underachievement | IC INBOX + OPEN POST / memes, psl, etc.

It's such a Jessica rebuttal that all he can do is laugh, a soft, almost defeated sound.

"I'll take it," he admits, like she doesn't already know he'd gladly accept her scraps any day. Speaking of... he glares at Rocky and the dog backs up a few steps, pressing his ears back against his head and whining pathetically. Mean parents!!! Frank gets up once they're done, gathering up all their finished sticks to toss on the grill. The sizzle threatens to pull him back in time again, so he glances over his shoulder and attempts to hold her gaze a moment. "When you go back inside, can you grab me a beer?"

She regrets scolding Rocky once her hands are idle and coated in juices, without a towel in sight. Somehow she managed to forget that cooking is messy. Surely that's among the reasons she gave it up. What a waste it's been, bothering with the complicated excuses, when the amount of cleanup could ward anyone off. Actually, she remarks as Frank sets about grilling, he prepared a dish that makes very little refuse and requires very little tidying up after. She can do it while she's washing her hands and rinsing her cutting board.

Frank catches her as she's standing, board held in both hands. His request is so mundane, it echoes surreally against the aggressively domestic scene they've created. What sucks most is that neither of them can make light of it. Instead of a snide "yes, dear," Jess nods and heads in.

Like she thought, it takes a mere couple of minutes to wash her hands and clean up in the kitchen. Scraps are sorted into the trash or a metal bowl, to be taken out for composting. She wipes the counter down and hangs the kitchen towel over the faucet to drip onto the knives and cutting board to be washed after dinner. Jess grabs her whiskey bottle from the freezer, as well as Frank's beer. She's reading the label as she crosses the threshold onto the deck.

Stepping into the billowing heat of the grill, she hands the bottle off to him. "So is this your brand or was there a deal on?"

He wipes his own hands on his jeans and rolls his eyes when Rocky tries to lick the grease off. Frank's closing the lid on the grill just as Jess hands him his beer, which has a grin spreading back across his face easily. Her question draws his gaze down to the label too, like he wasn't sure what he bought until now.

"Never had it before, thought I'd try something new." Which doesn't exactly line up with anything about him really, does it? Maybe he's just sick of reminders. Frank takes a long swig like it's familiar to him anyway, licking his lips for the excess. It's almost cold enough after defrosting in the van and being in the fridge almost an hour. He's definitely not complaining.

She gives a semi-invested "huh", then her eyes take on a thirst as he swipes the taste from his lips. She's going to have to beat him to that at some point tonight.

Her arm brushes against his incidentally as she turns to retrieve her glass. She sets the bottle in its place and carries it to the edge of the deck, where she can sip her whiskey and scan the shoreline. It's an objectively beautiful view; Jess wonders how long until that's true for her. A couple weeks is all she'll give it. And dozens more scans like this, every day, searching for what isn't there. She doesn't have to ask to know that Frank's running the same checks, and Rocky is their failsafe. Three layers of security, excluding general isolation. In a perfect world, she could feel safe three times as fast.

To Jess, there's nothing out there.

He can feel gooseflesh raise in her wake as she brushes against him only to move away. Frank watches the same thing she's watching, ears pricked like a bloodhound ready for a strike. But all that comes is the insistent sound of crickets and bullfrogs and measure by measure he relaxes almost as much as he was pretending he already was, frame sinking down into his boots while he lifts the lid back up to check on their food and turn it over to give it an even char. One hand stays on his beer, drinking it fast so it doesn't go completely warm by the time he can finish, the other hand buried in Rocky's furry neck scruff.

"Sun's goin' down," he announces to no one in particular, suddenly remembering that Jessica had brought her camera but he's loathe to suggest it and pull her away from her thoughts so he chews on his lip instead before taking another swig.

She likes his remark. He isn't imposing any judgement on nightfall, just calling attention to it. Jess enjoys the darkness. Regardless of what happened to her on the street one night, she's immune to fear of the dark. The night has always been hers, no taking back required. Now that her paranoia has plateaued at an all-time high, the ignorance of invisible threats gives her space in her head to relax.

