Work Text:
Jack looks down at his papers, his head between his hands. He’s been here all day, working alone because Kemp didn’t come in (something about being “sick”), so he’s more than a little irritable.
Not that he doesn’t like Doctor Cranley—he does, he really does, it’s just the principle of the thing. They’ve got a certain amount of work to do, and it’s a workload for two people.
But no, Kemp didn’t come to work today, so Jack’s had to pick up the slack. Not that Doctor Cranley would’ve been mad about it if they didn’t make a meaningful amount of progress; no, far from it, Jack knows that Cranley’s always been decently lenient especially where Jack himself is concerned. It’s just that he’d rather hoped to get more done today and he’s still tired from a late night of trying to interpret his brother and then help him once he thought he’d finally figured it all out, only to be wrong and have to start from square one.
At least they’d figured that one out in the end. He has that to pick up his spirits, at least, as he looks between notes hastily scribbled onto a spare paper and the notebook that he’s much more neatly copying them into. It’s not a bad system, just time-consuming, but he can’t complain too much.
Jack’s writing when he hears the door open and shut, and he looks up from his notebook. He smiles when he sees that Flora’s in the lab. She’s talking to her father, gesturing vaguely with a book that she’s brought—he can’t hear what they’re saying, between their hushed tones and their distance, but he’s also hesitant to say that he wants to know what they’re discussing.
Flora meets his eyes and returns his smile, and he looks back down at his notebook. He’s almost at a point where he thinks he could be pleased with his progress for the day, but he also knows how that trail goes: he’ll find something to want to tidy up in his notes and spend hours more than he’d intended on it. Flora’s well aware of that, she’s been an unintentional victim of him losing track of time before even if he’d tried not to let it happen.
He lets himself get lost in his work again until Flora comes to stand near him, footsteps audible when she walks and her intention—to get him from work—clear. He lets himself look back up at her, and doesn’t push her away when she gets close to press a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth before she steps away and goes around his table so that she’s across from him.
“I’m working,” Jack says, looking down at his notes and scratching something out with his pen. “I’ll be off soon, Flora-my-dear,”
“Come on,” Flora says, gentle but firm. He looks up from his notebook yet again, finishing the sentence he’s writing.
“I need to finish,” he tells her, albeit halfheartedly. She stares at him judgmentally, unmoving, and he could almost feel guilty, but… he really should get finished here. Admittedly, he’s not sure what exactly ‘finished’ means for where he’s at right now, but he wants to get to some kind of stopping point.
Flora seems to see right through him, though. “No. Father said it’s fine,”
Well. He doesn’t particularly want to argue with her, and if Doctor Cranley’s okay with it… he can make his peace with leaving it only mostly finished for today. There’s still tomorrow, and he can finish it then; a break, especially one with Flora, does sound nice.
“Okay,” he agrees. She smiles.
“Just finish up whatever part you’re working on right now, I’ll wait for you,”
Well, he can’t just leave her waiting like that for long. He nods and watches as she goes to Kemp’s chair, the next table over, to wait. Yep—he needs to wrap up what he can as soon as possible.
She stares at him expectantly. He turns his attention back to his notebook, her gaze a weight on him and her anticipation (even through her patience) palpable. He tries to focus on writing—really, all he’s doing is transferring data over, and there’s nothing that’s too new—but she’s almost magnetic, an inherent distraction because of the anticipation of being able to go. Jack can’t even entirely ignore her like he ordinarily would a distraction; he lets his eyes flick up from his notebook, and she levels him with a look that tells him to keep working.
He looks back down, not quite bashful and almost embarrassed at being caught, but he sneaks another look up once he’s onto the next paragraph. Flora doesn’t say anything, attention in her book—she’s reading Virginia Woolf’s Orlando, and she’s about halfway through from what he can tell. She’s deliberately not paying any attention to him, he’s fairly certain, but he’s also confident that if he were to start explaining what he’s doing then she’d pay attention: she’s just signaling for him to work.
One more page. All he has to do is finish the next page, and then he’ll call it good. Jack finishes scribbling his notes in, and if his handwriting is messy he doesn’t care as much as he probably should. He reads over it one last time before deciding that he’s done.
He closes his notebook with what could almost be called a flourish and sets his pen beside it, straightening both with care before he looks up at Flora again. He walks around the table and holds out his hand, and when she takes it he does a mock bow and kisses the top of hers before straightening, letting both drop and shifting.
“Outside?” he asks, offering his arm for her to take, this time.
“Outside,” she agrees, tucking her hand in the crook of his elbow and leaning into him as they walk together. He lets her lead, following as she walks aimlessly; they’re just walking for the sake of walking together, and it’s obvious in the way that they amble along. They eventually get to the door, and he removes his arm from her hold long enough to open the door. He holds it for her then extends his hand. She takes it and gives a quick, gentle squeeze. He loves this—he loves her.
It’s a warm day, not uncomfortable, and Jack knows with certainty that if he were to pick a perfect day, this would be it. Flora’s hand in his as they walk, a day of getting to experiment behind him and another in the near future, weekend plans with his brother and his partners and Flora, the sun warm and a gentle breeze—he can’t think of anything more that he could want—almost.
