Killian Jones | Captain Hook (onehandedpirate) wrote in blackpoint, @ 2014-01-02 11:56:00 |
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Entry tags: | captain hook, mad hatter |
Who: Jefferson & Killian Jones
When: Jan 2nd, afternoon.
Where: Jefferson’s house.
What: Man-pain. We'll stop spamming now I swear. Probably.
Rating: PGish.
Jefferson was sneaking into his own house like a man intent on thievery. He was fully aware of how ridiculous that was, but he was damn well doing it anyway. His interview had gone well and he’d secured a tailoring job, so his first instinct had been to celebrate. With Grace at her tutors for the afternoon, his thoughts had naturally shifted to Killian. But that also meant his thoughts had naturally shifted to Killian. New Years Eve wasn’t often far from his thoughts no matter how hard he tried to shove it into some dark corner. It wasn’t that he was embarrassed, though the flush he felt every time he let himself relive that night was definitely on the mortifying side of things. It was more a sense of bafflement as to how to proceed. It had been an insanely long time since he’d had to deal with this problem and the last person had been the mother of his child. That wasn’t to say he’d been a monk since he lost her, because he hadn’t, not in the Enchanted Forest anyway. He was just terrible at no-strings-attached. Awful, really. And he wasn’t deluded enough to think he could ever treat Killian as such, anyway. The problem, outside of the whole adjusting to the fact that he was attracted to a man and his best friend at that, the problem was that Jefferson was a bit terrified. A lot terrified. For a long list of reasons. So there he was, climbing in his own bedroom window and listening at the door long enough to feel somewhat comfortable that he was alone in the house before he finally creeped down the hall into the kitchen and started a kettle of water to boil. The tension in his shoulders finally started to ease as the kettle piped steam out of its spout and he poured water into a mug for tea. Killian had heard the soft noises of someone sneaking into the house, and had attached his hook without any hesitation. He’d been comfortable, resting on the couch and just staring at the bloody ceiling for what seemed like hours, trying to figure out his course of action or next step while having the house to himself for a time. The noise had started him into full consciousness, though it took him some time and a little bit of stalking to actually confirm it was Jefferson and not a burglar. Which left him with his next thought; he was being avoided. Killian had no other reason to suspect Jefferson would sneak into his own house in the middle of the day, unless it was to avoid him. That thought alone was enough to keep him quiet for a few, long minutes. From his dark spot in the corner of the living room, back pushed up against a wall, he watched his best friend go about the motions of making tea. He was tempted, very tempted, to take Jefferson’s same route back upstairs and do his own sneaking out, but he wasn’t one for running away from a fight that had been lingering around him. Not that this was a fight. Killian had enough self-preservation to not want a friendship destroyed. Not in the name of romance. He could, begrudgingly, agree to continue on as they have been as long as it meant things would go back to normal. No more sneaking about, no more awkward glances and avoidance tactics. It was easy for him to admit that Jefferson was the one person he wanted to keep in his life. Which was the one thought that had him moving forward, into the light. “Not going to offer me a cup, mate?” Jefferson was fairly sure his heart stopped. He was half a second from turning to pull a tea bag out of the pantry when Killian’s appearance and “greeting” made his whole body jerk in surprise. Thankfully, he didn’t drop the cup of hot water in his hand, or worse, dump it all over himself. Though, he supposed, that would have been fitting. A few droplets had shot out over the edge with his spasm but landed harmlessly on the floor. “Shit,” he hissed, setting the mug down on the counter as quickly, and carefully, as he could. “You scared the--what the hell, Killian? Were you hiding in a closet or something?” Jefferson had enough grace to look ashamed. Sneaking into the house was one thing. Finding out the reason you snuck into the house might have watched the whole sad, sorry debacle was another. Dragging a hand over his mouth, he closed his eyes for a second and tried to pull together some semblance of dignity. “I mean...hi? Care for a cup?” he tried again when he finally dropped his hand and opened his eyes, the embarrassed scrunch of his face turning his mouth into a muppet-like frown. Killian wasn’t really in the market for embarrassing his friend over this topic, but he couldn’t help the Really, Jefferson? look that displayed clearly across his face. His footfalls were heavy as he walked closer to the kitchen, but it was still obvious to a keen eye that he was keeping his distance. He was torn between being understanding and frustrated, both emotions he was keenly familiar with. The rogue