All she knows is that when she cracks her neck and exhales, she feels a couple grams lighter. And that she's hungry.

"How about a walk after food?" she asks, diligently avoiding the word "dinner." Jess turns back toward him, punctuating her question with a drink.

The second she says 'walk' Rocky's ears perk up and he's pushing his nose against her legs insistently. Frank turns to watch them and laughs outright at her error.

"If he lets us get through our meal now, sure." It reminds him of walking with her in Reims and then in the villages, always at night and away from prying eyes - that is, until they just didn't care anymore. He wonders if they'll run into any late-season party-goers out here, but he's not that concerned either way. After a brief duck back inside the house, Frank puts two skewers on paper plates for either of them and closes the grill now off so Rocky doesn't eat their leftovers, then brings everything over so they can eat together. Instead of beer bottle against whiskey glass, he taps his stick against hers in cheers before taking a bite and leaning back into his seat to keep watching the waning Sun.

Talk about a rookie mistake, Jones! She knows what to avoid saying around dogs as well as she knows how to apologize to one. Jess sets her glass aside and cajoles Rocky with an inundation of rubs around the head. That, too, is a mistake, as he clatters to the ground and starts to wiggle around on his back. She thinks he wants her to rub his belly, but his joyfully flailing legs prevent her from getting a hand in. Then he rolls onto his front, hops to his feet and bolts for the water to run off the energy.

She keeps an eye on him to ensure he doesn't go any farther than before. As soon as she picks her glass up, there's a paper plate in her other hand. Jess smirks a little. Mass-produced and wasteful, they'd never see one at a town hall or harvest gathering. Crossing kebabs, she casually thanks him for dinner, so that it sounds more like she's thanking him for handing her dinner.

Jess takes up the couch, back to the arm and legs lain across both large cushions. Her glass is safely tucked between her thigh and the couch back, her plate held over her chest to protect her shirt. She digs her teeth in for a big bite that takes a lot of chewing. Her contentedness in doing so ought to ease any possible concern that she might not like his cooking. First for everything, etc. It's instantly filling, so her next bite is more modest.

Frank snorts and rolls his eyes as he leans back on his chair, legs up on the arm of the sofa with his plate resting on one thigh and his beer held over the other. He's not sure he's ever felt so relaxed, even long before Kandahar; not that he ever likes to compare the two opposing lifetimes he's led. But sitting here with her, eating meat off a stick and watching a dumbass rescue dog play his heart out isn't so bad.

The thanks is registered and filed away without comment, knowing she'd prefer it that way. He already said thank you in his way for her help with the task so it seems natural to just sit back and enjoy it. He's content enough to let the Sun run itself down while they eat in comfortable silence. After his meal is done he nurses the rest of his beer, trying not to let it make him sleepy when he promised her a walk but his eyes begin to droop despite himself.

Every time she teeters on the edge of relaxation, she compulsively reminds herself to stay alert (and don't show it). A quick and silent process, it doesn't register to her that she's doing it, and that's like relaxing.

Jess surprises herself when she's finished her meal and craving strikes her for seconds. Frank looks ready to take a nap. He can close his eyes for a few minutes while she chews half a second stick clean. Obviously, she hasn't had hearty food in a good while. No need to chitchat about it. Once she's full, she drains her whiskey glass and heads for him.

"Don't get up," she tells him, plucking the paper plate from his lap. If he falls asleep in the five minutes it takes her to toss the garbage and stow the leftovers, she'll be more impressed than annoyed. Doubtless that while they're here, they'll both get to know the lake, with and without each other. But always with Rocky, if he has a say.

He's finished his beer by the time she comes over to collect his plate, so he hands her that too with a mouthed 'thanks,' thinking of Maria when he really wants to do anything but that right now. If not for that reminder, he might have passed out before Jess could make it back outside, but as it is he sits up a little bit and whistles for Rocky, losing sight of him in the dim lighting. He races back to the deck from not-too-far, bounding up and into Frank's lap near violently. It knocks the wind out of his chest, but he just releases a tiny cough and pets the dog like he didn't just try to murder him.

"You're a special kinda stupid, ain't ya?"

