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They sleep together for the first time a few hours after the bus explodes. Annie usually leaves that part out when she's telling the story.
Time begins to blur after the rest of the cops show up at the crashed subway car and she and Jack reluctantly pull apart. Someone finally digs up a key to unlock the damn handcuffs. Jack gets pulled away to answer questions while the EMTs check her over for a second time (more cuts and bruises—no, she doesn't want to go to the hospital; yes, she's quite sure).
On the other side of the street, traffic is still moving slowly as people stop to gawk at the spectacle of it all. But it is moving. Life goes on. The city lives and breathes around her, oblivious to the petty trauma individual people might experience. Easier to appreciate, she supposes, when it's other people's tragedies. Annie's contemplating all the calls she needs to make—to work, her mother, everyone else she's ever known—explaining all this, and exactly how long she can put that off when she looks up and finds Jack standing at her shoulder again.
"Hey," he says with a small smile.
Something unclenches deep inside of her at just the sight of him. It's embarrassing, really.
There must be a million more important things for him to do. God, the amount of property damage from the last couple hours has to be staggering. She can only imagine the number of very important people already screaming about it or the unpleasant debriefings he's probably looking forward to in the near future.
And here he is instead, looking at her like she's the only thing on his mind. Like he doesn't want to take his eyes off of her again.
You didn't leave me, she thinks, and shivers. Jack's eyes crease in concern. He touches her shoulder gently.
"Are you all right?"
Annie's her head is aching. Her road rash hurts and her wrists sting and she's so tired she thinks she could fall over. "Yeah," she says. She leans into his hand. "I'm good. Are you?"
Someone's patched him up in the meantime, too, but he's wearing the same stained t-shirt from the bus; she can still smell gasoline. At some point, there was an attempt to wipe some of the grime off of his arms and face, but it seems half-hearted at best and his skin is dotted with smeared patches they missed.
"Yeah," he echoes. "So, you about ready to get out of here?"
"Oh, I am more than ready," she assures him. "What about you? Are they letting you go?"
He shrugs. "For now. Thought I might escort you home." He pauses. "If you wanted."
Something warm flutters in her stomach. God, she wants him.
"What I want," she says, "is a shower. A really long, really hot shower."
Jack nods seriously. "All right."
"And then I want a pizza and a beer. Hmm… pineapple and pepperoni—" she waves a warning finger at him, "—don't tell me you don't like pineapple on your pizza. It's too early to have that fight. You can pick whatever you want on your side."
"My side?" he echoes, raising an eyebrow.
"Mm hmm." Annie eyes him. Normally she might be a little more circumspect, but after the day she's had? Fortune favors the bold, as they say. "And then, do you know what I want?"
"No, ma'am."
She puts her hands on his waist. "I want to get into a very big, very soft bed. And I want you to join me."
His too plush, too beautiful lips split into a grin. "Yes, ma'am."
They don't make it to the bed.
Somehow they're kissing again as soon as they step inside her door. Annie walks backward through the apartment, pulling him with her, pausing only to strip off pieces of clothes as they go, and fumbles blindly for the shower handle, reluctant to separate.
Her water pressure is crap, but the water is so hot it stings, and the stream feels cleansing. There's just enough room for both of them to crowd in. Jack's eyes follow her as hungrily, though he seems content to follow her lead; maybe he senses she needs to claw back a bit of control. She leans back against him and slides a hand over the corded muscle of his forearm as it wraps around her, solid. Secure.
He doesn't ask if she's sure; she likes that. Like that he trusts her to know her own mind.
"What do you like?" he asks instead. His big, soap-slick hand cups her breast, then drifts lower, lazily circling her clit.
So Annie presses his fingers harder, showing him how to touch her. He's a quick study and a clever improviser. But then, she already knew that much after everything. She's wound so tight, she knows it won't take much—and it doesn't. Jack's erection is pressing against her lower back and she grinds against it as the pressure builds and builds until it bursts. And then she's crying out, tilting her head back so he can kiss her again while she trembles through her release.
He's taller the her—just enough to make the angle a little awkward when she turns and pushes him up against the wall to take his cock in hand. Jack groans into her mouth as she strokes him, one hand sliding down to her waist, holding her close.
