Friday, September 29th, 2012 -- late afternoon

It's nice, this drawn out end to summer, the gentle transition into autumn. This is actually the kind of weather Ben loves, and doesn't get in Vancouver often -- maybe that's why he was so quick to follow up his other suggestions last night with somewhere outdoors. Just to soak this up a little longer.

He always tends toward casual on days off, and today's no different, in dark jeans and harness boots, a white tee under a black and grey flannel with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow. There's a beat up looking brown messenger bag between his feet. Kicked back on a park bench, one arm along the back of it -- maybe he shouldn't be so relaxed and at ease here, but he's even got his head tipped back and his eyes closed. Too nice of an afternoon.

Jackie on the other hand seemed to be in a constant losing battle against summer drifting away. At least she had learned to give in somewhat and give up her cut-off shorts that usually only left her shivering. There was a crunch of dried leaves under her beat up brown boots as she moved towards the park they had agreed to meet at. A black peasant skirt that ended around her mid-calf swayed with the movement. The compromise was the dark denim jacket she wore over a black cropped top that bared her midriff. A little give and take, Autumn. That was all she needed.

It wasn't hard to spot Ben, lounging back into the bench so peacefully. The crunch of leaves continued to give her away as she moved along until she was standing just behind him, close enough to peer down at his face and closed eyes. When she spoke she kept her voice low. She wasn't exactly sure why considering the few children on the play structure were making more than enough noise, but for a single odd moment it felt like a secret meeting between them that should be kept as low key as possible. "What's wrong? Did I keep yah out too long last night?"

There was something about it that felt secret, didn't it? Clandestine. He must figure it's her coming up behind him, and he doesn't open his eyes until she speaks. "No, just hard to sleep with a chest full of busted ribs," grinning up at her. "You're a real spitfire," breaking eye contact with her when he leans forward to retrieve a pretty nondescript notebook from the bag between his feet, then he's sitting back again. "Maybe that'll come in handy, though," whatever that means. "Good day so far?"

"If yer lookin' fer sympathy yah won't be gettin' it from me. I warned yah far 'nough in advance." Spitfire had her chuckling. "Y'sound like yer surprised." When he moves, she does as well. She swishes her way around the park bench to sink onto it beside him. A kick up of her boot and one leg it crossed over the other at the knee. "So far I ain't got no reason to complain." Was he trying to shift subjects? She wasn't going to let his comment slide so easily. "What's comin' in handy for what?"

He can't help but glance aside when she rounds the bench -- and while he never turns completely to look at her, and he's got the notebook open and had been paging through it for something, he's obviously looking at her if she's paying attention, because he pauses in turning pages, and his head is turned just a little bit in her direction. Bites his lip when she sits next to him, turns a couple more pages, and hands the notebook over to her. "I'll explain in a minute. But I want you to look at that first. -- you don't need to read it really, just..." Trailing off, shrugging. Ben's handwriting, neat enough, in all caps, lowercase letters just a smaller version of uppercase, has got to be at least sort of familiar to Jackie by now. But his isn't the only writing in there -- somebody else cuts in at some point, answering questions Ben had written, all in lowercase and obviously slanted left-handed, and then a third hand, sloppy, lowercase, lazy abbreviations. He's read it enough times though, so he's watching her instead, her reaction.

The look was hard to miss, but she does her best to let it slide by without making a big deal out of it. A simple smile which continued to linger in place. She wanted to focus on the conversation at hand, the notebook he was thumbing through. They would get no where if they started putting all their attention towards little looks and the stray touches that always seemed to pass between them. "Don't read it, jus' read it." Seemed easy enough. The notebook was accepted with both hands and settled on her lifted thigh. She sank back into the bench, her gaze trailing along the pages slowly. She wasn't a quick reader at all, no matter how indepth she was about it.

Ben's handwriting was easy to pick out, she knew it from his letters to Adam. It was the other handwriting that had her confused. Why would people be passing notes like this? But the names started to stand out. Sam. Harry. Ivan. Eyes slowly drifted wider and her shoulders hunched. Her expression shifted, hungrily taking in each of the passages before ending with a slow shake of her head. "This... how is this possible?" She looked aside at him. "Explain it all tah me, 'cause I don't wanna be wrong 'bout any of it."

