Friday, November 23rd, 2012 -- early afternoon

It hadn't been a great morning, but it could have been worse. Ben had woken up horribly hungover, which was never fun (especially when he didn't get to enjoy the intoxication that came before), but he woke up at home, and he woke up alone. Good signs.

Right away, before he even drags himself out of bed, he's sending Jackie a text. Sorry for not calling. I wasn't here. What time will you be home? He doesn't get a response right away, and that doesn't entirely surprise him, since it's still sort of early and she'd probably been up late with her family, right?

After he showers and forces down a little food (toast, dry), and sending another responseless text (Miss you like crazy. No hints on when you'll be home?), he just decides to head over to Jackie's to surprise her. Instead, though, he's surprised -- her truck's out in front when he gets there. He's been using the spare key from time to time when he and Jackie agree to spend the night at her place and he beats her there, so he doesn't think twice about using it now, too. Today, though, he's calling out to her before he's even in through the open door. "Sweetheart, it's me -- you home?" And even when he does move the rest of the way inside, shutting the door behind him, he doesn't move out of the entryway just yet, hoping to hear from her first.

It looked like Jackie had been in such a hurry when she got home that her bag she had packed to take to Georgia was still sitting in the entryway as well. The entire house was quiet, even after he had called out for her. For a while it might even appear no one was home.

Then, slowly but surely, there was the sound of bare feet quietly making their way down the stairs until Jackie was passing through the living room and towards the door. It seemed she had been home long enough to change into a pair of black pajama pants and a long sleeved shirt in a soft grey. Her hair was pulled back into a messy pigtail with stray pieces of blonde brushing against her cheeks.

That was the most telling thing about her really. Not just how she moved so slowly, hesitantly, her arms folded over her chest. Her face was splotchy. Eyes rimmed with red and just a little bit brighter due to being glassy. She looked obviously surprised to see him, but it was nowhere close to the sort of greeting they had been talking about before she left. Really, Jackie appeared to be at a complete loss of what to say before she finally spoke. Her voice was quiet, raw, and tired. "What're y'doin' here, Ben? Figured you wouldn't be comin' over here so early."

He knows something isn't right before he even sees her -- just the slow footsteps upstairs are enough to give him pause, and once he sees her? Hears her speak? He knows something is really, really wrong. His brows draw together and there's a little bit of a frown at his mouth, all concern on his face. "Hey... I didn't hear back from you the couple of times I texted you this morning, so I figured you were still sleeping or at least still in Georgia... I thought maybe I'd surprise you. Be here when you got home." He hadn't moved out of the entryway for all of that, but he does then, moving in her direction -- stopping short of pulling her into a hug even once he's close enough, but he does reach out to touch her on the arm. "What's wrong?"

"I left early. Before most people were even wakin' up. I needed some time t' think." When he takes a step toward her she's countering with a step back. His hand reaching out for her arm only causes her to draw that side of her body back so he's grasping at nothing but air. It's a slow yet careful dance to keep space, usually something she hated so much, between them. "This probably isn't the best time, Ben. I think y' need t' go. I need some time t' myself an' when I feel like I can properly talk it over I'll drop y' a text." She paused, frowning faintly. The next words were spoken very clearly, above her previous mumble. "It was nothin' you did."

Even though he can tell something is wrong, he's not expecting that, her to pull away, and she's evading his touch easily. At first, he only looks more concerned because of it, but when she goes on, tells him he needs to leave, that she needs some time -- he can't hide it, the almost-flinch that passes over his features. He does his best to recover quickly, act like he's fine with that, but he can't hide the hurt in his eyes. There's too much fear of a repeat of before, too much panic and dread to try to stuff down, to succeed. It's the last thing she says that causes another shift in his expression, understanding, now, though it's still mixed with everything else, the concern, the hurt -- the attempt at aloof that fails miserably. "Sure, I can..." Taking a deep breath and letting it out in a sigh, averting his gaze and rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "Give you some time. Just... We're going to work it out, right?" Lifting his eyes to her again. He regrets asking as soon as the words are out of his mouth.

She can see it all, the flash of emotions steadily passing over his features. They were picked out one by one and she related to so many of them. The hurt mostly. The hurt is something she can relate to and she regrets that she's causing Ben to feel that way when she had said it herself, it was nothing he did. Her frown deepens at his final question, but for now she can't work out an answer. Sure they would, wouldn't they? But why were the words so hard to get out right now? They were stuck in her throat and instead got replaced with her own question. "Where didja wake up this mornin', Ben?" Just like him, she's regretting the question the second it leaves her lips. Her body shifts, shoulders pulling back while she physically braces herself for an answer.

He doesn't mean to be defensive -- he doesn't even mean to be hurt, not for himself (even if he can't help it). Still, the way he draws himself up after her question, the little purse of his lips -- there's something just a little bit defensive in it regardless. "Home. By myself," anticipating her next question, or just understanding what she's suspecting (he couldn't possibly know that she knows). And just as quickly as he'd straightened up, gotten tough, his shoulders slump a little, and his voice softens. "What happened, Jackie?"

