapsing into silence. There weren't as many questions this time around, or any sort of poking fun at the film. First off, there's actual dialogue to listen to so that keeps her quiet. And considering the resulting opinion of the first movie she's much more inclined to watch this one beginning to end with an open mind. She's aware that the movement of his lips isn't for her benefit, but it doesn't stop her from breaking her gaze from the movie now and then to peer aside at him. He's so wrapped in the film he doesn't notice her anyway. She watches the movement of his lips, the intent look of his eyes, an overall study of his features since it's a rare time when he's miles away yet so close at the same time. Whatever she's looking for, whatever she's trying to find, it's hard to tell.

By the end of the movie her own brown gaze is locked on the screen, pouted lips curled down at the edges in a frown. The credits were rolling and she was still quiet until finally piping in with her opinion. "That was horrible." It probably sounded like a blow to the entire film at first, but she's turning her head aside to look at him. There wasn't any disgust or anger over him having her watch it. It was the look someone had when they had just experience something emotional and they were trying to make sense of it. "That monster didn't ask tah be made. Wasn't his fault he was the way he was. An' they go an' do that to 'im? They're the goddamn monsters." A huff followed the final words and she looked back to the screen. It was still all credits, but maybe she was waiting for the scene after the credits when the monster turned out to be alright?

There's something a little unexpected in his expression when he looks at her -- when she first says it's horrible, he's turning to look at her, a little blank-faced, but when she explains, he actually looks a tiny bit amused -- there's a ghost of a smile at his mouth -- but the rest of him? "It's only a movie, Peaches," but the weight in his words, the complicated mix of emotion in his eyes, lit up more vivid by the only light in the room coming from the TV, betrays him as agreeing with her -- as knowing that it's much, much more than that. "Besides," and he's getting up to swap movies before the credits are even over, "he gets a wife in the next one." One more glass of Jack when he sits back down again, fractionally closer to her than he'd been before. Trying to shake off the mood from the last movie, he's a little more talkative through the beginning of this one, even if his eyes don't leave the action on the screen once he starts it. "This one's my favorite. I must've seen it fifty times, at least."

"I reckon when people write things an' when they make movies, a lot of it comes from experience. Maybe people makin' this film didn't know a monster like that, but I'm sure everyone has seen a messa people get tagether and start doin' stupid sh*t. Hell, I've made a career out of it." She was voicing her true opinion, but the end of it got a small smile out of her. She's watching him change out the movie and the at the mention of Frankenstein's Bride she's smiling wider. "Good fer him."

She had already refilled her glass when he was up. When he sat back down there was a sag in the cushions and it brought her just a bit closer to him as well, into a gentle lean of her shoulder against his. Whether it was by accident or on purpose, it was hard to tell, but she didn't correct it. Instead her legs were brought around onto the couch to curl beneath her. She was watching the movie idly, listening to him speak, but it was when Barbara was grabbed that she gave out her own shriek of fear and delight. A hand was slapped over her eyes, peering between her fingers with the addition of laughter. "Help 'er, Johnny!" It was the first true display of how Jackie was while watching horror movies that made her squeal.

Ben doesn't try to change that either, the hint of contact between her shoulder and his. It's innocent, right? Of course, that line, 'they're coming for you, Barbara' -- that one, he's got to say, and he's laughing a little at Jackie's reaction. It's the most lighthearted part of the movie, really -- it turns ugly after that, but in a way probably more like what Jackie's used to with her slasher films. Some suspense, some gore, some chasing, some screaming. A lot of screaming. There's ebbing to the action though, and it's during one of those, a monologue by the main character (fittingly named Ben) about his first chilling experience with the undead, that Ben, without taking his eyes off of the movie, puts his arm around Jackie's shoulders.

By now she was nursing her drink, only taking a few stray sips here and there. She was consumed by the delightful feeling of her head floating, the heavy weight of her limbs. She switching between sucking and gnawing on her bottom lip when the movie doesn't have her gasping or snickering. Her free hand was continuously moving between lingering over her eyes over pressing fingers tightly to her lips. Her cloudy attention was fully on the movie which might have accounted for her reaction to Ben's arm around her shoulders. Or rather, the lack thereof. It was a relief and it felt so natural. It was countered with a lean of her body, tucking herself to his side while brown eyes danced across the screen. She had her screaming and horror, she had a glass of Jack in hand, and she had his arm around her. To say that Jackie was content throughout the remainder of the movie would be a vast understatement.

