It actually takes Ben a little while after he gets a text back from Jackie to show up at her house. Thinks about texting her back something, but everything he taps out doesn't come out right -- too forward, too flirtatious -- too much like he would have been a few days ago.
He actually hesitates once he gets to her house, standing in front of it for a moment, but he's got to do this -- and besides, the want to see her is just so overwhelming. Hesitates at the door too, hand raised to knock at it; he needs to take a deep breath before he finally raps it with his knuckles a few times.
When Jackie opens up the door, though, he'll look a lot more collected than he feels, leaning up casually against the doorjamb, hands in the pockets of the black hoodie he has half-zipped over a grey tee. Dark jeans, black harness boots -- Ben on his days off.
It didn't take Jackie long to get dinner together. Everything had been properly prepped, marinated, seasoned, and ready to go before she left for work this morning. Antsy? Just a little. When she arrived home she found that Chey was gone already, off to derby practice for the night. That thought hung in the air while Jackie put steaks on, gave the potato salad a stir, and finished steaming the vegetables.
Everything was just about done and the house had a good hearty aroma to it when he knocked. Her chest tightened somewhat and a hand was shoved through her hair as she made her way to the door.
Jackie's usual summer look had been abandoned lately. She didn't have the heart for it, not that she looked a mess by any means. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a red flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Bare feet were moving quietly against the hardwood floor when she took a step back and swept her hand aside. "C'mon in, Ben."
It was the tail end of summer anyway -- fitting, maybe, that all this was happening now. He doesn't move out of his lean right away, just looking at her -- her face, it's not anything suggestive, though it's got a certain intensity in it, something electric -- and then he drops his gaze, slowly pushes out of the lean, steps in through the door, keeping his hands in his pockets. "Thanks for dinner." Giving her another look, this time with a quirk of a smile. "Work go okay?"
She was returning the look for as long as she could before her gaze sank and swept off to the side. "Don't worry 'bout it. Made sense since yah were gonna be here anyway." Once he was inside the door was shut behind him. "It was fine. It was work." Once she released the door both hands were tucked into the back pockets of her jeans. "Make yerself comfortable. I can go get them papers an' things. Meat's jus' restin' a bit then dinner is done." She was already moving across the living room towards the stairs.
"Alright." That's all that needed to be said, right? He's watching her until she disappears up the stairs -- and then what? He takes off his boots to leave them by the door, and he's idling in the entryway for a moment afterward. He thinks about maybe going into the living room, but -- it just seems like a bad idea. She'll find him in the kitchen instead when she comes back; he's already found himself a bottle of water.
It was only a few short moments later that she was padding back down the stairs and stepping into the kitchen. In her arms she had two three ring binders along with a small stack of papers. "Oh good, yah got somethin' tah drink. I should have offered it up to yah before I ran off." She wasn't used to this, him simply being a guest in her house. The first time he stepped foot in here he was staying the night, her home was his. The binders and papers were set down on the counter beside him before she was stepping over to check on the steaks, poking at them with a knife and fork. "That was everythin' she gave me." A sidelong glance sent aside at him. He was expecting the papers, but not everything else.
"Yeah, I ... hope that's okay." Capping the bottle and gesturing with it. It had occurred to him, too, that he was a guest, maybe shouldn't've just gone into her fridge. At least the binders she sets down are a distraction. The official-looking legal documents he expected; he doesn't even bat an eye, just moves them aside so he can pick up one of the binders and open it up. He only has to scan a few lines before he realizes what it is; some of the color drains from his face. "Ella gave this to you?" Glancing up from the psychiatrist notes he found in the binder over the Jackie.
"Yer fine. It would be weird if yah asked or somethin'. Jus'... help yerself." At least she was honest that the situation was off. She was moving between the counter and the kitchen table now. It was already set with plates, silverware, and glasses, but now she was bringing over the platter of steaks to sink one onto each plate. Then the bowl of steamed broccoli, carrots, and snap peas followed along with the potato salad into the middle of the table. It was easier to not stand in one place while talking about it. "Yeah, she did. Way she was talkin' made it clear she went through alla it. Made it seem like she had copies, too."
"Jesus," under his breath, and he's flipping through it quickly, too fast to skim it even, but just to make sure it's only these notes in here. "It's my... It's notes from the shrink I was seeing a couple of years ago. I haven't even seen any of this." Getting to the end of that binder, he's tossing it down on the counter and picking up the next one -- that one he's going through a little slower; it's full of little cryptic messages to himself written in sharpie, drawings of people he doesn't remember, places he doesn't know, in pen. Looks a little mad. Probably didn't look all that sane when they'd pulled it all down from the walls and ceiling of the trailer he'd been living in, either. "Yeah, f*ck, of course she'd have copies." Defeated, sort of, and a little angry, but then he's just shaking his head, putting that binder down before, "Could I get a pen? I want to sign these." Not just wants to get it over with -- really wants to sign them, doesn't want to be married to that woman anymore.