He can be defensive or hurt. Jackie's not moving from her spot, not shifting her stance, and her expression isn't changing at all. She looks like she's too tired to do much more. In fact, the draw of her shoulders is released. Not out of relief or defeat, but just because it was too much effort and she was too drained to keep it up. "I..." Her crossed arms are released and sink down to her sides. She doesn't even ask him to follow or gesture for him to come along. She's turning on her heels without a word and moving further into the living room. It gave her more room to pace in that slow feet dragging shuffle. "I got a call from yer phone last night. It was earlier than we had said, but I just figured y'were surprisin' me or something. Turns out it was a pocket dial." Her fingers are anxiously twisting together in front of her and she's still pacing, not even looking at him. She can't look at him while she gets this out. "It wasn't you. It was Harry. An'..." A deep breath. "He wasn't alone." Her pacing came to a slow stop, but her gaze was pointed down at the floor. The last part was forced out, barely above a whisper. "I didn't catch her name. I caught... everythin' else. But not a name."

When she turns away, Ben hesitates, and even when he does eventually follow her further into the living room, he stays out of her way, lets her pace. Has he ever seen her like this? Not to this degree, not this particular kind of pain.

He's already feeling terrible, the strange sort of almost-guilt that he feels far too often. When she says she got a call from him last night, it only gets worse, and when she goes on and explains that it was a pocket dial, his stomach lurches, and it isn't just the hangover that's making him feel ill. He'd been watching her pace, but at that point he's dropping his gaze, swearing under his breath, rubbing one hand over his face. He doesn't stop her though -- he needs to hear the rest of it. And after she finishes, he drops his hand, sighing, and after another hesitation, he's taking a step toward her again -- though this time, he's not going to be so confused if she takes a step back. "I'm sorry you heard all that, Jackie. I really am."

Even with him following her she's lost in her own little world, too wrapped up in trying to get the story out without dry heaving or crying. She was a girl with simple goals. Although her attention is directed at the ground she knew he was coming for her again and once more it was countered with her stepping back. Her hands unlaced from in front of her to lift, hard to tell if it was saying halt or that she surrendered. "I know, Ben. It wasn't you. But I jus'..." Brown eyes lift to him again. "I just can't right now. I'm not tryin' to punish you fer it, I know it wasn't you. But I can't right now. I heard... everythin'. In a bathroom stall, probably at some sh*tty lil' bar. An' I know I shoulda hung up but I couldn't. So it's my own damn fault but... I'm tryin' to deal wth it. Somehow."

He doesn't take another step toward her. In fact, he takes a step back of his own, and his hands go up too, mirroring her halt-or-surrender, before he shoves them into his coat pockets. "I know you're not trying to punish me for it, sweetheart. I know." Even if it still felt like punishment to him, unfair -- because even though he believes her completely, there's a part of him that has so much trouble accepting consequences of any kind for something he hasn't done. It doesn't resent, it doesn't get defensive or argue or question -- but it gnaws at him, and it hurts.

He's meeting her eyes then, even when she reiterates that she'd heard everything, when she describes the scene and it's obvious that she really means everything. He winces during that, when she sets the scene so specifically, and he's shaking his head a little, but it seems to be in disbelief, because he doesn't try to stop her or disagree with her about anything that she's said. "So do you think that, um ... that time alone is what you need to deal with it? Because if that's what you need from me..." Trailing off, and he's glancing off to one side, the direction of the door, before he's looking at her again.

When he lowers his hands she's doing the same, going back to folding them in front of her to keep them from fidgeting. She's sinking backwards, turning to pick up her slow lumbering pace once again. She can't decide if she wants to sit still or run a marathon. "I don't know what the hell I need right now, Ben." The words might have seemed harsh, but her tone held no edge to it. "I jus'..." Hands lifted, fingers combing through the captured blonde locks. She came to another stop, turning to look at him. "I didn't think the first time I was gonna hear all that... yer voice, yer breathin'... not you... but soundin' like you... it's... on a phone. An' I'm not processin' it well. And I know it wasn't you, but..." She's shaking her head quickly. "I can't make sense of a thing. An' I hate that right now." Shoulders slumped, her head sinking as well.

Jackie tells him that she doesn't know hat she needs right now, and Ben doesn't know what he should do for her. He means to do what she's asking, means to leave -- has already offered to twice -- but for whatever reason, he can't follow through on it. They'd said they'd be honest -- they'd said they'd get through things together. She says she isn't trying to punish him, knows it isn't his fault, that it wasn't him, but if he leaves, isn't that admitting that he's done something wrong? Why should his being here be a bad thing?

"Jackie... look at me." And he'll wait if he has to -- ask her again, if he has to -- because he isn't going on until she's making eye contact. He's forced most of the hurt out of his own expression, though he's obviously still upset -- now, though, it's all for her. "That isn't how I wanted it to be for you either, sweetheart. But you said it yourself -- it wasn't me. You know that; I know you do. And I know that even if you know that, it's still hard to make sense of this. But sweetheart -- being alone isn't going to help you. You'll just keep thinking about it." Keep hearing it in her head, over and over. "The only thing you can do is try to forget, I think. And the longer you're alone, the harder that'll be." Pulling his hands from his pockets then, he's holding his arms out for a hug. "C'mere, sweetheart. Please? Don't shut me out because of this."

