Work Text:
The flight out of Texas is bumpy and the seat is uncomfortable, hard and cramped and hot. Entertainment is not a word Jake would use to describe whatever is happening on the on-board TV screens and there’s only so many times he can flip through Skymall or read the emergency evacuation card. His stomach twists with a combination of anxiety and guilt and bad coffee, and he wishes more than ever that he could sleep on planes. He stares out of the window and watches the hot, dusty South grow greener and colder as they travel north. As they get further and further away from a women’s prison in Spring Valley, Texas. Jake leans against the window but the cold glass is harsh against his bruised face and the woman beside him notices him flinch. She doesn’t ask questions.
Rosa picks Jake up at JFK and drives him home. They don’t speak on the drive; neither of them feels much like talking. They’re sharing the same deep, painful fear right now - that the person they love might not come back alive. Outside Jake’s building, Rosa reaches her hand out to Jake. He takes it and squeezes it, just for a moment, and that’s all they need. He grabs his bags from the back seat and Rosa’s gone before his key is in the lock.
Jake collapses onto the bed as soon as he gets inside and groans into a pillow that smells like Amy’s shampoo. He falls asleep like that, finally, still fully clothed and covered in a film of airplane funk. He doesn’t wake up until his phone buzzes loudly in his pocket and he fishes it out, bleary-eyed and reluctant to move too much.
From: Charles
She’s got this, bud. She’s gonna be fine. x