pirate image he liked to convey was often locked firmly away when it came to people he actually gave a damn about. “Nay, merely thought the house was being burglarized. When I discovered it was you, well, I suppose I figured you had a good enough reason to be sneaking into your own house.” Killian leaned against the open doorway, trying his best to look casual. When you were clad in leather and had a hook attached to one arm, that was a near impossible feat. “If you’re sneaking in for my benefit, mate, don’t. I’m capable of making myself scarce.” He never had been very good at small talk that didn’t involve flirting. If Jefferson thought he’d felt shame a few seconds ago, it was tenfold now. There was something about a serious Killian Jones that made it impossible to be dismissive or cavalier, two things Jefferson was generally talented at being to keep people at a distance - where he liked them. Gripping the counter, he dropped his gaze to the mug of water in front of him and blew out a long breath. “I didn’t…,” he shook his head and straightened, his face forging into a grim, sad-eyed set without his knowledge. “It’s not like that.” It wasn’t an explanation or an apology, but there was an unspoken plea hidden in those words, and in the way he glanced over at Killian with his shoulders slumping and his brow furrowed. “The last thing I want is for you to leave, okay?” That quiet admission was closer to an explanation and so honest it left Jefferson feeling suddenly, painfully vulnerable. Unfortunately, when Jefferson felt vulnerable, it made him angry, which was the reason his face darkened as he pushed away from the counter and moved to jerk open the pantry unceremoniously. “I just don’t know what to say to you right now.” “And what I want, is you.” That confession came out softly, but it was dark and pointed. But damned if he was moving from his spot - he needed a lot more than Jefferson’s anger and non-apologies to move. He needed Jefferson to want it, and he couldn’t force that. Nothing they did was ever destined to be easy, but Christ, Killian wasn’t expecting to be the mature one. He lifted a hand up and ran it across his mouth, down-turning his eyes away from Jefferson. “Right,” Killian sighed. “You’re damned important to me, mate. All these years, you’ve kept me grounded. Kept my head on.” He couldn’t stop the apologetic smirk that came with that line. “I can’t lose that. If anything more than what we’ve always had means I’m pushing you away, it’s not worth it. I’m going to back off, to do what you wanted in the beginning and pretend it didn’t happen. We were drunk.” He matched Jefferson’s furrowed brows with his own sad and pathetic look. “Anything, if it’ll keep us from doing this awkward dance. You don’t need to know what you want, because I’m not going anywhere or pushing anything from now on.” Jefferson kept his back turned, seemingly still focused on staring into the pantry, but it didn’t take a keen eye to notice his grip tighten on the door and his back tense up. His eyes drifted shut as he listened to Killian speak. That much honesty was hard for him to swallow. Anytime he was too honest or stopped holding people at arms length for even a second, someone got hurt. At least, that’s the way it ended up feeling when his few attempts to connect were either terribly executed or eventually tragic. The part about ‘keeping him grounded’ hit Jefferson the hardest, since he may as well have been the one speaking. Well, that and the promise to back off. Maybe it was all in his head, but their friendship had always seemed to have a teasing ‘what if’ undercurrent and without it, he had to wonder if the damage was already done. After an uncomfortably long silence, he finally shut the cupboard and turned to lean a shoulder against it. “How is it that you’re so sure about what you want?” he murmured, his hands lifting slightly with opened palms. “I’m a mess. And I’m damn sure not Milah.” Immediately regretting that statement, Jefferson grimaced. “That’s not--what I mean is, I’m a mess. I’m stumbling through the process of reconnecting with a daughter I haven’t seen in nearly thirty years and about the only constants I have in my life are you and the stubbornness of Swan. So…yes, perhaps I am a bit awkward at the thought of taking that kind of risk. I can’t, I actually cannot afford to lose you. I lose the people I care about and I become someone else entirely.” He slowly pushed away from the pantry, looking tired and more than a little defeated. “That’s why it’s better if I don’t let anyone in,” he finished lamely. Killian winced, not speaking past the lump in his throat. His hand stayed on his mouth, rubbing against the scruff on his cheek in an obvious avoidance tactic. It wasn’t often he opened up and was matched with equal amounts of honest from Jefferson, and now he knew why. It bloody hurt. More words from him was likely just going to make it hurt worse, and it took him a good amount of courage to work up to that. Courage that came from the silver flask tucked in his vest, that he took his time pulling out and taking a drink from before continuing the conversation. “Milah isn’t here.” Killian