Work Text:
Oh, fuck off. Not to anyone specifically. Just the general feel of the day and maybe God. Actually, definitely God. He needed to blame somebody. Jack felt a headache coming on. He hired the lawyers and had two separate meetings on the weekend. The lawsuit against his company was now confirmed. He spent hours, sorting out the details with them. If Jack died of overworking, it wouldn’t be a surprise. It would make sense that his mom bought him a coffin for his birthday, wouldn’t it?
She didn’t but Jack wondered if she would. It’d be so like her to already be preparing for her son’s funeral. It was an expectation, not a possibility. He’d go out with a deep sigh of relief and hope that Hell was far below him. Jack’s forty-five. A whole year to get past but still a year like any other. Another mountain of paperwork and people clamoring to fuck up his every day. Death’s probably knocking at his door but it’s honestly really inconvenient. Business and ballet wait for no one.
Self-pity got him nowhere, but it was all he had. Jack clutched it tightly and went to sleep with it. Not that it helped him sleep at night. Crispin found it amusing. Jack didn’t care how old he was, he still wanted to wring his stupid neck. That stupid voice of his infiltrated his brain at the worst of times. He was perpetually paranoid about when he’d show up next. Shadowing his every step and every decision he made.
Maybe Crispin had been Death all along. It occurred to Jack rather disturbingly one day that Crispin reminded him of an old movie he watched as a kid. The Dark Crystal. It scared the pants off little Jack but he rewatched it with his kids several years ago. They both thought it was boring, but Jack was fascinated. It was strange and bizarre.
For a few seconds while Crispin’s voice crawled into his ear, Jack regressed back into a child. A newfound horror gripped Jack after thirty-five years. Crispin’s like a Skeksi. If only real-life monsters could be destroyed in an hour and a half. Crispin seemed confused at his dazed stare, but Jack was much too sleep deprived to care.
Of course, on the list of stress inducers is the one and only Cheyenne. Cheyenne. Her name needs repeating. Feelings aside, hooking up with her was a colossal mistake. Cheyenne doesn’t do awkwardness. It’s just not in her. Her DNA is mostly made up of confidence and ambition. Jack lays awake at night, thinking about it. He almost thought the past five years had rid his mind of her.
There is no peace to be had here. It’s on the tip of his tongue and in his mouth. She’s on the tip of his tongue and in his mouth. Every time Jack runs into her, he’s holding his breath and biting his tongue. Cheyenne hasn’t mentioned it and neither has he. However, Jack knows he’s on borrowed time. She sniffs out what someone isn’t saying like a bloodhound.
Jack was hesitant to notice anything substantial about Cheyenne lest he fall off a forbidden cliff, but he did notice. He saw that she seeks him out more often. She always has some sort of reason for arriving and then she plops her sweaty self-down for the foreseeable future.
Argues with him if she chooses to. Cheyenne has smiled in front of him more than he’s ever seen her smile. It's unnerving. The first time it happened, Jack wondered if a bomb was about to go off and kill the whole company, but it never does. It was just her. It was still unnerving.
To top it all off on his shit sundae, Gael and Cheyenne are on the outs. It was all off. The dancing, their dynamic. It's like a crooked painting that’s on fire. Their dancing is stilted. They argued about it till the sun went down but Jack knew. Jack knew it was Gael saying that bullshit to Cheyenne. He might've told her about his sister as well. Jesus Christ. Jack wanted a drink or two or three.
Jack sluggishly walked back into his office. He didn’t bother to open the door gently. He didn’t care enough and no one else was there. The door collided with the door stopper and bounced back. Jack flipped the light switch and waited for his eyes to adjust. He scanned his desk and huffed.
The blue folder of papers he needed for court the next day was still on his desk, taunting him for his stupidity. Jack picked up the folder and slung it under his arm. He almost didn’t hear it. Jack could’ve walked out of there and he never would’ve known but he did. Jack heard the shower running and almost threw a tantrum right then and there.
Of all the people to run into in the middle of the night, it had to be her after what they’d done. It was truly incredible. Jack has wondered many times what it’d be like to be in a time loop. He’s a miserable forty-something. If Russian Doll or Groundhog Day happened to literally anyone, it’d be him. Jack fit the bill perfectly. It was truly uncanny. It was as depressing as it was funny.