He's reaching over to take the notebook back from her, shutting it before tossing it back into his bag. "I don't think there's a lot you can be wrong about. That's ... them." Sort of nonchalant about it, though he's slightly wide-eyed too -- though for him, it's more the excitement of it than any surprise. "There's not a whole lot to explain. I write something, I'll lose some time at some point, and after I wake up, I'll go to write something else, and sometimes there's something there I don't remember writing. It's not me, not my handwriting -- you could see that." He's getting up to his feet, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. Maybe he's got extra energy to burn or something. "I didn't know it was possible until a few days ago. Had no idea. I mean, sometimes I'll find little things I haven't written, but never to me -- not like that, not back and forth." Ted, from time to time, with his cryptic, childlike pleas of some kind, but that wasn't the same.

Her brows rise at how casual he says it, so stunned that the notebook is given up without a fight and her hands simply sink back down to either side of her on the bench. "Harry writes like he texts on the phone." It sort of made her sick to say it, to have to remember back to that point of time when getting a text from Harry made her so angry, but it was true. "So, y'can talk to 'em?" She's squinting, thinking about this while pushing to her feet. She wasn't sure where he was going, but there seemed to be no question that she would indeed follow.

"Yeah," he's kind of rolling his eyes. "He needs grammar lessons..." Of course, it didn't seem to bother him as much -- how could it? He saw the texts afterward, and of course he knew it upset her, but it was just so hard for him to grasp it, sometimes, the entire effect Harry had on her. "I guess so? I mean ... it seems like it, doesn't it?" There's something almost giddy in his energy right now, though it doesn't come through in his voice other than his tone being a little lighter than it usually is in conversations like these. "They don't seem like they're being too, uh... agreeable... but it's a start. This is huge, Jackie." Reaching over, a light touch to the back of her hand before starting toward the playground -- the swings, seemed like. When he goes on, his voice is a little lower, probably just because there are a couple of kids around. "I've been doing a lot of reading, and it looks like eventually, I won't even need to write it down, probably. I should be able to just..." Glancing over at her, tapping one of his temples with his index fingertip. "Do it all in here."

"Yeah." She's agreeing flatly about Harry and letting it go. It was her least favorite subject when it came to his boys. Somehow Sam was even easier to handle than Harry was. "Seems like it." Her tone is much more reserved than his, obviously still trying to process everything. And the touch to the back of her hand throws it all off. There's a glance down at her hand before she's looking back up to his retreating form. She followed after him, waiting until she was close enough to keep the conversation between them for her to speak. "So, what does that mean? Is this... a step towards makin' 'em go away? Makin' 'em stop takin' over?" She sank down into a swing without taking her eyes off him. Hands grasped the chains and the two of her boot digging into the ground to give her a little sway.

"I think... I think that if I wanted to make them go, this would be a first step to that. But right now, after everything that happened... I don't know." He takes the swing next to her, but he's keeping it still, and the fingers of one hand sort of fidget with the chain. "I'm pretty sure I'm not interested in doing that anymore, because I don't want to remember all of..." A vague gesture, sort of behind him, over his shoulder. His past, his childhood. "And if I can get everybody on the same page, then I won't have to, and things will still be really, really good. Life will be easier if they don't take over so often, and if when they do, I'm still there--" He needs to explain that, doesn't he? "I won't be missing so much. And Jackie, if I can get everybody talking and working together... I should be able to go home." He hasn't seemed this enthused about that prospect, this hopeful about it, well... ever. It looks good on him.

She gave a nod of understanding, remembering his explanation from before. "Right, gettin' rid of 'em might not be the way tah go." She dug her boot in further to make her swing move more, a gentle arc to and fro. Just enough so she could still easily keep speaking with him. "So, yer gonna work on talkin' to 'em. Make 'em not take over so much an' when they do... not all the way?" She was staring at him when he spoke of home and there was a smile playing along her lips. "Really? Holy sh*t, Ben. That's wonderful." And just as quickly as the words came out, the smile flattened. "But yah jus' said they ain't bein' agreeable?"

His own grin really isn't restrained at all, wide and crookedmouthed, and it doesn't disappear when hers does. "Yeah, but Jackie -- you've got to realize that I've been like this for years. Decades." Longer than she's been alive. "It's been three days. They're not going to just roll over and trust that I can handle everything after three days. But it'll come." It's almost matter of fact -- and it's got to be a little bit reminiscent of the last time Jackie was on the swings next to a Sullivan, how matter of fact Adam had sounded when saying that he knew Ben wouldn't forget about him.

