There were bodies everywhere—figuratively speaking.
Scattered sneakers, heels, gym bags, and open suitcases occupied most of the living room floor. The couch was drowning in mismatched clothes, tangled bras, and a few used stockings casually slung across the armrests like trophies from a chaotic war.
Jack Kadere considered himself adaptable. He'd been in alien war zones and secret HYDRA bunkers. But even for him, this was a bit much. Was it too much to ask for a place to stand?
Felicity Smoak, utterly red in the face, let out a short breath and darted inside. She hopped over shoes and bags like an Olympic hurdler, scrambling to clean up her disaster zone of an apartment. Her version of cleaning, however, was simple: shove everything into the nearest container or corner—no sorting, no mercy.
Jack finally sighed and started helping.
"Don't toss used stockings in with the clean stuff," he said.
"Got any trash bags? We'll need at least three."
"Do you even want to keep this?" he held up a tangled mess of something pink and lacy. "If not, trash it. Also, if your living room looks like this, I'm terrified of your bedroom. Start there."
Without questioning his sudden authority, Felicity obeyed. Embarrassed and overwhelmed, she just wanted it over with. Jack tackled the living room while she tackled the bedroom. After more than an hour, they'd filled three oversized trash bags and finally reclaimed the floor.
Now, sprawled on the freshly cleaned couch, both of them stared up at the ceiling, breathing hard but satisfied.
"…Is it just me," Felicity murmured, "or did the room get way bigger?"
"That's what happens when you get rid of a metric ton of junk," Jack replied dryly.
Felicity laughed sheepishly. "I just moved in, okay? Haven't had time to organize."
Jack turned his head toward her. "I'm starving."
As if on cue, her stomach grumbled loudly.
"…Takeout?" she suggested. "There's this amazing Thai spot that delivers."
"Sure. Go wild." Jack grabbed the remote and turned on the TV like he owned the place.
As she placed the order, Felicity found herself glancing back at him, puzzled. Wait—wasn't she being hijacked a few hours ago? He had basically demanded a place to crash, and she'd been ready to call the police the moment he turned his back. And now? He was watching TV, helping her clean, and she was ordering food like they were college roommates.
How the hell did things shift so fast?
Jack suddenly glanced over. "How long's delivery?"
"Uh… thirty minutes, give or take."
"Cool. Go shower first. I'll go after you. By the time I'm done, food should be here."
"…Oh. Okay." Still in a daze, Felicity set her phone down and made her way to the bathroom. As the water ran, she kept mentally replaying the events of the day. For someone who'd technically "forced" his way into her apartment, Jack hadn't touched a hair on her head. If anything, he'd been… oddly helpful. Maybe not calling the cops just yet wasn't such a bad idea.
Back in the living room, Jack zoned out in front of the local news. Most of it was a boring swirl of minor robberies, political commentary, and crime alerts that couldn't hold his attention. But one headline caught his eye: Gotham City Declares End to Martial Law. Bane Confirmed Dead.
Brief footage flashed across the screen: armored police units, civilians cheering, and a shadowy red-haired figure scaling a rooftop—Batgirl. That had to be Barbara Gordon.
A little while later, Felicity came out of the bathroom.
Maybe it was her usual habit of being carefree, but she stepped into the living room wearing nothing but a bath towel. The moment she spotted Jack Kadere standing there, her face turned beet red. Realizing she wasn't alone, she quickly turned to rush to the bedroom and get dressed—but in her panic, she tripped over her own feet and fell with a loud thud.
Wincing from the impact and flushed with embarrassment, Felicity scrambled to keep her towel wrapped tightly around her.
Jack barely glanced at her. "You good?"
Without waiting for an answer, he casually stepped over her, towel and all, and headed into the bathroom like nothing happened.
Bang!
The bathroom door closed behind him.
Felicity sat on the floor, stunned, as her face grew even hotter.
About fifteen minutes later, Jack emerged from the bathroom. His hair was damp, a towel draped around his neck. He wore nothing but a pair of boxer shorts as he casually walked into the living room, drying his hair. Felicity had already changed into a T-shirt and shorts, and immediately tensed up the moment he sat beside her on the couch. Her spine straightened like a board, and she kept her eyes glued to anything but him.
Suddenly—ding dong!
The doorbell rang.
Felicity jumped to her feet and rushed to answer. The delivery had arrived.
After paying and bringing the food back inside, she sat stiffly on the couch, acting more like an awkward guest than the apartment's owner. Jack, on the other hand, lounged comfortably like he'd lived there for years.
The sun sank below the horizon, and the glow of Starling City faded into night.
Time passed.
Eventually, it was late enough to sleep.
Felicity sat on her bed, nervously scrolling through her phone. Then, without knocking, the bedroom door creaked open and Jack stepped inside.
"W-What are you doing?" she asked, startled.
Jack gave her a puzzled look. "Sleeping?"
"There's only one bed."
"And?" Jack shrugged with a smirk. "You expecting me to crash on the floor?"
Felicity hesitated, trying to stay polite. "Um… what about the sofa? The floor's probably uncomfortable."
Jack chuckled. "I'll try to restrain myself."
Felicity blinked. "Restrain yourself?"
She stared at him blankly, unsure whether to be confused or nervous.
Jack didn't answer.