She's coming to a halt near him once her scurrying is done. A lean is taken against the counter, watching him as he flips through the binders. Jackie's gone rather quiet now, an extra large dose of guilt lingering on her features. "I know." The words come out softly. "Or... I figured it out." When she read them. Or at least bits and pieces of them. She can't finish the statement and she's thankful for the distraction. "Yeah, sure, a pen." She's moving to a smaller drawer and tugging it open, the junk drawer of every kitchen. With a bit of searching she's pulling out a black pen and walking back over to him with it extended.
His eyes are narrowed on her, just a little, when she realizes what she's said -- he's watching her when she opens up the drawer to look for a pen, still looking at her when she offers it over to him. There's suspicion there, faint, but it fades when he takes the pen from her; he's careless when he does it, and his fingers brush hers. Turning to face the counter, he's paging through the legal papers, skimming over them briefly. Mostly he's just checking for where to sign, though he is making sure he's not signing his life away or anything. It's when he's not looking at her, when he finally puts pen to paper to scrawl his name where he needs to, that he's asking her, "You read it, didn't you?" His voice is soft, and it's hard to decipher the emotion in it.
Her bottom lip is caught between her teeth, eyes just a little wide. She's trying to look casual and is failing horrible while waiting for him to take the pen. It's when his fingers touch hers that there's a sharp inhale she's unable to stop. There and gone, her hands are being shoved into her back pockets once again. She's watching him for a while before thinking better of it and looking at some random point at the wall across from her. It's only when he speaks again that she looked to him. Her reply is just as quiet, but without hesitation. She can't lie to him. "Yeah. Not alla it. I didn't know at first an' Ella had told me to. I got a lil' ways in, realized what it all was, kept going fer a bit. Then my head was spinnin' and I had tah stop." A moment of silence passed. "I'm sorry."
"It's ... fine." Heavy, the words sound heavy. One more place to sign, and after he does, he's flipping the packet back to the first page, turning around to face her again. "I mean it's not -- why did you keep reading after you realized? -- but ... it is. It's probably all things you already know anyway." The smile is meant to be reassuring, maybe a little self-mocking, but it's sort of worn. "Let's eat. Looks good." Blatantly changing the subject -- not just the conversation, but physically, too; he's moving to take a seat at the table without waiting for any input from her.
He actually hesitates once he gets to her house, standing in front of it for a moment, but he's got to do this -- and besides, the want to see her is just so overwhelming. Hesitates at the door too, hand raised to knock at it; he needs to take a deep breath before he finally raps it with his knuckles a few times.
When Jackie opens up the door, though, he'll look a lot more collected than he feels, leaning up casually against the doorjamb, hands in the pockets of the black hoodie he has half-zipped over a grey tee. Dark jeans, black harness boots -- Ben on his days off.
It didn't take Jackie long to get dinner together. Everything had been properly prepped, marinated, seasoned, and ready to go before she left for work this morning. Antsy? Just a little. When she arrived home she found that Chey was gone already, off to derby practice for the night. That thought hung in the air while Jackie put steaks on, gave the potato salad a stir, and finished steaming the vegetables.
Everything was just about done and the house had a good hearty aroma to it when he knocked. Her chest tightened somewhat and a hand was shoved through her hair as she made her way to the door.
Jackie's usual summer look had been abandoned lately. She didn't have the heart for it, not that she looked a mess by any means. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a red flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Bare feet were moving quietly against the hardwood floor when she took a step back and swept her hand aside. "C'mon in, Ben."
It was the tail end of summer anyway -- fitting, maybe, that all this was happening now. He doesn't move out of his lean right away, just looking at her -- her face, it's not anything suggestive, though it's got a certain intensity in it, something electric -- and then he drops his gaze, slowly pushes out of the lean, steps in through the door, keeping his hands in his pockets. "Thanks for dinner." Giving her another look, this time with a quirk of a smile. "Work go okay?"
She was returning the look for as long as she could before her gaze sank and swept off to the side. "Don't worry 'bout it. Made sense since yah were gonna be here anyway." Once he was inside the door was shut behind him. "It was fine. It was work." Once she released the door both hands were tucked into the back pockets of her jeans. "Make yerself comfortable. I can go get them papers an' things. Meat's jus' restin' a bit then dinner is done." She was already moving across the living room towards the stairs.
"Alright." That's all that needed to be said, right? He's watching her until she disappears up the stairs -- and then what? He takes off his boots to leave them by the door, and he's idling in the entryway for a moment afterward. He thinks about maybe going into the living room, but -- it just seems like a bad idea. She'll find him in the kitchen instead when she comes back; he's already found himself a bottle of water.