"And right, not all the way. There's something called co-consciousness I read about, it's kind of like... I don't know, the best way to describe it maybe is like instead of being knocked out and tied up in the trunk of the car when somebody else is driving, I'll be in the passenger seat. --I mean, I haven't done that yet. It's just what I've read. But, uh... Sam said he'd be willing to try..." The way he trails off then, and the way he's looking at her a little too closely afterward, more obviously watching for her reaction -- he's trying to lead into something without saying it outright, that much is clear.

"Alright, alright. Yah make a point. Ain't a lotta change gonna happen in a few days. Though, I gotta say I'm impressed as hell by everythin' yah have done so far." It was genuine and came through in her tone. The similarities between Adam and Ben were obvious in that moment, especially on the swings. The possibility of Ben going home was enough to make her smile return, careful but there.

"That's a downright rotten waya explainin' it. I know it's accurate, but it don't make it very easy tah hear." She tipped her head against the chain of the swing, still watching him through her slow sway. "Sam is gonna let yah try ridin' shotgun?" She sounded impressed. "He's the reasonable one." That was even more mystified. The thought was rolled over in her head a little longer before she realized he was looking at her a little differently. Her head lifted from the swing. "Are y'lookin' fer my blessin', Ben? I mean, if he's gonna let yah do it then... I mean, I guess go fer it?" She looked more than a little confused now.

"Why's it rotten?" Kind of quiet about it, and he's leaning his head against the chain of his own swing, the one closer to her, head turned enough that he can still watch her. "If you ever think of a better way to describe it, let me know. I don't know how else to make sense of it." A little bit of a smile -- he's not offended or hurt by her calling it rotten, and he's not particularly apologetic about it, either. The more he understands all of this, the more he's able to work with it, the easier it is to talk about with her -- joke about, even. It's hard, to be serious about it all the time.

"Reasonable? I don't know. I think he thinks I'm just going to prove him right, not be able to handle it." Shrugging a little, glancing downward -- and then he's turning the swing 90 degrees to face her, letting the chains cross above him. "Your blessing? Kind of. I'm looking for your help." Earnest -- and there's that look again, too-blue eyes just a touch wide. It's not conscious this time around, and considering he's not doing it as a joke, it's more subtle -- and likely, actually effective, if Jackie's able to be swayed by things like that.

"Guess I jus' ain't much of a fan of hearin' someone I care 'bout talkin' 'bout bein' in a trunk. I know it ain't even close." She was lifting a hand to halt him before he tried explaining. "I was jus' sayin' is all. Like I said, I understand it's accurate soundin'."

The hand was replaced on the chain of her swing, another little pick-up push of movement. "Good tah know Sam is still an a*s." It wasn't his sudden movement that made her come to a stop. It was him saying he needed her help. The toe of her boot dug into the ground causing her swing to still. She was giving him a similar wide eyed expression, but for totally different reasons. "How in the hell am I gonna help with alla that? It sounds like it's strictly between you an' yer boys."

A little bit of stifled laughter, wry, when she mentions Sam being an a*s, but his expression doesn't change much, and he's actually leaning in a little closer to her. "This is a big change, you know? I don't know what it's going to really be like, how I'm going to feel after. So..." Trailing off, and he's pursing his lips for a second, dropping his gaze as he thinks of how exactly to phrase the request. It's only for a second though, and then he's meeting her eyes again. "It would be really, really good, I think, if the first time it happens, I'm with somebody that I trust."

She countered his lean with her own, tipping her head towards him and dropping her voice again. "This is what I don't understand. I thought they were 'round tah protect yah from the bad stuff? You check out, they start a shift. But... what're they protectin' yah from if yer right there watching it all sittin' next to 'em?" She gave a light frown. "I ain't tryin' to tell yah not tah do it, I'm jus' lookin' tah understand, mind you."

It was at his request when her brows slowly rose again. "Y'want me tah be 'round when yah let Sam take over?" It wasn't a no, just wanting to be clear.

