Work Text:
Jack:
He hurts her. She's nagging him about something, leaving his experiments out, not cleaning the fridge, forgetting to feed Clyde or what-the-fuck-ever, and in a stupor fuelled by sixty seven hours no-sleep and a call from his father, he snaps, tells her to sod off and stop babbling for once, and she does.
Two blinking brown eyes batting away quick tears, a whispered "I just trying to... y'knowwhatjustforgetboutit", small pale hands held together, and he's a jackass.
Bad:
He holds his ground when his father publicly humiliates him by throwing all his past mistakes at his face, from the potty training fiasco to his relapse. He listens, without flinching, without yelling, without walking away, inhaling and exhaling anger.
He holds his ground when Cornelius brings up his mother, how much of a fuckup he is, when he talks about Watson.
He holds his ground when Cornelius walks away, as he always did, internalising all the shame, all the abandonment, all the pain.
Then, he was a baddass.
Kiss:
She needs him to. He needs to. Sucking it up is a goddamned art. It's more than just words, it's the way you carry yourself, how you dress, your intonation, how you work a conversation, a humongous combination of things he doesn't know how to do and ways he doesn't understand how to act. But alas, the universe takes a long throaty laugh and he's plummeted into the nice happy world of NYC job hunting.
His CV has direct references to the MET, the Scotland Yard, MI6, the FBI, the CIA, and several other institutions I am not at liberty to list. All that and being a surprisingly very talented kiss-ass.
Dumb:
Seven years, it takes him to figure out he loves her. Seven years, eight months, twelve days. It takes him far too long to know, and once he does, his behemoth of an ego and unnatural fear of rejection keep him away from her for another eleven years, one walk down the aisle (hers), four tortoises, about two dozen vests, and a rather large piece of carrot cake.
He was a dumbass for quite some time.