Work Text:
It was rare that you ever had to take the elevator to access Jack's truck. Today was one of those days when it simply was not possible to avoid it. Due to a delay in arriving at work, most definitely NOT from you messing with your hair, Jack had to park the truck in the parking garage off the main entrance of the hospital. Displeased was an understatement. It was hard to shake Jack to the point of annoyance or upset, but something about being late always got him going.
"Girlie," he would tell you, "we really have to go so I don't get written up by Gloria. I can't be late. I wasn't even late as a soldier." However, that scolding was the least of your concerns when that one little wave didn't want to place right by your chin. Every curl and wave sat perfectly on the left side of your face, but the right was a lost cause. The right side looked like you had taken your pre-shift nap on that side, the irony not lost on you that you slept on your left side. You came out of the bathroom with your hair pulled back in a low bun against the nape of your neck.
"Sorry, Jack," you would respond. "Hair trouble." He would shake his head and wait for you to gather your things, guiding you with a steady hand at the small of your back up and into his truck. Those drives would be in silence, both of you trying to find your mojo to survive the night. You didn't know he wasn't trying to find his mojo; he was thinking about the woman who had been in his life before you and what advice she would have given you. He decides not to share, not wanting to make you feel any more insecure.
Tonight, you worked with Lupe, the head clerk on the ward's day shift. Due to some shift swapping amongst the clerks, you occasionally had the pleasure of spending time with her. She had taught you a lot and was certainly one of the better sounding boards among your coworkers. You scurried to your spot, desperately trying to keep your hair semi-presentable. "Lupe, I am so sorry I'm late. That man of mine drives like a tortoise," you huff, sliding an elastic headband around your head as you sit down.
Lupe was a bright and caring woman. She knew it wasn't Jack's fault, but she would never tell you that.
"You're okay, mija. Tonight has been a good start. I've managed fine," Lupe assures you. You both fall into the standard rhythm of your job, taking in patients and filling out the necessary paperwork so they can be seen. A lull sets in after about an hour, and you begin to chat about her niece and her niece's move to college.
"She seems to be adjusting well," Lupe shrugs, settling into her office chair. "It's all I can really ask for. She's the baby of my sister's kids, so she's almost like my own baby." You nod in agreement, not quite sure what that feels like, but you're sure it's similar.
"I remember the one thing that used to drive me crazy in the dorms was the water quality," you chuckle. "My roommates were great, but that water just stripped my hair of whatever moisture it had. I'm sure she'll have better luck than I did." That has you internalizing the struggles you've been having with your hair since moving into Jack's apartment. It felt like taking dorm showers all over again. Lupe sees the gears turning. You don't let her in to really see them make smoke.
About three hours into the shift, Chairs was comfortably full. It was just enough to manage, and most of the cases were those that appeared to have quick solutions. Without a 24-hour urgent care in the surroundings of the hospital, the middle of the night shift tended to be that way. You began scrolling through the Sephora app to pass the time, trying to find a solution for the dry, frizzy, and, arguably, crunchy waves that were giving you trouble.
You tried Olaplex. That was a no for financial reasons. You were too proud to let Jack buy your beauty products after he had dropped nearly $300 on Tatcha skincare for Christmas.
You tried Moroccanoil. It made your hair feel good, but the oil was just too much weight for your waves. They looked like you were forcing them to be waves.
You tried amika. Some girl on TikTok said it wasn't good for your hair. You stopped using it, thinking you didn't want to make the problem worse.
"Lupe," you begin, turning to your coworker, "do you know what hair products your daughter uses?" She shakes her head. "Mija, all I know is that it's out of my price range." You sigh, scrubbing your hands over your face. "Fair enough. Just trying to figure out why it's so dry. I can't get my care quite right." Now it's Lupe's turn for gears to turn. "Have you thought about asking Jack?" Her voice is gentle, not wanting to bring attention.
You stall for a second. "No, I haven't," you say, just as gentle. "Jack washes with three-in-one. Something about convenience, even though I get on him about it." Lupe chuckles. "I only ask because his wife used to have similar hair to yours. He might have some insight." You chew on your lip. "Is that rude to ask? We don't really talk about her. He struggles with that more than I think he lets on and tends to shut those talks down." Lupe stands and pats your shoulder. "Let me talk, mija."
You don't see Lupe again before it's time for your designated meal break.
At the end of the shift, Jack is walking you back to the truck with that same strong hand in the small of your back. He takes your bag and his old military pack and puts them in the backseat before getting in the car himself. You can tell he keeps glancing at you with a purpose. It's almost as if he's thinking of how to bring something up.
He turns the radio up a little bit as he drives, a typical thing he does when slightly more exhausted than normal after a shift. He drums his thumbs on the wheel at a red light, taking in your appearance. Lupe was right, he thought. Your hair wasn't that different from Allison's. That's what originally caught his attention about you, not that he had the nerve to say it out loud.
