Jack wasn’t entirely sure how everyone else was sleeping in the Haus, but he was certain that his few hours here and there were not adding up. It wasn’t anyone’s fault in particular, least of all Bitty’s, but Jack’s anxiety-ridden brain just did not want to slow down, it didn’t want to quiet the worry, no matter what Jack did.
So he didn’t sleep much. He drifted in and out, constantly adjusting himself, worried he was going to throw an arm over Bitty’s stomach in his sleep, or roll too close, or cause any amount of pain to his husband that would bring him instantly out of the sleep. He wasn’t allowed to sleep in the chair nearby, no matter how many times he’d suggested it, so Jack just got used to the very edge of the bed.
Most times, it was an unhelpful curse, but when he woke up late in the night to find Bitty’s side of the bed empty, he sat up. Maybe he’s in the bathroom. He waited, one minute, one minute more. Instead of a flushing toilet or door softly closing, he heard the clank of a pan coming from downstairs, and Jack threw the blanket off of him with a sigh and started downstairs.
A part of him desperately hoped it was Nursey or Lardo sneaking in some middle-of-the-night pot brownies, but he wasn’t surprised when he saw the telltale blond hair as he crossed his arms over his bare chest and leaned against the doorway. “Hey.”
It was only supposed to be a quick peek at their sugar levels, to make sure the Haus had enough. But by the time he had wiggled past Jack—who, bless his heart, was on high alert for every movement Bitty made in bed, making it absolutely impossible to get out of it without his help—Bitty was making a list. He'd just check the flour too while he was there. Maybe the egg situation—did they have enough? Maybe he could put it on the list for the grocery store runs that he wasn't allowed to do while he was on bed rest.
And oh, what if he just whipped up a little something, just to see how he was healing? That's it! To make sure everything was settling in the right spots during recovery. And if he used the rolling pin that was in the top drawer, there was no bending required! And it would be light exercise! Who cared if he did it in the middle of the night?
Bitty had gotten as far as getting down the stairs (an unexpected workout that had him sweating with effort) and into the kitchen (really, was the caution tape and his face with a X through it necessary?) before he dropped a pan because well... he shouldn't have been doing any lifting. He should have expected Jack, but Bitty was still startled by his husband looking—oh Lord, amazing—displeased in the doorway.
"Hi honey!" Bitty said in a shouty-whisper, half alarmed and half trying to cover up the immediate discomfort from spinning around too fast. And for being out of bed, and doing all the things he shouldn't have been doing. Bitty was no good idle.
"I was just—" Bitty took a deep breath, and okay, his side hurt something fierce, and he stabilized himself against the counter, going for casual. "You know. Wanted to make sure y'all were set for the morning."
Jack didn’t move from the doorway, knowing his presence was enough. So he just-- sighed. Stared. Sighed again. He knew Bits couldn’t sit still, it was a little easier the first few days home because pain medication just helped him sleep and there had been a number of people to come keep him company.
But that wouldn’t last, hence the flyers around Vallo and the caution tape on the doorway. He was half tempted to set an alarm if someone crossed the threshold, but had thought maybe that was a step too far.
Next step was asking Dex to unplug the oven every night, if it’d keep Bitty from having that look of discomfort he was trying to hide off of his face.
“We’re all set, Bits. There’s a chart, and Glenn’s been offering us bagels almost everyday.” He was soft when he looked over at his husband, sleepy and more than a little worried. “The more you rest, the faster you’ll get the clear to get back to cooking, you know.”
"I know there is a chart, actually it's lovely—I love what y'all did with the color coordination, but I would have put you as blue instead of red, but I assume you were saving red for me, since I'm not on this chart," Bitty said, in a rush. And standing was becoming increasingly more difficult, and so he wanted to go to Jack. He was right there, equidistant from where Bitty was against the counter.
Bitty couldn't decide what to do, so he kept propping himself up until he couldn't anymore. "I appreciate you worrying sweetheart, but do not think I am too busy with that Easy Bake Oven that Nursey left on our nightstand to know you are not resting either. And how is that supposed to help me, hmm? And don't you dare say my health is more important, because if you take a tumble down the stairs because you're too tired to stand upright, I will be so mad and then you will be the one in a full body cast, not allowed to do anything—"
Turning the argument around on Jack was self-serving, mostly to take the pressure off himself, but it wasn't any less true. Everytime Bitty managed to get up just to do something small, Jack would be up. He looked exhausted. He looked exhausted now, even in his cute blue boxers.
"Allright, I want to keep having this conversation, but I need to sit down and I don't know if I can make it to the chair. This has nothing to do with my injury, honey." This had everything to do with his injury.
Jack was torn between the look of love and fondness, and his eyes furrowing together in increased worry. He’d seen the uptick, and had planned to cut him off, but when Bitty started…. Bitty went.
As soon as the push for help went out, even as stubborn as it sounded, Jack was there, having moved smoothly and quietly the few steps it took to reach Bitty. Gently, his arm went under Bitty’s knees and the blonde was being cradled with no effort at all.