It was only a few short moments later that she was padding back down the stairs and stepping into the kitchen. In her arms she had two three ring binders along with a small stack of papers. "Oh good, yah got somethin' tah drink. I should have offered it up to yah before I ran off." She wasn't used to this, him simply being a guest in her house. The first time he stepped foot in here he was staying the night, her home was his. The binders and papers were set down on the counter beside him before she was stepping over to check on the steaks, poking at them with a knife and fork. "That was everythin' she gave me." A sidelong glance sent aside at him. He was expecting the papers, but not everything else.
"Yeah, I ... hope that's okay." Capping the bottle and gesturing with it. It had occurred to him, too, that he was a guest, maybe shouldn't've just gone into her fridge. At least the binders she sets down are a distraction. The official-looking legal documents he expected; he doesn't even bat an eye, just moves them aside so he can pick up one of the binders and open it up. He only has to scan a few lines before he realizes what it is; some of the color drains from his face. "Ella gave this to you?" Glancing up from the psychiatrist notes he found in the binder over the Jackie.
"Yer fine. It would be weird if yah asked or somethin'. Jus'... help yerself." At least she was honest that the situation was off. She was moving between the counter and the kitchen table now. It was already set with plates, silverware, and glasses, but now she was bringing over the platter of steaks to sink one onto each plate. Then the bowl of steamed broccoli, carrots, and snap peas followed along with the potato salad into the middle of the table. It was easier to not stand in one place while talking about it. "Yeah, she did. Way she was talkin' made it clear she went through alla it. Made it seem like she had copies, too."
"Jesus," under his breath, and he's flipping through it quickly, too fast to skim it even, but just to make sure it's only these notes in here. "It's my... It's notes from the shrink I was seeing a couple of years ago. I haven't even seen any of this." Getting to the end of that binder, he's tossing it down on the counter and picking up the next one -- that one he's going through a little slower; it's full of little cryptic messages to himself written in sharpie, drawings of people he doesn't remember, places he doesn't know, in pen. Looks a little mad. Probably didn't look all that sane when they'd pulled it all down from the walls and ceiling of the trailer he'd been living in, either. "Yeah, f*ck, of course she'd have copies." Defeated, sort of, and a little angry, but then he's just shaking his head, putting that binder down before, "Could I get a pen? I want to sign these." Not just wants to get it over with -- really wants to sign them, doesn't want to be married to that woman anymore.
She's coming to a halt near him once her scurrying is done. A lean is taken against the counter, watching him as he flips through the binders. Jackie's gone rather quiet now, an extra large dose of guilt lingering on her features. "I know." The words come out softly. "Or... I figured it out." When she read them. Or at least bits and pieces of them. She can't finish the statement and she's thankful for the distraction. "Yeah, sure, a pen." She's moving to a smaller drawer and tugging it open, the junk drawer of every kitchen. With a bit of searching she's pulling out a black pen and walking back over to him with it extended.
His eyes are narrowed on her, just a little, when she realizes what she's said -- he's watching her when she opens up the drawer to look for a pen, still looking at her when she offers it over to him. There's suspicion there, faint, but it fades when he takes the pen from her; he's careless when he does it, and his fingers brush hers. Turning to face the counter, he's paging through the legal papers, skimming over them briefly. Mostly he's just checking for where to sign, though he is making sure he's not signing his life away or anything. It's when he's not looking at her, when he finally puts pen to paper to scrawl his name where he needs to, that he's asking her, "You read it, didn't you?" His voice is soft, and it's hard to decipher the emotion in it.
Her bottom lip is caught between her teeth, eyes just a little wide. She's trying to look casual and is failing horrible while waiting for him to take the pen. It's when his fingers touch hers that there's a sharp inhale she's unable to stop. There and gone, her hands are being shoved into her back pockets once again. She's watching him for a while before thinking better of it and looking at some random point at the wall across from her. It's only when he speaks again that she looked to him. Her reply is just as quiet, but without hesitation. She can't lie to him. "Yeah. Not alla it. I didn't know at first an' Ella had told me to. I got a lil' ways in, realized what it all was, kept going fer a bit. Then my head was spinnin' and I had tah stop." A moment of silence passed. "I'm sorry."
"It's ... fine." Heavy, the words sound heavy. One more place to sign, and after he does, he's flipping the packet back to the first page, turning around to face her again. "I mean it's not -- why did you keep reading after you realized? -- but ... it is. It's probably all things you already know anyway." The smile is meant to be reassuring, maybe a little self-mocking, but it's sort of worn. "Let's eat. Looks good." Blatantly changing the subject -- not just the conversation, but physically, too; he's moving to take a seat at the table without waiting for any input from her.