That's perfect. Ben doesn't want a reaction, doesn't want to think about what he's doing or what it means or what she thinks it means -- he just wants to enjoy the next hour or so with Jackie close against his side, tipping his head so his cheek is pressed to her hair.

Jackie gets her horror, too -- by the end of the movie, the young country couple is blown up in their pickup and eaten by the ghouls; Barbara finds her brother Johnny (not himself, even if it looks just like him) and is swallowed up by a mass of Them; Ben shoots the antagonist, Harry, who stumbles downstairs to the cellar where his family is -- where his daughter, no longer alive, kills him, and when her mother stumbles upon her eating Harry, the daughter stabs her mother to death with a trowel. Ben hides in the cellar as the undead break into the house finally -- shooting Harry and his family when they reanimate, threaten to overcome him. It's horror, it's full of screams, it's got to be just what Jackie wanted.

And the next morning, when the house is quiet, and the hero goes upstairs, presumably to be saved by the search teams covering the area looking for survivors and shooting remaining ghouls -- he's looking through a window -- and you know what's going to happen, the way the sheriff is telling a sharpshooter, "Alright, Vince, hit him in the head, right between the eyes," -- you've got to know what's coming. Ben knows -- he really has seen it dozens of times -- and still, he flinches at the shot, silent through the last couple of minutes of the film, putting the body on the burning mass of ghouls, the bleakness of it, but unless she's moved away, he still has his arm around Jackie's shoulders, still has his head tipped against hers.

The movie is still getting reactions out of her, but they're much more muted now. She's obviously into the movie from beginning to end, but she refuses to do anything that would be too jarring to the close position between her and Ben. She figured it's a clean cut sort of ending. Ben will survive and live to tell his tale of woe for years to come. The End. Roll credits. Obviously, that wasn't the case at all. The gunshot blast to Ben's face makes her jaw drop and she makes no effort to cover it. She's frozen like that when the credits actually do start. It's only interrupted by a deep inhale when she seemed to remember how to breathe. "Jesus Christ." That was her stunning review in short. Her head turned towards him and with his lean she was brushing the tip of her nose along his jaw then up to his cheek. She wasn't trying to get him to move and seemed more than content to voice the rest of her opinion just like this, so close that the warmth of her breath could be felt amongst her words. "I think it's tied between Frankenstein and this one fer mah favorite. This one maybe a lil' bit more 'cause it made me scream." That was a seal of approval.

He feels breathless every time, too. Every time. Now, maybe more than usual -- maybe it's not just the movie doing that. He lets Jackie give her final verdict, gives her a quiet, "Mhm. It's close, but this one's my favorite too," and then he's leaning away from her to grab the remote, turn the TV off, plunge them into darkness. He's not staying far for longer than it takes to do that, though, and when he comes in close again, it's for a full embrace, both arms circled around her, pulling her into a hug. Doesn't seem like he's intending on letting her go anytime soon, the way he's pressing his cheek to the top of her head again. If she doesn't break the quiet, he does, after a moment, voice low: "I think I figured out what I want. For winning that bet earlier, I mean."

"Then fer the next movie night you'll like alla my picks. Lotsa screamin'." Because that is obviously the best part of any horror movie. When he's handling the remote, she's leaning forward to set her somewhat untouched glass of Jack on the table in front of them. Any more and she was going to reach the point where she was liable to make a fool of herself. It wasn't her goal for the evening. When she leans back into the cushions she's met with his arms wrapping around her. There wasn't even a moment of hesitation before she was countering his actions with her one. Her body curled against his, one arm sliding behind him and the other draping across his torso. She is surprisingly quiet, afraid that the wrong movement or word (something she's extra capable of right now) would cause this moment to end. His words earned a faint smile from her though. "Is that right?" Her own volume kept low, still worried about shattering whatever they had going on between them right now. "What're yah thinkin', Ben?"

