hebeimmortalized | (no subject)

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people: jack vincent

(no subject)

Feb 17, 2017; late evening

Jillie takes a deep breath as she watches her brother's silhouette draw closer through the window. It's stupid to feel nervous, but she hugs Newt's coat tighter around herself. She certain Jack won't be angry at her, but it's as much the idea that she'll upset him at all that has her feeling a little sick.

Her makeup is a mess, and she can feel her cheeks drying stiff from her tears. She can imagine what will go through his head when he sees her, and braces herself when the door opens.

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"I'm fine," she says on autopilot. She needs it to be true as much as she's pretty sure it's true. She lets him pull her in, even though his hand is exactly where the guy's is, and the fresh bruise aches under the contact. Her chin trembles, tightens, and she leans into him as she sucks in breaths to try to keep from crying again.

"You're not fine," says Jack, because he can feel it as much as see it. He knocks the door shut and tugs her with him. "Where the hell is Dee? Who brought you home?"

"I don't know," she says, but that's all she says, because there's so much going on right now. She's moving, and Jack is talking, and he's talking really fast, and Jillie feels like she's going to start vibrating. She shudders a little and clings to him.

He is, he realises, not helping right now. He drags in a breath and forces himself to calm down, drops a gentle kiss into his hair.

"You're fine, Jillie," he says, softly. "I'm here. What do you need?"

She needs to get out of these clothes, she realizes. She manages to wait long enough to get to the nearest couch and she pulls him down onto it, fingers digging at the straps of her shoes.

"H-he came out of nowhere," she says, tugging at the buckle. "I was walking home, and he was just— just there. Newt hit him; I lost Girl."

"I've got them," says Jack, going down onto one knee and starting to work on the fiddly buckles. He drops them on the floor once he gets them undone. Poison's out seeing Krem, so they're home alone. "Newt hit him. Good. Did he...are you okay?"

A wave of sickness goes through him at the thought of anything happening to her.

"He didn't do anything," she says. The words settle something inside her, and she stops feeling like she's going to fly apart. She shrugs out of Newt's jacket, rubbing her arms. "He just grabbed me, he said things." She takes a shaky breath and reaches, fumbling, looking for Jack's phone. "Dee doesn't know where I am. I didn't see her when I left the club." She needs to call her, or something.

"Where's yours? Did he take it?"

Jack takes his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans and unlocks it, holding it out to her without even thinking about it. His wallpaper is a shot of Poison in bed, tousled and smiling but, thankfully, mostly decent.

She shakes her head. "I think it's in my coat. I think I left it at the club." She's pretty sure she doesn't have to explain that she left in a hurry, or why. So she doesn't. She just thumbs through his contact list until he finds Girl, then texts her.

im home, she taps. left my shit at the club. Then, belatedly, this is jillie. She sets the phone down and pushes her face into her hands.

"I just wanted some air," she says, frustrated. "He came out of nowhere, said I don't dress like this if I don't want attention." She shudders to remember, and starts to scratch at her arms where he'd grabbed her.

"Jillian, don't."

There is this tone of voice that Jack developed when Jillie first started getting sick, when her behaviour first seemed odd. For a while, she was too sick to be told, but it's coming back now, a little, now that she's stablising. He doesn't try to pull her hands away, but he does curl his fingers around her wrists. He does hold on.

She stops scratching, but keeps her hands there as she breathes. "I was dancing with Newt," she adds. The story exits her as disjointedly as it exists in her. "I didn't realize he was him, at first. He was alone, and I felt good, and—" She reaches up to rub her face, then curls her hand around Jack's wrist without losing his hand on hers.

"But it got too much. I left, I just— I left." She'd left Girl, and she'd left her stuff, and everything had turned to shit.

"You're safe now," he says, quietly, holding her hand gently, dropping a kissing into her hair. "And Newt punched that asshole in the mouth, so...good for him." He arches an eyebrow, trying to distract her. "Dancing with Newt, huh?"

