trying wasnʼt enough (jack ryan x reader)
summary: Absence is a funny thing. It implies history and every story has to come to an end. Inevitably.
warnings: angst, fluff-ish, swearing
words: 1.6k
notes: based on the bell by first aid kit. lol bye
I tried hard to be brave
I tried hard not to be afraid
But trying wasnʼt enough
(y/n) sits on the edge of the bed as Jack walks across the room, carrying his packed bags. He stands in front of her, appearing tired and annoyed, “why do you always have to make me feel like the villain?”
“Oh, that’s right, how dare I”, she scoffs, shaking her head in disbelief and anger. “Because you’re the hero, aren’t you? How dare I question you, how dare I criticise Mr. Perfect?”
He sighs deeply, expanding his nostrils and looking away. This is going nowhere, they both know it. Dropping his luggage on the floor, Jack leans down so his face is level with hers. He speaks slowly, carefully, softly; like someone explaining something to a child. It only fuels her ire further. “You’re not being fair. What I do in the agency is important.”
“When are you gonna understand that I have the right to feel angry at this… this situation?”, her voice is but a whisper, breaking in her throat as the words come out. His brows furrow in something reminiscent of remorse, but it’s ghostly, nearly invisible. “Maybe I’m not being fair because this isn’t a fair situation.”
“And what’s fair to you?” Jack comes closer and stares into her eyes, his demeanour full of displeasure albeit he’s clearly containing himself. “Just because you don’t see me, doesn’t mean nothing’s going on. I’m doing this for us!”
“You being here with me, that’s fucking fair!” She shouts with a frown and Jack remains silent, his gaze unreadable. He doesn’t look away, doesn’t even flinch this time; his orbs hard and sharp as she adds, “that’s what I deserve.”
When being brave simply isn’t enough, what more is there to be? Resentful. (y/n) felt like anything she did inevitably led to her drowning in her own ocean of resentment towards Jack. His blue shirt now hung from the chair, moving with the soft wind coming from the half open window. He had left in a rush, something to do with the mission of the moment. She grew used to it; being second to his duties as an agent. If she called him a spy, he’d get angry and shut down for a whole week. Things only slightly went back to normal after he took her out for dinner. His career had always been an issue between them, because when he willingly leaves such an important part of who he is a secret—no matter how many euphemisms John’d find for that word—to his partner from the beginning, it means he set his priorities straight even before she occupied any position in his circle. First work, then her. And as it was from the very start, so was the end.
How could he be so distant, she wondered, yet so overbearing at the same time? Washing the dishes in silence, she reflected on the occasions he’d left her feeling weak and defenceless in his presence, surely thinking he was doing quite the opposite. She understood his protective nature to an extent, sure; being a Marine and now a field agent came with its own set of triggers and traumas. He lost a lot of people he cared about, and it seemed as though caring about her was like reliving—or rather, anticipating—every pain he ever felt when losing someone. But even though she held such empathy for his struggles, his behaviour left her at a crossroads. Jack was too busy with his work to go to therapy and work on himself, after all. She never felt quite any opening from his part for her to even dare suggest it, anyway. It seemed so trivial in the face of the things he had to endure for the “greater good”, as he had called it time and time again. The girl left out another heavy sigh.
She was dating fucking Captain America.
(y/n) places a washed cup on the sink and stares at it, her mind spiralling into the last two years of her life with Jack. Her eyes fill with tears instantly and she takes a deep breath, trying to pull herself together. When people leave your life, it shouldn’t be such a big deal. They have always come and gone, haven’t they? But the word “missing” does describe the stupid feeling very well. It’s not the longing for them, it’s the quiet laugh to that stupid joke she’d tell everyday that isn’t there now. What was once just isn’t anymore and when people leave, that’s exactly what happens; they’re somewhere else, not with you. And so there’s this insistent empty place which was filled not so long ago. The clock on the wall keeps ticking and the candles on the table melt all the same. Nothing happened, yet everything’s gone.
“Don’t do that”, Jack murmurs in the back of her memories. His words keep echoing like the sound of a ghost. He torments her every time she lets him. And she lets him more often than not. His glance is still slightly angry, but now also buried in desperation. He didn’t want to leave. It was clear and she couldn’t see it through her tears. “Please, don’t do that.”
“You’re never here anyway”, that was the last thing she ever told him. And just like that, he was gone the next day. “It won’t change anything”, was the quiet addition, after he closed the door behind him. Such a fucking lie. How could nothing change, really, when he was the reason for everything?
Walking towards the bedroom, she can’t help but laugh humorlessly at the things neatly organised. He cleaned it all prior to leaving this morning and a sad chuckle escapes her lips again. Back when they were in Moscow, she noticed right away he would be the type to drive her crazy over some dirty laundry on the floor. And she was right. They often had little arguments about domestic stuff, yet somehow, those were the best moments she could’ve spent with him. Going back and forth all day, teasing, bickering like two children was strangely soothing to her heart. Perhaps it meant that he was fallible, just like her; he could be picky and stubborn and annoying too, as opposed to his sober and unmoving nature, always in control. And it was like a breath of fresh air, to witness John let himself feel things even if for a period of time.
“Come here”, Jack coos as he pulls her closer, burying his face in her hair and sniffing deeply. She’s still a bit annoyed about their debate earlier, but he’s feeling cuddly today, rocking her body back and forth with his. There’s a playful beam on his features as he mutters, “stop being so stubborn, that’s my brand.”
“You have a lot of them”, she sticks her tongue out and he laughs soundly, tickling her side. (y/n) gasps and tries to escape his grip to no avail, big long arms holding her firmly in place. She eventually gives up and his lips meet hers in a gentle, delicate kiss. Her heart flutters in her chest as he squeezes her body, smothering her as he ever did. A small smile shows on her face and he follows her as they exchange a knowing gaze. “I love you, Dr. Ryan.”
He pecks her gently, caressing her chin, “I love you too, silly.”
Could it be that those shared moments with Jack always felt so utterly overwhelming because it was a rare thing to occur? Her stomach turned at the faint memory as if someone had been playing with her guts and she took a step back, leaving the bedroom and slamming the door. Every single thing in this house now reached her senses like poison and she just wanted to scream.
Running towards the backyard, her eyes fell on the little bedside table Jack had been working on. He made a habit out of doing woodwork and it wasn’t finished yet. She sat on the floor and studied the piece of furniture thoroughly, even though her knowledge of carpentry was about the same as her knowledge in maintaining a long distance relationship: fucking nothing. But just as she’s going to let herself drown in tears one more time that day, (y/n) hears steps coming from behind and turns her face to look at Jack standing tall, leaning on the doorway with his arms crossed.
He’s frowning, but seems more sad than mad at this point. “Are you gonna finish that for me?”
She snorts despite herself, eyeing the wood parts still waiting to be put together. “I’m afraid you’re gonna have to call Greer for that. I’m no carpenter.”
That gets a small laugh from him and he sighs. “I’m sorry, (y/n)”, Jack blurts out after a few seconds of silence. She stares at the grass under her feet as he approaches, sitting beside her with his elbows leaning on his knees. She can’t tell if he’s looking at her, but his hot breath hits her cheek as he continues, “if anything, I’d like you to know that I tried.”
His words sting. They sound soft and broken at the same time, and when she glances back at him, his gaze is so gentle. Ryan searches her face in deep thought, studying every inch of it as he’s used to and (y/n) simply nods, her eyes misty with unshed tears. “I know.”
From the rust that lies deep in its throat
I hear solemn tones
The danger, the absent floors
In the silence of night, he lets me know
That I’m not coming home
