title: break my hurricane
author: annie oates
fandom: rpf, the white stripes
pairing: jack|meg
rating: pg
archive: a thousand words, ask.
notes: for the 'quarterlight' challenge. the title is from an article about tws by ryan adams.
disclaimers: not mine.
warnings: rpf
summery: roadtrips skew everything into perspective.
feedback: is welcome.



The sun was far too bright and Jack's sunglasses were scratched. Shallow digs across the lenses that made his eyes cross. He tossed them in the backseat and looked at the too blue sky, finding something vaguely distasteful about the domed expanse. High octane fumes tweaked his nose, and he leaned forward, pressing his face against the hot glass. The station was one stop of many and Jack ignored the road-weary push at the base of his skull. Pulling back slightly, he watched Meg exit the store, Big Gulp in a careless grasp.

A passing car reflected light and sky and for a moment, his world was reduced to her, held behind his lids, surrounded by the angles of rubber and metal. Without thinking, Jack shut his eyes and immediately cursed himself for losing the sight.

Then his eyes adjusted, and there, in shades of grey against the red, there she was.

Imprinted.

He fell asleep like that, mind curved around the fading hues of her. And he dreamt. Of Big Gulps and waves of spilt shadow, refracted upon his skin.

It was dark when she woke him. A gentle nudge to let him know it was his turn to drive. He looked at the night-blackened glass with some regret and traded spaces with her. He was already behind the wheel when she pulled her door shut, and peripherally he saw her, looking at the glass. Jack gripped the worn leather, almost sad that she wouldn't be able to see it, that it would be different in the dark. As he turned the key, he glanced over and saw her face looking back from the quiet triangle, and thought, not so different after all.

end.