When he says her name the first time paired with that quiet demand it's as if she doesn't hear him. She's still staring at the ground in that posture of defeat. He has to wait a while, but he doesn't have to ask a second time. Her gaze is reluctantly lifting to meet his and she somehow looks even more tired than she did when she first walked down the stairs. "I don't much feel like I can forget it right now, Ben. I feel like it's stuck with me no matter how much I try t' stop it." It when he extends his arms out for her again that her frown deepens. Usually that would be the first place she would go to, his arms. That's where she always found her comfort in these situations. Unfortunately for them both, it wasn't so easy this time around. "I'm not tryin' to shut you out, Ben. I jus'... I can't do that right now." A hand was lifted to point from one hand, along his arms, to the other. "It wasn't you, but it was them hands on that girl, Ben. It was all of you, not you, pressed up against her." Was he confused? Because she looked to be utterly lost by her own figuring. "I'm sorry." That much she sounded sure of. Everything else was so scattered, complicated, frustrated. But those two words came out crystal clear while her arms sank uselessly to her sides again.

Friday, November 23rd, 2012 -- Late Evening

Ben must not have been exaggerating when he'd said that he was on his way, because just a few minutes after that last text, he's showing up at Chey and Jackie's house, knocking at the door. He's used a spare key to let himself in in the past, but for whatever reason, tonight, he isn't. Instead, he's waiting there on the doorstep, looking pretty typical in jeans and boots, a black leather jacket, hands hidden in the pockets of it. The weather really was starting to get pretty cold, and he's got a grey knit scarf wrapped around his neck to try to ward off the cold somewhat.

Whether she'd been in pajamas or not didn't really matter. Though she was no stranger to texts from Ben, this one had a certain flavor to it that had her up and dressed. She was just pulling on her second boot when the knock came. "Coming!" she called, tugging the footwear on and going for the door. She pulled it open to look out. She looked her typical laid back Chey in jeans, a long yellow shirt, boots and brown leather jacket, her own scarf about her neck to keep her neck warm, as her hair had been pulled up. "Hey, Ben."

"Hey, Chey." A little bit of a smile for her, just one side of his mouth tugged upward. "Thanks for making a little time for me." It seems like she's ready to go, so he's turning and heading down the steps from her door, apparently just assuming she'll follow. "And for braving the cold." He hadn't hid it at all when texting her, that whatever this was, it seemed to be a big deal, but now that it had come down to talking about it, he's actually sort of avoidant and guarded.

"Oh, it's no worry," she said cheerfully. She bent to say something to Mason, who was in his crate, and then she shut the door and locked it, dropping the key in her pocket. She turned and moved down the steps and down the walkway after him. She didn't rush him and was quiet until they got out on the quiet street. "You're up late."

Ben was fine with letting the silence linger until Chey broke it, and he's a little bit slow to respond to her, even when she finally does. "Yeah, I guess I am." His shoulders lift in a hint of a shrug, and he's giving her a sidelong glance before his attention is facing front again. "So are you," pointing out, just a touch amused, though that's gone when he continues. "So this thing I wanted to talk to you about... it's not something I really tell people. I can trust you with something like that, right?"

She looked over to him and nodded firmly almost immediately. "Of course."

He doesn't look at her, but he can see her out of the corner of his eye, so he knows she's looking at him -- knows she'll be able to see when he nods a little bit, just confirmation that he'd heard her -- trusts that he can trust her. He's biting on his lower lip for a moment -- chewing on it, really -- and they walk along a little ways before he says anything else, and he's kind of, sort of grimacing a little before he does say anything. "You haven't heard of multiple personality disorder, have you? If you haven't, it's okay; Jackie hadn't either."

"I've read 'bout it in some different books," she said, nodding a bit. "I've always wanted t'do somethin' in the medical field or somethin' like that. But I don't know much 'bout it."

"Oh, you have?" That actually does get him to give her another glance, and he's obviously surprised, if the look on his face is any indication, brows lifted a little, eyes a touch wider. That doesn't last, though, and neither does the look; he's quickly going neutral and watching where they're walking again. "So... What do you know exactly?"

She saw that break in neutrality but she didn't say anything about it. "I know it makes someone have more'n one personality. An' that whichever personality is in charge at a time gets to control attitude an' actions." She put her hands into her coat pockets, scuffling her boots through fallen and crispy leaves.

"Mhm." Worrying his lower lip with his teeth again; it's such a bad habit, a nervous tell, one that until recently he'd been better about avoiding. "You must know where this is going, right?"

"I think to th' store t'get you some chapstick so y'stop bitin' your lip," she said with a little smile, but then she gave just a small shrug. "I figure y'know someone with it? An' it's weighin' on your mind."

The first comment actually gets a little smile from him too, half-there and short-lived, but a flash of it nonetheless. Maybe it makes the admission (because it always feels like an admission, like confession of some sort) easier, "Sort of. It's..." Trailing off, and he's pulling one hand from his coat pocket to gesture vaguely with it -- first in front of them, and then his fingertips touch the center of his chest before he's pushing his hand back into his pocket. "Me. I have it." Have it; it felt strange to phrase it that way, like it was a cold or something.

She didn't stop walking. Her footsteps didn't even falter although she her head was swiveling more toward him, her eyes slightly wider. "You do?" It was just a repetition of what he'd already said, but it was the first thing that came out of her mouth.

Ben doesn't stop either, and he's decidedly not looking at Chey at all, continuing to face front. The set of his mouth changes, though -- a little purse of his lips, a slight shift of his jaw to one side. "Yeah." Unsure of what direction to continue, he's waiting for more than just her immediate reaction before he says anything else.