He pushes the thought away, though, when Flora squeezes his hand again and pulls him towards the tree. He follows after her happily, and when she comes to a stop and releases his hand he moves quickly so he can get one arm around her waist to pull her into a hug. She laughs as she hugs him back. He kisses her before letting her go, then sits at the base of the tree. He gets himself settled then waits for Flora to situate herself—lying out, head on his lap, book in hand.
“Do you want me to start at the beginning?” she asks, looking up at him.
“You don’t have to, but you can,”
She doesn’t say anything, but he watches as she flips to the front of the book deftly, shifting until she can hold it comfortably.
“I love you,” he tells her without thinking. She flicks her eyes over the book and up to him.
“I love you, too,” she answers, smiling, before she returns her attention to the book in her hand. He listens intently as she reads to him, about Orlando meeting the queen and writing a poem, and picks flowers—the ones with shorter stems, he places in her hair, tucking them between the strands easily; the ones with longer strands, he twists together in a loop. It’s peaceful, calm and quiet and punctuated by the flips of the pages between her speaking. He’s happy like this, he realizes violently, almost startling.
It makes him pause in his task. It’s not that he’s hesitant–he’s not, not by any means, but he’s contemplative. He waits until she’s at a stopping point, turning a page, before he speaks.
“We could get married,” he says quietly. “Seriously get married,” There are a lot of things that he feels, but mostly, he just loves her.
“Jack?” she looks up at him seriously, lowering her book and putting a finger in to mark her place as she closes it. “Are you actually asking?”
He goes still. “Do you want me to be?” he asks back carefully. He knows that this isn’t too absurd: they’ve mentioned the idea before, but never as something to take seriously now, just the assumption that they’d do it eventually. Her father had even practically given the ‘okay’ for it months ago.
Flora sits up, putting her book to the side and shifting until she can look at him. “You already know,”
On a technicality, it’s a non-answer, except… he does know. Again: her father has practically already given his blessing, it’s just a matter of going through with it. Jack nods. There’s a terse moment where they just watch each other before he gathers the ability to speak.
“Yes. Flora—do you want to?” He does hesitate, now: he wanted this to be perfect, he wanted to put more thought behind it, but now it’s a random and insignificant day. “Would you marry me?”
Flora all but launches herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck, and Jack catches her. They go down, falling back on the ground and almost rolling, but with their combined effort they’re able to stop themselves from going too far. They’re both laughing, clutching each other tightly, book forgotten.
Jack presses a kiss to her hair, then another, then another, and something warm curls and makes a home in his chest. Even though she hasn’t answered verbally, he has an idea of how she feels, and he feels so light. She shifts to try to sit up, then pulls him so he can sit up too.
“Yes,” Flora says easily, using one hand to comb his hair back. He goes as still as he can manage, watching her carefully, intensely. She has this faint smile, like her entire essence is tinged in happiness, and he’s happy to have been able to cause it.
“I’m going to get you a proper ring,” he promises. He looks at the ring of flowers in his hand, at the ones he’s tucked into her hair, considering. Flora seems unbothered.
“Jack, dear, it’s okay,” she tells him, watching as he fiddles with the stems in his hands. He doesn’t have any that are the perfect size for what he needs right now, but that’s not an issue…
Jack uses a fingernail to trim a stem from one of the flowers, then very carefully ties it around Flora’s finger. It’s imperfect, but it stays, the material still malleable enough that it doesn’t tear. He carefully twists the makeshift ring a few times, just for good measure, and once he’s pleased with its ability to stay on he presses a kiss to the top of her hand and releases it. Flora takes a moment to examine it herself, critical eye going soft as she rubs her thumb over the knot.
“I’m keeping this,” she warns him. He grabs her hand again and rubs his thumb over her knuckles.
“You don’t have to,” he tells her gently, bringing her hand to his mouth so he can press another kiss to it. “I’ll get you another,”
“Jack,” she says, instead of arguing. He looks at the stem, eyes trained on it like he can will the organic matter into metal.
“It won’t last, honeycomb,”
Flora uses her free hand to gently grab his face, tilting his head carefully so he looks up at her. “I know,” she says humorously. “I’m not going to wear it for the rest of our lives. But I can save it. And there’s not a rush to get a nicer ring,”
Jack squints and opens his mouth to protest but closes it again when he sees the look that she gives him. Instead, he turns his head to press a kiss to her palm. She softens.
“I want you to have a ring,” he says helplessly. He feels almost like a child, but he doesn’t care; he wants to be able to do this properly, and better yet to prove that he can.
“I know, love,” she pauses. “You know I’m happy just with you,”
“I know,” Jack agrees.
“I would be happy even if you tied twine around my finger,”
Jack sags and shifts back, moving away but not enough so that they aren’t touching. “You deserve—,”
“John,” she says, forceful enough to get his attention and make him pause. “I know what I want,”
He knows that he can’t argue against that, especially not right now. So instead he leans forward to kiss her before he slides back and stands, then holds his hand down to help her up. When she takes it, he squeezes her hand gently before releasing it and holding out his arm for her to take.
“We should go tell your father,” he says in lieu of a proper response. She sighs, clearly amused, and takes his offered arm.
“He’s going to be thrilled, you know,”
“Exactly. So I have to tell him,” and then Jack presses a kiss to the top of her head, letting her lead them back.