Usually in the past, he was more prone to throwing Bitty over a shoulder or wrapping his legs around Jack’s waist. This required a more delicate hand, and he put his workouts to good use. “I know you said the chair, but--” They walked right past it, and up the stairs to their bedroom, Jack staying quiet for most of it to avoid waking up the other members of the haus, and opting to wait until he had Bitty gently placed on their bed and the door closed so he could lean against it and try not to hover.
“I’d probably have an easier time sleeping if I wasn’t worried I was going to wake up to you passed out in the kitchen, Bits.” He didn’t want to guilt, but sometimes-- the situation called for fighting a little dirty.
He should have known Jack would not just bring him to the chair. And on any other day, during any other time, Bitty might have tried to protest or octopus around his husband. But there was almost immediate relief at being relieved of standing. Bitty had seriously underestimated how much effort existing—especially as Eric Bittle-Zimmermann—would take on him. He leaned into Jack on instinct, probably could have fallen right asleep in his arms.
When Bitty opened his eyes again, he was on their bed, in their room. Either Jack teleported or Bitty was really out of it. He wanted to go with teleportation because Bitty did not like to admit failure so easily. He had the determination of every single Southern woman in his very long line of Bittle family, so giving in was not an option.
He pouted at his husband instead. "You're not going to find me passed out in the kitchen. I can't even get to the kitchen most days, so I think we should call that a win!" Bitty tried to sound enthusiastic, but he felt guilty. Jack was making him feel guilty! His husband was clever, and good Lord it was working. "You worry too much, sweetheart. And now both of us are up, and no one is sleeping."
Bitty reached his hands out in the universal sign of come closer, please.
‘We could have both been sleeping if you’d stayed in bed,” Jack pointed out with a small little smile forming at the corner of his lips. Bitty was irresistible, even like this. And he knew how easily he could give in to that pout, the lure of Bitty’s everything was tempting.
If there was a hell, all Satan had to do to get him there was to put Bitty in a pair of booty shorts and Jack was gone.
But any wince of pain, easy movement, and he remembered what it was like to hold that pale hand from the hospital bed. The tension was immediately back in his shoulders and Jack moved forward, and knelt next to the bed, bringing his hands up to hold Bitty’s thighs. “I’ll sleep if you sleep, and I’ll help you in the kitchen if you really want to do some cooking, tomorrow, but you have got to take it easier, Bits. I know it’s hard, but--” He blew out a breath instead of finding the right word.
"I want to point out, honey, that me not being in bed does not mean you have to be awake. Sometimes it may just be to go to the bathroom, or stretch, or check how many jars of jam are left in the cabinet, which I noticed was not a lot, I hope y'all aren't just eating that as a meal." Not that it mattered, because Bitty would just make more. When he had the physical stamina again to do so.
Bitty did not like that worried look on Jack's face. He liked it even less that he put it there. Bitty let out a heavy puff of air, which goodness even that hurt, and he was realizing that he had maybe, possibly pushed his luck with getting down stairs to inventory. Maybe he needed one more night's rest, a few more hours of not moving around to get better.
If Jack kept his hands on his thighs like that, Bitty was more inclined to not go anywhere.
He touched Jack's cheek, so lightly, feeling the rough stubble on his face. "I'm trying to but I've never been good with sitting still. The whole reason I even ended up like this was because I wanted to make a delivery when I could have let someone else do it. But then it would be them and not me, and I would feel just awful, and—" Bitty made a soft noise, before continuing. "I'm okay. It was bad for a little while but I'm going to be okay, sweetheart."
Jack huffed. “I can’t be responsible for what Tater does,” but at least between Dex and himself, the house had a few decent meals. “It’s entirely possible he’s hoarding some.” Jack pointed out. Likely, even. Bitty’s health had taken precedence on all of their worry, he knew that, but at least enough days had passed that it was easier to joke now about the end of times as far as baking went.
Well, he could pretend to joke, anyway. Jack never had done well coping with stress, and it was apparent he’d done even worse when it came to stress involving his husband. He closed his eyes and leaned into Bitty’s hand. “I know you’ll be okay, and I know that being here just inherently runs a risk of things going bad--”
Jack wasn’t known to ramble. He did it more with Bitty than anyone, but tried to steady himself with a deep breath. “I love you. I just need you to be twenty percent less the man I married for a week, maybe two. Then you can go hard again.”
Bitty watched Jack search for the right words, and looked more exhausted than Bitty felt. All he wanted to do was gather him up in his arms for a little while, like he was the one who went through a life-threatening injury. Birds would never be the same again, that was for sure. "Honey," Bitty said softly, before he slowly peeled himself away from his husband—only for a moment!
He eased himself backward onto the bed, back into his spot, being extraordinarily careful to show Jack that he was taking it easy. Bitty even went through the effort of laying down and only made one face of extreme discomfort before it settled into something a little more manageable.
