Chapter Text
“It’s just soup.”
Dr. Jean Milburn has never faked a thing in her life.
Not advice, not an orgasm. And certainly not a relationship.
She can blame ‘pheromones’ for every man she’s taken to bed since Remi. For some reason it makes everything easier; when sex is just a chemical reaction, a biological process, it feels more like fulfilling a basic human need than anything else. Uncomplicated. Straightforward.
Just pheromones.
When Jakob enters her world, she can feel that something is different, and for the first time in her life she finds herself faking. She can’t help it. She pretends she isn’t drawn to him, she pretends there is nothing there, at least nothing that isn’t merely physical. She pretends that various appliances around her house broke all by themselves. And she even fools herself into believing it for a short while.
Then the soup arrives, and she begins to worry she’s in serious trouble.
It’s delicious, the scent a hint of something almost floral. She doesn’t know what it is, exactly, but it feels good swimming inside her. Kind of like the way she’s starting to feel about him.
“No one’s ever made me soup before,” she points out, more to herself than to him.
“It’s just soup,” he smiles, and that smile does her in. It isn’t just soup and they both know it.
You are a strange woman, he tells her. She isn’t quite sure if “strange” is a good thing or a bad thing, but he smiles when he says it. He leaves her there flustered, confused. Aroused.
That night she has a sex dream about him. Not an unusual occurrence for her, but it feels wrong somehow; forbidden. She doesn’t even know his name, for Christ's sake. He growls into her ear in gruff Swedish and she screams out “Mr. Builder” when she comes.
She awakens drenched in sweat. Clearly, her body is telling her she can’t fake this anymore. This is a fantasy she might have no choice but to follow through on.
Years of advising others to value openness and directness and to be straightforward about sex is something she tends to practice herself. This crush, or attraction, is something she no longer wishes to deny. So she puts it out there.
Pheromones; that’s all it is. Until the moment it isn’t.
He doesn’t say much, he rarely does, instead staring deeply into her soul as if he’s somehow looking right through her. And then… it just happens.
There is nothing hesitant about their first kiss, it’s pure magnetism: fire and passion and sex, sex, sex. The relief that comes over her knowing he is attracted to her as well fades into the background as she melts into his kiss. His lips practically bruise her own as his hands mold to the back of her head, and he lifts her onto her desk where she is convinced they will go further until she hears one of Otis’s friends calling frantically for her from the staircase.
They pull apart reluctantly, breathing heavily. His eyes are bluer than any she’s ever seen, and his smile appears: slowly at first but then broad as brass. Only a moment passes between them but it’s a loaded one: full of unfinished business.
It’s just the pheromones, she thinks. It was just soup. But her heart thrums wildly with desire that she suspects isn’t purely physical.
“That is a strange girl,” Jakob comments after Otis and his odd friend leave, looking at the door. Jean can hardly disagree, but suddenly they are alone again and she’s finding it difficult to concentrate.
“Do you think all women are strange?” she asks as she takes her cheque book out of her handbag.
“It doesn’t mean I didn’t like her,” he says, looking at Jean pointedly. “I liked her very much.” Whenever he does that her insides flutter and she feels her face getting hot. She doesn’t like feeling so out of control. Or maybe she does?
“Anyway,” she says, clicking the ballpoint against the counter. “I don’t know who to make this out to.”
“Jakob Nyman.”
“Jakob?” she repeats back. It’s unusual.
“Yes. J- A- K- O- B. Nyman.”
“Ah,” she says. She fills out the cheque. “Well, you do excellent work, Jakob. I’ll be sure to keep your card for any future… ruptures.”
He nods, smiling. She isn’t completely certain he takes her meaning but it seems like maybe he does. They look at one another for a moment and it suddenly feels exactly like it did in her office a few minutes ago, the air thick with energy and heat, but before they can allow biology to take over once again a loud car horn blares from outside.
“My daughter is here,” he explains.
“Oh. Is she... your ride?”
“I have no driving license. Just for the moment,” he adds off her look.
Jean smiles. “So she isn’t actually an evil demon from hell after all, then?”
He nods once more, doesn’t speak yet. She likes the way he does this; allows her words to sink in then responds thoughtfully. “You are right. She’s not so bad.”
After flashing one more smile Jean is well aware she’ll be thinking about for the rest of the week, he leaves. She wonders exactly how much trouble she’s in.
She wonders how long she can wait before she finds out.
“Fuck fear.”
It’s only a couple of days before she decides to break the first of what she suspects will be many bathroom fixtures.
She’s afraid of what this is, that it could overwhelm her thinking, swallow her whole. But this feeling has not subsided, the wondering. She’s more afraid of not knowing, possibly forever.
“I would never,” she lies to her son as he and Jakob’s daughter leave for the school dance. “Don’t be silly. Completely inappropriate.”
