look at me still talking when there's science to do

This is what we in the industry call a 'teaser'. For the story behind Paris, you'll have to wait a bit. :-) Stay tuned.

She still looked good, Jack mused, even after childbirth and the sleepless nights that came with mothering; Trish had that kind of resilience about her that allowed her to bounce back no matter what life threw at her and still come up fighting. The defiant set of her chin lent itself to confidence and the attractiveness that came along with it - and her eyes, of course. Trish's eyes were probably her best feature - rimmed with black in one of few concessions to makeup, they were the kind of thing that greeting-card-poets would call 'emerald pools'. There was once a time where those seemingly innocent pools could send him scampering down to the local Chinese takeaway before he could put three words together to mount any form of protest.
She looked up from her bowl of szechuan noodles and smiled impishly at him. "What?"
"You always know. You were never any good at letting me admire you from afar."
"Paranoia." she grinned. "Too many bad dates and cheesy pick-ups."
"You were always that way though."
"Curse." Trish shrugged as some of the noodles vanished between her lips. "Ah, lost days, Jacky - so many lost days. Lost days and faraway memories. Remember Paris?"
"I can't forget Paris. Ross still tries to blackmail me every time he sees me." Jack laughed ruefully. "It was your fault, you know."
"It was not." Trish protested, poking at him with a thin wooden chopstick.
"Whose idea was it to order champagne again?"
"It was our anniversary!"
"And I suppose the weed in your purse was some kind of twisted version of a corsage?" he smiled innocently, taking a bite of spring roll.
"Well, whoever's fault it is, Jacky-love, you went along with it - don't forget that." Trish replied with a decisive tone and a wink, slurping the soup noisily.
"I got caught up in the moment. Were you born in a barn, young lady? Stop slurping."
"In China that's considered polite."
"We're in Kensington."
"In a Chinese restaurant."
"You always have to get your way, don't you?"
"Of course." Trish winked at him again and slurped another noodle, chopsticks trickling through her fingers. "Part of my charm, Jacky."

It was eight thirty in the morning and already the sun was high enough to be near blinding as it reflected off the sand. They'd been walking for several hours, trying to do most of their travelling in the cool of the night and rest during the heat of the day, and he was more than a little tired. Jack took a bite of his trail mix bar and watched his companion out of the corner of his eye.

Allanna walked on of the sand like a goddess who made short work of the lake in her path, skimming off the top like cream. Her posture was cool and collected, which was entirely at odds with the muttering she was doing under her breath.

"Something wrong, love? he touched her shoulder gently.

She sighed, turning toward him with a rueful smile; her dark eyes shaded from the sun's rays by the wide brim of a hat. "It's silly."
( Continued. )

(I've been lax on the 14 guys in 14 days thing. I'll pick that up tomorrow, I think. Too tired tonight.)

Jack Donovan, in his youth, had been fed a steady diet of b-movie adventures: Errol Flynn, Zorro, various iterations of Robin Hood, Star Wars - pirates and swashbuckling noblemen and rebels saving fair ladies. His favorite, however, had been Indiana Jones. Independent-minded Indy with his fedora hat and his dozens of languages, journeying through foreign countries, riding elephants and camels. They even shared the same fear of snakes.
( Jack Donovan, great adventurer ... really! )

"Where are we going?" Allanna asked curiously, holding tightly to Jack's hand and fidgeting slightly with the band over her eyes.

"You'll see." he chuckled mysteriously, leading her carefully around the curved path.

"Something smells beautiful." she mused. "Can I take off the blindfold now?"

"Not just yet." Jack gently set one hand on the top of the retaining halfwall and stood behind her for a moment, coming around to stand behind her and peering over her shoulder. He nodded in satisfaction.

Perfect.

"Now," he murmured in her ear, moving aside a black curl, "you can take off the blindfold." He carefully untied the silk scarf from her face.
( Fiendish, I know. But I don't want to spoil the surprise. )

"Jacky?"

