Work Text:
The cold that's going around is nothing special, Jen figures, at least until it hits her. Everybody else on set has been miserable but functional. Not her, of course. So now the writer's room is scrambling desperately to write around her absence, the shooting schedule's gone to hell, and of course it's fucking freezing because it's fucking Vancouver. Jen's spent the afternoon curled up under all the blankets she can find.
Her phone vibrates and she wonders distantly who it is. Ginny had checked in earlier, of course, sending her Josh's and Oliver's hopes for improved health. Her parents have already sent their well-wishes—and wow, she misses her mom's soup and her dad bringing her stacks of books and how they knew when she needed to be checked on. It somehow doesn't matter that she's 35 and has been on her own for years; sometimes she just wants to go home and let her parents coddle her. Doesn't help that Rose is working and the place feels empty and echoing.
She reluctantly pokes her head out from under the covers to find her phone. Oh, it's her favorite co-star.
How are you feeling?
Jen coughs and considers not answering. But she figures Lana deserves the effort after Jen had nearly collapsed on her during rehearsals that morning. She can still feel hands on her arms if she thinks about it—Lana holding her up, eyes bright with concern, until one of the grips had helped her to a chair.
She replies, Like the walking dead.
Thought that was your roommate, Lana sends after a few moments, and Jen would have rolled her eyes if she'd had the strength.
Everything going okay without me?
We'll try to manage somehow. I've put an ad for your replacement on Craigslist, actually.
Lol, good luck with that. She can't think of anything wittier, much to her chagrin. She always feels like she should bring her A-game when she texts with Lana for some reason.
Do you have anyone taking care of you? Do you need anything?
Nah. Thanks, though.
Be honest, Jennifer.
Jen frowns. I'm fine.
I'm just concerned after what happened this morning. A few seconds later: Fine doesn't mean you don't need anything.
What she needs is for Lana to stop texting and poking and ... worrying. But it is Lana, after all; she can't expect anything less or take it personally. So she says, I guess some OJ would be awesome actually and burrows back under the blankets.
* * *
She'd expected delivery or yet another poor gofer who's fallen prey to Lana's sweeping charms. But there's the sound of a key turning in the lock, the rustling of grocery bags, and a light tread that's not Rose's.
Ava and Elliot are barking. Jen pokes her nose out of the blankets to shush them. "Thought you were scheduled to film tonight."
"I was. But there's been some reshuffling since you're ... well, an invalid." Lana's mouth turns up briefly at the corners, which is annoying. Also annoying: the way she's leaning against the door frame in black leggings and a simple white T-shirt like she's been here before. Just ... ugh. Why.
"What's with the suppressed mirth?"
"No mirth here, Jen."
"No, you just enjoy seeing me laid out all pathetic in bed."
There's a pause, during which the other woman lifts an eyebrow and Jen feels sort of weird about her word choice. "You should be drinking more fluids," Lana says evenly.
"Okay, Mom," Jen grumbles. Lana just snorts and disappears into the kitchen. An interminable rustling and banging of cupboard doors ensues. Jen stares at the ceiling, wondering what she's done to deserve this.
Her co-star comes back with a tray. It's got to be Rose's, or maybe Lana brought it; Jen's not the breakfast in bed type. Lana's arranged a glass of orange juice, a small plate of crackers, and an impressive assortment of cold medicine. There's also a bottle of Jen's favorite brand of water, which, of course Lana would know that. Why wouldn't she? She seems to know everything. Jen shakes her head and examines a packet of painkillers. "You clean out the pharmacy?"
"I did. You should be set for the next five colds, at least."
"That or the zombie apocalypse."
"Where is Rose, by the way? Night shoot?"
"Yeah." Jen hoists herself up with some difficulty and downs the orange juice first. "How'd you get a key, anyway?"
"Your father is concerned about you."
"My fath—oh."
"He was going to come, but it seems there was something of a diaper explosion and all hands were needed on deck. So I volunteered." Lana grins and sits on the edge of the bed like they're friends or something.
"Say no more." Jen swipes at her drippy nose. She think she should probably get her key back from Ginny and Josh if they're going to go around handing it off to—well, Lana isn't just anybody, she supposes, but she is definitely having words with her fairytale parents when she gets back to set.