When you get older, you’ll understand, she’d explained to her son at age twelve. Otis had always been very aware of sex and what it all entailed, whether Jean had truly wanted that for him or not. It wafted through the air in their house, on her own lips as well as those of her dates, not to mention the dozens of patients that would filter in and out, their various problems ostensibly working their way into his prepubescent brain like sexual earworms. He’d always tolerated the parade of men traipsing in and out of their home with graceful aplomb because she’d been content and had told him as much. Jean hadn’t felt guilty, ever, because she’d never intended any of them to turn serious.
She has room for only one man in her life, and raising one is difficult enough.
She doesn’t like lying to Otis, but she can’t help it. There’s absolutely no chance she’s not going to have sex with Jakob in approximately five minutes.
The heart wants what it wants.
Jakob sets down his toolbox and smiles at her, that big, diaphanous smile she’s starting to really, really enjoy seeing. The house is silent, rife with sexual tension that still lingers from their last encounter.
“So,” he begins. “This faucet.”
She swallows, hard, wondering how long they will beat around this very particular bush today. “Of course. This way.” She starts to walk toward the kitchen but he steps in front of her, stopping her. She nearly bumps into his hulking frame and has to tilt her chin up to look at him she’s so close.
“Why don’t you tell me exactly how it broke?” he suggests.
“It, ah… Well. I was washing my hands and it just, it sort of…” he looks down at her and what she sees in his eyes is unmistakably lust. “...Just fell off.”
“It just... fell off?”
“Yes,” she says, her voice shaky. “Just... like that.”
“Just like that, eh.” His voice has abruptly changed into more of a whisper and he smells so, so good. Out of some compulsion she cannot contain she leans in and takes a whiff of his neck.
“Are you smelling me again, Jean?”
“I’m sorry, it’s just… familiar, somehow.” She meets his eyes again. “That soup you made me… what was it?”
His pupils darken. To her great relief, he doesn’t seem to be interested in talking about soup. In fact, he doesn’t seem to be interested in talking about anything at all, and soon enough they are kissing again, nothing to interrupt them this time, every possible obstacle cleared.
They kiss all the way up the stairs, removing their clothing, tossing it aside. By the time they’re in her bedroom they are both completely naked. It’s been about two minutes since he arrived and she swears she can still hear Ola and Otis peeling out of the driveway.
Jakob absolutely lavishes her with attention, which is unusual without her having to hint, direct, prod: her typical routine. It’s the first of several times she thinks this feels different, something about this is different but she still tries to ignore it. His body is covered in tattoos, and she finds herself wondering why he got each and every one.
He has no objection to wearing a condom, which ticks off another box, passes a test several before him have failed. She’s certainly kicked out more than a handful for the slightest hint of resistance.
He hovers above her, getting into position. “How do you like this, Jean?” he asks softly, in a gravelly baritone that sends jolts to her center. He’s a man of few words but she loves each and every one. So few men ask or even care, it’s no surprise to her they shuffle in and out of her bed like assembly line rejects.
“Er… this is nice,” she says, so caught off guard by his question she doesn’t actually tell him she prefers being on top. But he smiles again, leaning down to kiss her and there is a brief moment where she imagines this very smile descending upon her again and again, just like this. It feels right, even perfect.
And then… oh, my.
When it’s over she lies back against the headboard, exhausted, feeling what she can only describe as properly fucked.
“Rose hip,” he says, suddenly.
“Pardon?” His accent is so thick she can barely understand him at times.
“The soup. It was rose hip soup.” He breathes heavily for a moment, his eyes twinkle and he smiles that Jakob smile. His hand rests in the crook of her knee and it feels surprisingly intimate. “So. Now I will go and fix your sink.” He heads out the door naked, presumably to travel the telltale trail along the stairs collecting his clothing.
She lays back against the headboard and waits for the endorphins to wear off, for her usual desire to kick him out of her house to set in. She waits for a long time, listening to the sounds of him fixing her faucet coming from below.
That desire never arrives.
“I really like you, Jean.”
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
“I’m sorry if I’ve given you the wrong idea,” she says, the line rehearsed. Even as the words tumble from her lips she knows she’s faking, again. She’s pushing this man away and she knows she shouldn’t.
The minutes tick by excruciatingly slowly as she hears him upstairs collecting his clothes, getting dressed, preparing for a walk of shame she alone is responsible for. Finally, she hears him in the hallway moving towards the door and she suddenly feels disgusted with herself for the first time, letting a man leave like this, especially a man who'd bared his soul to her without provocation. She cannot let it end this way.
“Jakob!” she calls, as she intercepts him in the foyer. “I’m truly sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
He shrugs. “It’s okay.”