Her legs kept her moving further forward, although her eyes were still on him. After the initial surprise wore off, she continued. "How long have you had it?"

It must be tension he's trying to work out, the way he tilts his head just a little bit toward her, rolls that shoulder back before his posture returns to normal. "Since I was a kid. I know for sure since I was ten, but lately I'm pretty sure it's been even longer than that."

She nodded, still looking at him, her fingers digging further into her jacket pocket. "Is... that why that girl thought she knew you that one night? All that time ago. I forget her name."

"Lyla? Yeah." Faintly amused then, but probably only because he hasn't heard from poor Lyla-deer in so long -- but quickly, his expression first sours, and then regains most of its neutrality again. "One of... you know." And then he just sighs, starts over. "She doesn't know me, not really, but she knows Harry."

"Harry," she repeated, then figured some background would be good. "How many are there?"

"Four." Ben's voice didn't often go very soft around Chey -- he's usually fairly easygoing, quick to joke around, to laugh -- but it was now. He sighs again, watching the curl of his breath in the cold appear, dissipate in front of him. "Harry, who... hangs out with women like that. Drinks, does drugs -- all that stupid party stuff. Sam -- he's mostly just trying to protect people." The safe, nice way to put it, what Sam's become lately. "Ivan, I'm not completely sure about." Shaking his head slowly, as if in thought. "Something to do with being lied to, being fooled." That's only three, but Ben's lapsing into silence anyway.

"Are you the fourth?" she queried, however, tilting her head. "Is th' guy I know -Ben- is he th' main one? The... real one?" Maybe that wasn't the right way.

"What?" If there's something sharp to his tone, it's only in surprise. His step does falter then, and he's looking at Chey, eyes a little wide. He recovers quickly, though, continuing on their meandering path down the sidewalk, facing front and clearing his throat. "No, I'm... I'm not the fourth one. Ted is -- really young. Maybe only ten or so." Even though he's not looking at Chey anymore, she'd be able to tell, even just looking at his profile, that this set of questions had thrown him; his eyes are still a little wide, something almost deer-in-headlights about it. "I'm real. It's the rest that aren't."

She wasn't quite sure why those questions had set him that way, but for now she passed it over, continuing her questions. "Well, are they fake? I mean... ain't they supposed t'be different parts of yer own psyche?"

Nothing changed about Ben's expression, still a touch wide-eyed, still not looking at Chey. "Maybe fake isn't the right word for it." Not answering her second question. "But they're the symptoms. Not me." Adamant about that. Maybe it had been that question that had thrown him.

"How're ya at... controllin' 'em?" asked a bit gently, not wanting to make him feel bad, but curious and trying to navigate through this information.

Finally, his features relax into something more typical for him, less tense (though he's still catching his lower lip between his teeth for a second before answering). "I'm not..." Trailing off, and a mix of a smile and a wince passes over his face. "I'm not exactly there yet. I black out, and I don't have any idea what happens during that time unless somebody tells me."

She nodded, looking down at the toes of her boots for a moment. "Jackie knows, of course. Yeah?"

"Mhm. Yeah, she's known for a while." He looks like he's going to say something else, mouth open a little, even taking a breath for it, but he ends up not saying whatever it is, closing his mouth and glancing aside to Chey to give her a tight little smile.

"So that's why y'both so quiet all th' time," she said, dipping her head again. It made sense. "I figured y'all had a secret."

Ben keeps his head turned; he's looking at Chey longer than he'd meant to at first -- studying her, really, even if that only lasts a few seconds. Eventually, he's looking away again, nodding, shrugging a little at the same time. "Yeah, I guess so. But it, um..." A pause, and he huffs out a quiet sigh. "It's been hard on her, sometimes. To deal with that alone."

"Well, I ain't surprised," she said, looking up toward the sky with its sprinkle of stars. "I mean, who're ya gonna share that with, right?" If it sounded reproachful, it wasn't intended.

"Well," there's the smile again, with that little touch of a wince to it, "maybe now she can talk to you about it when she needs to." Chey's looking up, but Ben, on the other hand, is glancing down and off to one side, away from her. "Something happened yesterday while you all were in Georgia, and she's really... She's upset about it." Ben was pretty sure Jackie's probably been hiding in her room all day. "I don't know if she'll want to talk to you about it -- or about any of this stuff, when things happen -- but at least now she has you to lean on. --and you aren't in the dark anymore. I know you two are close, and I always felt bad about that."

She shook her head. "No don't gotta apologize. I understand. Ben. It ain't a secret y'want everyone talkin' 'bout. An' y'didn't know me well. An' it ain't like I can blame Jackie. She's your girlfriend." She looked back down and then over to him, just a hint of uneasiness on her face. "But she doesn't really talk t'me lately. Seems like we ain't been 'round at th' same time." Another pause. "What happened? Can I ask?"

And then Ben's looking uneasy himself, just at Chey's last questions. "I don't know if it's really something she'll want to talk about." But wasn't that all the more reason to tell her? Pulling one hand out of his jacket pocket, he's ducking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose for a couple of seconds. "Sometime last night she got a call from my phone, but it wasn't..." Lifting his head, gesturing meaninglessly with his hand before pressing it back into his coat pocket. "It was a pocket dial. Harry was ... with some girl."