"Show me what you like," she whispers, and then his other hand is guiding hers, slower, tighter.
"Just like—ah—just like that," he gasps, and she smiles and works him until he shudders. The hand on her waist tightens almost painfully, but in a good way, the pressure of it grounding.
He's beautiful when he comes. This isn't a surprise. That Jack is a beautiful man was obvious even when she thought he was a complete lunatic trying to jump onto a moving bus in rush hour traffic. But it's still something else to see him break apart under her hands. There's a satisfaction to knowing she was the one who made him look like that. She leans her head on his chest and they breath together until the water finally starts to get cold.
Jack stops short as they leave the bathroom, towel tucked around his waist.
"What is it?"
"I don't have anything clean to wear," he admits, looking slightly chagrined.
Annie's lips twitch. "Oh, no." She shakes her head, putting on a mournful expression as she eyes his glistening chest. "How terrible. Whatever shall we do?"
"Annie…" he says, rolling his eyes, but he's smiling and somehow it's easy having him here in her space. This stranger she met this morning who risked his life for her and came back for her and refused to leave her behind, even when any sane person would have.
"Here," she says, tossing him the menu from the pizza place down the street. "You order and I'll put a load of laundry in."
They eat the pizza (mushrooms and green pepper on his side) on her bed, Annie in her underwear and Jack wearing a pair of slightly too short sweatpants left by an old boyfriend. Normally the crumbs would bother her, but just now, Annie can't bring herself to care. She turns the television on just long enough to see they are the top story on every local channel, and then turns it right back off with a sigh.
"I"d better call my mother before she hears about this from someone else."
Jack nods, presses a soft kiss to her bare shoulder. "You want me to get out of your hair?"
She thinks about sitting here alone in the dark. Thinks about the memory of Howard Payne's hands on her as he strapped that bomb around her waist. Shakes her head sharply. "I mean, unless you need to…" she falters.
"Hey, I don't have anywhere more important to be," Jack says, like it's that easy. He squeezes her hand. "Call your mom. I'll check the laundry."
Annie takes a deep breath. Tries to relax. It's just for the night. In the morning, she'll be strong and independent again and have all her shit together. Well, okay, who is she kidding? She's never once had all her shit together. But maybe she'll at least be able to pretend to be a functioning adult again.
When she calls, she gets her mom's machine, which is just as well. "I'm fine, everything's fine, don't worry," she tells the recording. "I, um, I got caught in this thing that happened today, but it's all over. I'm going to bed, now. I'll call you tomorrow, okay? Love you, bye."
Probably that would hold her off.
When Jack comes back he takes one look at her face and arches an eyebrow. "Do you want to talk about it?"
She laughs. "God, no." Her relationship with her mother is an entire shrink session right there, without the whole hostage thing added on.
"Okay," Jack says. He sit on the bed and wraps a gentle hand around her ankle, thumb rubbing back and forth. "Then, is there anything else I can do for you, ma'am?"
Annie bites her lip. It should be illegal for a man to sound like that—to look like that, smiling at her with those deep, dark eyes. She lets her legs fall open, breath catching slightly as Jack slides his hands up her thighs to play with the soft, fraying elastic of her panties.
"You take your civic duties very seriously, officer," she manages, as he finally pulls them down her hips.
"Extremely seriously," he agrees, and buries his head between her thighs.
"Oh," Annie gasps, curling her fingers into the velvet-soft fuzz at the nape of his neck, and it's good, it's good, it's good.
Yeah, okay. This probably won't last. But god, she'll take it while she can.
*
Their first date is Harry Temple's funeral.
Jack will dispute this later, when she tells the story. He maintains their first date was a nice dinner at this little Mexican place around the corner.
But that came after.
They bury Jack's partner three days after the bus explodes. Everyone from the bus is there—everyone except Sam (still in the hospital) and Helen (still blown up). Her funeral the next day will be the second reunion of the Runaway Bus Club in a week.
But Annie is the only one who drives over with Jack. Who stands by his side as he greets Harry's parents and hugs his widow. She watches the muscle in his jaw clench as he carries the coffin in with the other pall bearers, knowing the body it holds is in pieces, and doesn't think about the glee in Payne's voice when he explained how his bomb would rip her apart.