His own voice is barely above a whisper -- with all the drinking he's done today, there's some gravel in it already, and when he's trying to keep his volume down like he is, it's even more evident. "I was thinking that ... I know you like to play the tough girl, but those movies must've scared you at least a little. Those monsters that can't control themselves, the end of that last one -- getting overrun, and even if it's survivable, getting destroyed by something that should be able to be trusted." They're me, this is me -- there's nothing I can do about them, and there's almost nobody I can trust with them -- and even when I do, are these monsters going to destroy everything anyway? Or are the people that are supposed to be people I can trust? "So what I want is to stay with you tonight, to make sure you sleep okay." To make sure I do.

There was a faint tick of her lips when he said 'play the tough girl', but nothing was inclining her to interrupt him right now. She was back to barely breathing in anticipation over his forthcoming request. It was when he was speaking of the monsters that it all became that much more heartbreaking. Jackie wasn't exactly the best when it came to hidden messages, delving deeper into something, or piecing together puzzles. His explanation is what finally made the evening click into place. What these monsters had in common and why he enjoyed watching them so much. With his final request she was still, lingering in the quiet and dark with only a faint glow of moonlight through lace curtains highlighting the faint outlines of him and his features. "I... I don't wanna do that fer you as a prize fer some sorta silly bet." Her hand which had been settled against his chest lifted to cup his jaw, the pad of her thumb brushing his cheek. "But I do want yah to stay with me tonight. Because I want yah to. Because you want to."

When she first says she doesn't want to do it, he's not entirely sure what she means -- if she is rejecting him, it's probably the right thing to do, but there's still a sort of tightness in his chest after those first words-- But when he feels the touch of her hand against his skin, his eyes fall closed, and that squeeze on his heart melts away. He could just stay like this the rest of the night and be perfectly happy. Quiet for a half a moment after she explains, and even then, he's moving before saying anything, his left hand at the back of her head, fingers tangled in her hair. "Well, I'm all out of ideas, then." He's not, but he can't think of anything that wouldn't be too, too much, too far -- even further than this had already gone, even more of a mistake than this already was (no matter how much he wanted this -- it was a mistake, wasn't it?). Another short silence, his fingers sifting lazily through blonde, before, "We should probably go to bed then, huh? It's late."

The fingers in her hair only serve to draw her in closer to him, whether that was his intention or not. Her nose is close enough to brush his, her hand still cradling his face. He's out of ideas, or so he says, but internally she's going through a laundry list she dare not vocalize. "We have time." It was the only thing she could think of. Nothing had to be rushed right now. There was time to think of prizes, wants, and deep down desires. Was there? There shouldn't be. Everything that should have been straight forward between them never was. Anything that should have been simple had miles of reasons why it was stacked against it. There was a dip of her head even closer to him in the silence, brought to a sudden halt when he spoke. She didn't move back, so close to him, but she did reply. "It's late fer you. Early for me. But I won't leave you on your own."

Jackie didn't pull back, and neither did Ben, but he inclines his head further, presses his forehead to hers. He doesn't say anything about having time to think it over -- because do they, really? Every day spent with her feels like one stolen, like one he isn't supposed to be having, and like something that won't -- that can't -- last. But he doesn't want to think about that -- he wants to believe her -- so he leaves it alone. Tries to make her simple statement his truth.

It would be so easy right now, to check some things off of the list that they probably shared, but somehow, painfully, he keeps himself away from those things -- and somehow, though it's the last thing in the world he wants to do, he's finally breaking the embrace, letting her go and putting a little bit of (needed) distance between them, even taking her hand and pulling it away from his face -- except this time, he doesn't let go. "Nice of you to call it an early night for me. Maybe I owe you something for that." Getting up to his feet then, keeping hold of her hand.

He was right there. With the simplest tilt of her head she could press her lips to his, crush out the little lingering bit of space between them and lose herself in him and that moment. But she can't. As difficult as this was right now, how much worse would it be after that? They still couldn't possibly make this work, could they? The days since the incident at his place had been so... calm, peaceful, normal. This she could do. But it was making the chaos of Harry, Sam, even Lyla and Velvet a distant memory and she couldn't allow that. But that was the wrong way to go tonight. She wanted to remember, but not right now.

