Write Your Own Song

Chapter 24

Jack rolled over, dislodging the last little bit of the sheets that had managed not to get untucked during the course of the night. Lazily stretching out into the space next to him, he groped around, eyes half closed, confused. He couldn't remember why he should be surprised that the other half of the bed was empty, just that he was.

Groaning, he dragged himself up until he was sitting against the headboard, running his hand roughly through his hair, trying to wake up. Mornings were always tough for him. Hell, early afternoons sometimes proved a challenge and once or twice he'd slept clear through daylight, only to wake up in the dark and wonder why Bobby was bitching at him to get dinner ready. He wanted to blame his shitty sleeping habits on getting shot, but he had never been particularly enthusiastic to greet a new day, no matter how old and healthy he was.

He squinted at the clock, but it was blank. He tried the lamp, but that didn't work either. Right. The power was out. He knew that. Something else tickled at the back of his sleep-muddled brain, something important, but it was just out of reach. The half empty bottle of whiskey on the bedside table provided one clue and the lacy red bra that was tossed next to it provided the second. He still couldn't help thinking there was something else he was missing, though … something more than getting drunk and getting laid.

His cigarettes were right where he usually left them, next to the clock radio, his lighter on top. At least he got that much right. He had one lit when the door suddenly banged open, bouncing loudly off the wall with a bang and ricocheting back, blocking the intruder. The door swung back open again and Jack's heart dropped to his stomach like a boulder.

"Shit," he muttered around the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. It all came back to him in a rush. The bar. A guitar. A girl. The cops. Bobby. "Shit," he said again, flinching like his brother had already taken a swing at him.

Bobby glared at him from the doorway, nostrils flaring, ready to charge. "Jack." His voice was low, ominously low.

Jack sat up a little straighter, grabbing a pillow and wrapping his arms around it, the world's most pathetic shield. He cleared his throat and nodded, trying to look nonchalant. "Bobby."

His brother didn't move, just stood perfectly still in the doorway. Jack couldn't get a read on him – couldn't tell just how fucked he was. He suddenly wished he was … well … dressed and not just sitting in bed, naked, defenseless, and holding a pillow.

Bobby looked like shit. His clothes were wrinkled and rumpled, like he'd slept in them, which Jack figured he probably had, if he'd slept at all - the cots in holding cells usually sucked and Jack just would just lay there and stare at the ceiling the few times he'd been in one. He could see from there that Bobby needed a shave, shower, and probably a good ten hours crashed in a bed. But first things first. There was no way in hell Bobby Mercer was going to let his baby brother get away with leaving him to rot in jail for a night without at least acknowledging it.

Silence stretched between the two of them – the kind of silence that could only mean one thing: all hell was about to break loose. Swallowing the bile creeping up the back of his throat, Jack figured he should be the first to speak, just get it over with. "They, uh, let you out, huh?"

"No shit, Sherlock," Bobby barked back. "Too bad they're just gonna have to send me right back … after I rip your fucking head off!" He walked into the room, slamming the door behind him so hard the blinds on the window rattled and the remote fell off the TV.

"Um …"

"You better have a good fucking excuse, Jackass, because --" Before Bobby could finish his threat, the bathroom door opened, distracting him. A blonde emerged, wearing a smile and not much else. The towel was a joke, leaving not much to the imagination, not that Jack needed to use his – last night came flooding back to him in full Technicolor, complete with a slow jazz soundtrack and a triple X rating.