During the service, she slips her hand into Jack's, and he doesn't look at her, but grips it tight. After, she sits at the bar and listens to the stories everyone tells about Harry and the other officers who lost their lives.
"Do you want to be alone?" she asks as they leave. He's been quiet, nursing his beer. Several people got weepy as the night wore on, but not Jack. She hasn't seen him cry once.
Now, he just takes her hand again.
"No."
So they go back to his apartment. It's the first time Annie's been there. She likes it; it's a small place, but clean enough for a bachelor pad. The furniture isn't expensive, but it's comfortable. Something of a contrast to the controlled chaos of Annie's place. Like being around Jack in general: a calm oasis. Safe.
They lay side by side in the darkness. Annie's just on the edge of sleep when his voice drifts out of the silence.
"Thanks. For coming today." He shifts in the sheets. "I know it wasn't fun."
"I wanted to," she says. "Not just for you, but for all of them. Harry, he—he sound he was like a really great guy. I'm sorry I never got to meet him."
"Yeah," he whispers, and laughs thickly. "He always said I was a real pain in the ass. But he would have liked you."
And something about the tone in his voice has her turning toward him. "Hey," she murmurs. "Come here."
He rolls over too quickly, it's like he was only waiting for permission. Annie gathers him in her arms, strokes his hair as he buries his face in the hollow of her throat. He's crying so silently, she wouldn't know it if she couldn't feel the hot tears smeared on her skin.
"Shh…" she croons, kissing the top of his head. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Jack."
They stay like that for a long time.
*
The first time Jack gets hurt, Annie's at the office late, running behind on a deadline. When the phone on her desk starts ringing, she almost doesn't answer. But it might be Jack, and she should tell him she's not going to be home for dinner—
It's not Jack.
"Annie? It's Mac. Listen, don't freak out, but I'm over at County General with Jack."
She drops her pen. "Oh, god."
"Everything's fine—"
"What happened? Is he all right? Is he hurt?"
"He all right," he says, and Annie takes a deep breath. "But he's been shot—"
"What?!" she practically shrieks, and it's probably a good thing the office is mostly cleared out by now.
Mac's voice is infuriatingly calm."It was a through and through. Upper arm. Doc's patching him up now. But he's fine, Annie, really."
"He's not fine," she says, aware that her voice is reaching an unpleasantly high register. "He's got a hole in his body where there should not be a hole, and oh god, I'm coming over there. I'm coming over right now." She gropes for her bag, shoving things into it blindly.
"Okay, but Annie," Mac is saying as she hangs up the phone, "don't speed—"
Annie doesn't actually remember the drive to the hospital afterward. She's careening through the doors to the emergency room, making her way to the front desk on autopilot when she spots a familiar face—Daniels, one of the other officers from Jack's unit—and breaks off in his direction.
"Where—?"
"Annie," Daniels says, making a sympathetic face. "I think they're just finishing up."
"Where is he?"
He points at the doors behind him. "I don't think they'll let you back there, though—hey! Annie—"
But she's already moving, pushing her way in, and he's right, they don't want her back there. She feels like she's moving outside her body; part of her registers she's making a scene, arguing loudly with a nurse, probably disturbing patients. But that part—the part that cares—has been subsumed by the greater part that needs to get to Jack now.
"Hey, hey, it's okay. She's with us," Mac breaks into the argument, and Annie looks up to find him standing next to her, giving the nurse an apologetic look. And then he's leading her back to a curtained off bed and Jack is sitting there, pale and tired looking but alive. His left bicep is wrapped in bandages, but he seems otherwise unharmed.
Annie makes an inarticulate sound and his head snaps up, eyes going wide, then softening at the sight of her.
"Annie—" he manages before she reaches him.
"Are you okay?" Her hand flutters around his arm, carefully not touching. "What happened? Are you hurt anywhere else?"
His good arm curls around her. "I'm okay," he soothes. "It's just my arm. Doc says it'll be fine. Going to need a little time to heal, that's all."
"Just your arm!" she repeats, incredulous. "You got shot, Jack! What were you doing?"