"It's not always bad. Sometimes it's just ... I don't know. I mean, some of it was so I didn't have to go through the bad stuff. But think about it -- that's not what Harry is for, right? He's around ... I don't know why." He actually hadn't thought about it until now. Something clicks, but he just shakes his head a little -- that's something to think about later, so instead he just gives a more vague guess. "I never got in trouble when I was a kid for anything I did. But that's got to come out somewhere, doesn't it? --or think about Ivan. I never talked back when I was a kid. So he did for me." Pushes against the ground to push himself backward, and the momentum when he comes back carries him toward Jackie -- not quickly, and not very hard; his knee just brushes hers. "So I don't know if it's only to protect me from bad stuff. More like to do the things I can't do, handle the things I can't handle. So," and he realizes it's been a sort of rambling explanation to her question, and he's sighing at himself before continuing, "What I need to do is convince them that I can handle those situations now, the ones that maybe I couldn't when I was a kid. And maybe it's too much for me to be completely in control, or to have any say in what's going on, but we need to start somewhere, and letting me ride shotgun is as good a start as any." It doesn't sound like this is some compromise to him, like he wants to skip this step -- there must be a part of him that wonders if they're right and he really can't handle life altogether on his own, if it's better to check out, let the others take over. He's not hesitant at all, but he certainly seems to believe in the process, that he's got to take this a step at a time.

"And yeah, I want you to be around. And I don't... You know, I can't just let him. So, I guess, what I'm saying is, what I'm asking is... for you to push enough that he takes the wheel." Steady eye contact then.

Sunday, September 30, 2012 -- evening

It was becoming her new Sunday habit. Rise way too early, get dressed for church, then drive the two hour trip back home. As tiring as it was after her usual Saturday night habits, Jackie was finding it was oddly well worth it. Not only were her parents overjoyed to have her presence around more, but it made her feel extra helpful to drop off and pick up letters between Ben and Adam.

After lingering in Georgia for a short while with Chey, the girls hit the road. Once home Chey went about her business and Jackie was ready to go handle her own. In a few short text messages between Ben and Jackie she was on her way to the address he had written down for her the night before. She was still dressed in her Sunday's best, finding it just a little pointless to change at this time of day. It was a white lace dress that hit just at the knee, banded at the waist with a delicate gold belt. She even went so far as to fix her hair into curls, except by now the updo they were worn in was released so they could fall about her shoulders and back. It was with a steady thump of the cleanest pale brown cowboy boots that she had that she made her way to the door of Ben's new apartment. A deep inhale, a slow exhale, the leather purse hanging on her shoulder adjusted somewhat. Then when she found her nerves she lifted her fist to knock at his door.

Ben's been busy all day -- in the library, where he's been spending a lot of his free time, had been ever since he got here -- but that was a good thing. It served as a distraction away from the plans later in the day. He's actually just finishing up dishes after dinner when he hears the knock at his door; he knows Jackie is on her way over, but his heart's in his throat for a couple of seconds anyway -- or maybe it's because it is her that that happens at all. He leaves his dishes drying in the sink, dries his hands on a towel, and makes his way over to the door. No hesitation to open it.

"Hey," and he's smiling at her, though there's something just a little off in it. It's not quite shy, and it's not quite nervous, but it's hinting at both of those things. It's just standard Ben-on-a-weekend attire for him: jeans, a black tee, a half-zipped hoodie. And in contrast, of course, of course, she'd look pretty like she does on a Sunday, and for a second he's dumbstruck, just looking at her, but then he steps back from the door. "Come on in." There's a little entryway area with a coat closet; a few steps in is the kitchen on the right, open to the living room with a counter with a couple of stools at it to separate the rooms. On the left there's a short hallway that must lead to the bedroom and bathroom. The furnishings are pretty bare bones at the moment, just a couch and a little coffee table in the living room, really, but it's a start, and it's better than Lucie's, better than the Inn.

"Did you want a drink or anything? How was your drive?" He doesn't ask about it, and he doesn't take her chin in his hand like he had last night, but he is pretty obviously peering at the bruising on her cheek, even if she's covered it up well.

"Hey there." It's hard to stop a smile from gently spreading across her lips when he opens the door. Why does it feel like this is something different than what it really is? Maybe because it's the first time she's gotten to come to his place. Something so established and a huge step in the right direction for him. It's impossible to not be proud and delighted for him even if she's not looking forward to the reason she's here.

There's a nod of thanks when she steps inside. Her gaze sweeps the apartment and there's a nod of approval. "Nice set-up yah got here, Ben. Real nice place." A shake of her head followed. "No thank yah, I'm alright. But the trip was jus' fine. It was a lot better goin' with Chey."

