it's not your fault that you're always wrong
"How astute of you," Jack drawled, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes against even the dim light away from his pillows. "It's a fuckin' migraine, if you must get that bee outta your bonnet." And if she thought he was going to not be around later not to catch her with her fingers in his things, she'd be very mistaken indeed. Her comment and the battering of thought that came along behind them was the perfect recipe for his response, Jack blinking open his eyes to stare up at her.
"You're in trouble," he said simply. "How bad?" At that moment, of course, she pressed her fingers into his temples and the captain hissed in a breath of surprise and fought against the urge to turn out of her grip. "Mm, I do know that much, at least," he said. That he disagreed barely seemed to matter, and he raised an eyebrow at the illusion that draped itself around them. A shame that his telepathy cut through it, but Jack tried to stifle that back a bit, lest he be unable to enjoy the soothing darkness and the lap of the waves against the ship.
"You're in trouble," he said simply. "How bad?" At that moment, of course, she pressed her fingers into his temples and the captain hissed in a breath of surprise and fought against the urge to turn out of her grip. "Mm, I do know that much, at least," he said. That he disagreed barely seemed to matter, and he raised an eyebrow at the illusion that draped itself around them. A shame that his telepathy cut through it, but Jack tried to stifle that back a bit, lest he be unable to enjoy the soothing darkness and the lap of the waves against the ship.