He reaches down to take her hand. Says, very gently, "My job."
Annie sucks in a breath. To her annoyance, tears are welling in her eyes. She turns her face away, scrubs at them angrily. "I know. I know that," she says after a long moment, squeezing his hand back. "But I hate this. You really scared me, Jack."
"Hey," he says in a voice soft, standing up, and Annie turns to him wordlessly. Buries her face in the solid warmth of his shoulder. "I'm sorry."
"Don't." She shakes her head. "It's not your fault."
She feels his lips in her hair. "I'm still sorry."
They stand there for a minute until Annie makes herself pull away, remembering they weren't actually alone. But when she looks around, Mac is gone.
"He left right after you came in," Jack says, following her gaze.
"I should apologize to the staff," Annie confesses.
Jack smiles at her. "I'm sure you're not the first."
"Still." She bites her lip. The roaring wave of panic that drove her all the way here is finally drawing back, leaving only whirlpools of anxiety in its wake. "Mac told me you were fine. I don't know why I freaked out."
Because this had been worse—so much worse—than even that horrible moment when she'd been sure they were dragging his body under the bus. Back then, Jack had only been an idea. Now he was a part of her world, warm and real in her bed, his presence slowly creeping it's way into every corner of her life before she'd even noticed.
If I lost you, she thinks, and it's like a black hole: too enormous to contemplate. So she buries it.
"You think they'll let me spring you?" she asks him.
"God, I hope so," he says. "I'd rather have you play nurse anyway."
"Perv," she murmurs, smacking him lightly on his uninjured arm.
Jack shrugs, unrepentant. "Come on, let's go home."
*
It eight months after the bus the first time Annie realizes Jack is basically living at her place.
They never discussed it, is the thing.
But one morning, she's rushing through her own routine when she hears swearing from the other room. A moment later, Jack pokes his head in the bathroom, looking frazzled.
"Have you seen my—"
"Kitchen table, next to the fruit basket," she says, not looking away from the mirror where she's hurriedly slapping on some mascara before running out the door. She'd seen his keys there while she was making her coffee.
She hears his footsteps retreating, followed by a muffled sound of triumph.
"Hey," she calls, "don't forget to pick up—"
"The dry cleaning, I know," he says, reappearing in the doorway. "You've got your dress for that thing." He leans over and presses a kiss to the side of her head. "I won't forget. And you'll—"
"Stop at the store. Milk," she agrees. "And—"
"Bagels," he says, giving himself a cursory inspection in the mirror. "Sesame."
The bathroom has only a single sink, but they've gotten used to squeezing in together in the morning.
"Here, let me," she says.
He turns to face her. There's a tiny speck of shaving cream at the corner of his jaw, and she wordlessly wipes it away. Straightens his tie. He's got a meeting this afternoon with the higher ups.
"Thanks," he says when he's done, and she tilts her head up for a kiss. "See you tonight." And then he's gone.
Her gaze catches on his toothbrush sitting next to hers on the sink. Jack's razor is next to it. His shampoo is in the shower. Annie hates milk, but Jack guzzles it like water. Her closet's half full of his clothes, her mail box has started collecting his mail. In theory Jack still keeps his own apartment, but she can count on one hand the number of nights he's spent there in the last month…
"Oh my god," she says out loud, staring at her face in the mirror. They were definitely living together.
"…Yes?" Sarah says when they meet at their lunch breaks. "Is this news? You're practically joined at the hip these days." She peers at Annie over the top of her glasses. "Honestly, if it wasn't for Wednesday lunches, I'd hardly see you."
Annie winces. She'd gone to school with Sarah; they'd lived together for a few years after graduation, when they both moved to the city with no jobs and no money. She was a good friend, but she'd never been shy about sharing her opinions about anything in Annie's life.
"Work's just been really busy lately. And anyway, we came to Ben's housewarming last month."
"Uh huh," Sarah says, popping a fry in her mouth. "Look, you don't need to defend yourself. We've all been there." She shrugs. "You're still in the honeymoon, or whatever."
"Yes, but we're not…" Annie says helplessly. "It's just. It's casual."
Sarah just looks at her. "Girl."
"We've never talked about it!"