She winced, visibly. "Ouch." She wiggled her fingers in their pockets again, pressing her mouth down into her scarf as pale eyes looked over toward him. "How'd y'find out she found out? She told you?"

Nodding slowly at first, still looking out in front, but eventually, "Mhm, yeah. I had no idea." Almost immediately after he says that, he's wincing too, tilting his head to one side and then the other, slowly, reconsidering. "I woke up hungover, which usually means I can blame Harry for whatever time I lost right before that, but ... I had no idea about the girl."

Her frown was mostly because she could only imagine how sh*tty Jackie must feel right now. She wondered if her cousin would even tell her. "So I guess I shouldn't ask her 'bout it."

Shrugging then, and he glances aside to Chey for just a second. "No, I think... I think you should. I mean, as long as you tell her I told you everything. I want her to be able to talk about it with somebody if she wants to."

"Well, maybe she doesn't want to. She might resent it, y'know, me gettin' in her business. Maybe y'should tell her y'told me?" She wasn't sure exactly how to navigate a situation like this.

"Oh. Maybe. But we, uh..." Pulling his hands out of his pockets, a little motion with his index fingers moving past each other without touching, before he's letting his hands fall to his sides. "We're not really talking right now. I'm trying to give her some time to ... figure out whatever she needs to figure out about this."

"Maybe that's best," she said with a nod and a small sigh. "I'll send her a text an' jus' let her know. I don't wanna bug her if she's tryin' t'work it out." A pause, a few moments. "Is there anythin' I can do?"

"Thank you," without hesitation, for her saying she'll send Jackie a text. After that though, he's pausing too, thinking her question over, but after a moment he's shaking his head. "I don't think so. She understands that it isn't me when those kinds of things happen, but it's ... I guess it was hard to hear like that, all the same. I think she just needs time, and maybe talking to you if she wants to. I hope."

She nodded a bit, watching him completely now as they walked. "Well, I can understand. Even if it ain't yer fault, it's still hard t'know yer man is..." She let her words trail off. He would know what she meant anyway.

Oh, he knows. He takes a deep breath; the expansion of his chest, lift of his shoulders, is visible even beneath his coat. Letting it out in a sigh before responding. "It is really hard for her. I know. I just hope this helps a little bit." A smile at one side of his mouth, though it's faded, and it doesn't last anyway. "Is there, uh... anything else you wanted to know?"

She thought on that for a few moments. "Is there any way t'tell when yer gonna switch personalities? Or does it jus' sorta happen?"

He actually needs to think about the answer for a moment. "Usually it needs to be triggered by something -- I think. I've been able to figure out some of them, but not all of them. I guess for all I know, maybe sometimes it does just sort of happen. But most of the time at least... there's a trigger."

"What was yer trigger this last time?"

This time, it's more a wince than a smile. "Last time? Don't know."

She nodded. That was fair. "You an' Jackie'd been doin' okay beforehand, yeah?"

"Yeah, we'd been doing really, really well." He's hesitant to say it, for whatever reason, but after that short pause, "No problems. Even all of this kind of stuff had seemed to have calmed down."

"Well, I know Jackie well enough t'know she ain't mad at you, at least. At least she's reactin' like anyone would. I know it ain't a lot of comfort, but she cares 'bout ya. Otherwise she wouldn't be there, y'know?"

"Yeah. She's not mad at me. I know. She just... needs time. Some space. I can understand that. Like you said, anybody else would react the same way. Or worse."

"Probably worse. She's tougher'n nails." A small smile and then she reached out, giving his arm a squeeze. "Thanks fer trustin' me enough t'tell me, Ben."

"She is." He's almost going on to say that he's lucky to have her, but something stops him. Instead, he's just reaching over to touch Chey on the back of the arm before he turns around to start meandering in the direction of her house. "Thanks for giving me a chance, even though you knew I was hiding things. --and for..." Shrugging up one shoulder, the motion slow. "For trying to understand."

((Taken from play between Ben Sullivan and the AMAZING Cheyenne Daniels))

There wasn't even a chance for her to process what Sam had said, for the fear to properly bubble in her stomach and ice over her lungs. The change in his expression, from being so cruel and hurtful to something so blank, that is what really caused the emotions to rise up in her. It was a heated mix of comfort and disgust. No, don't let him come back like this. Not like this. With the hold on her throat alleviated some she's back to taking in deep rasping breaths of air. Other than those sounds she says nothing. She's too busy watching him, waiting to see if this is what she thinks it is or another sick joke by Sam.

Her confusion was answered when he let her go. Without the pressure around her throat holding her against the wall her body was instantly slumping to the ground where she stood. She was still conscious, so that was a good sign, but there was a sway in her posture even while she sat showing just how lightheaded the lack of oxygen had made her. It was difficult to focus so her gaze stayed pointed on the ground, but she wheezed out a little call for him. "Ben?"

