Part 15 (1/2)

”He likes to tease.” Jack returned with another dry erase board and handed it to Jemma. ”Doesn't mean anything by it, though.”

It's nice to meet you, too, wrote Jemma, hoping the delay between initial comment and her response hadn't been as long at it had felt.

Sit, please, wrote Don, taking his seat once more and gesturing toward the chair to his left. Jemma obliged, looking at Jack and expecting him to sit with them, but he was still standing.

”I have to go cook,” he sent. ”You're welcome to join me, or you can stay here with Dad. He says to tell you he promises not to bite.”

Jemma looked at Don, who was watching her with a grin on his face and a sparkle in his eyes, very much like the expression she saw on Jack so often.

”I'll stay here,” she sent, and Jack nodded, then moved to the kitchen with a brief wave, leaving Jemma alone with Don.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:.

Unknown Jemma and Don sat in silence, Jemma waiting while Don wrote slowly on his whiteboard, occasionally pausing to rub his hand.

What do you like to do outside of work? the board read when he finally turned it to face her. How long have you and Jack been Talking?

Jemma held her marker over her board while she thought. The first question was easy. The second was a little trickier without being dishonest.

I read a lot, she wrote finally. We're not sure exactly when we started being able to Talk. We didn't think to try at first.

Don nodded, seeming to accept the vague answer, and started writing again, more slowly this time. Jemma sent Jack a message.

”Your dad is writing pretty slowly. It looks like his hand might be bothering him. Is the kitchen too far for you to translate?”

”It is, thanks to the weird layout. It isn't much out of range,” sent Jack, ”but translating won't work. I'll be there in a minute, about to be at a stopping point.”

Jemma s.h.i.+fted her attention back to Don, who'd finished writing and was turning the board so she could see.

Anything in your life other than books?

He was watching her with an interested look, the question not meant to be insulting as she'd heard it used more than once. She again hesitated in her response. She had her family, yes, and that would have been her only response a few months ago. Recently, though, there had been the time she spent with Jack, the unexplained telepathic abilities, and the possibility that she was being watched at work. Combined with the changes in her job and the changes in the world in general, it had been a very full couple of months.

I see my family at least once a week, she wrote finally. My mom, my dad, and my little sister.

He smiled at the board when she showed it to him. Before he could write any more, she heard Jack coming back down the hallway.

”He says it's good to have family,” he sent, joining them at the table.

She nodded at Don in agreement.

”It is,” she sent to Jack. Based on the pause afterward and on Don's smile growing even larger, he'd relayed her statement. ”This might be a good time for me to try Talking to your dad, right?”

”It'll make dinner a lot easier if it works,” he sent back.

Jemma sent a wave of acknowledgment, then focused on Don, who raised an eyebrow expectantly.

”Don?” she tried, focusing on him, but there was no echo, no further response. ”I don't think...” She started sending a message to Jack, trailing off when he held up a finger.

”He asks whether he has something on his face,” sent Jack.

When Jemma turned to look back at Don, he was patting at his face comically. She laughed soundlessly and shook her head, her gaze flicking back to Jack.

”Were we both Talking at once?” she asked.

”Yeah,” he sent, ”and no, there was no feedback.” He looked between her and his father before he continued. ”Do you want me to keep sending him messages for you, or do you want to write for yourself? I can still pa.s.s along his answers.”

”I can write. I don't seem to be able to Talk to him.” She uncapped her marker, pausing yet again over the board. ”We should still try with contact, though, first with me touching him, then with me touching both of you.”

”That sounds like a good plan,” sent Jack.

Is Jack a good cook? she wrote after a few more moments of consideration, turning the whiteboard so both of the men could see. Don shook with silent laughter while Jack held a hand to his chest as if wounded.

”He says I'm a fine cook, but not as good as he was before his hands stopped listening.” Some of the sparkle left Jack's eyes. Meanwhile, Don seemed unaffected.

”What's wrong with him, exactly, if it's okay to ask? I mean, you've said he's always sick, but this seems like more than that,” she sent.

Jack shook his head. ”He has a low immune system, not low enough to justify living alone in a clean area, even if he would put up with that, but he's managed to catch some pretty bad stuff. Some side effects come from not fully recovering right, and others from the medicine used to treat his issues. He's had cancer, twice, and beat it both times, but it took a toll. Among other things, joint pain is pretty much always there.” He turned to look at his dad and nodded. Don turned back toward Jemma, fixing her with a firm look that reminded her of her own father when he wanted to be sure a student would listen. Don put his hand on top of the one Jemma was using to hold the marker.

”He says to tell you not to worry about him. He's lived well and enjoyed life, and he doesn't plan on breaking that habit any time soon,” Jack sent. ”Also, this is probably a good time to try Talking to him.”

”I'm glad you're sticking around a while longer,” she tried to send. When it didn't sound as if it went through, she repeated the message for Jack, who covered her other hand, then took his dad's. ”I'm glad,” she tried sending Don again, with no effect. A few seconds later, after Jack had a chance to relay the message, Don squeezed her hand and smiled, then let go.

”I need to finish up with dinner,” sent Jack, adjusting his weight so he could stand.

”Wait,” sent Jemma, continuing when he looked at her. ”Try Talking to both of us at once.”

”I'll be right back,” sent Jack, and she saw Don nod.

”Okay,” she sent, acknowledging him.

”Don't let him write any more, if you can avoid it,” sent Jack, walking down the hall, and Jemma sighed.

How was she supposed to do that?

She pulled her whiteboard closer and started writing everything she could think of that he might be interested in hearing, telling him about her family, about her job, keeping questions limited to ones easily answered with a nod or a shake of the head.

So I knew the library was the place for me, you know? No other job really ever stood a chance, she was showing Don when Jack walked back in, carrying two full plates in his hands, a third balanced in the crook of one arm. He set a plate in front of each of them, taking a seat and grinning.

”Enjoy!” he sent with a wink at Jemma and then a smirk at Don, who rolled his eyes at his son.

Jemma looked down at the plate in front of her, which held chicken breast, brown rice, and broccoli.