"About what? Living together?"
"About anything," Annie confesses. "What we're doing here. It just sort of…happened."
"Annie," Sarah puts down her burger, reaches across the table and takes her hand. "You know I love you. But this is just embarrassing. Talk to your man! What are you so afraid of? He's obviously crazy about you."
"I'm not afraid," Annie counters. And she wasn't—certainly not of Jack. But putting a name to whatever they were doing seemed like an invitation to jinx it, as if pretending it was only casual might forestall the inevitable realization they really weren't compatible. "If something's working fine the way it is, I just don't see the need to mess with it."
Sarah, because she knows Annie too well, looks annoyingly skeptical. "Yeah, clearly that's why we're having this conversation right now."
Annie makes a face at her and steals a fry. "All right, enough about me. Tell me about this promotion…"
That night, Jack comes home with the dry cleaning and her favorite take out for dinner.
"In here," Annie calls from the bed room as she listens to him moving around.
"I got korma and biryani…" he's saying as he comes into the room, but he comes to an abrupt halt when he sees her.
Annie waves. She's wearing one of his button downs, generously unbuttoned. The shirt tails would hit her mid-thigh if she was standing, but sitting with her legs curled beneath her, there's rather more flesh exposed—including the fact that she's not wearing anything else underneath.
"Hi," he says, obviously taking in the sight.
"Hi." Annie crooks a finger, beckoning him over. When he comes, she pulls him down by his tie and kisses him soundly. "Welcome home, Officer Traven."
"I feel very welcomed," he murmurs. One of his hands is braced against the bed; the other is stroking a warm line across the top of her thigh. "What's the occasion? Not that I'm complaining."
"Nothing special. I was just making some room in the closet, thought this looked comfortable."
He laughs, leaning back and giving her a slow once-over. "Well, it certainly looks better on you than on me. What are we making room for?"
She swallows. "The rest of your things. I mean, most of them are here already, so…"
He goes still. "Annie?"
She shrugs, suddenly extremely interested in staring at her own hands. "Just seems silly to keep paying for two apartments if we're only really using one."
When she dares a glance up an his face, there's a slow grin stealing over it. "Yeah?"
She smiles back at him, contagious. "Yeah."
"My lease is up in April."
"Okay. So it's settled," she says.
"I guess so."
She grabs his tie again and give it a tug. "Then come down here, and help me celebrate."
*
The first time Annie realizes she's in love, it's a Sunday, and nothing special is happening at all. She doesn't tell this story at all. It's just for them.
She's standing at one end of the living room, eyeing the height of the frame Jack is patiently holding up to the wall.
"Maybe an inch higher?" she says, and he obediently moves it. "No, too high. Lower, like a smidge." She pinches her fingers to demonstrate. "And maybe a couple to the right? Actually, no. I liked it better—yeah."
"Here?" he says.
"Hold it there a sec," she directs. Jack's hunched over slightly. It can't be the most comfortable position, but he goes completely still, waiting while she considers. "Yes," she decides. "That's good."
He doesn't move. "You're sure?"
Which would be a little insulting if she hadn't, in fact, already changed her mind twice.
"Yes," she says decisively. "Absolutely, completely sure."
He pulls a pencil from behind his ear and makes a careful mark before moving the frame and finally standing straight.
"All right," he says, laying the frame on the sofa and reaching for his hammer. A minute later, it's up. Annie wraps an arm around Jack's waist as they stand and admire his work. The picture was a find from the local flea market. She thinks it add a nice splash of color.
"What do you think?" she asks after a moment.
He presses a kiss to the side of her head. "Beautiful. My girlfriend has great taste."
She laughs. "You don't care at all."
"No, I mean that," he protests. "You know I don't have an eye for all this stuff." He gestures vaguely at the living room, littered with the debris of Annie's various impulse purchases and pack rat tendencies. "That doesn't mean I can't appreciate it."
"Uh huh," she says, turning to put her arms around his neck. "You forget I know what your old apartment looked like. I know this isn't your style. Thank you for humoring my messiness."
"I like your mess," he murmurs against her lips. "A little mess never hurt anyone."
I love him, she thinks. And it's not scary at all.