⧽˖ ་ .Stuck: a Holiday Drabble.་ ˖ ⧽
Summary: Your planned road trip home for the holidays is in peril when your car decides to die on you. Luckily, Jack Abbot comes to your rescue and offers to drive you, now the only problem is a snowstorm that takes you both by surprise. wc: 4.8k Warning: Trapped in the snow, cuddling for warmth, no y/n, no pronouns for reader. Lots of fluff! Use of troublemaker, sweetheart, and (1) kid as nicknames for reader. Pairing: Jack Abbot x ace!muralist!reader (Masterlist: for context but not required for this story to make sense)
You’re a week away from your work's holiday closure when your car decides to bite the big one. It starts smoking and shaking on your drive home, the wheel fighting you when you try to pull over. And you thank your stars the road’s been recently plowed, empty parking spots still clear for now.
You frantically pull over, turning off your car, and getting out, in case it decides to blow up on you. Digging through your pockets, you whip out your phone, thumbing over Jack's contact. You were coming home from the end of your work day, but you know he’ll have just gotten up an hour or so ago to start getting ready for his day.
Hesitating just for a moment, debating if you should call him or someone else. Not used to having someone to call about these things, instead of just handling it yourself, going straight to finding and calling a mechanic.
Is it too early in your relationship to go to him for this kind of thing?
You hit dial anyway. Hear the line ring once, almost twice.
“Hey Troublemaker, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Comes Jack’s soothing rumble, made tinny through your phone’s speaker. For a moment, you’re distracted from your car’s impending death by how excited he sounds that you called.
You don’t phone him often, though he makes a point of calling you when it’s been more than a few days since you’ve seen each other in person. You’re trying to get better at phoning him, instead of just texting. You feel bad calling because you have a problem, and not just because you want to.
“So smoke coming out from your car hood is normally a bad thing, right?” You wince, as if downplaying it will somehow make your car fix itself.
You barely get the words out before he barks down the line, “DO NOT touch the hood, there might be a fire in the engine, you could burn yourself trying to open it.”
“Noted,” You say, grinning a bit at the sudden shift to protectiveness in his tone, “I turned my car off, I guess I’ll just keep watching and hope it doesn’t explode?” Not sure what else you’re supposed to do, you don’t know the first thing about cars.
You can hear shifting on his end, papers shuffling, his breath coming quicker like he’s rushing around his place.
“Where are you? I know a guy who I can call to get it towed to his garage, he’s good, trustworthy.” Of course, Jack knows a guy; he has some kind of connection for every conceivable problem one might run into.
“Um, I made it about halfway home before I had to pull over.” You say, looking around the dark street to get your bearings.
“Drop me your location and I’ll call him on my way to pick you up.” He says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Like he wouldn’t be going well out of his way to do this for you.
“No, I mean, I can take the bus the rest of the way. You have work soon, just give me this guy’s number, and I’ll get it sorted.” You can’t help trying to brush off his offer; you’re still learning to accept help when someone offers it.
“I have a few hours, that’s plenty of time to wait with you and then drive you home. I'll pick us up something for while we wait. You up for a quick coffee?” He presses, knowing he needs to push you sometimes. He’s noticed you have a habit of avoiding depending on other people. Before he quickly follows up with, “Well, coffee for me, Chai for you.”
You melt a little at the reminder that he knows you well enough to know you prefer tea to coffee, and that Chai is your favourite.
You watch the smoke trailing from your car hood disappear into the cold night air, “That sounds perfect."
Jack Abbot is a problem solver, a fixer. It's something you noticed about him during your time volunteering in the ER, especially witnessing some of his more creative saves. But having him go out of his way to fix things for you, has been a little hard to get used to.
You've always solved your own problems, especially since moving to the city. Even when you lived at home with your family, they were there for support, but you did the heavy lifting.
It feels like you're losing control when Jack takes over and fixes your problems for you. Not to mention the gnawing feeling, that you owe him, that you need to pay him back.
So you feel out of your depth when, later that evening, you find out that on top of arranging the mechanic, Jack has already paid for the tow and told the mechanic to charge him for whatever needs fixing.
You try to play it cool when you text him, but he must be able to read between the lines, because he’s on the defensive right away. Texting that it was just easier that way, made more sense since they're his mechanic anyway, his card was already on file. He doesn’t send any emoji’s but you can practically see him shrugging his shoulders with a dumb little fake frown on his face, practically screaming sorry, not sorry.