answered through gritted teeth. “She’s here no more than Grace’s mother is, and I’m not going to hold out hope she’ll show. I moved on from Milah some time ago, Jefferson.” It was uncharacteristic of him to use Jefferson’s given name, but the conversation called for that over something silly like Hatter. “You should know that, as you’re the first person that made me see I can move beyond her memory. You’re the first person that gives me fond memories. That I feel like I can move on to.” He wasn’t helping. Killian knew it, and he still couldn’t stop. “You’ve let me in more than you think you have, but I’m not going to risk this more than I already have. You’re not going to lose me, you have my word on that.” Jefferson knew bringing Milah into it had been a mistake, so his eyes closed and his head dropped to the side in resignation as Killian spoke. He wasn’t about to point out that his love for Grace’s mother paled in comparison to the kind of attachment that led to an epic vendetta and how did a man not realize that without questioning whether he was even capable of that kind of depth. It wasn’t the point and he’d wallowed in his own issues long enough for one conversation as far as he was concerned. It occurred to him that this was really what he’d been avoiding. Not Killian, but himself. He’d had quite enough time in his own head over the years. More than enough for one lifetime. And damn if he wouldn’t prefer Killian never get as sick of him as he was of himself. Crossing back to his mug, Jefferson took it over to the sink and dumped out the now lukewarm water. “It’s for the best. If we don’t…,” he heard himself say, though it felt distant like eavesdropping on someone else’s uncomfortable conversation. “I mean, all of this, we could be wasting our time worrying about it when you’re the first--it could just be like drawn to like, loneliness, or a half dozen other things. And by no fault of yours, and no intention of mine, I could realize I’m not…” Christ, if he could just finish a sentence that wasn’t a fucking trainwreck, that would be lovely. He didn’t want to narrow this down to shallower concerns just because Killian was male, but it was one of the many things rattling through his head. Gritting his teeth, Jefferson shook his head and forced himself to turn and face his friend. I could so easily drive you away, he thought. I’m good at it. “I just think it’s for the best,” he whispered instead. Killian was a good actor - decent, at least - but not good enough to completely mask the play of emotions that flickered across his face. For a brief second, his eyebrows furrowed together in something that could easily be related to heartbreak, but in the next second, it was gone and Killian’s face had turned impassive. Every fiber of his willpower was working overtime to keep him from reaching for that flask again, and instead he managed a cocky smirk and nod in Jefferson’s direction. “Right you are. Never know what might crop up. Get caught up in a moment and-” Rather than finishing whatever random thought was practically babbling out of his mouth, he just nodded stiffly. He knew it was a lie to save face. He couldn’t force someone past their issues, and he ran the even higher risk of running Jefferson off if he tried. Which left Killian in the stage of sucking it up, if he liked it or not. The childish part of him wanted to slink away and avoid, knowing their relationship wasn’t going to be able to go back to what it was, not on his end. It spoke in grand gestures that Killian was able to keep his wits about him and change the course of the conversation to something more familiar. “You still didn’t tell me how your interview went, mate.” Jefferson had never wanted to take something back so quickly, so intensely, in his entire life. His mouth had gone dry and he swallowed, the split second need to counter every stupid thing he’d just said with his mouth on Killian’s causing him to clench his fist at his side until the urge passed. It wasn’t a lie, after all. He really did think it was for the best. But then, he’d always been especially good at lying to himself. “I…,” Jefferson shifted back towards the kettle, debating whether he had the stomach to stay put long enough to let it boil a second time. “...oh. Yeah. I got it,” he shrugged half-heartedly. “It’s not portal jumper money, but it’s a step up from mushrooms.” He managed a grim little smile as he shot a beseeching glance over towards Killian that likely said a lot more than the small talk he forced out of his mouth. “So if you want to hand over that flask for a toast, I won’t argue.” Any other moment and Killian would have went all out offering to take him out for drinks, or to open the bottle of good rum he had hidden behind the mantle, but right now he didn’t think he’d be able to stop once he started. Any other day and his person of choice to get drunk with would be Jefferson, but keeping to the flask was the safer option. The sober option. “Knew you had it in you, mate.” Without much hesitation, he pulled the flask out of his vest pocket and took a sip before finally stepping forward to offer it to his friend. “I’ll toast to that.” |