When You Can't Fake It [One Shot]

[Jay]

The dark storms that threatened the horizon didn't seem to phase Jack Spade in the least. However, he wore the most peculiar expression on his face -- something hard to discern: that was not exactly happiness or exactly sadness.

He sat there on Sol beach reclined out in a cheap beach chair that sat alongside another. However, whoever was supposed to be there apparently hadn't come yet for there was a mix of frost and snow that had settled on it in the time that it had been taken out and placed there. Sitting in the mix of sand and ice between the two chairs were two martini glasses filled and awaiting someone to pick them up and partake. However, none had touched them, and the only hands within the vicinity had laced themselves in front of a body and were content to rest there.

It was Christmas Eve, and he probably should have stayed at Logan's family's house like he had planned to.... yet after having gone and given out the presents he had to give --one which included a bit too large a sum to Logan's mother only to be refused, forced back, and finally accepted after a good few words were exchanged-- Jack found himself restless. He played a few games, told a story or two, but....

Logan had only been dead for a few weeks now, and though Logan's family had waited for BJ to get out of the hospital before having Logan's funeral service, Jack couldn't find closure in it. Rather than find any sort of peace during the service, he only found pain. Jessica had flat out blamed him for Logan's death. It hurt. Even after she apologized and tried to make amends shortly after that, the feeling of forced acceptance, that understanding that if he had never dragged Logan into working with him, he would never have died, was left in BJ. It was true. It was his fault.

Mom, Logan's mom, and the only woman who had taken it upon herself to truly incorporate Jack into a family since Cassi had left, had somehow managed to piece herself back together, possibly because of the realization that she had a job to do for her remaining children and honestly didn't have the time to allow herself to suffer as greatly as she felt compelled to. She had been the one to ask Jack if he was coming for Christmas. He'd spent Christmas Eve with Logan's family for the last few years, and though he honestly didn't want to celebrate at first, Jack agreed. He owed her, or at least it felt like he did.

However, when he found himself finally sitting there in Logan's house at Logan's table with Logan's family, Jack was unable to take it. He couldn't enjoy himself. As much as he tried to force it, he couldn't make himself happy. He only succeeded in bringing up Logan's name a few times before finally getting up, excusing himself with some sort of note that he remembered he had some work to do before Christmas day, and leaving despite the arguments for him to stay that were posed.

He wasn't actually sure what happened after that. One minute he was there, and the next he was sitting on the beach there staring out at Convict Island in the distance. Breathing in quietly, Jack closed his eyes. Well this isn't a merry Christmas! Casanova whined, yet where Ripper would have once shouted some sort of insult or the like to shut him up, all that was left was silence. After a few moments, Third took it upon himself to comment. Shut your face, Cas the voice answered back, and with that, silence was restored again.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and lightning could be seen flickering slightly, yet still the purple haired man made no motion to get up or do anything. "Hey Logan.... do you remember when we sat out here watching the rain fall in the summer?" Jack asked aloud in a slow and steady voice. "And you said that I looked like a clown with this mess of hair plastered against my head?" He fell silent then as though waiting for some sort of reply or conformation. When a few seconds went by, he smirked. "Well you looked no better than me, man."

Slowly the fingers untied themselves, and a hand reached down sideways not finding the martini but a pack of cigarettes next to it. Fingering the box, Jack slowly pulled one long cig out and set it between his lips. "These things taste like shit, Lo," Jack stated before reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a lighter. Flicking the foot a few times before causing a small flame to spring forth, Jack lit the end before closing the lighter again. "Can't figure... why you ever liked 'em."

The smoke from the end slowly trailed up into the air melding with the dark clouds that were now overhead. Thunder rumbled closer now as lightning danced above. Sure enough, the hiss of rain followed suit.