Killian Jones | Captain Hook (onehandedpirate) wrote in blackpoint, @ 2013-11-25 01:33:00 |
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Entry tags: | captain hook, mad hatter |
Who: Jefferson & Killian Jones
When: Sometime in the last week.
Where: Jefferson and Grace’s little house.
What: Killian sneaks in in the dead of the night because he’s lonely.
Rating: PG-13ish, swearing and drinking is about it.
It was late when Killian snuck down the beach and to the little house that Jefferson was sharing with his Grace. He wasn’t particularly quiet or sneaky about it, but hopefully the nearly-full bottle of rum would placate Jefferson if he was in an overly ornery mood. Not wanting to potentially wake up a sleeping child, he slipped in through the side door, rum in hand. Oblivious to the clanking of his hook and general loud creaking noises, Killian blinked in the dark kitchen, trying to come up with a plan of how to approach Jefferson in a way that wasn’t going to get him stabbed or attacked. Admittedly, breaking into his house near midnight probably wasn’t the best way to achieve the not attacked part of his evening, but he was just tipsy enough to push that worry aside. Bae showing up hadn’t lessened his urge to drink, only drowned him a little further into regret and mistakes of the past, and he had figured Jefferson could use a small break from the reality that he had a daughter returned - but not the same that he’d left her. His tip-toeing into the living room was comical, exaggerated but particularly quiet, each toe put forward slowly and evenly until he was faced with the idea of rounding a corner. Hopefully he wouldn’t run into the lassie and scare the wits out of her, but Killian gave a warning whisper before poking his head into the room. “Jefferson? Mate?” It had been a good thirty years since Jefferson had any sort of normal sleeping habits. Add in a newly returned, no doubt traumatized, daughter who he was convinced would disappear again any second and he wasn’t sure when he’d ever get a full night’s sleep again. He’d have played sentry in a chair in her room if he could have gotten away with it. But things were still a bit uncertain between him and Grace, mostly because thirty years of anxiety weren’t going anywhere just yet, so Jefferson had pulled a small, stuffed chair into the hall instead. He had just started to doze off when noise from the kitchen jerked him to a tense awareness. On his feet in a heartbeat, Jefferson slinked along the hallway wall until he neared the opening to the kitchen. The only light in the house was moonlight creeping through the drapes and it glinted off something metal a few feet away. Unfortunately for Killian, Jefferson was still wound tighter than a drum. With blood pounding in his ears and the glint of a weapon spurring him forward, he was deaf to the whisper that preceded his bull-like lunge towards the man-shaped shadow nearing his hiding place. He blindly aimed for waist height, intent on driving the intruder to the ground and knocking the breath out of him. Not expecting his idea of sneaking into Jefferson’s house would actually find him attacked, Killian was caught quite unaware and knocked to the ground easily, rum bottle landing with a thunk that echoed louder than Killian’s head against the floor. In a purely defensive move, his arms wrapped around the attacker’s shoulders in an attempt to pull him along for a wrestle on the floor to try and get the upperhand. The pleasant buzz in his brain was keeping him from having the reaction time he normally would (his excuse) and gave himself a half second to groan quietly. “Bloody-” His arm jolted and taking care to keep the hook out of range of anything soft and fleshy, Killian used his upper body strength to pin Jefferson (presumably, as it’d be rather disheartening if there was another intruder in his home) to a flat surface nearby. Squinting at his attacker, Killian’s eyes focused enough to confirm that it was indeed Jefferson. He huffed out a breath, “Hell, mate. If you’d wanted to wrestle around with me, you could’ve asked. I’d prefer something much softer under my head, though.” Ending up on his back made Jefferson realize he probably should have planned this better. He’d never been a killer and his combat skills were limited even after a year in Neverland. But his focus was almost entirely on the hand with the weapon in it and Killian’s words didn’t trickle in past his protective rage until he realized exactly what he was looking at. Hissing out an annoyed breath, he rolled his eyes up and away from the hook, letting his head fall back against the tile as the tension drained out of him. “I think your head