Chapter Text
Much, much later, when they’ve all gotten through this, and Jack has had many, many drinks, he’s vaguely certain that there might be a funny side to this. Right now he can’t imagine what that might be, because Nathan’s standing in front of him, wearing only scrub pants, and one of those thin dressing gowns that isn’t even closed, and Jack is wondering how the hell his scientist managed to get up, get this dressed, walk out of the infirmary and arrive at the bunker without anyone noticing him missing.
How he managed to walk that far under his own steam is a mystery.
But Jack’s too busy sliding a very gentle arm around Nathan’s waist, trying to avoid the bruises, which is an exercise in futility because Nathan’s basically one big bruise all over, and Jack is trying to figure out how he can support the man up the stairs to a bed, because his less bruised side is still a painful mess of bruising and swelling. Not that Jack can see that much of it, because of the bandages supporting Nathan’s two broken, and three cracked, ribs, not forgetting the heavy strapping that’s supporting his battered shoulder, and the cast on his broken right wrist.
He supposes he could almost be impressed by the way Nathan leans into him, or the goofy and affectionate smile on Nathan’s bruised face. Jack is stricken with this urge to caress that poor, bruised, sore cheek, eye almost swollen shut, just a hint of green peeking through a thick veil of dark lashes. He does realise that Nathan has to be on the good stuff to still be upright, and not collapsed in a ball of agony.
“You are so stoned, right now.” Jack mutters to himself.
A week ago, he might have been amused, but nothing that’s happened in the last week has actually been funny.
It takes forever to climb the stairs to the bedrooms, and Jack wants to drop Nathan off into the spare bed, but something makes him steer Nathan very carefully to his own bed. SARAH has already cosied the temperature up a good five degrees, dimmed the lights a bit, and Jack takes his time settling his injured scientist into Jack’s bed, Pillows under his shoulder for support, tucking a blanket around him to keep him warm, generally fussing over him and making him comfortable as possible, because Jack is absolutely certain that Nathan hasn’t had enough people fussing over him in his life like he matters to someone.
Apparently not even Allison.
Jack’s own role in these events he doesn’t even think about. That Allison hasn’t even called to enquire whether Jack’s seen him speaks volumes. And there was Jack thinking that if Allison was going to remarry Nathan, she might just have a vested interest in his well-being. But calling it off seemed to have the effect of Allison washing her hands of Nathan in a rather chilly sort of way. Entirely.
Jack sits on the bed to make a call, aware that Nathan’s shifted a little so that he’s facing Jack, well Jack’s back at any rate. The call connects, and Jack barely waits for the acknowledgement the other end.
“He’s here. With me.” He says. There’s an indignant squawk, and Jack lets her run on for a second or two. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea, do you? He’s exhausted, and he’s sleeping right now, I’ll bring him back in the morning.” Jack has no idea if Nathan is sleeping, but he’s not about to try to get the scientist back down the stairs, then up the stairs outside, and back into Jack’s jeep, just to drive him back to a miserable infirmary bed where he’ll be basically all alone, and hurting.
It seems Jack’s brain has turned into fanciful mush.
Phone call made, he prepares himself for the night, he’s going to sleep right next to Nathan, in case he’s needed. Even in his head that sounds a little weird, but the time for denial is over. Whatever made Nathan get out of bed and make his way to the bunker in this state is real, and Jack’s going to give whatever this is a chance.
Sleep pants and tee shirt on, Jack slides under the covers next to Nathan, trying not to jostle the bed, he carefully keeps distance between them, because there doesn’t seem to be an inch of Nathan’s body that isn’t bruised to hell. But Nathan’s left hand slides across the eight inches or so that Jack’s given his injured friend… frenemy? Maybe lover? (Jack does dare to dream)... and wraps around Jack’s wrist, squeezing.
However beat up he is, Nathan seems to need the physical reassurance that this is real. Jack inches a little closer. As he drifts off to sleep, Jack ponders the events of the last seven days.
One week earlier…
Jack stamps away from yet another drenching in some kind of goop with his dignity in tatters (once again), ignoring Allison’s platitudes (and her smirk, she seems to enjoy this as much as Stark does) and Stark’s gleeful, shark-like grin. He radios Jo to tell her that he’s going home to change. “OVER!” He snaps, as it sounds like Jo is going to join in the shitfest and really make his day.
He drives back to the bunker, stamps his way down the stairs, “Door SARAH” he snaps, the AI clearly gets that testing him at the point might be a bad idea. The door swings open. “Not one word.” Jack surges up the stairs to his bedroom, strips the ruined uniform and dumps it in the laundry basket.
He heads for the shower.
As he’s washing purplish-green goop out of his hair, and muttering to himself about stupid scientists, and stupid GD, and this stupid job, he thinks about when he first came to Eureka.