There's a strange little sway in his posture too, listing toward her a second after she slumps to the floor, but just as quickly, he's righting himself again, without having taken a step toward her. Like he wants to go to her but something stops him. "Jackie, I didn't-- It wasn't--" He sounds pained, and it's a good thing she isn't looking at him, because he still looks terrified -- until abruptly, his expression changes. The anger is white-hot, incredibly frustrated, clear on his face -- in his voice, when he raises it. "Go away -- just f*cking stop it!" Maybe it sounded, at first, like he was telling Jackie to go, just like Sam had said -- but really, he's not yelling at anyone that's physically there. "You aren't helping anymore, and I don't want you here, and I-- just shut up--" Maybe it's frustration, maybe it's directionless anger. Whatever it is, the wall a couple of feet to Jackie's left doesn't deserve it, but Ben's putting his fist through the drywall anyway.

Ben's not often like this around Jackie, volatile and violent, but he does have that side. Unlike Sam, though, whose supply of violence seems unending, the anger disappears from Ben as quickly as it had come over him, leaving him close to breathless, distraught, cautious when his scattered attention zeroes in on Jackie again. He sinks down to sit next to her on the floor, but he stays that couple of feet away. "It's me, Jackie," quiet, soft, defeated.

She's taking in the explanations, readying herself to tell him that she knows it wasn't him. It was nothing he did or wanted to have happen. Her mouth opens to speak, but before she can even get a word out he's screaming. Cussing. Her back is pressed against the wall behind her like the words are hitting her personally, but it's really only out of surprise. They don't make sense directed at her and she can only imagine the sort of hell Sam is reaping within Ben's mind. It's when Ben's fist is meeting the wall that Jackie's arms are up over her head with her body slumping forward again. It looks like the position you're taught to take in elementary school when a tornado or bad storm is threatening. Huddling into a ball for protection. It doesn't look like something Jackie would usually do, but right now it's about all she can manage. She doesn't move when he sits down nearby. It's only when he assures her that it's him that she's rolling her head aside and lifting her gaze to look at him. She looks as soft and defeated as he sounds. "Hey, sweetheart." The greeting is quiet and probably made no sense, but what else are you supposed to say after all that? Her attention lifts to the hole left in the wall above her and to the side. Then she's looking back down to him. "Yer hand okay?"

And after all that, she's still calling him sweetheart. She's the one worried about him. His brows knit, he bites his bottom lip for a second. "It's fine." Quiet assurance, even though it isn't; he'd caught the back of his hand on the jagged edge of the drywall, left a gash across the back of his hand -- nothing major, barely even bleeding, but he's pressing his other palm to the injury to get it to stop, eyes focused there instead of on her. "Are you... Are you okay?" It's a dumb question, but he doesn't know what else to say.

His answer is taken at face value. Both of them are too out of sorts right now for her to press the subject and if he says it's alright then that's enough for her. At his question she's lifting her shoulders, straightening her back to extend her neck. Her fingertips are delicately brushing along the flesh of her throat, feeling out the damage since she obviously can't see it right now. There's a bright red ring around her neck from all of the pressure, a few distinct outlines of fingers can be seen sneaking beneath the cover of her hair. "I'm fine." She's taking another deep breath with a slow exhale. Mostly just because she could. "You been gone long?"

He knows she can't be okay -- not physically, and certainly not emotionally, mentally -- but he doesn't push it either. Not now. Quiet after her question, and this time the furrow of his brow is more thoughtful as opposed to just pained. After a moment, "I don't think so. The last thing I remember is getting a text from you." Looking up from his hands to her face then, as if for confirmation of how long ago that happened, but then there's another rapid cycle of emotion -- surprise to that hurt again, though this time there's a lot of worry in it too. One hand moves toward her, but it doesn't get far before he pulls it back. "I'm-- You're sure you're okay? Jackie, it doesn't look good."

She's absolutely far from okay, but she's so unsure of how to process all of it that 'I'm fine' seemed like a safe enough answer to buy her some time. That absentminded response she was so prone to giving without hesitation. Ben knows it well and she's just thankful when he lets it slide for now. "Not that long then." She's knitting her brows together as well. Was it her fault this happened? Was she the one that triggered Sam? Did she bring this on herself?

The questions were too much to get into right now and her gaze was pulled aside by the movement of his hand towards her. Her expression doesn't change between its approach and its recoil. She's still softly stroking at her own throat, surprised by how raw the skin felt yet for some reason unable to stop herself. "I can breathe. It's a big upgrade from what I had goin' on." It wasn't supposed to be mean, or a way to make him feel bad, but the words successfully made her sick to her stomach. The hand at her throat lifted to cover her face, her head sinking forward heavily. "Jesus." It was only one word, yet it cracked with the emotion she had somehow managed to hold in since his return. From the sound of her breathing, which was becoming much more shallow and ragged, she wasn't going to be able to hang on much longer.

So often, Ben uses a similar kind of almost-humor to deal with situations like this, but never when they're to this degree. He knows she doesn't mean to hurt him with what she says, but it feels like a slap anyway -- and it's then that he notices that it really does feel like he's been slapped. Another piece of the puzzle. He lifts a hand to press his fingers to that side of his face, but he's only just feeling the heat of the reddened skin when Jackie drops her head forward and that blasphemy escapes her. She isn't looking at him (not that he'd been any good at keeping his expressions under control at this point anyway), so it's an obvious mix of pain, worry, and hesitance on his face when he reaches over and, this time, actually makes contact with her, first just his fingertips barely against her shoulder, which she might not even feel through her clothing, but then his hand moves to press lightly against her shoulderblade. "I'm so sorry, Jackie." Quiet, so quiet.

