Jack scratched his head at Gabe’s question. “Hit by a car, technically? It’s kind of...” He trailed off, briefly contemplating how much reincarnate nonsense he wanted to go into right at this moment before shrugging and simply going for it. Call it the Jack Strange special.
“He’s Clint’s dog,” Jack added, then smiled self-effacingly and pointed at his head. “Y’know, Hawkeye. Saved Clint’s life and came out of the whole thing minus an eyeball.” Not that Lucky being a real, three-dimensional dog complete with smells and scars and an insatiable taste for pizza straight out of the garbage made any sense, but this was the thing Jack had the hardest time wrapping his head around. What wacky-ass magical rule said that Lucky had to live in the real world missing an eye? Hardly seemed fair. Dogs deserved second chances just as much as archers who deliberately ignored their limits. Deserved them more, even.
He always felt a little niggle of guilt, thinking about Lucky this way, but he tried not to let it bother him too much. Lucky had a good life now. "And now he’s stuck with me. Talk about lucky, right?”
Elbows on knees, Jack leaned forward and looked fondly at Lucky, the dog’s one eye closed in perfect bliss under Gabe’s care. Seeing Lucky like this took Jack right back to the first crazy day they’d met. Getting the call from the Agency about a dog that miraculously appeared out of nowhere and apparently belonged to him now, taking Lucky home, debating with himself if Lucky would be better off in the long run if he took him straight to Holly’s. He knew that Clint’s bow was collecting dust somewhere at the Agency, which was fine – wasn’t hard to find a good bow – but Clint’s dog? How in the hell did that work? How was that going to work?
Pretty easily, it turned out. One of the few times Jack’s selfishness actually worked out for the best. Whether or not he deserved a dog like Lucky was still an open question in a small, dark part of his mind. Now that he had him, though, he couldn’t imagine life without his loyal, spoiled pizza dog.
… Still, with the way Gabe’s hands were running through Lucky’s fur, Jack was very much ready to imagine life with Lucky in the next room. Was it weird to be jealous of a dog? Probably. But Jack wanted those hands all to himself.
All over himself.
“Anyway – hey, boy, how ‘bout some pizza?” As soon as the p-word left his mouth, Lucky tore himself away from Gabe, barked once in the affirmative, and started crowding Jack excitedly, making it a little difficult for the laughing human to stand and head for the door, but he managed. Even with the ecstatic dog hopping around his feet, Jack couldn’t help but take one last look at Gabe before leaving. Part of him still couldn’t believe Gabe was here — actually here, in his room, kneeling by his bed, the slim cut of his jeans leaving very little to the imagination.
Well, one more tiny hurdle, and he wouldn’t need imagination anymore, would he?
“This’ll just take a second!” Jack threw over his shoulder, urgency clear in his voice. “Make yourself comfortable, okay? I’ll be right back.” He took one step, then reappeared in the doorframe, reassuring himself more than Gabe at this point. “Right back!”
And with that, Jack took off for the kitchen in a dead sprint, Lucky chasing after him. At the fridge he almost had a panic attack when he couldn’t find the pizza he could’ve sworn – but then there it was, smashed behind yesterday’s Chinese. Exhaling with relief, Jack dumped the pizza on a plate, plopped the plate on the couch, pat Lucky on the head and murmured a distracted “good boy, now stay,” before racing back to the bedroom. All told, a minute passed, maybe less. And no accidents, either! Everything was coming up Jack.
The door clicked decisively behind him, and he leaned back against it, a slow, inviting smile replacing his trademark goofy one. “So. Where were we?”