The curls of blonde do well to cover her cheek, but when they brush aside with her movement he can see that she was true to her word last night. A little powder goes a long way. Although Jackie isn't one for heavy make-up on a day to day basis, she's managed to cover the bruise and with a touch of blush to the other side of her cheek it only makes her look like she has more color to her face than usual. You wouldn't really know it was there unless you were looking for it like he was. Since he was being so obvious about it she went so far as to gather her own hair and sweep it back from her face so he can get a good look. "I'll ice it later, alright?"

"It's not much right now, but ... I've got time to decorate. And there's a few weeks before hockey season starts to track down a TV, at least." Slipping his hands into his back pockets, shifting his weight back a little -- just lingering there in the entryway. He hadn't been nervous about tonight's plans before -- had been excited about it, really -- but that's because he wasn't thinking about actually going through with it. He'd only been focused on the progress. Maybe, too, he's almost feeling like her visit is something it isn't, like she's coming over just to visit, and not for the reasons she's really here.

After a couple of seconds more study of her cheek, he's clearing his throat, finally closing the door. "You'd better." It's an empty sort of threat without much weight behind it. "Or else I'm holding you down and icing it for you before you leave." That, at least, is followed by a quick little grin, and then he's turning and heading into the living room. "It's nice that Chey went with you. Which one of you spends more time in confession?"

"Yer doin' better than most folks. It's a good step, Ben. Nothin's gotta be perfect in a day. Though, yeah, please try tracking down that TV so I can have mine free when hockey season starts."

When he's done with the cheek inspection she's releasing her hair back down around her face. He was on the move and she was stepping out of her boots to leave behind little white socks. "With them handcuffs y'were talkin' 'bout?" Smirking lightly she followed along after him into the living room. "Depends on if y'meant today or in general. Today she won, but in general I think we're 'bout tied. Maybe I got a liiil' bit of a lead on her. Jus' a tiny one." Hand lifted, fingers pinched.

He was going to leave that one alone, maybe let himself be bolder in texts than in person (not only because it was easier to get away with, but because it was impossible to follow through on anything in the moment), but then she had to go and bring it up. "Maaaybe," drawn-out, and when he's taking a seat on the couch, he's grinning at her, and of course, it's the faintly arrogant variety.

"I guess that's probably what I would have guessed." A pause, "Except," mirroring her pinched fingers gesture, then holding his hands apart a couple of feet. "You know. Just a tiny one." Laughing a little, and then he's shifting the subject. "I think I'm going back to work this week. In a couple of days, probably. Did I tell you Harper's got me behind a desk now? I don't think I did." From the face he's making, he's not too excited about the job change.

If she was wise she would have left it alone, but no one ever said that Jackie was wise. There was a light chuckle at his drawn out reply, a gnaw to her bottom lip that was there and gone. She sank down onto the couch beside him. She probably could have has further away, but for whatever reason she didn't. Legs were crossed and the purse was shifted to sit on the other side of her.

"I ain't all that bad." Scoffing at the idea. She didn't sound like she was even managing to convince herself and her smile was wide. Maybe just a little proud. It was gone and her head tipped when he spoke of work. "Is that right? Look at you go, Ben. Got yerself a place, gettin' back tah the grind." There was a faint purse of her lips. "A desk job? Seriously? Fer how long?"

It's only a very, very small part of him that wishes she would have sat further away -- and that's the sensible part, the part that worries that it'll be even harder for him to keep his hands to himself when she's right next to him. Of course, that part is completely drowned out by the rest of him that's got nothing but positive emotion from her being close.

"Yeah, you are." Just a hint of a laugh in his voice, teasing her, even nudging her lightly in the arm -- not with his elbow, more just a very brief lean against her, his arm against hers for a second. Just a little more affectionate to do it that way. He's sobering a little when she goes on to ask about work, but he's shrugging about it, playing unaffected decently. "A couple of weeks? Not really sure. It sucks, but ... I mean, at least I still have a job. Bright side, right?" He's shifting a little, turning to face her a little more easily. Considering keeping the conversation going -- or asking her again if she wants something to drink, is sure she doesn't want some ice now, maybe put something in motion -- but he doesn't do either. He wants to just keep this visit a visit, keep it normal (as normal as things could be between them), friendly (or maybe a little more), but knows he shouldn't -- but can't bring himself to end this play at normalcy just yet. It's nice, for at least the moment, to pretend.