is plenty soft already, mate,” Jefferson growled. “What the hell were you thinking sneaking in here in the middle of the night?” Not waiting for an answer, he elbowed his way out from underneath Killian and lifted himself into a crouch. “Good thing I make up for it in having other hard objects,” With a cocky grin. Killian pushed himself away from his friend and lulled around a bit, searching for the bottle of rum. It had rolled to rest against the baseboard just a few feet away, and Killian groaned quietly at the idea of having to crawl after it. Finally, the urge to take a drink won and he made his way over to the bottle of amber liquid that was beckoning him. Looking triumphant in his cargo recovery, Killian held up the still-intact bottle. “I was thinking you could use a drink. But instead I got a wrestle, which makes me wonder if you need a fight instead.” One quick glance around told him Grace was likely sleeping and away, but he still dropped his voice to a mock whisper. “Not that you’ll want to make a racket with the little one underfoot.” The look on Jefferson’s face as he stood was caught somewhere between amused, exasperated, and - oddly enough - sympathetic. He knew exactly why Killian was drinking, and likely would have done the same in his position. Coming face to face with the results of what might have happened if he’d only made a different choice was not an experience he would wish on anyone, let alone Killian. But Jefferson’s sympathy was hard to latch onto when mention of Grace immediately snapped his attention towards the hall, his eyes narrowing into a nervous squint. “I don’t need a fight. I just need to keep her safe,” he murmured distractedly. Reaching up to smooth a hand over his scarf and then drag his fingers through his hair, Jefferson forced his anxious attention back to Killian who he could still barely see in the dark. Sighing, he turned to rifle through a drawer, pulling out a candle from the emergency supplies he’d arranged for as soon as he’d settled them into a house. Islands were known for violent storms, after all, and the last thing he wanted was to be unprepared to protect Grace if that should--Jefferson grimaced at how easily his thoughts kept returning to this one function and he shook his head to scatter the thought. “But a drink probably isn’t such a bad idea,” he added reluctantly as he lit the candle and walked over to take a seat on the tile next to Killian. “Sleep is as elusive as ever.” “Don’t know a soul that would blame you for wanting to keep her safe, mate.” Killian answered honestly and offered the bottle over to his friend before taking a drink for himself. Killian’s own inner demons were much the same as Jefferson’s, the two having far more in common than they’d ever realized back in Storybrooke. Bae had still been intent on leaving, with or without Killian’s betrayal, but he still had the fond wish that he would have been a better man. Milah would have wanted him to be a better man, and he wasn’t. That thought wasn’t going anywhere quickly, but the least he could do was tease Jefferson in his spare time. “Forget about electricity there, Hatter?” He glanced over and graced Jefferson with his patented cocky smile. “Or just falling back on old habits?” As far as he’d heard, any other version of himself would have been stunted by a mention of something like electricity, but that was one of his lingering plagues - the second set of memories from Storybrooke that were settled in his brain. Electricity, television, computers, cars…. romantic entanglements, as few and far between as they had been during that time. “Sounds as though you could use a good, hard-” Another smirk, as he changed his vulgar word choice at the last minute. “Shag. I can watch over the lass if you’d like to go troll that pretty face in a nearby bar…?” Jefferson watched the candle’s flame flicker inside its glass holder for a moment before taking the offered bottle of liquor and setting the candle down between them. “I suppose I should be thankful you didn’t go for an easy setting the mood joke,” he sighed. After taking a pull from the bottle he handed it back and leaned his head against the cabinets behind him. “She’s still getting used to electricity, so I’d rather not startle her awake with any sudden light from underneath her door.” As the direction of the conversation shifted to an even less welcome topic, Jefferson couldn’t decide if ignoring Killian completely would only encourage the pirate to step up his harassment, so he scratched idly at the scruff along his jawline before replying in a lazy monotone. “I’m not going anywhere, Killian. Certainly not for that. I am surprised you’re not