Right now she just wanted him. And in all the time it took for her to figure that out, it gave him the chance to pull away from her. She was right, it did hurt so much more, like a cold fist tightening around her ribcage. The air was being forced from her lungs and her heart sank. The only thing she could do was continue clutching onto his hand, simply thankful that hadn't been pulled from her yet. "Maybe." The word was numb like the rest of her and she drew herself up to her feet. "I can clean up tomorrow mornin'. It'll all be okay overnight." A moment of distraction, mostly for herself. Tons of thoughts were running through her head and not one of them made sense. The only thing she was sure of right now was that she didn't want to let go of his hand and she didn't want him to let go of hers either.

"I'll help out. In the morning." An idle promise, because it was a distraction, and God knew they both needed distraction right now. It doesn't seem like this is going to end the way the it had the last time he had her hand in his, with an ultimate rejection of sorts, because he's not letting go this time, not when he leads her over to the staircase, and not when he continues on up it with her. He does pause at the landing, though, waiting until she's made it up the last few steps too, before, "So... your place or mine?"

"Mhm." It was the barest attempt to continue the conversation even if she was finding it increasingly difficult to focus on a few stray glasses and plates when his hand was still wrapped around hers. She's following along after him, trailing up the stairs, to pause beside him curiously until he asks his question. It made her snicker and tilt her head in thought. "My place is fine. I know it's a lil' bit farther of a walk," She acted as if it were miles. "but my bed is jus' a lil' bit comfier, I think."

"I wouldn't know," he tells her, and there's a hint of a smile at his mouth, and even small like it was, it still went a little crooked, "but I'll be sure to let you know what I think in the morning." He's continuing down the hall then, toward her room, and it's only when they get to the door to her bedroom that he's even loosening his grip on her hand at all, though it's only so she can let go if she wants to. Either way, though, he's letting her go through the door first.

"I'll make sure tah wake you up bright an' early for yer opinion." She followed him down the hallway, stopping when he did. His grip might have loosened on her, but her hand stayed in place. It was her now taking the lead to push the door to her bedroom open and step inside before him so she could flip the switch on the wall beside the doorframe. Another few steps inside, gently guiding him along after her.

While a lot of the house was bright, light, and open, Jackie's bedroom seemed to go in a somewhat different direction. The wood of her dresser, sidetables, and the headboard of her bed were all a rich dark wood. The fabric of her comforter and pillows were a deep burgundy color. Everything was rather neat with the only thing out of place being a pair of stray denim shorts that she had changed out of earlier laying on the foor. It might have not been exactly what he was expecting, though it was always hard to predict what Jackie would do next. On the plus side, to really solidify that it was her room there was a safe tucked in the corner. It was large and heavy duty looking with a sleek black finish and gold accents on the spinner and five point knob to open it. It read 'Fort Knox' across the front. Some might be confused, but considering the sort of guy Ben was? He probably knew a gun safe when he saw it.

She turned to face him, moving backwards to lead him towards the bed. "You got a side you prefer sleepin' on? I ain't picky."

No, it's not what Ben's expecting (other than the gun safe -- that doesn't surprise him at all), but when he thinks on it for a second or two longer, he realizes that he's not really sure what he had been expecting. Even right outside her door, he hadn't been allowing himself to think about things like what her room, what her bed might look like.

He's drawn along easily, and while he's taking a quick look around, when Jackie turns to face him his focus is on her alone. "Not usually, but ... I should probably take the right side. Stitches," he's reminding her, probably needlessly.

"Yah make a good point, Detective." The back of her legs bumped the edge of the bed bringing her to a stop. Her hand was lingering on his, but it reached the point where she had to let go. It wouldn't be so bad. In a few short moments they would be sleeping in the same room, the same bed. She would take that trade. His hand, still reluctantly with her mental coaching, was released. "Make yerself comfortable. I jus' have... two things tah handle real quick." There was an odd press of her lips and she was slipping aside towards her dresser. A beeline was made her her cellphone which was flipped open. She didn't push nearly enough buttons to send off a text message, but it was being snapped shut again and she moved to the nightstand on the left side of the bed. The drawer was tugged open, the phone dropped inside, and it was closed with a soft snap.

