Fly Me Away

Jackson made me dinner.

No, I didn’t know he could cook either – and so well! Garlic Shrimp Fettuccine – Mom would have tried to take him from me right then if she’d been there. Mom was a cookaholic, as you may know.

After my tasty, filling meal, I was almost asleep on the couch. I didn’t feel like going to bed in case Mom called with any news on Pip’s whereabouts. Jackson was sitting with me, taking pity on me I assumed and keeping me company while the TV played quietly. Moulin Rouge was on one of the channels, you know, the odd musical one with Ewan McGregor. I wasn’t too interested, but it was bright and quick paced enough to keep my eyes open.

“I wish I was her,” I mumbled mindlessly, watching the red dressed vixen glide across the screen.

“You wish you were Satine?” Jackson asked, surprised. He was very good at catching onto movies, I decided. Good at picking things up. “Instead of Maggie?”

I shook my head against the arm of the chair. “No…Just…Like her, I guess,” My voice was dreary and distant, “Attractive, graceful, intelligent—”

“A prostitute?”

I sighed, not feeling like jokes, even rare ones from Jackson. I Shouldn’t have said anything. The smirk on his face slid off and he turn back to stare at the television, not really expecting me to laugh in the first place.

“You are all of those things Maggie,” he assured, letting out a frustrated sigh.

Something panged in my chest like I’d abruptly been woken up. I stared him down, the movie forgotten. It wasn’t good, not the kind of feeling a compliment like that usually brought to a girl; it felt more like I was being picked on.

“Why do you do it?!” I growled passionately, my lungs suddenly full of air.

His head whipped around to look at me, disbelief clear in his eyes, even through the darkness. What did he expect me to do? Blush and giggle?

He just stared back at me, his eyebrows knitted.

I sighed angrily at his ignorance. “Why do you say crap like that?” I explained, scowling something fierce.

His expression didn’t waver and he remained a silent member of the argument. He was reading me, like a book I presumed, but it wasn’t putting me off. I would have to drill it into his head before I got my answer and I was fine with it; with Pip gone, I was in the right state of mind to fight with someone, and I wanted to.

“You say nice things to me, you make me feel good, then you stamp on me like a bug. I’m sure you think you’re doing the right thing, but I hate it.”

This was my attempt at stopping the stamping before it happened; I would be the stamper. I huffed and twisted back to the movie, curling into a ball as I did. It was starting to get cold, but my face was burning red. How dare he compliment me? I knew it sounded ridiculous, but I could tell when I was being messed with.

We didn’t say anything for a long time. The movie was speeding past the screen too quickly now, it was making me tired. It didn’t take me long to calm down, no doubt thanks to his particular ‘talents.’ So much for my fight; I sort of needed to vent. Actually paying attention to the movie would have to do.

Moulin Rouge….the evil man had just told off the penniless writer for being a ladies’ man. Did they know Satine was dying? I’d missed too much to be sure, but what was the point of fighting each other when the woman they both loved was dying?

“I can’t help it.”

Jackson’s low voice made me jump. I glanced at him out the corner of my eye, just to check on him before I told him to shut up and watch the movie.

But what I saw made me change my mind.

There were only a few things that were worse than actually feeling bad myself, and seeing Jackson sad was one of them. He should never ever be sad, it just wasn’t right. A strong, righteous angel should not look like they’re about to give up.

He spoke quietly, like he was talking to himself, “You’re right. My heart tells me you’re beautiful Maggie…you’re perfect, then my head makes me tell you.”

My own heart accelerated from 20 to 100 mph in under a second. Was he thinking out loud? Had I fallen asleep in the past five minutes? It must have been a dream...

“…but the angel in me pushes you away.” He looked directly at me impassively then, no sign of that sad face from two seconds ago. “The practicality,” he explained.

Finally. My heart felt like it was about to burst; I got my answer. This was similar to last night, when he told me he couldn’t be with me because he would leave me at some point, but I regarded it as much better news. I knew what he thought of me now, however ridiculous it was. I wasn’t modest, I just wasn’t perfect. Beautiful was pushing it a bit far.

The fact that he thought it though….

“Sometimes I feel like I’m two different people,” he sighed, frustrated with himself again.

I felt like that all the time. Not me, but him. He was two different people, there was no denying that. Half straight angel – the part that hissed at demons, pushed me from him and dismissed everything that was strictly ’too human.’ The other half, the weaker half, the better half, was all Jackson. The one that cared about my privacy, wanted to interact with the world and wanted to please me. My Jackson.

But wait, I shouldn’t be picking sides. If Jackson never had that angel in him then….well we would never have met. Not to mention I would be demon lunch.

I could hardly win, could I?