She thought she was ambivalent about having his company but then she hears his whistle from inside and is suddenly pleased. It's only the first day. She's just a little giddy from isolation. And food.

Her grin breaks free as she steps back out. The dog is a pile of limbs in Frank's lap, the mud from Rocky's feet smeared onto his jeans. The next time she feels bad about walking all over him, she'll have to bring up that mental snapshot. Either as a reminder that there's always more to get away with, or that he thrives on being used when it's useful. Jess tamps down her smile on her way to the whiskey bottle.

"Who's looking after the other fleabags?" she asks as she fills the glass halfway.

Frank looks up at her, eyes crinkling with mirth though there's still some sleepiness lingering in his features. He's considering reaching out for her just as she turns to the bottle and it feels like a strange metaphor he doesn't care to parse at the moment.

"Kam's checkin' in on the bulk of 'em. Her and Lockjaw will keep those freaks in line." It doesn't occur to him that Jess might not know about Kamala's giant teleporting dog. #justdadthings. "Aretha and Max are at the Liebermans though. I'll probably never see 'em again." He sounds bemused by the whole scenario as he shoves Rocky off his chair who gives an offended bark as he hits the ground running, beelining for Jessica to get some validation. Heavy boots hit the deck next as Frank pushes himself up, knowing once he's upright walking won't be any task at all.

"Ready?"

Lockjaw has her drawing a blank. Detective mind initiate: Sounds like a dog. Until she's proven otherwise, she'll assume Frank arranged Kamala's acquaintance with him. He'll be better protected with her than with Frank. Same goes for the rest of the dogs. Jess has never seen Kamala in action and barely even remembers what her proper powers are but she's owed the benefit of the doubt dozens of times over.

She can look after the Liebermans too. It's not her job but she'll make it hers, that's the kind of person Kamala is. If they continue to get into bed with Frank, that's their prerogative, but if Jess ever sees Micro again, she'll be sure to guilt his ass about it. For Kamala's sake, and the kids'. He and his wife can make whatever dipshit mistakes they want together. But that's a whole big can of worms for another day.

"Ready," is her watery reply, fresh off a swallow of whiskey. She sets down her freshly empty glass and pushes her hair back behind an ear, just for it to fall loose when she leans down to pet Rocky.

He nods, knowing she's thinking about something and also pretty sure he doesn't want to know what it is. Frank closes their sliding door more so the bugs won't get in than any other reason, still used to living in places where locks were foreign objects. It hasn't served him so well in the city, but he doesn't have to worry about that out here. Shoving his hands in jacket pockets, he steps off the deck without looking back, smiling softly when he hears the crunch of leaves under Jessica's boots and four light paws.

"I wonder how far we are from the next cabin." He hadn't kept driving to find out, after all. He's hoping it's farther than they'll walk tonight.

They're going to sweep the cabin when they get back anyway, so Jess doesn't lag behind to bother with the lock. If someone wanted to attack them today, they would have done it already. If they're going to be late, how serious a threat could they be?

Falling into step beside Frank, her eyes are glued to Rocky while his pace and path are in flux from excitement. Wherever his nose takes him, he goes, zigzagging from leaf to stick to a different stick in front of them. She expects to lose him to a random point of interest but his investigation always ceases one step before he falls behind.

She checks up ahead before teasing, "Maybe you'll make a fishing buddy."

Frank snorts at that, turning towards her when the path widens enough for them to walk side-by-side.

"Thought you were my fishin' buddy," he admits, pleading eyes finding hers in the dark. He didn't expect her to have any interest in that particular activity from the start, but maybe after a few days out here the mountain air will get to her. You never know, right?

"That's what your heart's set on?" Incredulity is duking it out with her amusement. Can he really, genuinely picture her sitting in a little tin boat and spearing bait onto a hook? It can't be that hard. It's just a hobby she resigned to passing her by. It's possible she'll like it despite how pointless she thinks it is. Sure, they'll eat what they catch, but they could have bought something comparable before they left town.

Unprecedented, but his enthusiasm is actually making her want to try something.

