pairing: jack abbot x fem!reader
summary: you forget about the age gap between you and your boyfriend until it’s midnight and he’s rambling on about old war stories.
warnings: age gap, none otherwise, just domestic fluff, no use of y/n, jack calls y/n ducky.
a/n: just something short and sweet for today:) hoping to get more diversity with my writing next week
You thought dating an older man would feel a certain way. Exciting. A little dangerous, maybe. The thrill of it.
What you did not anticipate was lying in bed at 12:47 AM, dying of thirst, and having to do a very embarrassing cost-benefit analysis.
“Mm.” He doesn’t look up from his book. Glasses on, lamp on, perfectly content.
You look at him. He turns a page.
“…Will you get me water?”
He sets the book down and looks at you, then you both look at the same thing at the same time- his prosthetic, sitting against the nightstand where he left it hours ago.
The silence is devastating.
By the time he got his leg on and walked to the kitchen you could have gotten water, drunk it, refilled it, and been asleep for twenty minutes. You are a fully mobile adult. You have no excuse. You are also not moving.
“You know,” Jack says, in the tone that means you are about to hear something you did not ask for, “the Army had a saying about this.”
“Can’t remember exactly how it went. Kessler would’ve known it. Sharp guy. From Tulsa.” He settles deeper into the pillow. “Kessler had this thing where he’d quote regulations like they were poetry. Drove Sergeant Holt crazy. Holt was from rural Georgia, he had no patience for it-”
“So there’s this checkpoint..”
And that’s it. That’s your night now. You brought this on yourself.
It’s actually a good story. You won’t tell him that. By the end of it you’ve migrated over to his side of the bed, face against his shoulder, and his hand has found its way to your back without either of you really noting when it happened.
“…and Holt says, ‘Kessler, I will give you twenty dollars to shut up.’” The low rumble of a laugh that doesn’t quite make it all the way out. “Twenty dollars was a lot, at the time.”
“Mm.” A pause. “You’re still thirsty, Ducky.”
He makes a sound that means he does not believe you. Then, without any fuss, he sits up and starts putting his leg back on with the quiet efficiency of someone who’s been doing it long enough that it’s just a thing that happens.
“Jack, you don’t have to-”
He comes back with a full glass of water. Doesn’t say anything about it. Just hands it to you, gets back into bed, and picks up his book.
You drink the whole thing. You absolutely could have done this yourself. You will never, ever admit that out loud.
“Thank you,” you say, very small.
He turns a page. You put the glass on the nightstand and tuck yourself back against him and stare at the ceiling feeling extremely perceived.