Chapter Text
Dreaming was always the best part of the morning in Ireland. Jackson usually woke to a droning alarm clock that would allow him to lie half asleep for a minute before hoisting himself up to tug on a Hugo Boss shirt and some designer jeans. However, in Ireland the birds woke him up, and if not then a cool draft. But either way it allowed time for him to lay on his back with the lids of his eyes closed in a blissful state of half dreaming. Jackson wasn't worried about the scientific name for it—but it's a time when your senses are awakening but your mind holds onto the last bits of your dream like sand pouring through your fingers until you are forced to brush the lasts grains from your palms. He loved it.
This morning Jackson lay on the couch, eyes closed. He wondered, eyebrows knitting together to form a small crease between them, if Scott was real. Perhaps he'd gone mad as his mother suggested and made the whole thing up. It would have been a very pleasant illusion. However just as Jackson's mind let the last bit of dream-sand slip through his fingers his hearing began to take root in the real world. It started as a faint whistle but as Jackson finally sat up and rubbed the tired from his eyes he could more clearly hear, and see, that the teapot was yelling with hot steam from the spout. He jumped up to grab it off the burner but before he could, a familiar tanned arm seemed to peek around the corner and pick up the water, placing it on an unused burner—Scott.
Jackson, not so worried about the boiling water, got up slowly from his sleep and slid his slippers on. The feel of mud only momentarily set him off, a whispy memory of burring the seal coat flashing in his memory. He walked around into the kitchen to see Scott standing by the sink with a cup of what he could only imagine to be tea. He looked… calm and at home staring out the window at the loch. It was a green day—as most were in Ireland. The sky was a brilliant blue without a cloud in sight after the long haul of rain. His tan hands wrapped around the handmade brown mug and he blew steam off the top of the cup. His large brown eyes staring off into the distance. The look sent a painful bolt through Jackson, a flash of recognition to longing that he'd only seen on one other person—his grandfather. The lacrosse player shook his head; he wasn't about to get sentimental about a basket case in his kitchen. Jackson could only smile and lean against the counter a moment before clearing his throat as an entrance.
Scott turned around to look at Jackson, a comical and confused look on his face, but it only lasted a moment. The selkie soon gave him a grin that was so stupidly large Jackson could only describe it as such.
"Tea?" Scott seemed to offer turning around to remove another mug from the cabinet. Jackson reached over and halted the other's arm in the process.
"Nah," Jackson seemed to shrug off the offer. He was actually being overwhelmed with memories of his grandfather. The sight of his mug in Scott's hand, the smell of his tea, the look in his eyes, the way Scott had opened the little window above the sink to let in the fresh Irish air. Little things were the hardest to let go of.
Sensing his discomfort, Scott set the mug back down into the cupboard and sipped his tea. He could sense Jackson's uneasiness and he only gave a slight twitch of his lip of indication.
Jackson stood in silence a moment longer, taking in the events that had happened. He wasn't entirely done grieving. "Scott, I can drive you home in a little while. I have the Porsche out front. I just have to get dressed. I uh-" He paused the words getting crammed in his throat. He cleared it, "I appreciate that you stayed with me last night. I know I saved you out there but I really did need company last night. Maybe you heard about my grandfather's death from someone in town. Whatever. I'll be happy to drive you home though."
Scott looked almost hurt. Though not as if someone had hit him but like he could feel the pain Jackson was carrying on his shoulders. The brunette nodded in response. He wasn't about to cause Jackson any more worry over the fact a car couldn't drive him to the middle of the ocean. Instead he gave a little smile and wondered if he could lift some of the pain from Jackson's shoulders. "When I was little I used to swim a lot. I would swim for hours on end until it was almost too much. One day I came upon a girl. She was crying and crying. I could see her salty tears running into the ocean. I swam to her and I asked her what was wrong. She just sniffled and told me that she wanted to be happy but her mother had just passed away. She was blonde and tall and beautiful. I asked her what I could do to make her feel better. She told me there was nothing anyone could do to bring her mother back. That was true. She probably thought I was annoying. A little boy asking about her problems. She was probably twenty at the time. But I walked on shore and I have her a hug. It was awkward because I was shorter and wet but she hugged me back. She had warm fingers that tickled just a bit when they wrapped around your back. She reminded me a lot of my own mother…"
Jackson listened and nodded as Scott spoke. He admired the far away look that Scott's eyes held as his lips moved. It was the same as he'd had looking out the window. Jackson's brows furrowed again. "Did something happen to your mother?"
Scott nodded solemnly before setting his now empty mug on the counter. "A man found her washed up on shore," Scott looked up at Jackson smiling now in a full on grin. "He stole her jacket and buried it in the woods so she couldn't find him and she was forced to marry him." He spoke as if her were telling a joke and even Jackson gave a little laugh but there was a glimmer of hurt in Scott's eyes. Jackson cleared his throat and offered Scott a small smile. Scott took it and sighed. He supposed the painful memory of his mother leaving and never returning was hard. However it seemed to lessen Jackson's burden and that made it seem much more worth while. "I don't know that you had to hide my coat for me to stay..."
Jackson quickly straightened his posture. So he had noticed his coat missing. "S-Sorry I-"
"No don't apologize. I'm sure you could go get it if I asked," He saw Jackson nod. "I'll ask you for it later. When you've had a cup of tea and you've stopped looking like someone stole something from you." Scott smiled. "I know that sometimes it feels like the world is against you, Jackson. But I woke up this morning in a warm bed with the sun and sky and the smell of sea salt. I woke up in a dream... and then I made some delicious tea you had sitting around."
He smiled. Scott had a way of looking at little things like the sun and the sky and seeing a gift that was overlooked by Jackson. The lacrosse player smiled weakly before reaching past Scott to grab his own mug then and pour himself some tea, the steam rising off the surface off the cup like he imagined his dreams faded after he woke up. The effervescent scent of an Irish tea filled his nostrils and he sipped the drink. Scott looked over at him, eyes happy as they drank in silence.
The immigrant realized just then how much he liked the way Scott spoke. It was plain and simple, easy to listen to. He spoke like he was telling a story, as if he were dreaming with his eyes open and he was willing to share what was going on in his head, honestly.