He leans in towards her until their shoulders tap before turning back to the path ahead. It's somehow ridiculously comforting to know if something jumps out at them right now, worst-case scenario it would just be a regular ass bear. No sound eaters, no tiger bears. There's some rustling, but he's betting on a rabbit or a snake or something else they'll never have to actually see as they continue on.

"What are my chances?" he asks like he's really invested in the answer, finding it easier to focus now that everything but them and the night has fallen away.

The shivering leaves don't bother Rocky. The critter disturbing them must be small and abundant enough that the dog has acclimatized to the sounds already. It makes her wonder how he gets along with the squirrels in the city, who are as bold and brassy as its human citizens.

"Dare to dream," she encourages him, though her tone is confusingly sarcastic. She straightens her signals out by slipping her fingers along his palm and taking his hand.

Just that one stupid phrase perks him up, knowing she wouldn't say it even sarcastically if there wasn't some hope. A little tremor goes through him as her fingers catch against his and it's automatic the way he smiles over at her. It's easy to imagine a permanent arrangement like this when they're out here, nothing but slow-paced days and even slower nights, though of course he'd angle for a few more dogs. He's feeling pretty good about his choice as Rocky sniffs through the brush but sticks close to them.

"You glad we did this?" he asks suddenly, feeling for the first time in years (or maybe even his whole life) like he doesn't have to look over his shoulder. This is about as peaceful as it gets.

Jess can barely stand the smile she's guilty of causing. It soaks in first like a sunburn, before she glances his way and bears the brunt of it. It pulls her back, albeit weakly, to the memory of him in uniform, all decked out like a Clue character. Admittedly, she was too. He'll never see her wear as much colour as she did that night, nor will she ever wear a suit again, and his formal blues have burned up. Good to know they can mock up their own simulation of peace without relying on omniscient supercomputers and chronic existential mania.

"Yeah," she answers simply, kicking her caveats under the rug. She squeezes his hand and turns her head toward the lake to downplay her contentment. It's inherently fragile and it's neither of their friend. She's just tolerating it for a minute at a time. "I wouldn't have, you know? Thought of it. I wouldn't have done it if I did." If not for him.

He's thinking about that night too, not in much depth either. It was the last time he'll ever be in uniform so it's a bit nostalgic for that alone. The rest was weird, but not all unpleasant. There was something cleansing about wearing his whites one last time, though, especially when at first all he could think of was his wedding - and his first dance as Maria's husband. Even now, his throat tightens a bit in remembrance and he holds her hand a little tighter too as a result. For whatever reason, Jessica helps him accept his past without dwelling on it. It's the first reason in the book of many of why he needs her, even if he can't explain it. Maybe it's better left a mystery anyway.

Her words wash over him belatedly, as caught up with his own thoughts as ever before. But he never outright ignores her, at least, not on purpose, so the sentiment does filter through eventually. Frank nods, glancing over at the glistening lake before his eyes dart back over to Rocky to make sure he's still staying close enough to grab. As they wind further into the woods, he almost wishes he had brought a tent.

"Yeah? Well, thanks for listening to me," he teases, swinging their hands a bit as he starts to get a better lay of the land. "For once."

She can't tell quite what current of thought is going through him, just that it isn't strong enough to pull him under. Is he thinking of that night too? Even if he isn't, he probably does go back to it more frequently than she does, and either that doesn't bother her anymore or she's acutely ambivalent to it at the moment.

"If the idea is good, I'll listen," she volleys the shade back at him. The narrowing path guides her in closer to him, and Rocky falls in one step ahead of them and perfectly in between. The darker and denser the forest becomes around them, the more familiar it feels; Jess peers infrequently up through the canopy, grounding herself by the stars. They're a different set from the distant lights above the villages, and they appear dimmer and sparser from human pollution. Jess no longer misses that portion of ozone layer they've decimated.

That gets a bemused lift of his lips, taking the opportunity to walk closer too. It really is a nice night: crisp, but not cold, and the bugs seem to be sticking by the lake and leaving them to walk in peace.

"You got me there," he admits easily enough, settling into a comfortable pace at her side. "Anything else you wanna get to while we're out here? Besides fishing." He's not going to stop.

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