Jack looked up from his sandwich and book to find Anneka smiling flirtatiously at him. "Yeah, what?"

"Can you get me another Perrier?"

"Sure." Jack got to his feet and started rummaging through the cooler, digging through the ice and remembering the snowball fights of his younger days for some reason. On his way back, something occured to him.

Anneka had been closer to the cooler in the first place.
( Pull my strings, make me dance to your song ... )

(non_plot challenge: Character flaws.)

How many character flaws can you count? She's vain, she's shallow, she's petty, she's occasionally downright mean, and she has far too many pairs of shoes ... but she's still loveable in spite of them all. And Jack has the patience of a saint and the tactical ability of Ghengis Khan.

( Shopping cures all kinds of ills. )

(drabblemania topic: pinholes)

Jack set down his newspaper and glared at the child bouncing on the end of the sofa. "Fabian Ross Donnelly, stop that right now."
"I'm bored." Fabian replied simply, leaping one last time and landing in a sitting position. "I wanna go outside."
"Well, we can't. Why don't you play with Anthony and Audra?"
"They're playing chinese checkers, an' I always lose." He began fidgeting again in the way that only a hyperactive eight year old cooped up inside on a summer Saturday could fidget - which was to say, obnoxiously. Jack sighed. He was starting to feel vaguely seasick, with all the bouncing.
"Why can't we go outside again?"
( Click for the rest. )

Because I'm bored: old drabblemania topic of meat ...

"What is this?" Jack made a face, poking at the greyish object in the middle of his plate, which was covered with a sloppy brown gravy.
"It's supposed to be liver and onions." Stephen opened his soda and took a long drink, picking at the lifeless french fries on the side of the plate. "Supposed to be."
"Ye know what it really is?" Evan replied laconically from the other side of the table.
"What?" they chorused, staring at him intently.
Evan leaned back on the bench, satisfied that he now had their full attention. "It's liver. No foolin' there. Me granny Oona used te make liver that exact same way. But it's not liver from cows. Ye know where it comes from? Failed third year temporal mechanics students. Professor McIntyre rounds 'em up at th' end of th' term, an' takes 'em away down a giant staircase, an' they're never seen again. Now th' onions, what they do there, that's fiendish, that is."
"What's with the onions?" Jack pushed his plate away, shuddering.
"Eyeballs." Evan replied with relish. "Shredded, fried eyeballs."
"That's it." Stephen looked a little green. "I'm done."

(I couldn't resist this one.)