Even with his hand pressing down onto her shoulderblade she's not moving. Her head is still hanging and she's trying to get control of her breathing. It doesn't seem like she can catch a break. Either she can't breathe at all or she's taking in so much air that she's making herself lightheaded again.

It doesn't look like she's going to be ready to move from that position for a while, but then all at once she's lifting her head. Dark brown eyes have an extra sheen to them from unshed tears she's managed to hold back, but all the uncontrolled emotion comes through in her tone. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I was mean on Friday. I'm sorry if y' felt like y' had t' tell Chey t' make me feel better. I'm sorry if I scared y' or made y' think it was even possible that I wouldn't wanna be with y' no more. I'm not tryin' to f*ck with you or ever make things harder for you, Ben. I'm jus' tryin'." It had all spilled out so quickly, barely without pause. By the end of it her shoulders were shaking, but she pushed through it one last time. "I'm sorry if I hurt you."

When she doesn't shrink away from his touch, he starts to slowly rub his hand across her back, from one shoulder to the other, in an effort to calm her during her silence. But when she picks up her head and looks at him, his hand stills. Right away, after her first apology, there's an obvious twinge of emotion for him -- that knit of his brows again -- and he's biting down on his lower lip. That's the only way he can keep himself from interrupting her. After she quiets again, he's shaking his head. "I know you're trying, Jackie. I know. You're doing the best you can, sweetheart. Don't be sorry." Moving closer to her, putting his arm around her shoulders -- there's just a little bit of pressure there, just a hint of it, to try to guide her in close, to get her to lean on him.

She doesn't have the fight left in her to keep away from him and more than likely she doesn't want to anyway. That gentle guidance is followed for her to slump against him. It's when she curls her frame against him that her resolve to stay calm dissolves into nothingness. Her hands are lifted to rub at her eyes, blocking the tears from view even though it was obvious she was crying by the sound of her voice. "He hates me so much. He hates everythin' about me an' us bein' t'gether. It feels like I'm not gonna be able t' do nothin' right t' make him stop." It was one of those times when Jackie's age shined through, for better or worse. This time was much worse. Curled into Ben, sobbing about someone not liking her.

Jackie isn't the only one whose resolve is disappearing. Once she slumps against him, Ben can't even pretend badly that he doesn't need her there, and he's putting both arms around her, keeping her in close, pressing a couple of kisses to her hair before leaning his cheek up against it (even if that ached a little -- maybe he wanted that, felt he deserved the reminder). "Shh, Jackie... You can't blame yourself for that, sweetheart." Back to gently rubbing slow circles against her back with one hand; the fingers of his other hand catch in her hair for just a second, but only a second, since she has it pulled back, then that hand is lightly against the back of her neck -- the first skin to skin contact in a while, a long while. "He hates me too." For just a second, he's remembering what it was like to come back to himself this time around. Only for a second though, and then he's pushing it out of his mind. "I'll make him stop. I won't let him hurt you again." Was that really possible? If Ben had doubts, none of it sounded in his tone. He just sounds fiercely protective, even if there is still the undertone of sorrow in his voice.

"I know you don't try to f*ck with me. I know you aren't trying to make things harder for me. I never think that about you." Even when she's misguided, he knows for certain that she always means well. "I told Chey because I wanted her to know. I didn't feel like I had to. You didn't force me into that." Closing his eyes, he's taking a deep breath, breathing her in, the scent of her hair, letting out the air in a slow exhale. "I'm sorry he hurt you. I'm sorry you go through things like this to be with me. I want to make it better for you -- make it easier." It's then that he notices how clear his thoughts are -- his thoughts. They're all his own. "I'll make them stop."

Wednesday, November 28th, 2012 -- Evening

She had given him time like she said she would. They were, by far, some of the most difficult hours she had spent restlessly waiting at home for something, but she knew pushing on this wasn't the way to go. It was only when she felt an appropriate amount of time had passed, enough to say she tried, that she was grabbing her leather jacket and first aid kit while flying out the door.

It didn't take long for her to pull up in front of Ben's office building. The truck was barely turned off when she sprang out of the driver's side door and slammed it shut behind her. It was on her approach to the front door that she remembered Ben wanted quiet. It took the time from her heading inside to reaching his office door for Jackie to manage to slow her pace and get her panic under control. She was going to be calm and cool.

The door was tested and thankfully unlocked. Boots quietly carried her inside the office, the door clicking closed behind her carefully while she took it all in. "Ben?"

Just as Jackie had told him to do, and just like he'd said he would be, Ben's stretched out on the couch with one arm across his eyes, face hidden in the crook of his elbow. Nothing really looks out of order in the office (though there's a mess of bloody tissues in the garbage can in the bathroom). Ben's slow to react though, not moving when he hears the door open, not when he hears her footsteps coming through the door -- not even when she calls his name, not right away. But after a quiet moment of not moving, he's pulling his arm away from his face and sitting up (though that's slow, too). "Jackie. Hey." He tries a smile for her, but it's not very convincing -- probably made even less so by the way he looks. It's not a bad break (lucky for him, because a crooked nose would really hurt his boyish good looks), but his nose is certainly swollen, and there's already purplish-black bruising beginning under his eyes.

