Jacie and Tommy

Hey,

Hope y'all are doing good this year! Rest assured that I'm constantly writing five times the amount of smut I post, but most of it stays in drafts because hhhhhhh. Think of this one as a standalone in the Reconnaissance universe!

...

"You're mad at me."

He looks up, flustered, and stands with his hands pressed into his back.

"I wouldn't say that. I don't want to be around you right now, but... no. You're okay."

I nod and can't prevent the smile from splitting my face. "Alright, for a minute I thought I was better off dead."

He rolls his eyes and bends to swing his bag back over his shoulder. "I'll be back in a day to rewrap everything. Try not to rip yourself open again til then."

I shrug, then think. "Ah, hold on real quick."

He's headed towards the door. "No."

"For real! Just toss me a water bottle from the cabinet so I don't have to get up."

He eyes me, and I do my best to look sincere and unamused. I am sincere. I'm never not amused, though.

He reaches into the cabinet over the sink and tosses a water onto the couch next to me. "I need to get the real doctors in residency at the clinic so I can get off invalid duty."

I just nod, instead of telling him jeeringly how good he's gotten.

"Go to sleep or something, Jack. And stay put."

...

I do stay put, for hours. Until I have to pee, and then I hobble to the bathroom and back, wincing at the pulling of stitches. I won't take anything until it's bad enough that I can't sleep, though... I watched Thomas tackle and drag that man out of Jessie's house myself before he beat him to a pulp, but I still feel like I need to be on alert for the rest of the week, until he's transported to the state prison.

"Hell on two legs."

"FUCK-" My mind registers his dry, somber voice but my body still launches me off my feet and almost back into the hallway behind me. He's leaning casually against the kitchen counter, a basket beside him.

"Exactly what you get for dragging yourself around the house when I told you not to."

"Would've had a hard time getting the piss out of the couch if I stayed, so I unfortunately had to disobey direct orders."

Tom nods, watching me ease myself back down to the couch. "My mom sent dinner."

"Ms. Fetty knows I already have a fridge full, she brought me groceries herself."

"I'll tell her you sent it back."

"Fuck, Thomas, why are you such an ass today?"

"I'm an ass every day."

"No. You're usually just a dick. What's going on?" I wish I could turn a bit more to see him, but I'm already sore and tired.

"Nothing out of the ordinary, Jack. Just tired of watching you be the most irrational person I've ever had the misfortune of knowing."

"You know stupider, and I know it," I grin over my shoulder.

"Stupider than grabbing a knife with bare hands? Stupider than taking three stab wounds and going back for more? Stupider than that?"

"Sure. Remember, just last week Dana Veretta drove from south to north Westhook Road with her left blinker on the entire time. Real dumb."

"Jackie."

"What, Tommy?" The disembodied voice act is getting old real fast, so with a grunt I finally swing my legs up on the couch and turn sideways to watch the storms roll across his face.

He just stares me down, fists still shoved deep in his pockets.

"You know if he had gotten to Jessie she wouldn't have survived it."

"He wasn't after Jessie."

"That motherfucker came out here to track her down and take the kid. And it would've been over her dead body."

"Jackie, I was right next door."

"It wouldn't have mattered if goddamned Jackie Chan was next door, you saw that man, Tommy. So no, I'm not sorry."

"I didn't ask you to apologize, I want you to acknowledge it was stupid."

I feel my eyes narrow at him, and I know the exact words to say to get him off my back. Words that could sting, but not for more than a few seconds.

I sigh. He might not come back to change my bandages if I mouth off. "Well, maybe I'll reconsider my go-to course of action next time somebody's bastard ex-husband waltzes in with a blade out."

"That's all I'm asking."

"Well. Bring the food over here so we can eat."

"What made you think I was eating with your sorry ass?"

"The fact that your momma packs two of everything, genius, now come on and nag me about what we're gonna watch."

...

"Stop whining."

"I didn't say anything."

"Stop literally whining, you're whimpering. It doesn't hurt that bad."

"Tommy I'm gonna slash you up and see if you feel the same way during your extensive healing process."

He tugs one of the bandages tighter around my upper arm and I wince, but stop the whisper of noise from escaping my chest. He smooths his hand over my arm.

"Shirt."

"It's not a button up, I need help."

He leans forward and lifts the hem over my head. "Wanted to make my life more difficult today?"

