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The apartment was silent when Jake returned. He bristled. Quietness never suited him. He was used to having a backdrop of a blizzard in Edonia, or the snarls and heavy footfalls of B.O.Ws in the Middle East. Jake thought it would be difficult to adjust to living back in the States, but even with Sherry, there was always the lulling sound her keyboard clacking as she typed, or hushed conversation over the phone as she spoke with another DSO agent. Living in Sherry's apartment came about rather spontaneously. Things had settled down enough in his line of work that he decided to fly back, but it was only when his flight landed that he realized he didn't actually have any place to stay. After one sheepish call to his oldest, and probably closest, friend Sherry Birkin, he was telling the cab driver the address to her apartment. He was grateful they kept in touch after all these years, even with certain prolonged periods of no contact due to their respective missions.
When he opened the door, he expected to hear the whistle of the kettle. Sherry would likely be on her second cup of tea in the hour. Instead, the kitchen was empty as he placed down a paper bag. Sherry's laptop was left open on the counter. Unattended, its screen was darkened.
"Sherry, I'm back," he called, putting away the groceries.
No response. Not unusual, but not normal. Sherry usually sat right here. Greeted him, asked if the drive there and back was alright.
"I got the chocolates you wanted. Where do they go again?"
Jake knew where they went of course, but questions about organization always had Sherry calling from the other room. There's the mesh basket for snacks we bought, remember? In the cupboard next to the stove, he could hear her say. Still, there was no response. He opened the cupboard and put them directly into the basket.
He dropped down on the sofa, stretching out his body and leaning his head back on the cushion. The relaxation lasted less than a minute as he started to drum his fingers against his arm. If he had a lighter on him, he would have been incessantly flicking it open and closed. Anything to have some kind of sound cut through the thick silence. She must've just gone out, he thought. Though, leaving her laptop out in the open like that was utterly unlike her. She even said she had an important report she needed to finish up by today.
His ears perked. A sound of something clattering on the floor. He jumped up and headed in that direction, further inside where the bedrooms were. No room lights were on aside from the bathroom. Its door was ajar.
"Sherry, everything alright? You get stuck in there or something?" he said jokingly as he approached.
There was a beat. It lasted a second too long for Jake before Sherry's voice came back.
"Y-yes, everything's fine."
Her tone wavered, no matter how hard she tried to hide it beneath her cheeriness. Jake scratched the back of his neck, considering the propriety of barging in on a woman when she's in the bathroom, even if you were worried about her.
"It don't really sound like it," he responded.
"Please don't come in."
There was no hiding the pain in her voice now.
Jake almost took the hinges off the door by how quickly he went inside.
Sherry's hands were gripping the edge of the sink. In the mirror, he saw her eyes were scrunched closed, mouth parted to take in deep breaths. Jake's foot knocked against a pill bottle as he entered. Standard paracetamol. It was opened, but thankfully none of the tablets had spilled out.
Sherry opened her eyes wearily, looking at Jake in the reflection. She attempted a smile. "Do you ever listen to me?"
Her balance faltered. Jake rushed over, catching her in his arms. His grip was steady, instantly enveloping Sherry in warmth like she was being hugged by a hot water bottle. It was comforting. Better than standing alone, gritting her teeth through the pain before the medicine kicked in. Jake noticed how her body completely slackened against his. His alarm only increased when he saw her hands. Though faint, Jake saw black bruises emerging on the back of her hand. He frowned.
"Are you hurt? What's going on?" he hurriedly asked.
Sherry could only tuck her face further into his chest. Too tired to explain. Jake inwardly cursed. He lowered his head towards her, making sure she was still conscious.
"Come on, super girl," he coaxed, as softly as his gravelly voice could muster. "Don't fall asleep yet. I don't think I'd make a good bed."
Sherry chuckled weakly. Keeping her spirits up. Jake was good at that.
"You're never going to give that nickname up, huh?" she croaked. Her blue eyes stared up into his, still managing a glitter of amusement despite her condition.
"If you never hear that name again, it probably means I'm dead."
Sherry shook her head. Her short hair tousled against the fabric of his shirt. "I wouldn't want that."
Jake felt his heart twist.
"Let's get you somewhere more comfortable than these tiles. Can you walk?"
Jake was preparing to lift Sherry up, but she patted his shoulder in protest. Instead, he wrapped his arm around her waist in support as they walked to her bedroom. He carefully guided Sherry to sit before she laid down on her side. Jake looked around the room, finding a chair to pull up beside her. He had a million questions. How long had this been going on for? Had she been keeping this from him? What could possibly bypass her regenerative abilities?
As if sensing the torment of his curiosity, Sherry spoke. "This—" she flexed her hand, "—only started recently. Leon's showing signs too."
Jake nodded, going through Sherry and Leon's shared history in his head. He didn't want to pry too much. It was important that Sherry got her rest first.
"How bad does it hurt?" he asked.
She paused. "A little."
Jake gave her a side-eye.
"I can manage it, really." She gave him a small smile as consolation. "Thank you for helping me."
He grunted in acknowledgement, folding his arms and leaning against the chair. His eyes were focused on the floor.
"You don't need to keep watch," Sherry said. "We're not on a mission."
Jake turned to find her looking at him. She was one of the few people who could hold his gaze. He had been told his whole life how intense he was. How just looking at him felt like a threat. Sherry never turned away.
Jake scoffed. "Hard to break a habit, I guess."
Sherry inhaled sharply, face grimacing. She tightened her arms around herself, cursing under her breath. Jake stood up. The chair nearly tipped over from the strength of the movement. He was torn seeing her like this. Leaving her alone didn't feel right, but he also didn't know what he should do at her side. This wasn't an injury he could patch up and tie a tourniquet around.
"This might be stupid, but…" Jake mumbled, crouching to her level.
Hesitating, he reached around Sherry. He ran his hand up and down her back, rubbing it softly. She eased a little under his touch. Jake was so close to her. Every detail of his face was hers to study. The prominent scar on his cheek. The freckles on his forehead. The sternness of his eyes. Whilst it didn't make the pain disappear, the repetitive movement was soothing. Gave her something else to focus on. Through the thinness of her shirt, Sherry felt his calloused fingertips trace from her shoulder blade to the middle of her back.
She breathed a laugh. "Feel like a kid again."
Jake faltered for a moment. "Well, it was something my mum used to do to me when I was little. I can stop if you don't like it."
Over these years, Jake told Sherry pieces about his childhood. Living with just his mother, supporting her with her illness. Sherry closed her eyes.
"It feels nice," she whispered.
Jake didn't know how long he stayed like this. Eventually, Sherry fell asleep. He slowly moved his hand away, sitting back down beside the bed. Jake could sit much easier now. There was no need to fidget when he could hear Sherry's steady breathing and the rustle of the bedsheets.