Before you have time to dive into just how weird it makes you feel that he spent so much money on you without even asking, the mechanic follows up to tell you your car is basically a write-off; they can fix it, but it would cost more than the car is actually worth.
And sure, it's old, and you haven't been the best at looking after it, but you like your car, you’d spent years working summer jobs and part-time on weekends in high school so you could save to buy it. And it's been reliable, till now, and really good on gas.
So you tell him you want him to go ahead with the fix, and to switch payments over to your card. For now, your car is stuck in their garage, unsafe to drive, and because of the holidays, the parts will take a few weeks to ship. Which is fucking awful timing, you were planning on road tripping to visit your family for the holidays once your office closed.
Jack comes over in the morning, after his shift, with the promise of driving you to work before he goes home to sleep. You know he must be exhausted, he waited with you for the tow before driving you home and rushing off to work.
Now he's back at your place again, just over 12 hours later, though he doesn't show how tired he must be. Once he’s made it inside, he pulls you into a tight hug and places a lingering kiss on your forehead, practically nuzzling into your hair.
Sighing, you tuck yourself into his body, digging your nose into the junction of his neck, enjoying how he smells a little of hospital antiseptic and mostly of his own musk from working hard.
“My cars fucked.” You mumble into him, words muffled by his scrubs.
One of his hands rubs soothingly up and down your back, “They'll fix it, it's just gonna take a little while.”
“Yeah, I'm just mad at myself for not taking better care of my car. Plus, now I’m not sure how I'll see my family for Christmas.” You say, feeling a little antsy broaching the subject. Jack knows about your plans to go home for the holidays, you have other plans to celebrate with just him once you’re back. But you worry that he’s going to jump straight into problem-solving mode, you just want some time to think about it on your own for a bit.
Maybe you could fly, though the ticket prices are gonna be astronomical and there's a good chance they'll be sold out. Or you could rent a car… it's all gonna be pretty out of your budget.
“We'll figure it out.” He says, squeezing you tight and making your belly turn to goo.
“Mhm, future problem, for now, I need to finish packing my lunch.” You say with a sigh, running your hand through the soft curls at the nape of his neck before extracting yourself from his arms.
At this rate, you're really considering staying in Pittsburgh for Christmas. You've had no luck finding a decent plane ticket, and rental cars are just out of the question expensive.
You’re making dinner while you’re on the phone with Jack, as he’s getting ready for work, bemoaning the topic once more when he casually offers to drive you.
There’s silence on the line while you process what he just said. Because for him to offer to drive you, five and a half hours out of his way, to what? Stay with you and your family for the holidays? After only kind of being together for a few weeks, knowing each other a grand total of two months, that’s just crazy.
“I don’t know, Jack… that might be moving a little quick, don’t you think?” You ask, alarm bells ringing through your brain that sound shockingly similar to the sirens from Kill Bill.
“It doesn’t have to be, we can make it a fun little road trip, and then I’ll hole up in a hotel somewhere while you visit your family. It’s been a while since I’ve taken a vacation, I could use the break, there’s no pressure to make this a big meet-the-family, hullabaloo. Unless that's something you’d like…” And you nearly groan, because he kind of sounds like he wants that to be something you’d like. But you are not ready to explain to your family that not only are you in a relationship for the first time ever, but he’s also older than you, by a not insignificant, number of years.
Sometimes, you forget how much older he is than you, but then he’ll say some shit like hullabaloo without batting an eye, and you’re violently reminded of that fact.
“Don't you have holiday plans with your family?” And as soon as you ask, you realize he’s never told you anything about his family, not if his parents are still alive or if he has any siblings. It’s another stinging reminder of how little you still know about each other.
“No… actually, my parents live in the UK, moved over maybe ten years ago, to be closer to our extended family. So I don’t see them too often, maybe every few years. It’s been hard to pull myself away from the ER long enough to make an international trip.” He rumbles, sounding a little distracted, like he’s trying not to dwell on how little he sees them.
“Are you close with them? I don’t think I could handle my Mom being so far away. Sometimes, I struggle with her just being a semi-annoying drive away.” You ask, mind drifting as you wonder what his childhood was like, what his parents are like.
“Nah, distance is good for us, trust me, if my Father and I were still on the same continent, there’s a chance one of us would’ve killed the other by now.” And that is a sentiment you know all too fucking well. Your patience will be sorely tested by your Dad during your holiday visit.
“Damn, maybe we have more in common than I originally thought.” You can’t help but mutter, sparking a startled laugh out of Jack.