He had three uniforms. One on, one off and one in the wash, right? By the end of his second week he was up to seven uniforms, one for each day of the week. Now he’s got ten. One for each day of the week, and spares because this is Eureka, and he might need more than one uniform per shift.
He checks out his reflection, relieved to see that the goop is out of his hair and off his body, with no visible staining. For a change.
Jack heads into town, he’s going to get some lunch at Cafe Diem first, then go and write another largely meaningless report, that will be ignored by Allison and Stark, or at least nothing visible and lasting will be done about it.
He pauses by Archimedes, something about the statue makes him wish that somehow he could change his fortunes, have some of this goop land on someone else for a change. Shrugging, he flips the dime he finds in his pocket into Archimedes’ bath. And heads into Cafe Diem.
An hour later, replete from Vincent’s perfect cheeseburger and fries, Jack makes his way back to the office. Jo opens her mouth as if to say something, but Jack’s too quick. “Not one word.” he ticks a finger at her.
Jo backs off, Jack is good-humoured and friendly, almost to a fault, but this time seems to have really, really pissed him off. “I’m getting lunch.” She stands.
Jack nods. Somewhere deep inside he knows he’s being kind of unfair to Jo, it’s hardly her fault that the scientists of Eureka are out to wreck his uniform and his peace of mind.
Once again he wishes that someone else could be the recipient of the goop.
Jack writes his report. As usual he chooses his words carefully. If he wrote what he really wanted to write, a lot of people might be very angry with him. As tempting as this is, he’s really not ready to stick his neck out that far. Eureka has been good for his relationship with Zoe. Very good, and Jack isn’t prepared to jeopardise that in any way.
He reads through what he has written, and wishing that someone else gets slimed next time.
The next day is quiet. Looking back, Jack knew he should have realised that was the lull before the storm.
The trifecta of disasters.
Jack can’t help it, he grins. He slides his little device out of his pocket and snaps a quick pic, grateful that Zoe finally showed him exactly how to use it, because this is sweet. It’s better than gold… It might even be better than Vincent’s Vinspressos and cheeseburgers and fries… maybe.
Dr Nathan Stark, rooted to the spot, covered in slime, disturbingly candy pink slime, it’s in his dark curly hair, splattered all over his suit, Nathan’s busy wiping slime off his face so doesn’t actually see Jack taking the picture which is even better. Jack is going to get Zoe to show him how he can make this glorious, glorious sight the screensaver on his laptop.
Jack is still grinning when Nathan looks up from his inventory of all that is wrong with this picture, and glares.
Jack’s grin gets wider (as if that was possible), but he does hand Nathan a towel that he produces from somewhere.
Nathan’s Italian leather brogues are squelching, he’s soaked through to his skin, his underwear is unpleasantly clammy and sticking to him and he is 100% certain he’s not going to get in his BMW and drive back to Global like this. He needs a ride.
He glares at Jack, knowing that Allison isn’t about to let him into her car like this, but Jack’s vehicle is the Sheriff’s vehicle, and it’s a Jeep, so no big deal. Right?
“I need a ride.”
Nathan should have known from the alacrity of Jack’s assent, and the way his blue eyes danced, that something was up but when Jack solemnly (apart from the dancing blue eyes) unrolls a tarp, and covers the back of the vehicle, Nathan is genuinely nonplussed.
“Your clothes.” Jack holds up a blanket.
Nathan just stares. Jack waves a hand at Nathan’s general state of wet through and sticky. “I just had the Jeep detailed.” he makes that hand-wavy motion again, Nathan’s eyes narrow, that’s really irritating. “Come on.”
By this time, everyone else has left. Allison was the first to peel away, she may even have spurted gravel in her desire not to have Nathan in her very, obsessively, clean car. The scientists responsible for the deluge of pink slime have left too, making good their escape while Nathan was still transfixed by how could this have happened to him, and how every inch of his body was cold and wet.
Reluctantly Nathan strips off his jacket, yanks at his tie, takes his shoes, socks and pants off, and then his shirt, clad in just his boxers, which are also unpleasantly slimy and cold he accepts the blanket that Jack holds out, and slips into the passenger seat, while Jack wraps his soaked and ruined clothing in a second tarp and lays it all in the back of the vehicle.
Jack climbs into the driver’s seat, and spares a glance for his passenger. Nathan’s hunched up in the blanket, he looks cold, wet and utterly miserable, the usual stony/cocky facade has slipped and Jack isn’t about to kick the man when he’s down. He looks like he’s never been slimed before, and Jack can kind of believe it, as if any slime would have the temerity to goop Dr Nathan Stark, PhD, PhD, PhD and Nobel Laureate.
Nathan’s shivering a little, that slime is really cold, and instead of warming up on his body, it seems to be cooling down, leaching away his warmth, which is kind of disturbing, and Nathan’s big brain is running through the possible reasons why the stuff is doing that, so he doesn’t actually catch Jack’s look of concern.