Ben lets go when Jackie does, and he's watching her for a second or two after, but then he's making the figurative leap, pulling back the covers, and climbing into her bed, settling down on his back, because that's safest, right? He does notice her messing with her phone, and maybe he could guess what it is she's doing, but it's hard to care about that right now, just a fleeting thought. There's actually quite a few fleeting thoughts that race through his mind right then -- that maybe he should assure her that this isn't some kind of ploy just to get into her bed to take things even further, or that this isn't something he plans on making a habit out of -- but neither seem right to say. "Please tell me that wasn't you setting an alarm for the morning," is all he can think of.

"The exact opposite. That was me puttin' mah phone on silent 'cause the last thing I want is it goin' off and wakin' me up in the mornin' on mah day off. I'm sleepin' in. Yer welcome tah do the same, yah ain't gotta rush on out fer nothin'." Would he? Maybe it wasn't something she needed to say, but she wanted to attempt to make this as painless as possible. She knew that part of her was absolutely thrilled he was here, but she wasn't sure if he felt the same. Though, if he didn't, why would he being laying in her bed right now? These were the thoughts that passed through her head as bare feet carried her back towards the door. It was shut with a soft click and the lightswitch was flipped to cast the room into darkness aside from the few strips of moonlight casting along the walls from the windows on either side of the bed.

She made her way back to the left side of the bed and just when it seemed she was going to crawl on in, she was completing the second task she had spoken of earlier. Without a word or a pause in her step, Jackie's form lowered to the side of the bed, the sound of knees carefully landing against hardwood floor. It was difficult to make out in the darkness, but her head sank, eyes closed, and hands folded into a ball against the edge of the mattress. There wasn't a sound from her, lips only moving silently. And as quickly as it had began, it was done. Without an ounce of flair she was pulling back the covers on her side of the bed and sliding in.

While he opted to lay on his back, she was curled on her side, legs tucked up towards her body and the pillow beneath her head encircled by her arms. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to face him, but at least for now she did. She was quiet, unsure what to say. What do you say in this situation? She had no idea and decided to go for the safest option. "Thank you for the movie night, Ben."

Ben's watching Jackie the whole time, but he doesn't mention the second task -- actually averts his eyes during it, gaze going up to the ceiling, suddenly feeling like he's intruding on something private. But the feeling passes quickly, and once she's slipping under the covers, he's forgotten all about it -- but it just shifts into something else, his heart in his throat, a mild anxiety -- but the good kind, if there can be a good kind. He's not sure what to say either, if they should even say anything at all, but then she breaks the quiet, and he's first turning his head to look at her, and right after, turning over to face her. "Thank you, Jackie. For watching them with me." He hesitates briefly, but then he's reaching over, echoing her gesture from before, laying his hand carefully along her jaw, her cheek, his fingers curling in just barely behind the angle of her jawbone, just under her ear. "And for this, too."

A small smile broke through when he faced her. It made everything seem just that much easier, not so forbidden. "Mhm." Came the soft reply, but anything meant to follow that was lost when his hand found her cheek. "Yah don't have to thank me fer this. I like this. Maybe that don't even need tah be said. Or maybe it shouldn't be said, but... I do." Her hand lifted to be placed on top of his over her cheek. Maybe for a moment it seemed like she was going to remove his hand. Instead, her fingers were gently curling around it, holding it in place so she could turn her head towards it. Her lips were brought to his skin, a carefully placed pouted kiss in the middle of his palm that she lingered in. When she drew back, her head turned to face him once more, the release of his hand following.

It's almost startling, the reaction he has just to something small like that, her mouth against his palm; he can feel his heart in his ears for a few beats, and his breath catches in his throat. "Jackie..." It's just a murmur, and when she lets go of his hand, he doesn't pull it back -- the opposite, really, he's reaching for her, the hand she'd just been holding moves to the back of her head, tangling in her hair, and he's slipping his other arm under her. It's the first show of any kind of real force he's displayed around her (that he's shown around her), when he pulls her in close to him, pressing a fierce kiss to her cheek. "No, you shouldn't've said it."