"You wanna do my laundry? Only have a couple of those and they got too blood-soaked to keep wearing."

"Maybe if you sat still and rested like I told you, your blood would stay in your body."

I want to retort, but again I'm just too tired. I shrug my bra straps over my shoulders and hunch forward for him to start unwinding the old bandage.

When he's done, he tips me backward to look at the shallow cut on my stomach, smoothing his fingers over the torn and ragged skin. I feel my breath flutter and ignore it, but fingers ease over the spot again, seeking.

"That hurt?"

"Nah I'm good."

"I told you Taj won't charge you for a gabapentin refill."

"Yeah you did," I say, eyeing my shirt instead of the hand still laid across my stomach. "Help me put my shirt back on?"

He starts a load of laundry for me, saying he'll be back before dark to switch them out. I wonder idly how much trouble I'd be in if I did it myself.

I really should probably start doing what he says. He's got enough trouble teaching his students, and now he's down one teacher.

...

"You should be good for around the house stuff, just don't overdo it."

"Yes! Fina-fucking-lly." I stretch and stand, wincing at the tightness of my healing skin.

"That, Jack, that's overdoing it. Don't do anything to pull yourself apart."

I nod, and put my arms back down. "Well, I can cook now. You want food? I wanna make biscuits."

"I- sure." He looks down at the discarded stitches on the towel before him. "Put your shirt back on."

"What, you don't wanna see your handiwork? Got some cool scars."

I laugh while washing my hands at the sink, only because I can't see the seething, withering look he's probably giving me through the wall. After the biscuits are in the oven I go back for my shirt.

"You're not sanitary."

"Nope." I relish clothing myself, and pop my head out of my collar with a smile. "What you doing the rest of the day?"

"Showing Rispah the compacted soil near the falls, and then... well for the past few weeks I've been checking up on you, but now I'm free."

"Okay, well you're free to come watch the first season of Midsomer Murders with me later."

"Again?"

"Only if you want to. It's the best one."

"The second season is the best."

"How do you know, you slept through most of it!"

"If you know that, why are we watching it again?"

I consider this. "You pick what we watch."

"I didn't even say I was coming over."

I scrunch my face in displeasure, but shake it off and shrug. "Up to you."

Tommy smiles then, one of his rare conniving ones. "Don't act all nonchalant now, Jackie. You enjoy my company, right?"

I feel my face heat slightly, but I power through. "Immensely."

He considers, blusters, then recovers and rolls his eyes. "Okay, Jack, you can turn off the charm. We can watch your stupid 80s murder mystery TV show."

"What charm? You think I keep you around for my health?" He looks pointedly at my patched up arms and I roll my eyes. "The last few weeks not withstanding."

"Well, I'm a good person to know. Everybody says so."

He stands and starts his little shuffling departing dance. I suck my teeth and nudge his shoulder to stop him as he looks around for his keys. "Tommy, you know people like you for more than what you can do for them, right? I like you for more than what you do."

He scoffs with a sardonic little smile. "Okay, Jack. Probably my winning personality."

"That's probably it, yeah." A real chuckle comes out of him and I pull him into a hug, even though I feel my shoulder stretch in a way that makes me flinch.

Thomas flinches too, rigid until he gently and awkwardly folds an arm around me in return.

"I know you don't like hugs, I just don't know any other way to show you your value as just a person."

"You're making me biscuits."

"You're not staying to eat them."

"I could."

"You're gonna fly out that door as soon as I release you."

He sighs. "I am."

I let my arms drop, and a second later he does the same. He lifts a hand and tamps it down on my head, and laughs at my face. I have a tray full of bread a little while later, but he's long gone.

...

"Jack."

I look over at him, but his eyes never stray from the screen, so I turn my head back to the TV too.

"What."

"When you said..." he takes a breath, "People like me as a person, right? Even if I didn't do so much around town?"

"I sense an important question with a lot of underlying meaning coming up."

"Sh- hush. Do you think- well not do you think, but... yeah no, do you think anyone thinks of me as more than that?"

This is the most vulnerable I've ever seen him. So of course, I provide comedic relief. "More than a person? Like a demigod?"

He sits and stares, silent and waiting for a real answer.

"Okay, Tommy, well... yeah? You're a good-looking man, of course there's gonna be people who would like more with you. Rest assured."