“I had a wonderful… time, with you. I really did.”
“And you don’t want to have a relationship.” He’s smiling but his eyes betray him. He looks sad, his eyes the same ones he wore when he took her hands in the kitchen, resigned. “I understand.”
“It’s just… relationships complicate things,” she tries to explain.
“There is nothing complicated about the way I feel for you, Jean.”
As direct as she tries to be on a daily basis, she isn’t used to this kind of transparency. The worst part is she knows he’s right. This should be uncomplicated. She likes him, too. But this has to stop before it gets out of her control. Falling for Jakob was not part of the plan, the plan she’s now realizing is veering wildly off course.
“I’m very sorry,” is all she can muster.
After he’s gone she walks back upstairs. Her yellow bathrobe is laid out on her bed carefully. She picks it up and smells it, closing her eyes. It smells like rose hip.
***
Dan is really quite terrible.
She hadn’t noticed so much before; maybe because she’s been used to the kind of sex she’s tolerated for so long.
She comes, of course, because she always does, but barely, and by her own hand. He leaves the room afterwards in only his underwear, heads downstairs to get something to eat. After a while she hears Otis and Eric arrive home. She’s relieved, oddly, that her son can see she is very clearly not sleeping with his girlfriend’s father, all the while chastising herself for not doing so.
“Dan? Are you coming back to bed?” She doesn’t want him to stay, she just doesn’t really want him chatting it up with Otis.
When he enters her room he’s wearing her robe, and the intimacy of it makes her snap.
“Take that off, please.”
He looks stunned. “I’m sorry, I, uh…” He removes it and sets it down on her bed. “You didn’t mind the last time.”
“That was last time,” she says, suddenly in an extremely rotten temper. “I think you should go, actually.” She holds the sheet up, covering her chest.
“All right, then,” he says, confused. He putters around her room, taking far too long to get dressed. “Have I done something?”
“No, nothing,” she says honestly. “I’d just really like you to… not be here anymore.”
“Right.” He finishes, then stops at the door. “Same time tomorrow?”
“I’m sorry, no,” she says decisively. She shouldn’t have called him again in the first place. She’s fucked in the head now, and she knows exactly why. She can’t stop thinking about someone else.
Dan gives her a long look. “I really hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for, Jean.” He leaves, and she waits until she hears the front door slam before she dares to move again.
She isn't sure what she's looking for, anymore. She knows what she wants to do, what her heart is telling her to do. She just needs to find the strength to do it.
Fuck fear.
She reaches out and picks up the discarded bathrobe, bringing it to her nose. Jakob’s scent still remains.
“It’s not just the pheromones.”
This time, they don’t make it to a bedroom.
Both still half-dressed, they lay on the floor of the entryway, her head resting on his bicep. Somehow she knows this time around it will not be the same. Whatever that was, she wants to do it again. And again. With Jakob.
“You’re very good at that, you know,” she says.
“Am I?”
“Yes. But I didn’t just come back for the sex,” she assures him.
“I hope not,” he chuckles. “You know, I find you intimidating for such a small person.”
“Really?”
He nods, his enormous hand gently stroking her bare shoulder. She inches a bit closer to him, to his heat.
“What do I do that intimidates you, Jakob?”
“You are…” he searches for a word, “... a force of nature. I’ve never met a woman like you before.”
She smirks. “Is that a good thing?”
“Yes, it’s quite wonderful.”
She asks her next question carefully. She hadn’t mistaken his meaning in her kitchen last time and wants to make sure they are still on the same page. “So… what does this mean? Can we see each other again?”
“Is that what you want?”
She nods. “Yes.” She’d made the decision when she kissed him on the doorstep. She has no intention of backing down now.
“What do we say, Jean?” he asks. “When my daughter asks? When your son asks?”
Jean pauses. Otis. Shit. She’d been so caught up in Jakob she’d forgotten the reason she’d come over in the first place. The fact that she’d given in to her urges after explicitly promising Otis she wouldn’t notwithstanding, he’ll be even further upset if whatever this thing with Jakob is turns out to go nowhere.
“Would it be all right if we kept this between us, for the time being?” She tilts her head to look at him. “Just until I figure out how… to tell him.”
Jakob smiles. She truly believes she could lock every secret she’s ever possessed within that smile and it would stay safe forever. “Sure.”
She rolls onto her stomach, touches his cheek. “I do want to do this, very much. I want to make sure you know that.”
“I think I do.”
“This is new for me,” she says. “This relationship thing.”
“I can see so,” he says. “I’m glad you changed your mind.”
She sighs, laying her head against his chest. “I am, too.”
She means it. She can’t remember the last time she felt so good, so absolutely sated. And something else, it’s something… else.
She knows what it is, and she doesn’t want to fake it anymore.
She’s happy.