Lana's looking at her with her head tilted to one side. "How've you been?"
"Uh. Kinda sick?"
"I mean aside from that. We haven't seen much of each other lately."
Jen sneezes and twitches a shoulder. "You know. Work. Sleep. Work."
"Is that all?"
"Yup." She holds Lana's stare for a moment, wondering why she always sees something in the other woman's eyes that resembles ... expectation is a poor approximation, as is affection, but Jen can't find a word for whatever's in between. Not that she thinks about it that often, because that would be weird.
"Anything else I can get you?"
"I think I'm good. Thanks for ... all of this."
Lana nods, leans down to pat Ava and looks thoughtful. "When's the last time your dogs went out?"
"My assistant lets them out at noon, usually. They're probably fine, but..."
"I'll take them out, shall I?"
"That would be awesome, thanks."
Jen is in the middle of swallowing a battery of pills when the dogs spill back into the room, panting with excitement and new-found adoration, the traitors. Lana scoops them both up. "Mom's not feeling well," she coos. "Maybe some puppy kisses will help, hmm?"
She has to grin when Elliot licks her nose. "Hey, kids. How was—oof, Ava, jeez—" Ava doesn't weigh much, but she's squirmed out of Lana's grasp to jump directly on Jen's stomach.
"Shit, I'm so sorry! Here, c'mere, sweetie, leave Mommy alone."
"No, it's okay, she can cuddle with me." Jen strokes a hand through white fur and sniffs mightily. Lana sits next to her again and pets Ava too.
"I was thinking maybe I could stay for a while."
"You don't have to do that."
Warm fingers overlap Jen's briefly. "I want to."
Why? Jen sort of scream-whines inside her head. She wishes she could make her co-star leave, because Jen's all gross and makeup-free and red-nosed and Lana is here, like, here here, within touching distance which is so not okay and this was never part of the plan, Lana was never part of any plan—
"I'll cook you something later."
Jen blinks. "Yeah?"
"Old family recipe. Something tasty that'll clear up those sinuses." A finger taps her nose gently. "Now come on. You should take a shower."
"Um, I kinda just want to stay here."
"The steam will be good for you."
"Staying right here will be good for me."
"...Jen."
She becomes aware they're staring at each other. She's not sure how long that's been going on; everything feels a little fuzzy right now. Lana's got that intense stare going at full power, beaming GENTLE CONCERN and INEXPLICABLE CARING at her. She looks away. "Fine. But if I pass out in the shower I'm blaming you."
Lana pats her leg through the blankets. "I'll come rescue you, don't worry. Now come on. Up up up."
She feels embarrassed about the mental image the rescuing comment provokes, and then she feels embarrassed about needing the other woman's help to stand, and then she's even more embarrassed about the heat that flushes her entire body when Lana lingers solicitously, fingers sliding down her arm. She's pretty sure her entire face is red. In the shower, Jen leans a forearm against the tile and presses her forehead against it. Her brain feels muddled. All she sees is brown eyes looking at her like she ... no, no, she is not thinking about this. Lana's just here because she's one of those insufferable interfering types who ... cares deeply about her ... co-workers. Enough to make house calls. Yeah. Yes.
Man, the steam does feel irritatingly good.
When she comes back out, Lana is humming in the kitchen. Jen pulls her robe close around her and stumbles into warmth and the smells of chicken, vegetables, and spices. She peers into the pot, enjoying the heat on her face.
"Hey." Lana's voice is like velvet. Her hand lands on Jen's spine and slides down, settles in the small of her back. "You should sit down."
Jen moves away slightly under the pretext of muffling a cough. She doesn't get why Lana keeps touching her, like, personal space much? Touchers are the worst. (The heat that shoots through her every time Lana makes contact is also the worst, although she's had some practice at ignoring it. She's doing so right now.) "I'm okay."
"Yeah, you're so okay you're going to fall over in about thirty seconds."
"Am not."
"Jennifer. What did I tell you about fine?"
"I don't know, I wasn't listening."
