Log: Jon & Jarrod Who: Jarrod & Jon When: January 3 Where: Stargate, Jon's old room, AKA his workshop What: Jarrod feels like a heel and wants to make nice.
Jarrod didn't like the whole awkwardness of his and Jon's situation. Jarrod had been feeling terrible for the last couple days, and he knew that Jon was angry, he wouldn't show it. Jon was the adult in the relationship, obviously. That fact made Jarrod feel even worse. So, with his limited skills of cooking, Jarrod prepared a can of prepared soup and a big sandwich. It had all of Jon's favorites on it. Turkey and cheese, lettuce, some bacon, all held together with a toothpick in each of the diamond-cut quarters. It was pretty, but he just hoped Jon liked it, and that he accepted it.
First, Jarrod checked their room. He wasn't surprised when Jon wasn't there. He shuffled down the hall, feeling his throat grow dry. God, it was so stupid! He had been childish and silly, overprotective and nothing but re-active. Knocking, Jarrod tapped the frame with his knuckles. He waited until he heard a response and then opened the door a crack, making sure his tray wasn't thrown all over the room by stepping on a brand new robot waltzing around. "Jon? It's me."
Jon really wasn't angry so much as he was confused. Okay, he should have left a note when he'd returned to base, but he'd admitted that and said he was sorry, and so he thought that would be that. Things had been a bit tense between them, awkward, and so it wasn't a big surprise that he was in his workshop, distracting himself.
He was sitting on the floor at the moment, which he often did, because he could spread things out all around him, so that he was like an island in a sea of parts. The knock made him lift his head, looking towards the door as Jarrod came in. "Hey," he greeted, and he set down what he had been working on so he climb to his feet, wiping his hands off on the jeans of his very well worn and torn at the knees jeans. "How're you?"
"I'm..." Jarrod paused, trailing off, unsure of what he should say. 'Good' seemed the obvious answer, but it wasn't one he wanted to give. "Feeling like a douche. But I made you lunch. Dinner....Hungry time, whatever." Jarrod moved over and set the tray on one of the few debris-free areas in the place. But that was fine with him. He'd much rather all the mess be in here and not in their bedroom. Once the tray was set down, Jarrod turned and looked at Jon. At those blue, blue eyes. "You're a big boy and can take care of yourself." It was said rather bluntly, which surprised Jarrod.
Swallowing thickly, Jarrod moved over and sat down close to his lover. "And I blew up at you for no reason. I was stressed out tried to keep it all in and then all when I let it out, all of that was directed at you, and you didn't deserve that." He exhaled heavily, looking at the floor between his legs. "I never worried about anyone before the way I worried about you." His voice was small, quiet. Jarrod wanted to admit it, but it made him feel exposed. Of all the people he could be himself around, Jon was the one. But after years of building up emotional barriers, it was still foreign to him.
Jon sat down again, in the space he had already cleared. He pushed some things out of the way, into what seemed like haphazard piles, but he was good at finding what he needed. The parts spoke to him. Well not really. "Thanks," he said, because he was hungry. He had forgotten about lunch completely and hadn't even realized that the supper hour had rolled around. Although when he looked at the clock that glowed red numbers, he realized that it had. And then his stomach turned and he realized that he was hungry.
He licked his lower lip and pressed his hands against the ground, leaning back on them a bit instead of going for the food, because he was giving Jarrod his attention first and didn't want to be stuffing his face while the other man was talking. "I'm not used to having someone worry about me," he said, just as truthfully. He had always looked out for himself and hadn't thought that anyone else would. "I'm sorry. Really, I should have... I don't know. Looked for you just to say 'I'm back'. Or left a note. It just didn't occur to me." It did now. It would from now on out.
Jarrod smiled a little bit. He shook his head, a hand moving through his hair and pulling it from his eyes. "I over reacted. I know that. You did what you're used to doing, and I was pushed into this whole crazy 'my boyfriend may be dead oh em gee' moment, which I'm not used to. But that doesn't stop me from being worried. But I shouldn't have blown up at you. I shoulda - and I was - glad that you'd made it back safe. I just...didn't go about showing it in the best way."
He looked at Jon and pouted, because it seemed Jon was pouting. "I'm sorry too. So we're both sorry. Can we go back to making out and watching movies? I'll even feed you the meal I made, if you want." He looked around the room, and smirked. "Maybe you need to give those hands a rest. I like a rough touch, but how you manage to not have razor hands is beyond me."
Jon flexed his fingers, holding them out, palm up. "Smooth as a baby's bottom," he said with a little grin. Well maybe not that smooth, because they were hands. And he had some callouses from playing the guitar, and they were a bit rough, but really, they weren't too bad. He used soap with moisturizer, his one 'girly' things. Nothing worse than skin that caught on guitar strings. Ouch. "It's okay though. We.. we're both sort of new to this. We'll make mistakes. And then figure it out."
He scooted across the floor, a bit closer to Jarrod and also to the food. "You trying out a new job as a chef?" he asked with a teasing grin as he picked up part of the sandwich. "Not that I'm complaining. I like being fed."