She huffs weakly, rubbing her face before driving her fingers back into her hair. "I don't know. It was stupid. I'm fucking stupid." Her sigh is shaky when she breathes it out, and she realizes with sudden clarity that her skin hurts from where she'd sat on the cold ground. She looks down at her thighs and picks the tiny shard of glass from it, brushes grit and drying slush off her. "I need to shower," she says, a little urgently.

"Do you need me to come?" asks Jack, eyebrows raised. "I'll do anything you need, Jillie. You know I will."

She swallows, and for a moment, everything inside her says yes, please. But it passes, and she closes her eyes. "Maybe sit outside the bathroom? Or. On the toilet, or something, I don't— I don't know." She doesn't know what she needs, right now, other than to get clean, to get that man's stink out of her nose.

"I'll sit on the toilet once you're in," he says, squeezing her hands and then getting up, tugging her up to her feet. Nudity has never exactly been an issue for them, but he feels the need to be careful with her. "I'll be right there."

She nods. Her feet feel better out of those shoes, even though she loves those shoes. She moves closer to him and just sort of leans against him for a moment, Newt's coat forgotten on the couch. She takes a breath, breathes in her brother's scent. He's always been there. His scent is perhaps the most comforting thing in the world, and she takes a moment to let it wash into her, cleansing her from the inside. By degrees, her shoulders unclench, and she leans her head on his clavicle, wraps her arm around his waist, and lets him lead her to the bathroom.

Once there, she strips down, with no regard for his presence, and starts the water. She feels heavy with exhaustion, suddenly, and once she's under the too-hot spray, she simply sinks down to the floor of the tub, letting it sluice over her head and shoulders.

Jack barely even notices when Jillian gets naked; they grew up in each other's pockets, and there's nobody on earth who knows him as well as she does. He sits down on the toilet cistern and he doesn't say anything, he just sits and lets her know that he's there.

After awhile, the steady presence with her in the bathroom encourages her to stand, and she scrubs herself. By then, her skin is pink where the water's been hitting it, and it feels good to move it elsewhere. She turns the water off and grabs one of the towels nearby, wrapping it around herself so she can step out. She's scrubbed her makeup off, and her hair is a crazy wet mess around her head. It's grown a bit since she's come here. It's almost long enough to start tying into pigtails.

She uses the hand towel to wipe the mirror off. The bathroom is heavy with steam; she looks at Jack and leans against the counter, watching him. Her biceps have bruises where she'd been grabbed, and she looks exhausted, but otherwise better.

"Thank you," she whispers.

"Jillie, where else would I be?" he says, quietly. "C'mon. Bedtime. PJs. Extra blankets. And then you can tell me about dancing."

She nods, and she brushes her teeth, combs her hair a little better, and then wanders out of the bathroom to do all of that. Because, really, snuggles in her bed with her brother sound like the absolute best medicine right now.

While Jillie's getting herself ready for bed, Jack pads up to his bedroom at the top of the house and changes into his own pajamas, brushes his teeth. He comes back down and sprawls on Jillie's bed, watching her move around her space.

Her room has been slowly gaining color, decor, and a life of its own. Presents from her new little family have ended up on the walls and on her desk or dresser. Her night stand has her sketchbook and a handful of loose pencils. More are scattered along the floor underneath it, and there's a line of dirty clothes that she hasn't bothered picking up.

The towel joins it after she's got panties and a tank top on, and she belatedly pulls her pajama pants up before climbing onto the bed and sidling close.

"I didn't know you and Kavinsky were doing the thing again," she says. Her voice is soft, even though they're alone and don't really need to whisper.

Jack wraps his arm around her waist, automatically tugging her in against him, his chin against her shoulder.

"We're seeing how it goes," he says, softly. "He wants to date, this time? I don't...We'll see how it goes. How Poison goes."

"Does P not want you to?" she asks. It feels better, easier, to focus on this than her own shit, especially now that she's clean and home and comfortable.

"P's okay with it in theory. Him and Kavinsky don't get along that well. I think they're too similar, underneath it all." He lets out a sigh, a little puff of air. "It'll all figure it's way out in the end. I'm just trying not to hurt anyone."

She nods quietly. After a time, she shifts so she's curled against him, head on his shoulder.

"Make sure I call my therapist in the morning," she murmurs. She wants to make sure she doesn't forget.

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