"If it's for two weeks," Bitty said, very seriously, putting his head down on the pillow like he should have been doing ages ago, "then I can only do fifteen percent, final offer, Mr. Bittle-Zimmermann. You're getting a good deal! That's no late night sneaking around, and requires you carrying me into the kitchen to do a thorough inspection while under your supervision. And using a stand mixer for cookies—?"
He might have been pushing it with that request.
He was, and the look on Jack Bittle-Zimmermann’s face showed it. He sighed, but it was more of a relaxed one now, one that was glad to have Bitty so alert and even still agreeing to this compromise.
“Fifteen percent,” he could agree to that. With a few stipulations, that Jack was more than happy to outline as he gently climbed into bed next to Bitty. They couldn’t cuddle much during this -- or anything else, but years of their long distance relationship had helped with that, not to mention the worry and exhaustion sort of took over everything else. But Jack could slide his head up to the pillow next to Bitty’s, and he could take his husband’s hand in his own, to gently hold it.
He brought that joined hand up to his mouth so he could kiss it, as if to soften the blow. “But only stand mixer with supervision, one of us helping you, and someone else uses the oven.” He kissed Bitty’s hand again for good measure.
All Bitty wanted to do was tangle himself around his husband, but he knew it would only make things worse and they would start the whole cycle again—Bitty too uncomfortable to sleep, Jack fretting, everyone exhausted. But Jack was clever and accommodating, and Bitty didn't have the pout much before Jack was sliding up as close as possible, taking his hand, kissing his knuckles, being the absolute sweetest—
"That's impossible, honey!" Bitty gasped out, and almost almost sat back up to argue. But then he remembered he compromised to fifteen percent, and then said quieter, "That's impossible, honey. And I know you're cheating here by trying to convince me to give in by giving me kisses, and I admit it's working a little bit, but it can't just be anyone. I have a very strict list of who can use the oven based on baking skill, accident-prone-ness, and general ability to take direction. There is a way to handle her."
And the tiredness was hitting him again, the days of sleeplessness because his healing wound waking him at all hours of the day. Bitty flipped the switch, and pulled Jack's hand to his mouth and exchanged a kiss to soften his blow. "You are not the first person on the list, sweetheart. I didn't want you to find out this way but desperate times."
Jack laughed softly, and his hands itched to yank Bitty onto his stomach, but the days of manhandling were on a firm break, just like Bitty’s ribs, and would be taking a vacation. So he didn’t, he was good, gentle, let a hand travel across Bitty’s hip instead. He enjoyed the apologetic kisses while he got them, even if he had known he wasn’t number one.
Well, it was a little bit of a disappointment, but he wouldn’t say that out loud. “You can ask whoever you want, Bits, just nothing alone.”
Though he immediately felt the need to amend the compromise, knowing Bitty was a master at finding loopholes. “And no asking someone like Nursey and telling him he has to stand in the corner.” He paused, and it was clear that Jack had a question nagging on the tip of his tongue. “Who is first?”
Bitty squinted at his husband, placated by the hand on his hip. This was a nice reminder that throwing himself into baking early meant that he wasn't healing properly, and then Jack had to be careful with him. That was a worse scenario to be in, and Bitty was slowly seeing the error of his ways. If he had to choose between Jack and baking, he would pick his husband always. It was silly how easy that choice was.
"I love Nursey dearly, but I worry about him even standing there. Cruel and unusual punishment! Besides, he got me the Easy Bake oven. He knows how to compromise," Bitty said, whispering low. HE was more than happy to talk about people who didn't make the cut in the kitchen-permission hierarchy, but became suddenly dodgy the moment Jack asked who was first.
"Oh wow, sweetheart. I am so tired—" It wasn't a lie, he was, and Bitty made a show of yawning, and closing his eyes in the most casual way. Which was impossible because Bitty never did anything casual. Even his casual outfits were anything but. "Maybe we should just sleep. You don't really... need... to know..." Oh, there he was drifting to "sleep", at record speed.
If it was going to get Bitty asleep, Jack wasn’t about to complain.
He could frown into the relative darkness of their bedroom, though, wondering why Bitty changed the subject and tried to pretend to be casual that quickly.
But then his own brain was a war, and sleep was more important than any lightly bruised ego. Especially when Jack forgot very little, and could bring this back around on Bitty at the time when his husband least expected it.
So he leaned down and kissed the top of Bitty’s head, before reaching over to turn off the tableside lamp. “Alright.” As if it was that easy. He was smart enough to leave the we’ll talk later left unsaid. “Love you.”
"I can feel you frowning from here, Jack Bittle-Zimmermann," Bitty said with his eyes closed, before being quieted with a kiss to his forehead. He listened to Jack shut off the light and settle into bed beside him. He mumbled back a sleepy love you too, because Bitty wouldn't allow that to linger unreciprocated.
There was a long stretch of silence, just enough for both of them to have fallen asleep before Bitty said, "It's Lardo."