"I know," Jarrod said a little wistfully, a little snicker following his words. He knew that if he ever had complaints, just a few words would have Jon sleeping in gloves covered in lotion. The thought made him smile a little bigger, his shoulders relaxing a little more. Jarrod nodded, seeing the truth in Jon's words. "I'm glad I get to figure it out with you," he said, scooting a little closer and letting his head rest gently on Jon's shoulder. He wasn't obstructing the food intake, and Jarrod was happy to smell the mix of soap and grease that seemed to hover around Jon.
"Top chef. I'm goin' on that show on the food channel in a couple weeks," he teased, looking across the room and seeing the new designs Jon had going. The blueprints were the most interesting. "I figured if I stuffed you...you'd return the favor," he joked, kissing the black t-shirt that clad Jon's shoulder.
"Me too," Jon said and he shifted to make it easier for Jarrod to lean against him, and so that he wouldn't accidentally be elbowing his boyfriend while he ate. Which he started to do once the words were out of his mouth, taking a big bite. It was funny how appetite could be - you could not notice it for hours, but as soon as food was there, you could be famished.
"Oh yeah?" he asked between bites, wiping his lips on the back of his hand. "Gonna be the next Iron Chef?" He took another bite and then set the sandwich down so he could check out the soup. Which of course meant eating the soup. "I'd come cheer for you." He spooned up some of the soup and pushed it past his lips, glad that the awkwardness and weirdness that had been hovering between them had dissolved. Although deep down, he'd known it would. He knew he and Jarrod, what they had, was stronger than little stuff like that.
"We'll see. But I better have you in my corner. Just like I'd be in yours." Jarrod didn't mind that Jon was eating, that was the point of the food, to be eaten and not just looked at. "You know I love you. Which is why I want that belly belly full. And then maybe we'll go back to the room, watch a movie?" His tone was hopeful, but Jarrod didn't look up, knowing pretty well that Jon had crumbs around the sides of his mouth, a little dribble of soup shining off the cupid's bow of his mouth. That was just the way he was when he was hungry.
"But you did do good, Jon. People are so busy praising you that I can't even tell them how proud I am because you're my boyfriend. It gets really frustrating once in a while. People are bragging before I can." Jarrod's trepidations had dissipated, he was talking casually, his tone beaming with pride. It helped to know that during Jon's first big mission, he proved to not be a spy or anything. Good for Jon, good for Jarrod, good for their relationship. "Do you mind if I gush about you to the shrink guy at my evaluation later this month?" "We can do that. Yeah. Definitely," Jon replied with a grin and a nod, and then he flicked hair out of is eyes. "I was just messing around down here mostly." He had a few projects on the go, some for Stargate and some for himself, but at the moment, he was just working on a few things at random. Sometimes he got creative urges and ideas that he just had to work on, even if they only half made sense to him.
He picked up the sandwich half he had been working on and then polished it off in a few more bites, licking crumbs from his lips. "Flatterer," he said, but he sounded pleased, and he was pleased. Although he didn't like the fact that someone had been killed in Time Square, he was glad that his devices had done their job, worked the way hey were supposed to, and everything went well. He wanted to prove himself. And he had. His head canted to the side so he was looking at Jarrod. "Sure you can. I'm sure I'll be talking about you." He'd only spoken to the shrink once, when he'd first arrived, so that would prove... interesting.
Moving, he picked up the tray then. "Why don't we head back down? I can eat and watch a movie at the same time. I can multitask like that," he grinned.
"Good, because what he asks what I've been up to, it'll take all my being to not say a good thick dick inside me." Jon had proved himself, and Jarrod was happy. Happy that his boyfriend wouldn't be taken out and shot in the back of the head and Jarrod's own memories of the other erased. It sounded harsh, but Jarrod wasn't about to say that Stargate wouldn't do such things. Everyone walked a thin line at the project, he wasn't so dim as to not realize that. But still, it was a non-reality and he finally let it go as he stood.
"Yeah, we can go back down. Does that mean I get to cuddle you? The last thing I want is to get a steaming bowl of soup that I painstakingly warmed all over my back." His hands placed around tray, tightening to keep it steady. Leaning up, Jarrod kissed Jon's lips lightly. Oh, he wanted Jon, but nothing of that was new. It was a kiss of apology and acceptance. When he broke it, his eyes looked up into Jon's. "I don't like the awkward. If I ever do that again, smack my ass and call me Shirley?"
"I'd like to see what his reaction to that would be," Jon snickered, although the shrink had probably heard worse given some of the people around here. He'd probably heard all sorts of crazy things and perverted things and things Jon couldn't even come up with. He climbed to his feet, balancing the tray, holding it steady so he didn't slosh soup everywhere, which would be a shame because it was delicious and he wanted it in his stomach, not all over the tray.
"You can cuddle, just keep your elbow out of my food," he grinned and headed for the door once the kiss had broke, although it had lingered almost enough to make it obscene and difficult to continue on walking. "I'll smack your ass any time you want," he said with a promising glint in his eyes as he waited for Jarrod to get the door, and then stepped out after him. "But isn't there a line about not calling you Shirley?"