When she spots Ben she doesn't rush his way. She's still keeping her calm pace towards him, squinting somewhat out of worry when he doesn't automatically stir. There's an audible sigh of relief when he sits up and addresses her. "Hey there, sweetheart." Even her voice is quiet. She's shedding her coat as she moves and tosses it on the armrest of the couch. Then she's sinking to her knees in front of him, the first aid kit being set aside on the floor. "How y' doin?" Her hands lifted to either side of his jaw, trying to carefully tilt him enough so she could examine his nose for herself while keeping up the casual conversation.

Pliable tonight, there's no resistance when she takes his head in her hands, easily moved. He does duck his head a little bit though, lowering his eyes. "I'm okay. Kind of tired." Equally quiet. "I think maybe I just need ice for it." A little hesitant, but he reaches up with one hand to touch fingertips to her forearm, just for the contact. "Glad you're here."

"I think yer right. Don't look like it's gotta be realigned or nothin', thankfully. I got an ice pack. An' you'll just have to sleep with a lil' somethin' extra under yer head t' keep it elevated. But aside from that an' a few pain killers y' don't need nothin' more." It was equally helpful and disturbing how much Jackie knew about first aid simply from hanging around her brothers and working at bars. When her hands lower from his jaw, one is reaching across to take his hand in hers. To lift it, carefully turn it, and press a kiss to his palm. Maybe she didn't want to run the risk of bumping his nose in a kiss to the lips right now. "Glad t' be here."

Ben's not only thankful that Jackie knows so much about first aid, but he's glad that she's not one to push him to go see a doctor, too. It makes things easier to ignore, to forget. A little absently, he's nodding along with her when she gives her assessment of his injury, though it's not quite enough to disturb her touch against his face. When she lowers her hands and takes one of his in hers, he's lifting his gaze to her face again, watching her press her lips to his palm. There's a tiny little tremor that courses through him when she does it, and as soon as her mouth isn't against his skin anymore, his fingers curl in on his palm, like he's trying to hold that kiss there. "I'm sorry for worrying you."

When his fingers curl in on themselves she brushes one last kiss against his knuckles before releasing his hand entirely. It was only so that she could ease herself back to sit on her heels and tug the first aid kit closer. It was opened and dug through, impressive and obviously added to throughout the years since it contained much more than the generic items that came along with the little plastic boxes from the store. She's pulling out a thin towel with an ice pack wrapped within it, kneading it briefly in her hands before extending it out towards him. "Gotta ice it up to four times a day fer the first forty-eight hours or so. 'Bout ten to fifteen each time." More medical advice out of the way she's tilting her head aside. "Don't apologize, Ben. Y' did what y' had to do. I'm glad y' gave me warnin' this time, t' be honest. Y' did everythin' y' could to make this easy on me an' I appreciate you fer it."

Everything about him is sort of delayed, kind of distant -- the way he pulls his hand back after she lets go, the way he's watching her dig through the first aid kit. Even when he reaches out to take the ice pack from her. "I'll set an alarm or something." He's just holding the ice between his hands for a half a moment, but then he does lift it to press it carefully to his nose. Finally, a little bit more reaction from him, though it's just a wince, and one that doesn't last long. "I try. I know this isn't easy for you to..." Lifting his free hand in a meaningless little gesture. "Deal with. But I think it'll be better now. I really do."

"Sometimes carin' for people ain't easy. Sure, sometimes it is. When it's soft an' quiet an' everythin' is pieced together jus' right by candlelight an' y' think, man, this couldn't be any simpler. But if it was like that alla the time? Well, everyone would be in a relationship." She reaches her hands out to settle one on each of his knees, a comforting gesture since she wasn't moving from her spot kneeling in front of him. "If y' wanna talk about it, I'm more than willin' to listen. If y' would rather just sit here in quiet or lemmie drive you home, I'm fine with that, too."

Jackie the Bartender right now, isn't she? All of that actually gets a little smile out of him, half-there and subdued, but there nonetheless, and when she puts her hands on his knees, he reaches out to lay his hand lightly against her cheek. Doesn't say anything about it, but it's clear from his reaction, the smile and the touch, that he appreciates the sentiment -- that she's so level-headed about it all. Another one of those moments that he forgets her age.

The smile fades and disappears when she goes on, though. He'd been expecting the offer to listen, of course, and she isn't pushing in the least, but the idea of talking sobers him quickly. "I, um..." And usually, here, he'd be flooded with thoughts that aren't his own, convincing in all kinds of ways that he not talk about what happened -- but now, there's just silence, and that's what makes up his mind. "I told him that I was sick of him hurting you. Hurting me. That I didn't need him anymore, if that's all he was going to do -- that he was ruining everything. And he, uh..." Pulling his hand away from her cheek, taking a deep breath and, out of habit, about to rub at the bridge of his nose, but he catches it, puts his fingers idly back through his hair instead, scratching at the back of his head for a second and sighing before switching hands for holding the ice to his nose. "He did what he always does. He tried to convince me -- had me almost convinced, really -- that I am better off alone. Family's never really worked out for me in the past, right?" There's an element of guilt in his expression then, faint, probably for the admission that he'd actually been led on by Sam at all. He drops his gaze again, and his voice softens some when he goes on, in contrast to what he describes. "But he started talking about Adam, and I-- I couldn't-- And I beat the sh*t out of him, Jackie. And it's quiet now, but it..." Uselessly, he's making a little gesture toward himself, his chest. "It feels different. Hurts."