He clears his throat. "Thought about how you're doing your hair for my buddy's wedding? I know you've been looking at styles," he mentions, looking for an easy in to bring up the topic. "I'll probably just slick it back. Maybe use one of those claw clip ponytails I've been using from Amazon." It's a final statement, not opening up for conversation. Jack scrunches his nose as he hits the gas on the green light. "Why not your natural hair? I think it's beautiful." You blush and regain your stance in the conversation. "It's just been a little…off?"
Jack's brow furrows as he parks the truck in his assigned parking space at the apartment. "Off?" He watches your shoulders slump as you go to speak again. "It's been really dry and hard to manage. It used to do this in college with the water. My hair must just be adjusting to your water hardness." Jack feels a strand of hair that had fallen at the base of your neck as he pulled you in for a kiss to the forehead. "I've got an idea."
Two days later, you and Jack are on your string of days off. He brings you a box and places it in your lap. You nervously open it, and the contents reveal themselves to be a set of La'dor wash-and-care products along with new styling tools.
"Mind if I help?" He asks. "With what? My hair?" Your eyes narrow. He nods. "Allison used to use this stuff. Lupe said you needed a little help picking stuff out." No wonder Lupe disappeared the way she did.
Jack's kindness and willingness to open that part of his life to you are what have you putting your head under the sink for him to wash your hair. "I think this is how she did it," he murmurs, somehow managing to scrub shampoo at your scalp with a technicality that only an emergency medicine doctor could. You sigh in relief. You don't think you've ever managed to scrub your own scalp this effectively.
"So this is how Allison did her hair?" You're asking a little louder, trying to be heard over the sound of the sink. "Well, she would wash in the shower," Jack chuckles. "It's just the only way I can really help you with the prosthetic, is all. It would get a little weird if I did this for you in the shower." You laugh, your eyes closed as Jack carefully rinses the fine suds from your hair. He gently squeezed out a little conditioner, starting at the ends of your hair. "I think this is where she would use this thing," he murmurs, doing his best to show you a wide-toothed shower comb. "She always said this felt like being at the spa when she used it."
The room goes quiet, save for the running water again. "What was Allison like?" You ask the question a little blunter than you had wanted. Jack turns off the water with a sigh, carefully draping a towel over your shoulders to keep the conditioner-saturated water from dripping all over the bathroom. He helps you lift your head and sits you on the closed toilet lid to let the conditioner soak into the dry ends that are giving you so much trouble. "You two would have been best friends," Jack sucks through his teeth. "She was organized and youthful and altogether one of the best things that ever happened to me. Even though she had cancer, she was lively."
You freeze, watching as he perched himself on the lip of the bathtub. "Allison had cancer?" You had never known. You just knew Allison had passed. Jack never seemed ready to talk about her. It just must have been the right timing today.
"Stage three endometrial," he sighs, twisting the wedding ring he still wears. You never dared tell him to take it off. He would if he wanted to and if he was ever ready. "Lots of chemo. Lots of cold capping."
"You helped her cold cap?" Your love for Jack had never been fonder. "I absolutely did," he choked out. "Allie loved her hair. It made her feel like herself. I would never let her feel like she had to do the chop unless she medically had to."
"Jack, baby, we don't have to talk about this if it's too hard," you whisper. He dismisses you with a gentle wave. "We should have talked about Allie a long time ago, Girlie," he assures you. "Anyway, as she got weaker, I had to wash her hair. She was adamant that I did ever step to a tee," he coughs, concealing emotion in his words. "Said that maybe one day I would need to know how to help another special lady."
He stands himself back up, his knuckle playfully brushing your cheek as he helps you lean back down into the sink. "In a lot of ways, Allie helped prepare me for you," he laughs, turning the water back on. "She kept me young and spry. She made me learn how to cook. She taught me more about women's hair care than I ever thought I would know. She gave really good advice on how to accept the end of life," he trails off, focusing on rinsing your waves of the conditioner. "I hope this is making you feel more connected to that piece of me. It's hard to bring it out in myself, but you make it a lot easier."
"It's an honor to have even a piece of Allison in this apartment, Jack," you promise him as he finally applies an air-dry serum to your ends. "Even if that piece of her is her haircare routine, I am honored to know her even a little bit."
Jack rinses his hands of the slick serum, dries them, and goes to hold your face. "I'm glad you feel that way, because she would probably find a way to make you regret not having me do your hair from heaven," he teases, pulling a loving chuckle from your chest as he presses a gentle kiss to your lips.
Jack diffuses your hair with Allison's old hair dryer, having located it under the sink while you had been sleeping that morning. The nubs of the diffuser attachment gently rub in circles on your scalp as he maneuvers the appliance with tactical skill. When he pulls away and has you look in the mirror, you could cry. Your hair hadn't looked this healthy in months, arguably in years. He rests his chin on your shoulder, watching your face in the mirror. "This is where I would always tell Allie that no matter what her hair looked like, that she was still my wife and my world."
You both stand there in silence for a moment. Jack takes a deep breath. "With you, now I can say that no matter what your hair looks like, Allison would want you to feel proud of it and that I owe the woman that is now my world the opportunity to feel even more beautiful than she already is."
He pats your shoulder with love, turning his face to press a stubbled kiss to your cheek. "Go put on something pretty. We can't let a good hair day go to waste. Allison says that's not allowed."