She laughs. "That's bullshit, Jen, you're a great listener. And you're about to pass out. Here, sit. Have some sopa." Lana guides her into the kitchen chair and dishes up a bowl of what looks like chicken noodle soup over a bit of white rice. She identifies garlic, salt and pepper, cumin, something like oregano ... is that a hint of cilantro? And Lana's right again: it's really tasty and it does clear up her sinuses. Just one more thing for Jen to be mad about. That and the way Lana props her chin on her folded hands and watches her eat with a smile that could be described as fond. At first, Jen chalks up the warmth spreading through her to the soup. But when Lana touches her shoulder before she clears Jen's bowl, fingertips brushing the nape of her neck, she starts sweating all over.
Jen buries her face in her hands, not looking up even when she feels Ava and Elliot bump against her legs in a search for crumbs. This is the worst day ever.
* * *
After dinner, they move to the living room. Jen curls into the couch. Lana has already made herself at home, running a finger across the DVD cases on the shelf. "Your movie collection's pretty great."
"Thanks. Some of it's Rose's."
"Want to watch anything?"
"I don't know. Maybe." Jen coughs, feeling restless and full and overheated. She closes her eyes and groans quietly.
Lana settles on the couch and rests a hand on her ankle. "What can I do for you?"
"Nothing, I'm—you're—"
"Yes?"
"I just want to crawl into a hole and die," she admits. Alone, she doesn't say, because Lana's thumb is stroking her ankle and she suddenly finds it hard to focus on anything else.
"We can't have that. You're irreplaceable, Jen."
"I could literally phone in my performances from beyond the grave and no one would even notice," Jen grumbles. Between the awful writing and weird direction and fucking Frozen with the fifty million new cast members, she really doesn't give a shit any more.
"I'd notice." Lana's voice is throaty and sincere. Jen realizes she's staring again. She averts her eyes, uncomfortable with ... she doesn't even know what. The warmth of Lana's palm steady and comforting against her skin. Or the way Lana is looking at her, maybe. Because this is the way Lana looks at everyone, touches everyone, and Jen is nothing special. She doesn't know why that thought hurts when she's worked so hard to keep things that way. It's just better for everyone. Isn't it?
She's pulled from her confusion at a whuff from one of her dogs. Ava's giving her a soulful stare. Elliot's prancing around with a tiny tennis ball. "Someone wants to play, huh, kids?" she says wearily. It's the last thing she wants to do, but her pets are her family up here and they deserve attention. When she sits up to retrieve the ball and chuck it weakly down the hall a few times, it feels like all the junk in her head has shifted suddenly behind her eyeballs. The dogs yip happily as they race after the ball and Jen winces.
"Hey. You okay?"
Jen just moans a little. Lana's hand has moved to her back again. Jen fights the opposing desires to recoil and to lean into her touch. The latter wins, this time, and the gentle massage feels heavenly. Elliot's chewing on the ball and Ava's rolling around on the floor, trying to scratch her muzzle, so Jen closes her eyes for a few blessed moments. Lana keeps rubbing her back, moving to stroke the width of her shoulders and the length of her neck. Something deep inside Jen's chest loosens and she sighs.
"That feels kind of amazing," she admits.
"I'm glad," Lana says close to her ear. It's far too intimate and Jen feels another surge of energy shoot down to her core. The dogs come trotting back before she can panic and dive off the couch or something. "Why don't I play with them," Lana suggests. Jen just nods because she feels so overstimulated and she can't fucking handle anything right now. So Lana slides down to the floor (thank God) and makes noises at the dogs, tosses the ball gently and humors Elliot when he gets distracted and brings her a rope toy instead. Jen sprawls on the couch and stares blearily at the woman before her, face crinkling into laughter lines every other second, tossing a tennis ball with one hand and a rope with the other to her adoring fans.
I'm so fucked, Jen thinks vaguely.
* * *
She goes into her room to lie down for a bit. Her nap only lasts for about an hour, but she wakes to hear low voices in the living room. She stumbles out and catches Rose and Lana—who's wearing her coat—in an embrace. The dogs are happily jumping around their feet. "It's so good to see you again," Lana is saying in Rose's ear, and the big smile on her roommate's face makes Jen feel suddenly furious. How does this woman just ... swoop in and slide past all defenses and charm literally everyone in her house, and then have the effrontery to up and leave so casually?