“Perfect, we can bond over our shared daddy issues on our road trip. What do you say, sweetheart?” Well, with an offer like that… yes, obviously.
Now that your road trip has turned into a two-person adventure, you drive headfirst into preparing for it, buying snacks, and putting together playlists. Packing and wrapping presents for your family, and finishing off a handmade Victorian puzzle purse letter for Jack. You’ve always struggled finding the right presents to buy for people, but making presents, on the other hand, well that you excel at.
So you spend days writing a letter to Jack, about all the little things you notice and appreciate about him, how he makes you feel, how glad you are that your lives have crossed paths and intertwined. Then you intricately paint and draw on the card stock and fold it together into a complex little square. You also buy him an expensive bottle of whisky, just to cover your bases.
Jack picks you up from your apartment, meeting you at your door and grabbing your suitcase before you can even protest. Once he has it all loaded into his car, you reach out and squeeze his hand, thanking him for offering to do this.
It's snowing a little as he opens the passenger door for you, helping you up as he always does. It feels more like Christmas than you've felt in a long time.
Something about getting older has made the holiday lose some of its charm, slowly drained of the warmth it gave you when you were a kid. But here, now, you feel that spark again, the joy of being with someone important to you and enjoying good music and quality time together. You even curated your treat bag to be holiday themed, adding in mandarin oranges, soft homemade gingerbread, a Terry's chocolate orange, hell, even candy canes.
The interior of his car is big and comfortable, and you excitedly settle in for the long drive. More than ready to leave behind the dirty grey slush coating the city and hit the open highway.
You make it three and a half hours into the drive when the snow that started as specks, barely sticking to the ground, turn into fat heavy flakes that batter the windshield and blanket the road. Going from the pretty swirling dots of poor visibility to the near whiteout of a blizzard in just a few minutes.
You hear Jack swear quietly to himself as he tries to manoeuvre the worsening winter storm. There are no cars ahead of you to give any idea of where the lines of the road, or really the road itself, are.
“Shit, ok, don’t worry.” You’re not sure who he’s trying to calm more, you or himself. “I can’t pull over yet, in case someone can’t stop or see and plows into us. Do you have service? Can you look and see if there’s a rest stop close by?”
You grab your phone as quickly as you can, pulling up a map and frantically searching to see how close you are to any place you can use to pull off the highway. But your cell reception is out. You keep swiping, trying to reload the map, but it only shows that stupid no service try again button.
“No service, oh god, we’re so fucked.” You whine, craning your body around to see snow engulf the car through every window you try to look out. You’re surrounded by a sea of white.
“That’s the spirit. Nothing gets you through an emergency quite like panicking immediately.” He says, tone flat and, despite his maintained focus on the road, nearly dripping in sarcasm.
“I can panic and keep an eye out for a way out of this mess all at the same time, thank you very much.” Comes your haughty reply.
“Me-ow” and if his hands weren't gripping the wheel so tight, you think he would have pretended to claw at you.
Hysterical laughter bubbles out of you at the absurdity of it, but you quickly cut yourself off as you see what looks like snow piled around a side road.
“Jack, there! 3 o'clock, that looks like a side road-” You point fast, nearly jamming your finger against the windshield in your haste.
“Good eye, sweetheart.” He praises, his knuckles still clenched hard on the wheel, joints looking like they’re trying to burst out of his skin with the force of his grip.
When he slowly turns right onto the side street, the car drifts ominously, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ll end up in the ditch, snow blanketing the car so no one finds you until it’s too late. Your hand shoots out to grab his arm, but Jack has it handled, overangling the tires to correct the direction of the car.
He continues for a few minutes on the snow-covered side road before slowly coming to a stop under the cover of trees. The snow is piled high, but his four-wheel drive makes it easy enough to pull over, especially now that he can take his time without worrying about getting rear-ended.
With the car idling and the snow muffling all the sound around you, it feels peaceful. You have a moment to think about how badly this could have gone wrong if you had been driving by yourself in your little car.
You’re both silent for a moment, the windshield wipers off, snow quickly covering the glass, casting you in shadow.
“If there wasn't a small chance of us freezing to death, I would say this is a pretty nice way to spend time with you.” You say, looking over to him.
It’s not often that you get to just watch him, it’s nice, seeing his gaze shift through the car side windows. His face soft and open as he watches the snow pile up around you. The falling flakes create a constantly shifting pattern of light over him, highlighting the salt and pepper in his stubble and the strong line of his nose.