Allanna hummed quietly to herself, an old Sardovan melody on her lips, as she washed dishes in the tiny Parisian kitchen.
"Honey?" Jack called from the living room. "Can you come here a second?"
Setting the plate she was about to wash in the soapy sink, she dried her hands on a stray dishtowel. "What is it, love?" Rounding the corner into the neatly furnished living room, she stopped dead in her tracks and rubbed her eyes.
On the left, standing by the sofa, with his hands in his pockets and looking very pleased with himself, was Jack.
On the right, standing by the television, with his hands in his pockets and looking very pleased with himself, was Jack.
"Hi, honey." they chorused.
She rubbed her eyes again, coughing. "Erm ... darling?"
"Yes?" Jack on the left was grinning, rocking back on his heels. Jack on the right was looking rather introspective and thoughtful.
"You seem a trifle ... erm ... beside yourself today."
"I suppose I am." Jack on the left chuckled.
"Don't you mean we are?" Jack on the right piped up.
"I suppose I do."
"Is there a particular reason you're doing this?" Allanna asked, sinking down into an armchair. For some reason she felt a trifle off. Maybe it was the eggs she'd had that morning. Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was the fact that her boyfriend had somehow spawned a duplicate. Who knew?
"Oh, I wanted to make sure I could." Jack on the right replied casually. "I have a feeling it's going to come in rather handy. Ross never showed you this trick?"
"No ... no, I'd have to say he didn't."
"He used to do this to pick up prostitutes, apparently. He called one of himself Ross, and the other one of himself Dave, and pretended he was a set of twins. You just shift back in time and create a minor temporal paradox by running into yourself. It's really a very interesting sensation." Jack on the right explained.
Jack on the left - which was the real one ... or was he? He was certainly the one doing most of the talking ... she thought? It was so hard to be sure... - came over to her and began running his hands across her bare shoulders, along the neckline of her blue flowered sundress. "I thought," he murmured, "that I would stay home with you, and we'd send him over there to work. No one's going to be able to tell the difference."
"That's hardly fair." Jack on the right sniffed indignantly. "I want to stay home with Allanna. How come you get to stay home with Allanna and I don't?"
"Well, we can't both stay home with Allanna." Jack on the left replied reasonably. "Unless we spawn a third copy, that is."
"That won't work, stupid, he'll just want to stay home with Allanna too." Jack on the right scoffed.
"We could flip a coin?"
"I suppose we could, at that."
"I'm hungry."
"So am I. What should we do about this? Oh, that's right, we have pie."
"I refuse to feed an infinite number of Jack Donovans." Allanna looked between them both rather severely. "One of you is quite enough."
"But Allanna ..." they whined, in chorus.
"No!"
They laughed, an eerie stereo effect. Suddenly the air shimmered, and they seemed to merge into one unit - one Jack, who was standing before her, that same smile still on his face.
"Scare you?" Jack replied, chuckling.
"Don't you ever do that again." Allanna scolded. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!" She buried her face in his chest, hands running over his back and sides gently. Seemed solid enough. She looked up at him trepidly. "Are you sure you're ... you?"
"Of course I am." Jack laughed. "One hundred percent Jack Donovan. Promise." He paused. "At least I think I am."
"Jack!"
"Kidding ... kidding. Yes. I am. I was before, too." He stroked her long black curls tenderly, smiling mischevously at her. "Have I been bad again?"
"Just a little bit." Allanna laughed and shook her head, unable to resist the little-boy-sparkle in his eyes.

Also posted to drabblemania: Jack Donovan's thoughts on the subject of sexual healing ...

A long, long time ago (so long ago it feels like another life) when I was living in London I came down with this flu. I don't know whether it was the climate change (it was my first winter in London, so I suppose it could have been) or whether it was just some horrible virus, but I was one sick puppy. Sick enough to not go into work for three days anyway, which is a big deal. I like being punctual. It makes up for all of the slackers around here. *laughs* Some of which are even related to me.
Anyway, I was horribly miserable, lying in bed with the cats, listening to Radio One - I could have cheerfully killed Trish for leaving it on Radio One, I was always a more Radio-Three kind of guy - half-asleep, half-awake. Feeling very sorry for myself, as only a sick American expatriate in London can feel, and seriously missing all the little tiny comforts of home. Sure, they speak English in London, so it's not as bad as some other places, at least you can mostly understand the language, but there's just stuff you can't get there, all of which I wanted, of course, because I'm sick as a dog and I didn't care that you can get great custard or fantastic curry or really good fish and chips. I wanted rot-your-teeth cereal and fifty-thousand cable channels; we were so broke we couldn't afford a TV, so both of those were right out. So I'm half sleeping and I feel like warmed over shit.
After awhile, Trish comes in from work and starts feeding me soup. Hot and sour soup, of course, this is Trish we're talking about. She's obsessed with Szechuan.
Did you know that hot peppers clear your sinuses? I didn't either, at the time. All of a sudden I could smell again. Trish always had this really yummy smell about her - patchouli and ylang-ylang and cigarettes and sometimes incense, very exotic. I, at the time, was a silly kid from almost-Chicago, and Trish was (still is, ask Tim) this decidedly sensual being - she and Anneka had taken trips to places like Morocco and Hong Kong just to shop, and I'd never been anywhere more interesting than New York before that past summer. Explains why I fell so hard, I suppose.
She introduced a much younger me to the concept of sex as medicine. I wouldn't say that's the best sex I ever had, necessarily; but it was certainly the most enlightening.