The ride to Nathan’s house is completed in silence as Nathan’s body temperature is apparently still dropping, and Nathan’s running formulas in his head. Jack’s driving and sparing the odd glance at his alarmingly silent passenger, then they’re pulling up outside Nathan’s place, and Jack turns to Nathan, and is shocked.
Nathan’s pulled the blanket tighter around himself, he looks grey with fatigue and cold, where he was perfectly healthy only forty minutes ago. Jack starts the Jeep, Nathan cuts a glare his way, “Nathan, you need medical attention.” Nathan wants to deny it, but his teeth are chattering, and he’s so cold. Even more alarmed, Jack reaches out a hand and rests it on Nathan’s forehead, the man is chilly and clammy, and that’s not right.
“I’m fine.” Nathan sticks a hand out of his blanket cocoon and reaches for the door handle. Jack grabs his wrist.
“No, you’re not fine.” Nathan turns to glare at him, “you are about as far from fine as it’s possible to be.” Jack’s eyes are pleading with Nathan not to be difficult with this one, and Nathan can’t resist that concern. That caring. He should, he knows it. But no. He nods.
Three hours later, Nathan’s down to a very unbecoming hospital gown which reveals his ass to the world (if he was stupid enough to stand up that is), he feels like a pincushion he’s been stuck with so many needles, and someone, probably Carter, who’s still hovering around, has found him an extra blanket for his bed.
He’s been through the showers, twice, water anything but warm, and now he’s trapped in a bed being warmed up slowly while numerous staff poke and prod him.
All Nathan wants to do, right now is go to sleep and pretend this day never happened. He doesn’t care which comes first. Then tomorrow he can be even further behind on what he had to do today, and he can work all Saturday and Sunday and somehow catch up.
Feeling furious, and tired, he slides down on his side in the bed, wraps the two blankets tighter around himself and closes his eyes. If anyone disturbs him now they are going to find themselves redacted.
Jack slips quietly into the room. He has a bag of clothes for Nathan, having retrieved the man’s door keys, he finds a pair of jeans, a dark tee shirt and a sweater which he collects with some underwear, stuffs in a bag he finds in Nathan’s closet and brings over to the infirmary.
He doesn’t really understand why he’s done this, they’re hardly what could be termed friends, but Jack remembers who cold Nathan seemed to be, and how he seemed to trust Jack to keep him safe and that seems to be making a big difference.
Jack puts the bag in the bedside cabinet, turns to leave, the scientist is asleep, Jack gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze as he passes, “sleep well, Nathan.” he says as he leaves the room as quietly as he arrived. Never seeing the green eyes open as he closes the door behind him.
For a long moment, Nathan stares at the door, as though he can’t quite believe Jack said that, they’ve hardly been friends, although he can think of a time or two, when they haven’t really been enemies.
Strolling back to his vehicle, Jack can’t quite believe he said that, Nathan isn’t a friend. But maybe he isn’t an enemy either.
Seeing him get slimed was enjoyable. But the aftermath, him shivering like that… not so fun.
Jack looked down at his clean, dry uniform, feeling a minor twinge of guilt.
Three whole days without incident, and Jack’s beginning to wonder if the candy pink slime incident was just a fluke, and it was Nathan who got unlucky that time.
The fourth day, Jack is called to Global. A redaction and the scientist involved worries Allison enough to call in the Sheriff. Jack has a bad feeling about this as he gets closer to the lab in question, and he hangs back, Nathan strides impatiently forward before Jack can grab him, Jack hesitates, wanting to yell at Nathan, which definitely saves him from the worst of it, not so Nathan, who’s caught as he turns to run, the blast wave flinging him like a ragdoll into the wall.
There’s a sickening crunch, as Nathan crumples into the wall, and falls to the ground.
“NATHAN!!” Jack doesn’t care who hears him, he has one thought, to get to Nathan, who’s lying, unmoving, face down on the floor. He scrambles over to the scientist, It’s clear that Stark’s right side took most of the damage, Jack can tell from the weird angle that Stark’s shoulder is probably broken, at the least dislocated, He can’t move the man until the medical team arrives, so he crouches by Nathan’s head, and tries to keep up a gentle flow of chatter, soothing him while they wait for assistance.
Jack only leaves the infirmary to inform Dr Stevens that he’s under arrest for attempted murder, and when Stevens splutters about clearances and what the Sheriff can and cannot do, Jack takes slightly bitter pleasure in informing the man that it was Dr Nathan Stark caught up in his little explosion, and since Dr Stark has several broken bones and is still unconscious, Jack has no doubt he will be backed up on this one.
Then he returns to the infirmary, where Nathan’s been made comfortable in a narrow hospital bed for the second time in under a week, and as he stares through the window at the beat up body in the bed, most of the damage covered by bandages, but plenty of bruises still visible, Jack realises that he has a decision to make.
Whether he’s going to take a chance on a maybe kind of wonderful or not.