Also, she was using his fucking shower again. Oh God, did she fuck on his couch again? Jack moved towards the couch at a turtle’s pace and stopped. He carefully inspected the whole couch, but it seemed fine. Jack almost stepped towards the door. He imagined walking out the door, out of the building, and back to his apartment. He imagined going to bed and trying to sleep in peace.
Jack sat down and waited. He listened to the shower continue to run. Fuck, that water bill is going to kill him. Maybe it will. Jack filtered hideous, salacious thoughts out of his mind. Instead, he reread the court papers till the words blurred into a familiar name. The shower stopped. Jack whipped his head up far too quickly. Five minutes later, the door opened. Jack threw the folder onto the coffee table and waited.
There she was in her damp casual clothes and her ballet bag on her shoulder. If she was surprised to see him, she certainly didn’t show it. She just stopped and stared. Jack stared back. He opened his mouth to say...something? He wasn’t fast enough. She’s always been faster and he’s always the one catching up to her. Cheyenne is a lightning bolt.
“If you’re about to scold me, get it over with. I will not apologize, Jack. I was sweaty. I needed a shower. I’m exhausted and you had a bad day so make it quick.”
Cheyenne said it quite clearly and succinctly. She crossed her arms expectantly. Jack nearly smiled. He almost wished that Cheyenne had gotten the job after all. Jack realized he’d entirely forgotten to be mad at her. When he saw the glistening water drops in her hair and the killer look in her eyes, it stopped him dead. Will she be what kills him? Makes sense.
“As shocking as it is, you’re off the hook. For now.” Jack replied tiredly. Cheyenne’s eyebrows went up in surprise. Jack glanced at her without really looking at her. He plowed on before she could respond.
“I’m too fucking tired to deal with you right now, Cheyenne. I have to go into court tomorrow and sue myself. Come back next week.” Jack scoffed. Cheyenne narrowed her eyes. She reminded him of a vicious street cat. Always ready to bite and scratch whoever ticks her off.
“That’s bullshit.” Cheyenne declared rather suddenly. She threw her bag onto the floor and marched up to him. Cheyenne roughly poked his cheek. Jack winced and glared at her. He swatted her hand away. She dropped it without a fight, but she obviously wasn’t done.
“Even when you were drunk and sad, you still had enough energy to scold me. Now you’re giving up? Pathetic. Get up and yell at me, Jack.” Cheyenne demanded.
Jack squinted up at her. Was she insane? Wait, stupid question. Jack leaned back on the couch and just looked at her. Honestly, even looking at her exhausted him. She was trouble in every sense of the word. Cheyenne has always acted like she’s the boss of him. His authority as manager of the company means literally nothing to her. Now that’s pathetic.
Cheyenne gripped his arms with inhuman strength and pulled him up. Jack yelped and stumbled to his feet. He quickly ripped his arms out of her claws. Jack rubbed them like a sulking preteen. His cheeks burned. Jack regretted turning the light on. Cheyenne rested her hands on her hips. Jack threw up his hands. Damn her. Damn Gael. Damn Crispin. Damn it all to hell.
“Okay, Cheyenne. Fine. I’m angry. I hate that you used my shower twice AND my couch. I hate that fucking Gael was on my couch. What the hell did you see in him by the way? I see nothing there, Cheyenne! He’s a fucking black hole and you’re a thunderstorm. He was never going to see you the right way. I hate how you make me feel. You make me feel so out of control. How’s that for a fucking scolding?”
Jack’s throat constricted like a snake and released after the long-winded rant he went on. He wasn’t even done. Jack never was. All that rage built up in his chest will burn his organs forever. It was the tip of a very large iceberg. His chest rose and fell. It was like time froze and Cheyenne was just a mannequin. Cheyenne slowly walked up to him. Jack watched her curiously.
Cheyenne simply looked at him and gently touched his cheek. Jack inhaled sharply. Oh, who was he kidding? Jack couldn’t resist even if he tried. Cheyenne caressed his cheek once and the last bit of his restraint went out the window. Jack grabbed her face and swooped down to kiss her hard. Cheyenne kissed back just as hard. It won’t be a one-time thing this time. Jack’s heart thrilled at the thought.
When Jack did go back to his apartment with the blue folder, it was with the prima ballerina on his arm. The media would’ve had a field day with that one. Luckily, under cover of darkness, they were safe in their little bubble. No one needed to know that Jack made breakfast for two the next morning. No one needed to know that she actually stayed the whole morning. No one needed to see their goodbye kiss.