He nods to himself, focusing entirely on the TV again, and good God, he's adorable. Little frowny face contemplating potential crushes in the village.

We make it through two episodes before his snoring gets too loud to bear, and I shoo him on his way. Last thing I need is him plaguing my morning with nagging announcements that I can reduce scar tissue with the temperature of my morning shower, or something like that.

...

"You're wearing a coat."

"It's cold?"

Thomas narrows his eyes and shuffles up beside me on the way through the gates. "You've been awfully... docile. Since you got hurt."

"I- what?"

The dust of the road kicks up slightly as we pass through the courtyard. "Not like..." he looks at me again. "You know what, yeah. Docile. I was gonna apologize and say that wasn't it, but it is. You listen to things I say."

"Thomas, you bitch-"

"Like when I told you yesterday to wear a damned coat on your first day back to classes. Didn't think you'd actually listen."

"Oh my god."

He reaches to turn the door handle. "I'm right, aren't I? The healing process taking up too much energy for you to constantly be at odds with me?"

I all but rip the coat off, despite the room being just as cold as outside without all the people to warm it up. "Sure."

He laughs, making his usual checks of the room, and lets me stalk to my own room in peace.

Five minutes later he pops his head in. We have a bit of time until students start strolling up.

"Everything as you left it?"

I nod. It feels nice to be back, and I say so. He smiles at that, and I notice immediately how it affects me. Little rolling jumps in my nervous system. Which is.... is troubling the word? It's just Thomas. It's been Thomas, for a long time now.

"Get out, Tommy, I'm prepping to try and keep all these people off the topic of my stab wounds when they get in here."

"That'll be hard, considering the shirt you wore."

I look down and yes, the barely-healed scars are wrapping around my arms and trailing across my chest where my short-sleeved shirt doesn't cover them.

"Ah. Didn't think about that."

"You want one of mine? Got spares in the closet."

I grin up at him. "Tommy, you tryina set people's tongues to wagging, ain't you?"

He rolls his eyes and smooths a hand over bushy red hair. "Like they'd believe that."

I don't have time to respond as students start filing in, but if I did, it wouldn't have been my usual laugh.

Everybody whispers more than outright asking me about what happened, at least until we get out onto the field. I go over to help one of the smaller ladies string her bow, but she snatches it away, going shy.

"Sorry Jackie, I uh.... I'll get Bart to do it, I don't wanna..."

I raise an eyebrow as she turns around to thrust her bow at the lanky teenager next to her.

I walk on, chuckling. "I'm pretty patched up, Callie, but sure, let me know if you guys need help."

Throughout the lesson, the students step up, boguard, and commandeer the things I usually do, so that I'm stuck calling out commands. When we're finally back inside the classroom, I perch on the front of my desk and study them instead of taking out the foraging lesson for today.

"So I'm not too sure what was going on out there, but I think some of you... possibly all of you... have been led to believe that one strong gust of wind is going to blow me over now. Is it the scars?"

A lot of vehement 'No's echo throughout the classroom, but a considerable amount don't make eye contact or noise.

I sigh. "Okay. Probably should've led with this, right? Who knows what you all have heard the past few weeks."

I sit more fully on the chair. "A man came into town looking to attack a woman and take their child, who he lost custody over a few months back. I happened to be at her house at the time, and decided to take on the attacker. I was slashed at several times, and as you can see, a good deal of the strikes landed."

"I heard you got stabbed too," Gerrault says from the back row, to a renewed murmur from the class and several other hands.

"Probably not as bad as you've heard. I grabbed the knife handle and somehow it didn't do too much damage." I raise the hand, now healed from the long ugly gash across it. "Thomas came in right after, I got thrown through a wall, it was a whole thing. But as you know, the man was apprehended. SO. When I tell you all that I'm fine, you can believe me. Never fight close combat if you have the chance to run though. It's always a bad gamble."

Gerrault pipes up again. "But Jackie, Thomas is the one who told us to-"

"SHH," from Ivy, the student next to him and the youngest in the class, at 12. And Gerrault listens.

I nod, the situation beginning to take shape. The class is deathly quiet now, enough that I hear Thomas' confident voice echoing from the other classroom down the hall.

"Alright. Everyone to page 256, we're talking about Queen Anne's Lace."

...

