Page 18 of Baby, It's Cod Outside
Shit.
Ben’s head’s between his knees. One of his hands goes helplessly to his chest, pressing flat over his heart, like he’s physically trying to push back the panic.
Jackson drops onto the rug in front of him. “Hey. Ben. Look at me. It’s alright. You’re alright.”
But Ben isn’t. Not by a long shot. Eyes screwed shut, face crumpling, his whole body trembling against it.
Jackson feels a little like crumpling too; he’s powerless as this thing grabs Ben’s body and takes him far away.
“Deep breaths,” Jackson says, trying to steady his own voice. “In through your nose. Out through your mouth. Nice and easy.”
Ben gives a harsh, ragged little pull of air that doesn’t sound like it’s getting anywhere.
Jackson’s watched panic curl people into themselves before, but it’s always been from a distance. On gurneys, in alleyways, behind police lines. Something to observe. Something to document. Never like this.
Ben’s fingers grip his own sleeve, an ugly little contortion of muscle and bone. Jackson cups that hand instinctively. He tries to be gentle, but he can feel the internal tension twisting at it. “You’re safe,” Jackson murmurs. It sounds ridiculous, but he says it again. “You’re safe. You’re not alone, okay?”
Ben makes a small, awful sound in the back of his throat. Not a word. Just the kind of noise you make when something inside you is caving in.
Jackson breathes for them both, slow and deliberate. “Just follow my lead,” he says. “Right here, Ben. I’ve got you.”
And he does. Or he’s trying to. It throws Jackson, how easily everything in him just….reorients toward Ben. It’s not just a story, it’s someone in need. Someone trying to do the right thing at great personal cost.
Jackson remembers what it’s like to watch the shape of your future come apart. All he can do is try to be the person he would have liked sitting beside him in his own worst moments.
It takes a long, agonizing minute before Ben starts to synchronize with Jackson’s gentle rhythm. Inhale, fractured and tight. Exhale, shuddering and short. Jackson doesn’t move. He lets Ben hold on, lets the silence do its work. The force gripping Ben retreats, goes back somewhere inside him.
Ben sags backward, shoulders hitting the couch, eyes glassy with leftover fear and fresh humiliation. Jackson stays on the floor a moment longer, not wanting to upset whatever fragile equilibrium Ben’s managed to find.
Then, cautiously, he eases up beside him on the couch. He leaves a cushion’s worth of space, close enough to be there, not so close Ben feels cornered.
Jackson resists the instinct to ask ‘Are you okay?’Not Okay’s radiating off Ben like heat from a burner. “Can I get you a glass of water? Or…I don’t know. A blanket? Something else?”
Ben shakes his head, barely a motion. “I’m sorry.” He won’t look at Jackson. “I don’t usually…”
“You don’t need to explain,” Jackson says, cutting in before Ben can spiral again. “You are upset. That’s allowed. I’d find it strange if you weren’t.”
Jackson forces a shrug, light enough to pass for nonchalance. He doesn’t really know what he should say but he does know Ben’s already doing demolition work on himself; Jackson doesn’t need to step in to swing a hammer.
Ben just keeps staring at his lap, the color returning to his cheeks in uneven patches. “You’re not exactly the ideal person to fall apart in front of.”
“Why not?”
“You’re…” Ben’s voice trails off helplessly, like it’s somehow obvious. “You’reyou.”
Jackson’s mouth quirks up in spite of himself. “I think you just made that less clear, actually.”
“Forget it.” Ben lets out a watery laugh, already trying to pull himself back together. “I should go.”
“What? Why?” Jackson frowns, caught off guard by how quickly Ben’s walls snap back up.
Ben goes for his coat. “I’ve taken up enough of your night.”
“You’ve had half a bottle of wine and a pretty serious panic attack in my living room. I’m not letting you drive home like this.” Jackson reaches out, touching Ben’s arm lightly to try and centre him.
Ben flinches immediately away from the contact. “Fine. I’ll get a cab.”
“Ben.” Jackson exhales patiently. “I’m not going to force you to stay. If you really want to leave, I’ll walk you to the door and call you a cab myself right now. But I don’t want you to go just because you think you have to.” He lets that sit for a moment.