When he says her name, she's worried she's about to be scolded. She would take it, because right now it was worth it. But there were no words, it was all actions. His hand and arm gathering her to pull her to him. While there's a sharp inhale of surprise she's unable to suppress, the rest of her body is following his lead as if it had been patiently waiting for this moment to arise. That probably wasn't so far off. One hand was slipping along the side of his neck, fingers curling gently into his skin. The fingers of her other hand tangled into the fabric of his shirt at his chest. And one curled leg was hooking over his hip. All of it was used to counter, to pull him close to her just as he had done. His lips were burning against her cheek, the only words she could muster coming out in just barely a whisper. "I'm sorry." She wasn't even entirely sure what she was apologizing for, what action or word she felt earned it. But the apology didn't mean that she was letting him go at all.

All that time spent carefully and diligently putting off something like this from happening, and still, it's like it can't be helped, can't be stopped. The way she goes right to him, especially the way she's slinging one leg over his hip, it's just what he wants, right? But at first, it only earns a deep inhale, a slow exhale, a rush of air over her skin. The hand in her hair moves to cup her cheek again, and he's pulling back only enough to make eye contact with her. "So am I." For what he's already done -- for what he's about to do, because it's just a heartbeat later that his mouth is on hers in a kiss. It's not nearly as fierce as that press of his lips to her cheek had been, but there's an intensity to it all the same, as sweet and tender as he keeps it (or tries to, though it takes two).

If the idea of this being something that couldn't be stopped was ever voiced, she would run out of air before she was finished agreeing. They had tried so hard. They had spoken of this from the very beginning, of all the things they couldn't do and everything they couldn't be. They tried so hard to put an end to this before it could even begin, but it seemed it had started long before they even realized it. It was the only way to explain how their being tangled together like this in her bed could feel so right, despite all the times they told themselves it was wrong.

When he echoes her apology, there is a worry that this is where it will end. That she was going to be relinquished and banished to her side of the bed for the evening. The thought barely has time to form in her mind because just a few short ticks later and her lips are covered by his in a kiss. In great Jackie Daniels style, she's full of surprises. Although her hands are still holding him firmly, the leg still draped over his hip, she followed his lead in the kiss to keep it innocent yet sincere. There had been too much building up to this moment. Too many looks, touches, words, and want to lose themselves in a fury of crushing lips. Tempting, but she is reveling in committing this moment to memory. How he holds her, the feel of his lips against hers, his taste, and the way her heart feels so full of contentment.

It's one of the first times in a long time that Ben is able to let his guard down entirely -- and it does feel right. Somewhere, deep down, he's got to know this is the worst thing he could be doing right now, but for once, he isn't thinking about any of that, every sense caught up in holding her, in kissing her. It would be so easy to give over to that completely, to lose themselves in each other for the rest of the night, but before it gets there (because it could, easily, for him), he shifts so both his hands are on her cheeks, breaking the kiss at the same time, but he's still so close, tipping his head to press his forehead to hers again. "That's it for tonight, Peaches. It has to be." Even if immediately afterward, he's aiming another quick kiss to the pout of her mouth. "We shouldn't be doing this." But just as her apology had been at odds with her own actions later, he doesn't make any move to let her go or pull away, put some distance between them.

When he pulls his lips from hers, the instinct is to follow. Unfortunately, it doesn't go far because of his hands on her cheeks so she is left in place, eyes still shut. She was doing her best to hold onto the feeling she had, the moment they just shared, because she knew he was right. It wasn't that she wanted it to be true, but it was. They couldn't continue on like that. After the one last brief kiss her bottom lip is sucked into her mouth and caught between her teeth, listening to him say they shouldn't be doing this. He wasn't telling her anything she didn't already know, but it stung to hear it spoken outloud. She unwinds her leg from his hip, but that's as far as she gets. She's still holding him, still staying close, her forehead still resting against his. When she speaks, it sounds difficult at first, coated with emotion that she's choking back and progressively able to hide better as her words go on even though her volume is low to not break the quiet around them. "To protect us. To protect me. So I don't get hurt, because that was my fear from early on. So I'm not miserable. And somehow, nothin' has gotten easier. It feels like it's becoming more difficult by the day. It's being miserable without any of the good, mixed with uncertainty and never knowing when one goodbye is going to be the last."