After I've shooed everyone out into the now-blazing afternoon, I take measured steps down the hallway to Thomas' room. He's erasing the board, latin words disappearing only to be replaced with different, longer and more confusing ones for tomorrow.

"Why are my students coddling me under your direction?"

He stops mid-swipe and sets the eraser down, caught. "Look, Jack-"

"And why did they feel it was supposed to be a secret? You know I would've taken anything you said into consideration, even if it was about, I dunno, taking it slow on the first few days back."

"Jackie-"

"Thomas, I feel stupid and irrational, and I'm neither of those things."

I'm waiting for anything. An apology, a defense. He just stands there, though, traces of guilt flickering around his eyes.

"Okay. I'm out, I'll see you tomorrow." I turn around and leave, strolling all the way back to my house and trying to leave the instinctual anger behind on the road before I walk through the door. It works, kind of, and I'm only frustrated and contemplative when I arrive.

Why did he feel that was okay? I know he's the closest we have to a medical professional in the village right now. But I don't need doctoring anymore, and they can only suggest that their patients do things anyway, not interfere in their lives, right?

He's just a dude who knows a lot of stuff. No hippocratic oath, just first aid knowledge and a streak of stubbornness from the gods. I gotta set those boundaries myself, I guess. Which I did. I think. At least I let him know he hurt my feelings? That's something I think Thomas does care about.

The next day is still comprised of a lot of students skirting around my helping hand. At archery again, fifty-five year old Paulie is shyly edging his undrawn bow away from me and I've had enough. I grab it, ease it out of his hands, and stand from where he's been squatting. The other students look over as I blow five short, sharp notes from the whistle around my neck.

I walk to the end of the line and pick up one of Gerrault's arrows.

"Ms.-"

"Shh."

It sinks into the middle of the target. And I proceed down the line, eventually not stopping, just slowly strolling and grabbing an arrow from each of their quivers to make a satisfying bullseye in each target. At the end of the line I stand, scars tingling, but with no pain and a full range of motion.

"If I have to ask you all again to treat me the way I ask to be treated - normally - you are not going to get where I want you to be this semester. When I say I am capable, it's because I am. I don't want the opinion, suggestion, or demand out of someone else's mouth clouding what I say, however well-meaning they may be. If you feel differently, you do not need to attend my class."

I meet the eyes of every single one of them who aren't staring directly at the ground. I love these people. And I want to throw Thomas through a wall.

"Go ahead and retrieve your arrows, session's over for today. Quiz on the phrases from the beginning of the chapter when we get back inside, and then I want you all to enjoy your weekend."

I hear Thomas' footsteps coming down the hall while I'm two paces from the front door, and instead of waiting I gun it home, thankful that he's not in the mood to chase me down with his stupid, lengthy rubber band legs. I drink the bottle of wine I'd been saving for when I finally got off pain meds and lumber around my house, dancing to a 2000s trap playlist and then crashing on the couch. It's nice to get back to normal.

Saturday morning, I'm running the mop down the halls, figuring it's the least strenuous cleaning I could do since I don't have to bend to wring it out with the spinny bucket thing Rispah got me last Christmas. To think I was a little put off by it at the time... I need to go hug her.

I round the corner, envisioning the mop as a racecar that's passing on the inside of a bunch of other racecars, and lift my head to the door opening. I then question why I ever gave Tommy a key, death's door or not.

When his eyes meet mine, I stand straight, eyes level and warily clutching the mop.

"If you're about to yell at me, I want you to know I ran through all the things I wanted to do around the house, and this seemed the least demanding."

He shuts the door behind himself. "Well, considering the 'vroom vroom' noises you were making, I'd say you were right."

"Ah. Damn."

"So you really took showing off the 'cool new scars' to heart, huh?"

There's humor and curiosity on his face, and as he strolls into the kitchen with his mom's usual basket of goods, I remember my lack of shirt.

I shuffle in behind him, picking up my discarded tee from the back of one of the dining room chairs where I chucked it.

"Oh nah, it's just itchy with it on. Think I'm healing."

He turns around, a crease between his eyebrows as I ease my arms through the sleeves. "Healing or infected, Jack? Hold on."

He has me sit down and take the shirt off all over again, and I know I'm winded and slightly sweaty from running around the house with the mop, but he starts prodding at me anyway.