"Alright, maybe I am. Least I'm stickin' with what I know." She countered his lean with just a little of her own in return. Maybe it would have been better if she sat further away. The unfortunate thing was that she was worried about this visit, trying desperately to not let it show. It was one of those moments when she had to be strong to help him, but wasn't it a kick in the a*s that she found some of her strength from him?

"I'm sure she won't leave yah hangin' behind a desk fer long. Yah got too much experience an' it would be a goddamn waste to let yer skills go on sittin' behind a desk." You could scrub her down and put Jackie in a dress, but she was still her to the bone.

When he shifts she's watching him closely. There's a soft smile lingering on her lips, brown eyes moving along his blues and down along his features. Lingering at his lips. Being here with him alone was as easy as she thought it would be, meaning not at all. Especially not with what was awaiting them shortly.

She wants to talk it out, for him to tell her it's going to be okay. Maybe he would even accidentally sink his hand into her hair like he does when he's attempting to soothe her. Just something, anything. But that's not in the cards right now. She's breaking her gaze from his face with another glance around. "Y'know, maybe I will take that drink now. Jus' a little water though, please an' thank you."

It wasn't easy at all. It was actually really, really difficult. And yet, it's not an uncomfortable silence for Ben after he's turning toward her. When her focus drops, he can tell it's on his mouth instead of his eyes, but for a brief moment, anything negative he's feeling is gone. She's smiling, and so is he; any nerves he's still feeling are a good kind, anticipation -- and it's anticipation of spending time with her, not for the reason he'd told her he was asking her here tonight.

It's good that she's looking away, because it sort of breaks the spell (enough to refocus on the task at hand, anyway), and though he won't mention it, he's thankful that she's taking the initiative here. It's not that he can't, but he just really, really does not want to. He's biting his lip when she glances away, and he's shifting his weight back from her just a touch. Studying her quietly for a couple of seconds, and then he's letting out a short sigh, a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Sure. Yeah." It's just a quirk of a smile he gives her, fleeting, and then he's getting to his feet, heading across the short distance to the kitchen. It's not a large apartment -- it's on the small side, really -- but his heart thuds in his ears and the walk feels like forever, and so does getting a clean glass out of the drying rack in the sink, filling it with cold water from the tap.

When he agrees to grabbing her a glass of water she's looking back to him with a friendly smile, so casual. It was taking everything she had to look as relaxed as possible, to not let on to the mess of nerves that was running just below her skin. She didn't want to do this, not at all. But she told him she would and she was repeatedly promising him she would help in any way possible. He was making progress, he was taking steps, she couldn't be the one to halt it all.

When he was in the kitchen she was digging in her purse, an odd accessory she never carried. From it she withdrew a dark brown belt, the leather worn with use and age. Her head sinks when it's in hand, eyes closed, looking for the strength. She wasn't sure why he suggested this as a trigger, more importantly she figured she wouldn't want to know. It would make this even more difficult than it already was. It felt cruel to her, but she would apologize later when all was said and done.

She rose to her feet, folding the belt between her hands and grasping it tightly at the edges. It wasn't such an odd sight to see back home, a scare tactic many Mothers and Fathers used to keep the children in line. The idea that it was something Ben had to be protected from made her wince.

With a few more deep calming breaths she was moving towards the kitchen, white socks carrying her silently until she was in the doorway of the kitchen. What was she supposed to do? What would make it stick? She wasn't entirely sure, but she tried. "Ben." His name came out low, forceful, trying to get his attention with an edge. And when she did have his attention the belt was given a sharp snap, the beaten leather causing a crack in the small space. It rang and when quiet came, she did it again.

Ben had his bad moments, his cruel moments, his moments to maybe push a little hard, go over a line -- but not like that. Never like that. And he didn't enjoy it like Sam had.

His touch is gentle, careful, and while she's searching his face, he's still got his fingertips against her skin, a featherlight trace along her cheekbone. "You don't need to play tough, Jackie. I saw what happened." If there was any doubt left, there it goes. When she steps back, he does disentangle his hand from her hair, but then he's just reaching for her hand instead. That shake in his voice, it's there in his hands too, just a tiny tremble. He doesn't want her to go, not even for a moment, but he lets go of her hand after that brief squeeze and does take a seat like she'd suggested. "Could you? Just a glass of water." He pauses, looking away from her and sitting back, taking a deep breath and sighing, rubbing his hands over his face, pushing them back through his hair, folding them behind his neck. "There's a bottle of Jack under the sink if you want any." It's not a guilty admission -- if she does go for any, she'll find the bottle's still sealed.

