"Yeah," I respond sardonically, "since I'm not a goldfish, I do remember the Agent Lane incident of two weeks ago."
It would be hard to bloody forget after all the fuss that was made. Anabelle and North tore me a new one for not stopping Jack from actively engaging with the autonomy they gave him to stamp out Agent Lane.
"He was a real bitch about it for no reason," Jack complains. He's about two facial tics away from pouting.
"Noreason?" I raise both my eyebrows at him, incredulous.
Jack gives me an obstinate look, one I've become very familiar with, and defends himself in the shoddiest way possible. "He was the one who challenged me to a fight in the gym."
It wasn't meant to be a fight, though. It was meant to be a sparring match. Neither of them adhered to the rules, however, and so it just ended up being a very one-sided brawl. I don't know what Agent Lane expected, going up against a literal superhuman, let alone one like Jack, who's spent his entire life training to kill people with frightening proficiency. It was a PG massacre. Absolute carnage in the form of two idiots not knowing when to walk the hell away from a terrible idea.
"You didn't need toleadwith the biting," I point out for about the hundredth time since it happened. "Could have tuned him up a little first, at least. Had a good time batting him around, maybe."
Jack makes a face like he's just sucked on a lemon, displeasure with the idea clear in his expression although not for the reason you might think.
"I only play fight with my friends," he proclaims.
"So … me?" I give him a wry smile, reluctantly amused.
Jack snorts, throwing me a quick look of derision. "Bold of you to assume we're friends."
I suck in a sharp breath and clutch at my chest, feigning hurt. "Many apologies; I didn't mean to come on so strong."
"Yeah, well." Jack flickers a glance down at my lap and then back up to my face again. "You need to get your playboy tendencies under control. I didn't sign up to be the PA to your dick."
Hilarious, considering how up close and personal our cocks were only hours ago.
"You'd make a wonderful PA," I insist. "Your organisational skills are an inspiration. It'd be a lucky dick who got you to answer its calls."
As if on cue, a flight attendant comes around with her cart and offers us both a drink. The badge on her blazer proclaims her to be named “Annie.” She's tall and blonde with long legs and a winning smile, which she utilises to its fullest potential, aiming it at both of us with the energy and fixed determination of a person who works a stressful, customer-facing job.
I offer her a similar standard of mouth gymnastics, matching her enthusiastic tooth display for enthusiastic tooth display.
"Thank God you're here, Annie," I say, keeping my voice light and droll. "I'll take your plane's finest teeny-tiny can of Coke. No need to give me a plastic cup; I'm the planet's trusted ally."
A new interest brightens Annie's lovely brown eyes as she looks me over in open appraisal, her gaze trailing over my body, then back up to my face. She gets me out a red-and-white can, placing it in my open hand, lingering before she pulls back and offers me a more sincere smile. "Anything else I can get you, sir?" she asks, raising her eyebrows suggestively, and I can tell the cheesy line is mostly a joke from the mirth underlying her tone. But it's also clear that if I tried a little, said the right things, and hiked up the charm, I could probably turn that joke into a freely given phone number.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Jack giving me one of his exasperated scowls. It's a good one. Very intimidating. To just about anyone but me.
I let my smile take on a more roguish tilt and lean partially over Jack to cone a hand next to my mouth and speak with Annie conspiratorially. Annie seems amused by the action and angles her body towards me as well. Jack's irritation is palpable, which just makes it even more worth doing.
"If you could get my moody partner a handful of chocolate bars, that would be great. It doesn't matter what kind. He inhales his food without chewing. You know, like only homeless children from Dickensian novels do."
I've found over the last month that Jack has a very strong sweet tooth. He'd probably eat nothing but vending-machine crap if his mutated physiology allowed it. Unfortunately for him, Jack has to eat a huge amount of protein and food containing other necessary vitamins to keep his body functioning properly.
Annie's attention catches on the word “partner,” an incorrect realisation unfurling in her mind. She nods, shooting Jack a slightly apologetic smile as she makes a show of moving away from me. I don't fact-check her new summation of my relationship with Jack, both because the idea of him being my official person is oddly comforting, and because I'm afraid I'll laugh hysterically if I try to explain what our actual relationship status is.
"Of course, no problem," Annie agrees, quick to try and make up for her perceived mistake, reaching into her cart to open a drawer filled with chocolate bars. She grabs a fistful and offers them to me.
I take the chocolate and drop them with a loud clatter onto Jack's tray, giving him my widest grin as if in triumph and leaning back in my seat. Jack looks at me with slightly narrowed eyes, not a single expression of gratitude in sight.
"Thank you very much," I say to Annie because I'mpolite. "My partner is grateful too; he's just morally opposed to showing it."
Jack makes an annoyed huffing sound but doesn't try to contradict me, because he knows I'd be more than willing to die on that hill. I'm both British and upper class, which means I was brought up to view rudeness as a mortal sin that one would rather cut their own arm off than commit.
Jack's too busy opening up a chocolate bar and shoving the entire thing into his mouth like a beast to care much about my besmirchment of his grumpy character anyway.
"You gonna tell me he was raised in a barn?" Annie asks, looking mildly amused by the whole thing, which is sweet and slightly unwise of her.