doing a bit of that yourself, though. As opposed to stumbling into my kitchen in the middle of the night…” “Right well, that’s fair.” Even he couldn’t give his friend more than a little shit for looking out for the girl. Killian knew from years of friendship what Jefferson’s daughter meant to him, even if he hadn’t believed it for the 28 years they were in Storybrooke - which he was still making amends for in his head. It didn’t stop him from keeping up the minor torment, if only because he knew Jefferson could use a laugh or two. “But if you were going for a mood setter, I’m a bloody big fan of the smell of vanilla and whiskey.” He swiped the bottle of rum back from his companion and took a drink, head settling back on the board behind him while the liquid burned down his throat pleasantly. “I much prefer having women impressed when I’m around, not feeling pity because of the soulful look on my face.” Which was exactly where he came from, where women were happy to hear his story but none were striking enough to keep his interest. “You’ve already seen me at my worst, I thought you’d be happy to see it again.” Jefferson’s head lulled to the side as he shot a cryptic squint Killian’s way. Sometimes, it was difficult to tell when he was joking and when the jokes said more than they meant to. Storybrooke had been murder on Jefferson’s ability to read people, a skill he’d been rather good at in the old days of manipulating and conning people out of their most precious possessions. When he wasn’t outright stealing them in the dead of night, anyway. That felt like someone else’s life most of the time, and did little to help him at the moment. “Noted…” he finally joked in return before lifting an eyebrow and locking a more serious expression on his friend. “As for the rest, I highly doubt the average drunk patron would have enough brain power to see your soulful look as anything but an attractive brood. But then, I haven’t spent any time in bars, so what do I know?” Stealing the bottle back again, Jefferson took a long swig and then absentmindedly tucked the bottle against his chest. “Is this where I ask if you want to talk about it?” he smirked grimly. Even with Jefferson’s serious expression, Killian couldn’t help but bestow a full grin on him, picking and choosing particular words from the little pep talk he just got. “So what you’re telling me there…” He trailed off, giving Jefferson a moment to worry about what was coming next. “Is that you find my face attractive?” The flirting was second nature to him at this point, he usually kept it focused on those that were hard to get, but it didn’t stop him from occasionally (more than occasionally, if they were being honest) turning it on Jefferson. He scoffed when the bottle got tucked in close and reached out to try and steal it back, fumbling hands missing a few times before wrapping around the neck. “No, I bloody well don’t. Do you?” The eyeroll Killian received was probably about as habitual as the flirting. It always came with a mix of amusement and annoyance, but the more years passed, the more the former outweighed the latter, even on his worst days. “Shut up. I refuse to feed your ego,” he sighed. Killian’s haphazard grasping for the bottle notched his attention downwards and he released his grip with a somewhat apologetic frown. “But no, I don’t. What is there to talk about? She’s here. We’re here. I just have to keep it that way and find a balance for...everything.” Annoyed that he’d said more than a “no I don’t want to talk about it” really needed, Jefferson shifted a frustrated glance to Killian, his mouth forming a tight line. “Maybe glasses would be a good idea. Speed up this drinking process.” “Too late, mate.” That cocky grin was still in place as he tipped the bottle back to pour the liquid down his throat. Glasses? Glasses were just a reminder of the role he was forced into. A ridiculous role where he requested champagne or water with lemon instead of a good bottle of liquor. The same days he would walk a lady to her door and happily leave with a kiss on the hand. It was all a blood big joke, now. The world where he was a gentlemen went well enough along with a world where he became a father and took the boy in as he should have. As he did, but betrayed. “She’s here, and they say we’re not going anywhere.” Stealing another quick sip before handing it back. “If you ask me, I’m just going to be thankful we’re off of that island. Nothing good has ever happened in that place, and I’d just as soon stay here than go back.” He clapped a warm hand on Jefferson’s shoulder, settling with a firm weight against him. “Enjoy it, mate. You’re lucky.” “Right...of course. I’m