There's a light frown when he calls out her obvious lie. Sure, she didn't go out of her way to be very convincing around him, but did he have to cause the walls to crumble so easily? She offers a quiet mumbled response. "I don't like 'im." Stating the obvious, but it said all she needed to right now. Her hand folds around his to guide him to the couch. One hand still on his, the other is shoving the belt into her purse and dropping it onto the floor at the side of the couch out of sight. When she's released she's nodding at him. "Of course." She's already on the move when he calls about the Jack. There's a pause in her step, but she continues on. "Haven't yah noticed I don't much drink 'round yah, Ben?" Technically, she did her best to not drink around him at all. It was difficult to tell someone they were doing the right thing with being sober when you had a glass of whiskey or a beer in hand. Cupboards clattered, the sound of ice followed by the faucet. A short while later she's walking out to the living room, back to the couch and extending the glass of water to him. It was only now obvious with the water in her grasp that her hands had a similar small shake going to them like his. She ignored it in her usual Jackie fashion and stood strong, extending the glass out to him.

He doesn't say anything right then in response to his calling her out on her lie. What can he really even say to that?

It's the sound of the ice clinking softly in the glass when she holds it out to him that gives it away. When he'd been holding her hand, he couldn't feel it with the way his own trembled, but then? He knew. He's taking the glass from her with both hands (and of course he's touching her in the exchange; like he can be bothered to even think about trying to avoid contact right now?) and after he drinks some, he keeps holding it between both hands. Keeps it a little steadier.

He considers talking to her about her not drinking -- because of course he's noticed, and he doesn't think it's right -- but not now. Can't do it now. And after a quiet moment, he's putting the glass down on the table and reaching for her hand again, regardless of whether or not she'd eventually sat down next to him. His gaze only travels far enough to find her hand, though; he's not looking at her face for the time being. "I know you don't like him," quiet. "I..." Does he apologize for what Sam did? He'd never been in that habit before. Why should it change now that he'd actually witnessed what happened when somebody else took charge? "I didn't think it'd be like that."

Of course there's contact, but much like him she doesn't have it in her right now to be offended, pull back, or wonder longingly about it in awkward silence. It was a touch and it was welcome. While he drinks she's still standing quietly in front of him, unsure of what else to say or do right now. Waiting in case he needs more or anything else.

It was when his hand finds hers again that she's turning to sink down onto the couch beside him, near the edge with her knees pulled together and her shoulders hunched. "I didn't think it would be either." She agreed in a similar quiet volume. "Though, I can't say I much knew what tah expect at all. I guess maybe I shoulda. But I didn't think of what he would do, what it would do tah you." He might not be looking at her, but she peers back over her shoulder at him. "I don't think either of us much thought it through."

He doesn't know she's looking at him, so even if he had it in him to try to keep the hurt off of his face -- a slight bite to his lower lip, brows drawing together -- he probably wouldn't have anyway. "No, I don't think we did. And that--" Finally looking at her then, and he fidgets with her fingers for a second, until his are laced between hers. "That, I'm sorry for. That I was so caught up in getting something done that I didn't think... I don't know. I think I thought it would be easy, that this was as good as fixed." Shaking his head, breaking eye contact again, but he's inching a little closer to her at the same time.

When his fingers lace between hers, she's curling her fingers over his hand in return without hesitation. "I ain't lookin' fer an apology, Ben. It took two of us to do this, so yah weren't in on it alone. I woulda rather been here anyway. Insteada someone else, instead of you by yerself."

His hand was lifted within hers. It might have seemed odd at first, but it was so she could sink back into the couch beside him. Her arm crossed up and over, drawing his arm around her shoulders. Even like this she didn't release him, just adjusting here and there so they were comfortable. "Everythin' don't gotta be fixed in a day. More than likely nothin' is gonna be fixed easy. But there's always time." Her voice was low, a lot of effort going into keeping it steady.