“And here I thought the freezing to death part only added to the ambiance.” He deadpans, looking over to you, the corner of his mouth twitching up.
You have the sudden, intense urge to climb over the middle console and right into his lap.
“Think we’ll be stuck overnight?” You ask instead, distracting yourself.
“Hard to say, it doesn’t look like it’ll stop too soon, and even if it does, I don’t know if the roads’ll be good enough to drive on.”
“Well, I’m thinking, we try to get comfortable then, do these seats recline?” You ask, hand searching for a button or something along the side of the seat. When you manage to find a lever and give it a yank, the whole seat flies back nearly flat, making you gasp.
“Oh, that’s the good stuff,” You say, satisfied, kicking off your shoes to prop your socked feet up on his dash and winding your arms behind your head. “Now all we need is some entertainment.”
It’s easy for a while, he turns the engine off to conserve gas, and you retrieve your coats so you can use them like blankets. You chat and pilfer your snack bag, and you would honestly place tonight as one of your top dates so far. Not that it’s even technically a date.
The hours tick by, and you check outside, seeing the snow hasn’t stopped, just barely slowed. It’s nearly pitch black out now, and you have to make peace with the fact that you really will be stuck overnight.
He turns the car on again every few hours to warm it up, going outside to make sure the exhaust hasn’t been covered. But the snow is starting to get in the way of opening the car door, even after Jack tamps down what he can with his shoes to make a path around the car. You’re a little worried that soon you’ll be trapped completely.
With the looming thought of potential death, even if logically you know you probably won't die, you make a stupid last-minute decision. While he’s outside doing another car exhaust check, you crawl into the back and rifle through your suitcase, digging out the wrapped whisky and your letter. Because if you're going to die, you want to be a little drunk.
You have a minute to try to nicely display your present to Jack, but it doesn’t work, the whisky keeps trying to roll off the dash, and it doesn’t fit in his cup holders. He’s opening the car door again before you figure out a nice way to present it all, so instead, you just hold them both awkwardly in your hands. Looking at Jack like you're a deer caught in his headlights, even though this was your idea.
He freezes with the door still open, not quite moving to get in yet. “What’re you doing?” He asks, coming back to himself as a gust of wind sends a cold burst of snowflakes into the car, lumbering back into the driver's seat.
“Ok, don’t make fun of me, but I just thought,” And you say the next part really quickly, hoping he’ll gloss over it if you do, “on the off chance that we do die, you might as well get your Christmas present now!”
There’s something tender in his eyes when he looks at you, seeing the embarrassed and tentative look on your face, your hands outstretched towards him, shaking a little as they hold a cutely wrapped bottle and a folded, painted square of paper.
“I’d never make fun of you,” He murmurs, adding on, “except for all the times you really, really deserve it.”
You shove the gifts over to him, affectionately telling him, “Just take them dickhead.”
He places the wrapped bottle gently on his lap and starts turning over the folded letter in his hands, making you second-guess giving it to him, not having thought this through. Your original plan was to hide it somewhere in his bags so he would find the gift and letter after he dropped you off and went to his hotel. But this way means you have to watch his reaction in real time.
“You don’t have to read it now, I know it’s a little cheesy.” You fumble, trying to take it back somehow, make it like he didn’t see it in the first place.
“Uh-uh, no take backsies now, what happened to might as well since we’re going to die?” He’s still turning it over in his hands, examining all the small details you’ve painted and drawn. “How do you open it?”
“I said on the chance,” You mumble, hands reaching over to gently pry open the first tucked paper fold, leaving it in his hands as he unfurls the rest of the first layer.
The silence in the car is agony as he reads the small script you’ve adorned the edges of that first layer with. You look at him from under your lashes, your head tilted down to mostly face your lap. There’s a small smile tugging at his lips, his eyes shining as they dance over the page.
He pulls open the next layer, his mouth dropping open as his hands smooth the paper flat. “This is incredible.” He breathes, eyes tearing away from the letter to stare at you.
“You like it?” This is the most vulnerable you’ve ever been with someone romantically, your heart written and drawn on the page in his hands.
“I fucking love it, this is the most thoughtful- fuck- Sweetheart this- you mean so damn much to me.” He nearly groans, “I really want to kiss you, would that- can I?”
His eyes search yours for any signs of discomfort, but you lean forward, really wanting to see what kissing Jack will be like. Your heart speeds up as you think of your previous dating attempts and how each new person and each new first kiss left you feeling nothing, or worse, feeling like a trapped animal.