Nonetheless, I slid closer, but subtly enough for him not to notice. He was far too wrapped up in his thoughts anyway. “I feel that too,” I added quietly, trying not to interrupt.

When he looked sad, his eyes did something to me, they always did. Every time I just… wanted to fix the problem.

“It’s confusing,” he laughed half heartedly.

I narrowed my eyes, examining him. I spotted something odd.

“But… you like it?” I asked curiously.

His head lifted slightly at my question, though he still looked tired. Confused, may it be.

“I do enjoy not being a dense, emotionless angel like the rest of them,” he said flatly, “but whatever’s going on in my head is seriously messing me up.”

“You like being my Jackson?” I pushed, emphasizing the ‘my’, and ignoring what he’d just said.

He tilted his head at me, his eyes sleepy. “Your Jackson...” he pondered, mulling over the words thoughtfully.

I was locked onto his eyes. Gazing sounded too cheesy, it wasn’t that. We were reading each other, analyzing everything the other did very cautiously. There was no denying that a part of him felt something for me, be it just a close friendship, or something a little better. Spending every second of every day with somebody tended to do that to you, especially when their life was in your hands. Maybe now he was starting to treasure it more; not everyone had what we had.

I had many good reasons for choosing him, the biggest of which was that part of him. My favorite part; the part of him that loved me too. I was sure of it.

“…I don’t know,” he frowned, looking away. His guard was down and that cruel angel side of him was weakening. “This is hard. I need to think…”

He was fighting it off, the logic; A difficult, heartwarming gesture from him. I knew something that would work on him, but I was tired of seducing him already – it wouldn’t end well. It only gave the side of him that didn’t want me a reason to complain.

I hadn’t noticed how close I’d gotten, subconsciously shuffling forward every few seconds. There was a strong feeling, a current of electricity coursing though us both. He looked positively angelic with the lights from the television dancing across his perfect skin. I had an irresistible urge to touch him though the darkness.

I risked a look at his eyes and my heart jolted into my throat. Those lovely pearly greens held no tension, or anger, or frustration, just…admiration. He’d never looked at me like that before, with even the slightest amount of affection. I was always in trouble, or he was worried about me. Even when he kissed me, he was worried, or guilt ridden, something I didn’t like. It made me sick thinking about what I’d done last night, throwing him into the deep end like that. He was right to be mad.

I leant my forehead against his upper arm and closed my eyes – an instant reaction. It was my own apology of sorts, and I knew he’d understand it. And, as it turned out, apologizing brought rewards on its own. He smelt so clean, musky, with a hint of… something. Something familiar, like he’d been around me so much that he’d picked it up.

Jackson was breathing softly, still no sign of tension. “I don’t mind this,” he whispered.

His words were sparking volcanoes in my stomach. I felt brave. I slid my arms around his, much like I had done when I was trying to cling to him, but different this time. I was testing my limits.

The movie was forgotten, overtaken by the incredible calm mixed with his sweet scent.

“Is this okay?” I whispered back, carefully watching his eyes follow my fingers across his palm. He nodded so slightly I almost missed it in the darkness. He looked like a Greek God; His thick hair fell limply at the nape of his neck and framed that flawless face, smooth and expressionless, but fixated on my fingers carefully massaging patterns on his hand.

My heart was raging in my chest, but the whole thing made me feel tired. We were both tired. Two people fed up with everything, just needing to rest together. I continued to run circles on his hand with my fingers as both of us watched in a daze. He didn’t object to the snuggling, which was my dream. If only he would let me do this more often. I pressed my face against the sleeve of his shirt, silently praying he wouldn’t change anything, I was falling asleep now.

There was an air of delight when he slipped his fingers into the spaces between mine wordlessly. Neither of us acknowledged the act, It just felt normal; it could have been something we did everyday to anyone watching.

“You’re cold,” he murmured. I shrugged and focused on the temperature of his hand.

I swear I drifted off for a bit, but was nudged back awake when a blanket was draped around my shoulders. I wasn’t leaning against him anymore, for some strange reason, and I heaved my sleepy eyes open to look at him guardedly. He smiled, a sweet, caring smile, then pulled me delicately to his side. Though he was solid as a rock, my head felt like it hit an incredibly soft pillow; Angel voodoo? I tried not to appear too excited, which was easy in my current state. Even when his arm swathed itself around my blanket covered shoulders and pressed me closer, I remained calm and collected, still very sleepy.

“Thank you,” I slurred, squeezing my stinging eyes closed and snuggling my face against his warm chest. I loved to say it – I fit him perfectly.

I fell asleep to the sound of Nicole Kidman singing, while Jackson's hand stroked my hair.

Perfect.