Gentlemen Only

Hunger

Okay guys. This is a flashback and I added it to an earlier part of the story so we get more backstory between Jet and Meredith. Please don't throw tomatoes...sorry it took so long...please tell me if it's complete dung. In that case, I welcome the half rotten, wormy tomatoes.

Colors and shapes flitted through Meredith's mind, the random cacophony not disturbing by any means. Rather, the lack of anxiety that usually spawned from such chaos during her waking indicated to her that she must be dreaming. Dreams were the only place she ever felt the teasing warmth of peace, where her subconscious relaxed just long enough to still her troubled thoughts.

The images pulled inward to a focal point and stilled, solidifying into a comfortably familiar scene. Meredith blinked in surprise as Jet's face materialized in front of her. He was sitting behind his desk; his hair was shorter than she remembered, and he was squinting at a piece of paper instead of using his reading glasses. His mouth pulled in concentration as he read a document, occasionally penning something in the margins. Meredith watched his long, pale fingers dance gracefully over the page in his scratchy, shorthand script. A furrow dimpled the space between his brows, and she knew from experience he was deep in thought. His shoulders were squared and neck tense, though the rest of his body was relaxed, and Meredith found herself entranced by his presence.

He took no notice of her, which was expected, since she was immersed in her own memories. Exactly which one escaped her until she heard a light rap on the door and his floor secretary popped her head in.

"The next applicant is here, Sir."

He nodded to show he'd heard her, still writing furiously with no sign of slowing.

"In you go." The woman practically shoved what looked like a laundry sack into the room, relief evident on her features as she ridded herself of the thing.

The lump straightened up, wiry glasses overshadowing a pale, timid face that sat below something resembling a bird's nest. Meredith gasped, blushing with embarrassment: she was staring at a particularly horrid version of herself. Gosh, she thought, pulling her hands to her cheeks in shock as she scrutinized her own attire, is that what I look like to everyone else?

Jet glanced up, his brilliant, cerulean eyes flicking in recognition. "We meet again." He smoothed out the document he'd inadvertently wrinkled in his fervor. He stood, towering over the Meredith from her memory. His impressive height never failed to shock her: an identical expression of awe painted both versions of Meredith's face. "Pray tell, might I know the name of so memorable a woman?"

Meredith's mouth parted reluctantly, lips trembling as they formed the appropriate response. "M-Meredith Sparks." She flinched as the stutter left her lips.

Chuckling, he rounded the desk and held out a firm hand to the memory woman, who shakily reached out and weakly grasped his fingers. Meredith recalled how difficult it had been to force her arm out like that and give him such a pathetic excuse of a handshake. As in her memory, the Jet before her raised a skeptical brow and motioned to the chair across from his desk.