One of your hands settles for leverage on his knee, shifting so you close some of the distance between the two of you. His hand comes up, caressing the side of your face before he cards his fingers through your hair.
He tugs you forward, your stomach swooping as your lips meet. His lips are soft, pressing insistently against yours, chaste and sweet. His stubble rubs roughly against your skin as he presses deeper against you before pulling back a breath and diving back for one more smack of his lips.
And then he's peppering your face with kisses, everywhere, your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, anywhere he can reach. Pealing into laughter, you try to rear back, but he has your head in a vice grip, and the onslaught continues.
Finally, he lets you go, looking self-satisfied as you flop back into your seat, breathless and flushed.
While you regain your senses, he unwraps the whisky bottle, letting out a whistle as he recognizes the label as a favourite of his. He’s quick to open the bottle, smelling the warm spice of alcohol that wafts out.
“One for luck.” He says, cheer-sing it your way before taking a sip straight from the bottle.
From there, you take turns sipping the sharp amber liquid, it burns your esophagus going down, but leaves a pleasant warmth. You don’t have the palate to know good whisky from bad whisky, but this one seems ok enough to you; it’ll get you tipsy anyhow.
You’re pleasantly buzzed and are comfortably settled back into your reclined seats when you look back over to Jack and feel another tug of desire to be close to him. Not intimate, kissing him was nice, but it still didn’t do anything for you, you just want to be close.
“Jack…” Your voice comes out smaller than you mean it to.
“Yeah, troublemaker?” He turns to meet your eyes, sounding relaxed.
“Would you hold me?” You ask, and see his eyes flash playfully at your request.
“Fuck, I thought you’d never ask, get your butt over here!” His hands reach out to start pulling you his way, making you giggle and nearly collapse over the console as he tries to manhandle you.
It’s awkward, with the layout of the car and the steering wheel, and since you're trying to conserve heat, you can’t just step out of the car. You decide the passenger seat is the better option, so you crawl into the back while he shifts over, his prosthetic catching on the console and making him swear. He fumbles into the seat, and you wonder why he doesn’t just take it off, your mouth moving before you even think, asking him as much.
His eyes cut to yours, something dark and intense in his gaze.
“What, you should take your prosthetic off, there’s no way you’ve been comfortable keeping it on as long as you have.”
He doesn’t say anything for a minute, his eyes searching yours, and you wonder, for the first time, if like you, who’s been waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting to see what part of you he’ll learn about and decided is too much; if he’s been wondering what part of himself will be too much for you to handle.
“Don’t stay uncomfortable cause you think you might freak me out. Trust me, I can handle seeing your stump.” You goad.
Then he shifts, breaking eye contact and leaning forward to get the leverage to take his prosthetic off. The musty smell of trapped sweat permeating the car. It’s quickly replaced by a lemony smell as he takes out lysol wipes from his glove box to clean off his limb and the liner of his prosthetic.
It takes him a few minutes, but by the time he’s done, the tension is gone from the air of the car.
“Alright kid, come on over.” He says, voice light.
He’s pressed up against the center console as far as he can go, giving you a bit of wiggle room to crawl over him and settle along his right side. You manage to slide into place half on top and half beside him, leaning back, angled along the car door. You try not to put too much weight on Jack, a little worried you’ll squish him.
Clearly, he can feel the muscles straining in your body, because one hand comes up to pull your right knee forward across his body, shifting you so you’re lying stomach down, flat overtop of him, and then his right arm snakes along your spine and presses you down.
You relax into his hold, your breathing slowing down to match his, and his body heat seeping into you. You could easily fall asleep like this.
“Thanks for coming with me and saving me from freezing to death on my own.” You murmur drowsily.
“That’s what I’m here for. Besides, no one else I’d rather be trapped with.” His hand comes up to stroke your hair, before he continues, “Get some sleep troublemaker, I’ll make sure we don’t freeze.”
It’s easy to fall into dreaming after that, knowing Jack will keep you safe.
A/N: This is my first holiday drabble, and I had a LOT of fun writing it, I also got stuck in a lot of places cause my brain kept going realism route (What do they do if they have to pee!!) But I really like how it turned out.
I love comments (seriously, they make my day), so let me know if you liked this! I'm also always open to requests, my asks are open.
Tags: @pocket-of-possibilities @lonelyheartsm @celleryxo