He lets her sink back next to him, position his arm around her shoulders. For at least a moment, he's more or less content like that, though he has started idly stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. The nerves had to come out somehow. "I know you mean that, that you wanted to do this." Wants to go on, say more -- about how it only made this a little better, that it was still so, so hard, to watch her be hurt, taunted, without being able to do anything to stop it -- but he can't find the words right then. Instead, he's just tipping his head to one side, his cheek pressed to her hair. "I know, I just--" That had started a little ... not quite panicked, but close. Frantic? But he catches himself, lets out a sharp sigh. "I know." A better approximation of calm. "It'll just take more time." There's a hint of a waver in his voice again, and he closes his eyes, squeezes her hand, like that can stop the little tremor in him. "Are you alright? Really."

"I ain't one tah do somethin' I don't believe in an' I believed in this. I still do, darlin'. Don't let what he said get tah yah. What good is some change gonna do fer him? No wonder he wants tah naysay it. But it don't mean it ain't possible with time." With his cheek settled against her hair she's letting her eyes slip shut again. Taking in how close he is, the caress of his thumb. Trying to focus on the good rather then the shudder in his body, the shake in his hands, the strain in his voice.

It's worse for a moment until he calms himself again. It only causes her to shift to burrow her frame a little closer to his. To tuck herself against his side for his sake as well as her own. Even her legs are being tugged up onto the couch, folded beneath her. She doesn't have to hold that strong stance anymore. Shoulders back, chest out, chin up. She wants to curl herself into a ball and simply get lost for a little while. "I'll be alright. Mah cheek is fine an' he didn't touch me other than that." It was the mental wounds that would take longer. Hearing those words come out of Ben's... not Ben's mouth. It was still so hard for her to make the distinction, but she couldn't punish him because of that.

She says she's okay, but the way she's letting her guard down, curling in closer to him, that betrays her. He knows the contact is part for his sake, but he's sure it's part for hers, too.

When she comes in closer, he's actually turning some, to face her a little more directly, and he's putting his other arm around her too, sinking his hand into her hair again, though it's still for now. He's not turning her to face him though, so his forehead just ends up resting against her temple. "I didn't mean the bruise, Jackie." Very quiet, but she should still be able to hear him; his mouth is inches away from the shell of her ear. "But we don't need to talk about it, about you. I don't want to talk about me, either." He'd been attempting to take a page from Jackie's playbook, just focus on her because it was easier than focusing on himself. He's a little slow to make the admission, because it's hard -- not hard to admit he doesn't want to talk about his own experience with what just happened, but that there's anything that needs to be talked about at all.

Same as he did before, when he moves she has a moment of panic that he's going to leave her and it causes her hand to tighten around his. But he's not, he's turning to her and there's that hand in her hair which has brought her comfort so many times.

"I know." In reply to his comment about the bruise. She was well aware, but thankful when he followed it up by saying they didn't have to talk about it right now. "Later." She assured him in another soft whisper. "Another time." Because she wasn't even sure how long it would take for what happened to be something she wanted to speak about frankly.

Her head's turning to meet his, the brush of her nose against his so she can bring her forehead to rest to his. "I do like yer apartment, Ben. Y'did real good. I'm proud of yah." It might have seemed like an odd shift in conversation, but that's what she wanted right now. A shift, no matter how sharp it had to be. Besides, she was proud of him, of what he did right. Maybe it could take focus off of what they both did that was so wrong.

"Another time," he's parroting, almost as quiet as her now; she can probably feel his voice in his chest as well as she can hear him at this point. He won't push. He doesn't want to talk about it either, not now -- and he didn't know either, how long it would take to get to the point where he will want to, or at least will be able to.

He's not pulling away at all when she turns her head, staying in close, keeping his forehead pressed to hers, keeping his eyes closed. "It's a start." There's a ghost of a smile, one she wouldn't be able to see considering how close she is to him right then. "Nothing to be proud of. Just trying to get to where I want to be, that's all." There's a flex of his fingers in her hair, fingertips barely brushing against the back of her neck. In this close to her, he wouldn't be surprised if she could feel his heart hammering behind his ribs, but he's trying to stay calm, trying to just savor the moment, behave (though what does that even mean at this point?) -- not think about what was right and what was wrong.

"I can be proud if I wanna be." Even this quiet, the words hold just a hint of that Jackie spark. "A start is good. Some people don't even make it that far." There's a slow, deep rise of her chest at the movement of his fingers but other than that she's staying in place. Mirroring him. Foreheads touching, eyes shut. It's another of those stolen moments, so similar to the one on the hammock so far back. When everything seemed to stop for just one night so they could mesh together and stay close.