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Maggie was the first to notice.
After that day with Kristen, Jubal almost always had that black band around his wrist. With whatever was going on at home, it was now a regular occurrence. Whenever the JOC got tense, that band was snapping constantly.
They’re working on a particularly tense case, three days in when Maggie sees it. The thin trickle of red going down his wrist. It’s barely there, but it definitely exists.
“Jubal, a word?” Her voice brooks no arguments.
They step into the hall, where she reaches for his wrist. Expectedly, he twists away, protecting the one thing keeping him from relapsing.
She raises an eyebrow, and grabs for it above the elbow. “Look at what you’re doing. This…this isn’t coping.” She drags him into the office and slips gauze over his wrist, and tosses the band in the trash.
“Maggie…” His voice has lost its power. He sounds like he’s younger, vulnerable.
“No. You need to find a way that’s not harmful.” She had seen the scars of where this had happened before. She knows how easy it is to let it spiral into something more harmful, even when you tell yourself you can stop.
She’d had to drag herself out of those spirals a time or two. It never really got better. You just learned to live with it.
“No, Jubal. Whatever you’re trying to do, it’s become destructive. It’s no longer healthy, you’re injuring yourself.”
He at least has the good sense to have a little shame, with the blunt way it was laid out before him.
She drops into the chair next to him, trying to catch his eyes. They both knew it would only be a short time before someone came looking for them. When she can’t, she speaks anyway. “I’ve been where you are, trying to distract myself with the pain from the anxiety and guilt that wanted to eat me alive. This? This isn’t the way to do that. There’s ways that will help, and will not send you spiraling back down into that hole you fought so hard to drag yourself out of. But this is not it.”
She leaves him sitting there, considering her words.
He rubs at the gauze around his wrist, a stark reminder of once again letting something control him so intensely, and thinks about all of the times he’s used that sharp, sudden pain as a distraction from a deep seated need to bury himself in the bottom of a bottle.
He takes up running, getting up at an hour most New Yorkers are not, and allows himself to enjoy watching the city sections wake up as he winds his way through them. The movement is cathartic, and as winter moves towards spring, it’s refreshing. Taking in the sights of the city and the salty smell of the river before it’s awash in the fumes of buses, taxis, and sidewalk stands. He watches the college kids get to their classes, hustling in the cool air of the morning. Some days, he takes his headphones, and runs along the river, where he watches the fog give way to a bright blue sky.
Maggie watches this transformation, as he comes in calmer and ready to focus, maybe even a little happier. There are still days when she can see him reaching for his wrist, but he now looks outside, into the sun and takes just a moment to enjoy the view over the city before turning around again. These small moments seem to center him in a way the band never did, and he finds himself more focused and alert on the job, and more able to leave the job at the office, than he’d been before.
Then it all went wrong.
There was one case eating at the whole team. A drug empire, ruling New York City. Their kingpin, careless on one mistake.
And yet, they couldn’t pin him.
Isobel was furious.
Jubal would’ve killed a man for a drink. Or some way to take control. He was in the office so late, and back in so early, his runs hadn’t even taken a back seat, they’d dropped off the radar. Days ago.
He snags a hairband from the floor, and the first snap is a high he’s been missing. It centers him enough to talk Isobel off the ledge of going rogue, to talk to Elise and tell her that he understands she needs time, and the JOC would miss her.
Maggie sees the little black band around his wrist, and he can’t quite meet her eyes. He knows it wasn’t right, but the more he feels that sting, the closer to center he gets.
He can stop. After they solve this case, it will go right into the trash.
Case closed. They nailed the guy to the wall. On everything.
Elise is fine, working in White Collar is the long game.
Isobel is pleased.
The JOC isn’t being shut down today.
As far as he can tell, he’s done his job.
Maggie finds him at his car. She doesn’t say a word, simply holds her hand out.
He places the band in her hand.
She raises an eyebrow.
He loses his patience. It’s been a long several days, they’re all tired. “What.” His voice is flat.
“Keys, Jubal.” Hers is sharp, unforgiving.
He resists, knowing that giving up his keys is giving up the last semblance of control that he has over this situation. She waits for him to realize the inevitable. He knows she has no qualms about discussing this with Isobel, who certainly holds more sway over his position than she does.
He sighs in defeat, and places them in her hand. Following her to her car, he gets into the passenger seat.
The ride is silent, taking turns that Jubal doesn’t recognize. They pull up to her brownstone. She turns off the car, but makes no move to get out.
“I tried to tell you,” she says to the steering wheel. “I did. I thought you understood what I said. I thought you heard me. But this? What…how? I don’t even know what to say to you right now.”
He’s thrown back to the events of last year, where her partner had taken one to the vest, and she’d been emotional. Maggie didn’t like to admit attachment to others, but she was very protective over the JOC and everyone in it.
“I thought I could stop, after this case.” It’s an admission of guilt, shame, and a strange sense he’s disappointed her, despite the fact she works for him, not the other way around.
She looks at him. “That’s what someone always thinks. Just this case. One more day. One more hour. But soon enough, it consumes you. Your life revolves around it. And you can’t stop, once it has that level of control.”
She looks him square in the eye when she says this, and despite the her small stature, he admits to himself he’s a bit intimidated by the power of her words, the force and the emotion behind them. She puts the car into motion again. He gives her directions, but the car ride is quiet. A different kind of quiet now, one of reflection, not anger.
As they pull up to his house, he hesitates before exiting the car. He breathes out, gathering his nerve. “Thank you, Maggie.”
She nods. It’s understood.
He goes into the house with a flick of his hand. She smiles.
He doesn’t admit it, but he appreciated someone holding him to his word.