Even if Jackie doesn't get very far, even just that small change in how she's tangled up with him is enough to trigger a pang of disappointment. It's then that he realizes that they are both well and truly f*cked. At first he's still holding her head in his hands when she starts speaking, but by the end of it, both of his arms are around her again, one hand splayed between her shoulderblades, the other in her hair. "I don't want to hurt you," just above a whisper, and his voice is a little hoarse with the effort of keeping his emotions in check, "that's the last thing I want. But if it's going to happen either way..." Trailing off for a second; the fingers of one hand are absently combing through her hair now. "Maybe it's better if there's at least some good there. Do you think that's... Is that what you want to do?"

His hold is shifting on her and she's moving to meet it, her body curling against his. At least she's being aware enough to watch out for his arm of stitches while she's adjusting. Fitting herself within his arms and along the length of him. "I know yah don't, sweetheart. I know that yah don't wanna hurt me an' it's jus' onea the reasons why I like yah so much." The hand still tangled in his shirt is releasing him only to lift fingers to comb through his hair, from the temple and back on repeat. A small soothing gesture just as his fingers in her hair was doing for her. "Maybe we can try?" It was so quiet and unsure. "I don't know the answer an' I can't begin to pretend I do, but... right now. Here, this. How does this sit with yah an' compare tah the resta week we've had goin' on? Is this worth tryin' for fer you?"

It isn't often that he gives in to things like this -- it isn't often that he has the opportunity. But he's not resisting a thing right now, and his eyes even close, if only briefly, when she starts putting her fingers through his hair -- part for just the feel of it, but part because that's when she sounds so unsure. But a second later, his eyes are on hers, and his gaze is steady when he responds. "This? Yeah, Jackie. This is worth it to me. But what about you? You know what you're getting into... Is it worth it, for this?"

Her gaze meets his when his eyes open, the steady brushing of her fingers through his hair coming to a slow halt so the hand can sink to cup his jaw. "This is worth it tah me. Yer worth it. I know it ain't gonna be perfect. I ain't gonna be perfect, never have been. But... we're torturin' ourselves, Ben. I don't wanna do that no more. I want this."

Ben doesn't know he's holding his breath for her answer until it comes out in a bit of a rush. "Jesus. God, it really has been torture." And maybe he hadn't really realized that, either, until now -- the relief he feels right now is nearly overwhelming. "You're right, it won't be perfect. Sometimes it's going to suck, a lot. I think you know that already." Considering she's already been through a lot, a lot, with him. He's disentangling his fingers from her hair before mirroring her, his hand lightly against her cheek. The small smile at his mouth is a rare one, devoid of any teasing, any put-on arrogance or cockiness or sarcasm -- just happy, really. Something he doesn't always get a lot of, at least not to this degree. "But if you want this, and so do I..." Trailing off, and he doesn't finish his thought, other than to kiss her one last time; it's more than a peck, but it doesn't linger too long, and when he breaks it he shifts one last time, finally settling with his arms tight around her. Even if he wants to be in her bed every night -- even if she wants him to be -- he knows, realistically, that it won't happen. All the same, he wants this one to count, wants her to remember nights like this during nights like those. "Good night, Jackie. Sweet dreams."

His initial outburst gives her such a sense of relief, and is just a little unexpected, that she's left smiling. Simple and genuine. There's already talk of how much it can suck. She's aware. There is already a huge list growing by the minute of why this is going to be difficult, but it's the little things like his hand on her cheek that make those not matter right now. "I want this." Softly assuring him before his lips are on hers once more. He's pulling back, shifting and she's meeting his movements again. Fitting herself to him, pouring herself against him, her leg even draping itself across him again. When she's satisfied her head is tucked against his chest. Another memory committed to the back of her mind. Another bit of good to hold onto. This, this week in general, it's what make the fiascoes seem like something they can survive through. Could they? Only time would tell. But for now, she focused on this. "Goodnight, Ben." Her voice was already heavy and soft as she began to fade. "Sleep well."