Who: Jim and Hermione When: Toward the end of the Kryptonite Plot Where: Their home What: Paranoid delusions and accusations? Rating/Warning: Low/None Status: Complete
Hermione was curled up on the sofa with Crookshanks purring like a chainsaw in her lap. She had one of her schoolbooks -- her college books, not her Hogwarts books -- open in her hands, and she was reading. She’d stopped thinking about how weird Jim was acting a while ago, and decidedly focused on her studies.
Jim was staring through the window. Squinting. Studying. Observing. For his wife to be very bad(™).
Hermione finished her chapter and gave a yawn, then stretched her neck out. She’d been sitting awkwardly, and finally shoved Crookshanks off to the side so she could pull out her phone to check the time. She noticed that she had an email from one of her professors, and she checked that while she had the phone drawn.
He squinted, and then cracked the window and crawled in. Sneak, sneak sneak. “I caught you!”
Hermione jumped about a foot at the sound of his voice. Crookshanks had heard and/or seen him come in, so the cat simply jumped down off the sofa and wandered into another room, but Hermione was shocked at his sudden appearance. “What??”
“You’re corresponding with your lover,” Jim said, eyes narrowed. He tried to lean in to see what it was she was looking at.
“Um… if my lover is my professor.” Hermione said, turning the phone around so he could see. It was a mass email to the entire class, changing the reading assignment that had been given to them in class the day before.
“Hot for teacher?” Jim sat back on his haunches, as if he’d expected that. He looked utterly heart broken.
Hermione blinked at him. She could hardly believe his expression. “She’s something like sixty years old. Definitely not hot for teacher. What’s wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with you?” He snapped, rising to his full height and glaring at her. Maybe he was projecting. He could be projecting. “God… I know what it is. You were too young. We’re both too young.”
Hermione pulled herself up off of the sofa and glared. She wasn’t as tall as he was, but Hermione had a death glare. Her hair seemed to crackle with electricity as she grew angry. “Too young?? Too young?? You have got to be kidding. I gave you everything. Everything. And I still do. There’s no one else. Not now, not ever. And I’m insulted that you’d accuse me of such.”
"You'd only be insulted if there was some truth to it!" Jim's voice rose, his eyes wide with paranoia.
“No, I’d be terrified if it was true. Not just angry.” Hermione said, her voice lowering to a dangerous volume. Crookshanks hissed from his spot under the television stand. “You have such little faith in me?”
“I can’t trust anyone right now, Hermione. I don’t know why I ever thought I could. Maybe it’s just karma biting me in the ass.” He ruffled his own hair and started to pace.
Hermione simply stared at him. “What? Why? You can trust me. You can always trust me.” She felt hurt, insulted, offended. She didn’t like it at all. And more than anything, she was terrified for him.
“I can’t. I can’t.” Kirk shook his head, fidgeting with nervous energy, eyes still a little wild. “Can’t trust anyone. Trust is for idiots. I’m not going to fall into that trap ever again.”
Hermione was confused and concerned, the anger was fading a bit as she watched him nervously pacing. “What happened to you??”
“Nothing happened to me. I’ve just seen the truth. I know the truth. It’s there, it’s there.”
“You’re starting to sound like Fox Mulder.” Hermione said, shaking her head. “Crookshanks and I will take the guest bedroom. When you’re back to yourself, come knock.” She grabbed her book and patted her thigh--as if calling a dog to heel--and then headed down the hallway. Crookshanks came out from under the entertainment center, gave Jim a dirty look, and followed along after her. His bottlebrush tail was sticking straight up in the air.
“With Scully’s legs,” Jim said, momentarily more like his old self. God, Hermione dressed as Scully. That would make everything better...