not complaining,” Jefferson mumbled, quick to accept the bottle back and take another drink. It wasn’t an entirely convincing statement, but he wasn’t fond of trying to explain his thoughts. Not after Storybrooke and every attempt to convince anyone that he remembered the Enchanted Forest went some level of frustratingly wrong. But having Grace back was both good and terrifying. Could he get his shit together and be the father she needed, that she deserved? Or was it too late for that? Either way, she was certainly better off here. “You know, you could try that yourself. I know it’s complicated with Baelfire, but…” Jefferson trailed off and glanced sidelong at Killian, lifting his shoulder in a heavy shrug. “He’s still hers. And he sees you as family. That’s not something to hide from,” he added, with a pointed gesture of the bottle, offering its return with a knowing lift of his eyebrows. “And just how do you tell the boy you were fully willing to raise into the man he’s become - but didn’t out of bitter regret? He found out about Milah and I wasted no time betraying trust I should have kept.” For all the self-loathing and anger in his voice, he managed to keep his tone even and quiet. He was still lost in a sea of regrets and annoyances toward his past mistakes, and nothing that anger was going to draw him out of. His head dropped back against the cabinet and he closed his eyes against the dim light of the candle. “You’ve got your second chance, mate. But I think mine’s already been used up. Enjoy it for me, will you?” Jefferson’s dark eyebrows snapped together and he stared at Killian for a long time before saying anything. It always snuck up on him how much they had in common. The details were different, but so many of the themes were painfully similar. It left him feeling hypocritical, but there was no getting around that, so he ignored it and let his intense stare drift towards the hallway. “You tell him you made the wrong choice in your world. Give him the reasons if you want to beat yourself up some more,” he finally murmured, setting the bottle down between them. His expression was still dark but it wasn’t aimed at the pirate next to him. “And then you try not to make the wrong one here. That means owning up to your mistakes but not using them as a crutch to avoid getting to the know the boy you raised in another life. Unless you don’t actually want to. Then, I don’t know what you tell him.” He knew that Jefferson was right, but it didn’t make him feel comforted or better about their situation. It simply made him jump on the same level as Jefferson, knowing that they were practically sharing a boat in this. He met Jefferson’s gaze and eventually let a lazy smile drift onto his face, not even bothering to stop his eyes from touching down at his companion’s mouth and back up again. Habit. “Sounds as though you’ve thought this discussion out, mate. Beginning to wonder if I should just leave it to you, as I didn’t know you had words like that in you.” To balance out Jefferson’s dark expression, Killian was incapable of taking anything seriously for long. He tried, but things came in small doses. “Of course I want that, mate. I wouldn’t be a regret if I wasn’t willing to fix it. But that isn’t going to happen tonight, so you’ll just have to enjoy my company instead.” The smile and the look weren’t missed, even if the only outward sign that Jefferson was paying attention was a twitch of a smirk at the corner of his mouth and his eyes dropping to his hands where they rested on his outstretched legs. He sighed, then, knowing this was about as far as this conversation was going to get when Killian was defensively sarcastic like this. It wasn’t like he could judge on that end, anyway. After another long stretch of silence passed, Jefferson flipped his hands palms up and his mouth formed a muppet-like frown. “I guess it’s a good thing you brought the liquor, then,” he joked. It was his way of closing the doors on this conversation. For now. Unfortunately it didn’t stop him from slipping right back into a little melodrama as he reached for the bottle and lifted it in a mock toast. “To regret. And drinking until we can’t even pronounce the word anymore.” Killian answered his mock toast with a mock salute, grinning now that Jefferson decided to stoop to his level. He always enjoyed it thoroughly when he got a sarcastic remark or joke in return, rather than the serious face that Jefferson was so fond of pulling out. “To regret. And the loveable children that bring it all to the surface.” Stealing the bottle back from Jefferson, Killian tipped it back with the intention of drowning sorrows as quickly as possible. |