please give me the sweetest, tightest, most tearful hug between jack and joe.
behavior modification, future snippet
They’re sprawled on the couch watching Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade for the fiftieth time when Joe’s phone buzzes to life. Incoming Call from Stanley Bridgewater. Their lawyer. Well, Joe’s lawyer. He can’t work for Jack in any official capacity because Jack doesn’t have rights to legal counsel.
Joe’s gut lurches. Stanley’s last call wasn’t exactly encouraging. WRU’s representatives wouldn’t even meet with him after Jack’s press conference, and they’d started floating the idea of legal recourse against Joe for violating his terms of ownership. Stanley had told them not to worry, but–
“Who is it, baby?” Jack asks, jolting Joe back into the present moment.
“Stanley.”
Jack’s face suddenly pales. “Oh.”
The phone keeps buzzing. Joe leans over to kiss Jack’s cheek, and he lets his forehead rest there. He can feel Jack stiffen beside him.
“I’m sure it’s fine,” Joe says, but he knows that he isn’t convincing either of them.
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.”
Joe sighs. “I guess I’d better–” he wiggles the phone.
Jack nods mechanically. “Yeah, you’d better.”
Joe sits up and answers the call. “Hey Stanley.”
“Joe,” Stanley says, his tone clipped and professional as ever. “I know that it’s late, but there’s been a development.”
“Oh. Okay. Should I–”
Stanley clears his throat. “I’d like to speak to Jack, if I could.”
“Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, of course.”
Joe looks over at Jack, who’s managed to curl himself into as small a ball as he possibly can against the opposite arm of the couch. His blue eyes are fixed on the television screen, but Joe knows he isn’t watching the movie anymore. His toes curl tight against the couch cushion.
“Baby?” Joe says, and Jack nearly flies off the couch. Joe stretches to hand him the phone. “Stanley wants to talk to you, baby.”
Jack stares at the cell phone as though it might bite him. He isn’t used to this, Joe knows. Jack’s been at every meeting, but everything goes through Joe. That’s how it’s had to be. Jack doesn’t remember what it is to have his own voice; he hasn’t been allowed to use it for so long.
“Me?” he asks.
“That’s what he said.”
Jack doesn’t move.
“Jackie?”
Jack squares his jaw and nods, “Okay,” he says, almost to himself. He takes the phone from Joe, wrapping his other arm around his ribs, like he’s bracing himself for impact. “Stanley?”
His hairline sinks backward, but Joe can’t read his expression.
“Yeah.” Jack’s voice is hoarse now. He sucks in a wincing breath. “It–it is?” His eyes brim with tears.
Joe moves closer, resting his hand on Jack’s knee. If it’s bad news–if they can’t void the contract, if Joe’s being sued–they’ll get through it. They’re stronger than WRU knows. Jack is stronger than WRU knows.
Jack’s free hand finds Joe’s, and their fingers lace together on top of Jack’s knee. “Is there anything I–” he lets go a sound that’s almost like a laugh, and a tear slips down his cheek. “No. It’s just–really? Just like that?”
Jack is shaking now, and Joe wraps himself around him, pressing a kiss to Jack’s temple.
“No,” Jack says, and he’s breathless now, barely coherent. “I’m–I just–I wasn’t–I don’t know. I’m–” he shakes his head. “Yeah.” His eyes squeeze shut. “Yeah, thank you, Stanley.”
The call ends, and Jack drops the phone in his lap. He doesn’t say anything.
Joe leans backward, cupping Jack’s cheek in his hand. His thumb brushes away another tear. “What–”
Jack looks up, and his eyes are so startlingly blue that Joe’s heart nearly stops.
And then, he smiles.
“It’s over.”
Joe isn’t sure he’s heard right. “What?”
He sandwiches Jack’s face between his hands, and there are more tears, warm against his fingertips. But, somehow, Jack’s smile doesn’t falter. It grows wider, and suddenly, he’s laughing.
“The contract is voided!”
“It is?”
Joe can’t believe it. It’s been so long–they’ve fought for so long. Jack’s fought for so long. And now–
He looks beautiful. His pink cheeks are tear-stained, but he looks younger, somehow. Happy, Joe thinks. He shakes his head in disbelief.
“I–Joey, I’m–”
Joe stops his mouth with a gentle kiss, and he feels his own tears spill over. “You’re free.”
“I am,” Jack whispers. He leans forward, letting his forehead rest against Joe’s shoulder. Joe feels the press of lips against his pulse point. “Joey, we are.”
It’s Jack’s arms that wrap tight around Joe; Jack’s arms that take what they need, and take it without asking. His touch is not gentle or careful. It is sure, and it is greedy. He pulls Joe to him with strength that he’d forgotten he had.
But Joe didn’t forget. Joe knows how strong Jack is. He’s always known. His arms circle Jack’s ribs, and Jack holds him all the more fiercely.
“Finally,” Joe murmurs. He kisses Jack’s cheek, his nose, his eyes. “Finally.”
And then, Jack lets himself go, sobbing against Joe’s shoulder. He knows that he can. That he’s safe. That he always will be.
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Mongolian history class, 2022, start of the semester. We're having a discussion on animal slaughter, featuring the one Mongolian student in our school.
The student explains that he's slaughtered animals himself, and there are two ways of doing it that avoid the spilling of blood. For a small animal like a chicken, you reach up into the chest of the animal and sever the arteries. For a larger animal like a camel, there's a spot on the forehead that, when hit hard enough, causes the animal to die instantly.
While this discussion is going on, a couple of the students are sharing something back and forth on their phone
The professor calls this out, asking if what they're sharing is more interesting than Mongolian animal slaughter
The room is dead silent for a few seconds. The two students look at each other awkwardly.
Eventually, one of the students pipes up:
"Well, the queen of England just died."
And without missing a beat, another student:
"Did they hit her on the head like a camel?"
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