"So you're leaving?" Her voice is too loud in her own ears. She thinks maybe because of all the shit clogging up her head, or maybe she really was that loud, because Rose is kind of giving her a weird look. Lana just nods and finishes buttoning up her coat.
"I have to get going. Are you feeling any better?"
Jen shrugs. "I guess. Maybe. A little."
Lana's eyes narrow slightly at her almost belligerent tone. Rose's eyebrows climb up her forehead and, yeah, the moment's a little awkward and suddenly she needs her co-star to be gone now. Or to stay, maybe. It's really unclear. Her head hurts. Everything hurts. Jen forces a smile and says, "Thanks for dinner. It was delicious."
"You're welcome," Lana murmurs. "Rose, good luck with everything." All Jen gets is a nod and a small smile and then Lana's gone. Jen stares after her and shivers once. She feels strangely outraged and disappointed.
"You're an idiot," Rose says wearily.
Jen says nothing, just turns around and crawls back into bed, tries to ignore the awful sinking sensation in her stomach and the sweaty palms and the rapid thump of her heart and the voice in her head that says You fucked up, Morrison.
* * *
Her dreams are full of faceless women. She gets to set, but it's all somehow contained in her old house in Arlington Heights and her mother is cooking chicken noodle soup with spices she's never heard of and her father's explaining that they've had to convert her old room into—something, it's not clear what. But when she goes to check, there's nothing left inside but the bed and a woman in it.
The woman rises above her and arches beneath her, face never quite clear, and long-fingered hands map every inch of her until she's hot and dripping wet. She half-wakes up in the middle of all that and confusedly thinks of bright brown eyes and a scarred smiling mouth before she jams a hand down her pants and comes harder than she's ever made herself come before.
She dreamed the whole thing, she tells herself the next morning, frantic and still damp with sweat. It's just fever dreams, it's nothing extraordinary. She's fine. She's fine.
* * *
"I'm not fine," she says to Lana, fists knotted at her sides, chest heaving under Emma's T-shirt and leather jacket. This is what they've come to—what Jen's come to, after four days of what are definitely not fever dreams: Lana backed against the wall in a deserted corner of the back soundstage, Jen in front of her with her blood pumping and her jaw clenched so tight she thinks she's going to crack a tooth. "I'm not fine," she repeats, "I need ... I need—" and Lana just says, "I know. You can tell me," all compassionate and tender, which is possibly the most annoying thing she's ever done aside from invade Jen's home and care at her. So Jen slams a hand against the wall behind her, wanting to rattle that confidence. "What the hell am I supposed to tell you? What the hell do you know about what I need?" She means it to come out forcefully. Instead, it's questioning, confused, and Lana just sighs and reaches up and cups her face and kisses Jen. She kisses her like she's the one who's been dreaming about it, nipping and sucking at Jen's lower lip and making these little sounds at the back of her throat. It's probably the best kiss Jen's ever had. She's lost in sensation, soft lips and sharp teeth and a hot mouth on her neck and the curve of Lana's hips under her hands in the dark.
She says it again against Lana's mouth long minutes later, truly asking this time. "What do you know about what I need?"
Lana pulls back slightly, lifts a hand to her face and traces the line of her jaw. When she looks into Jen's eyes, Jen sees that familiar mix of emotion shining at her: a ready affection and something that is not expectation, Jen realizes, but that looks a lot like hope. "I know you need someone who won't let you get away with isolating yourself even when you need others. Because there are too many people in your life who will let you be fine."
She can't decide whether to call it perception or presumption. But this is Lana Parrilla, so it's both. "What if I don't want that?" Jen whispers.
Lana only smiles. "Don't you?"
Jen shivers as a single fingernail traces a line down her neck, craving more. "Yes," she whispers. Deft fingers unbutton her jeans and slip inside and she gasps, mouth wide, spiraling higher and higher until she sees stars.
Lana was right about this, too. God, it's annoying.