Re: [The Mean Eyed Cat: Jack + Cat]
"It probably is. I've never had it, is it satisfying?" Jack liked the kinds of puzzles that didn't fall to pieces easily, which was likely the reason why, point of fact, he'd never had what he needed which was also what he wanted. He surveyed her, his elbow on the bar and the liquidity of awareness that came when not even remotely close to drunk yet but neither entirely sober. Cat sunbathed in attention the way the ordinary feline basked in sun, and he gave it - which was very generous, and equally, entirely selfish.
"From where I'm sitting? You wear that decade in your eyes even if you don't wear it on your skin. You can tell me it matters horribly, decades and wrinkles but I think the world is horrendously sexist and doesn't give a shit about the way a man ages so long as he doesn't do so too disgracefully. And I like every one of my wrinkles, bloody woman," because christ alone knew he didn't mind, and Jack didn't know if that was new or old or somewhere grateful drawn from the last few months. "I'm distinguished." He didn't look anything like, but he knew it, and he was laughing as she delivered her verdict on statements and invitations with a smile.
As for Helena? God knew that wasn't on the cards. The boy Jack had been wasn't looking for a Jen, he'd grown up into that. That was a fixed-point friendship and friendship didn't burn with the same fervor on a pyre as obsession, lust or ambition. It was quieter, easier, in fact. "You're certain. I don't think I've ever heard you certain about your family before. It's a good look."
But she'd tossed labels out and he shrugged. "I don't actually. I think of the things you're not, mostly." He smiled. "And I've not the slightest inclination that you give a damn."