It’s one of those days where there’s not enough time, not enough hours for her to accomplish everything she feels she must. Paper after paper has passed through her hands only to lay haphazardly on the floor near her feet.
For once, Jacob doesn’t touch it, doesn’t say a thing until she gets so annoyed with them pooling about her ankles and slips her shoes off, tucking her feet up behind her on the couch. Quietly, he slips in, not reading them, but stacking them neatly as best he can. They’re stashed aside on the end table, a few falling off, soliciting a sigh from the lieutenant.
She’s a mess. A complete mess, and chaos travels in her wake. But they’re young enough, and she’s as close to beautiful as he dares to even think about, and he just can’t seem to mind.
Taking a seat beside her at a decent distance, he silently turns the pipe over and over in his hands, the one he always has, the one Catherine teases him about endlessly. He’s in his own world, inside his own head, mind full of strategies and unfulfilled dreams that he can’t help but dwell on.
But then there’s a head heavy on his shoulder, another cascade of papers on the ground, and a hand resting on his leg. Deep, slow breaths register in his ears, but he doesn’t dare turn his head and disturb her. This is the only time he feels really useful to her, and in moments like this, he’d rather everything stay just as it is.
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ninetydegrees
catherine x jacob | halo
17/6/13 18:46 (UTC)For once, Jacob doesn’t touch it, doesn’t say a thing until she gets so annoyed with them pooling about her ankles and slips her shoes off, tucking her feet up behind her on the couch. Quietly, he slips in, not reading them, but stacking them neatly as best he can. They’re stashed aside on the end table, a few falling off, soliciting a sigh from the lieutenant.
She’s a mess. A complete mess, and chaos travels in her wake. But they’re young enough, and she’s as close to beautiful as he dares to even think about, and he just can’t seem to mind.
Taking a seat beside her at a decent distance, he silently turns the pipe over and over in his hands, the one he always has, the one Catherine teases him about endlessly. He’s in his own world, inside his own head, mind full of strategies and unfulfilled dreams that he can’t help but dwell on.
But then there’s a head heavy on his shoulder, another cascade of papers on the ground, and a hand resting on his leg. Deep, slow breaths register in his ears, but he doesn’t dare turn his head and disturb her. This is the only time he feels really useful to her, and in moments like this, he’d rather everything stay just as it is.