Jamie hadn't thought he was tired. For over two and a half days Jamie's mind had been cranking along like a tireless mechanical thing, never resting. However up on his feet, keeping up time, step, a lead and a conversation, his focus started to cloud and he could feel that his fine motor control was lacking. But he loved the nostalgia of dancing with Kat; remembering the first time at the little dive bar in Chelseaville, the late night spent up on the roof with sidewalk vendor falafels and internet radio the week after she'd moved in with him, the rainy summer afternoon when she'd grabbed him while they waited at a street corner light and waltzed in place, soaked to their bones, while everyone around them hid under umbrellas and grumbled.
Jamie had drifted. He blinked slowly, brought back by the sudden silence and her hand on his face. Kat was gone, and yet still here; always here when she was needed but for the last two years, rarely when she was just wanted. Jamie winced involuntarily. This must be how Reed felt. Feeling suddenly possessive, he slung an arm around her shoulders above her wings and drew her in close. Humming an affirmative, he gave her forehead a kiss, mentally rolling back through the last few days as she'd prompted. Although it bothered him to do so, he loosened his hold on her enough to turn them toward the kitchen. "Two days ago. Almost three," he began. Fuck he hated processing this shit. He'd been doing it for nine years. As an educated professional, a soldier and a man, it made him feel lesser. Beyond that, it was a tedious routine and messed with his trigger control.
He pulled out a chair for her at the kitchen table, then grabbed the tea Kat had set out to finish the process. "Chamomile? Is this still good? You bought this three years ago. It smelled like feet, I remember. Flowery feet." Jamie shook his head and groaned in Afrikaans under his breath. On nights like this he just wanted a tumbler of dark whisky and a headboard to knock and pass out. But then the hallucinations came.