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Chick notices the first time Jack puts space between them around others, but he doesn't think much of it. Jack's a private man, and their relationship has just shifted from friends to the very beginning of something more. There's been one kiss. Two nights before in Chick's office after a single whiskey each, and then Jack had stood when Chick did and paused before taking three steps forward and pressing his mouth to Chick's.
So, Jack taking a step away when Chick walks up next to him at the O-Club and touches his back doesn't phase Chick at all. He's the tactile sort. Jack's not. That's fine.
A few weeks later, several more notices of Jack making space, Chick watches him over a dinner in Jack's room in Ops and tries sliding his foot against Jack's under the table.
Jack smiles at him and shifts so his own foot is hooked behind Chick's ankle. Chick smiles back at him. "So, this is what it takes," he teases.
Jack wrinkles his brow. "What?" he asks. He takes a drink of his coffee. It's dinner time, but their day is hardly over.
Chick taps his foot. "You move away when I get too touchy-feely in public," he says. "Not a problem when it's just us, though."
Jack stares for a moment. "I don't—"
"It's not a rebuke," Chick says quickly. Jack's tone sounds much more severe than the conversation warrants. "Nothing wrong with wanting to keep things between us."
"That's not—" Jack shakes his head. He looks over Chick's shoulder, then looks down at his silverware. "Um." He sets his silverware down on his plate.
"Jack?" Chick asks when the silence lingers for several seconds.
"I've told you about my parents," Jack says, staring at his half-eaten dinner. His voice is very quiet, but Chick has no trouble hearing him. It's just the two of them in this small room.
"I'm no fan," Chick says because it feels like Jack needs to hear it. Jack lifts his eyes for just a moment, and Chick considers it a win even if Jack's eyes go back to his plate. Chick reaches out and touches Jack's hand. Jack opens his hand without hesitation.
"My father would come up next to me when we had guests. If he didn't like what I was saying, he'd pinch my back to tell me silently to shut up."
"You hadn't told me that specifically," Chick says, squeezing Jack's hand tight. He laughs a little. "Not the feelings I was trying to invoke when I touched you there."
Jack looks up again, lifting his whole head this time. He looks at their hands, then at Chick's face. "I know," he says. "It's not fair that I pull away when it's you—"
"Hush," Chick says. "No. You know stories about my daddy. I know it's why you walk loud when you come into my office."
Jack looks like he's been caught. "Well, yes," he admits.
"And I appreciate it," Chick says. "I appreciate you know why I need to hear you coming, and I appreciate you doing it. That's all we can do with this sort of thing."
"I want you to put your hand on my back," Jack says. "But…I guess I can't let you. Yet."
"I can work with yet," Chick says. "Until then, how about this?" he asks, shaking their still-joined hands. "What if when I walk up to you, I take your hand?"
Jack looks at their hands for a long moment. A smile slowly works his way across his face. "I wouldn't mind holding your hand, I guess," he says.
"Even in front of the boys?" Chick asks. They haven't told the boys yet. Chick had been trying to rest a hand on Jack's back because it could be seen as friendly, not romantic. But hand-holding, that's something else.
Jack snorts. "There's a betting pool on us," he says. "I want Lemmons to win."
Chick laughs. "Tell me the date, and we'll make that boy rich."