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Metropolis isn't Jo's scene (it's too metropolitan) but she still hasn't left.

She just breathes in and out, head not falling, copper eyes alert, hips swinging with each steps as she helps with the early evening clean up of a hole in the wall bar n' club she's spent far too many days in.

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"Aye?" Jack says, casually.

"Fare they well?"

Jo shrugged, moving to another table.

"Rachel's apparently not one for dancing."

"Too serious for it," Jack remarks. "I was similar, her age."

Which reminds him that he has things in common with the little secret keeper, and maybe he should talk to her.

"I encountered her briefly, as well. Few words exchanged."

Jo nodded, very slightly.

It might have been lost in the swing of her blonde curls as she moved.

"Go well?"

There might have been a possessive surge before the question was asked.

But this did not show on the outside in the slightest.

Edited 2008-09-30 16:03 (UTC)

"No," Jack says, cheerfully.

"I think she likes me not."

That possessive urge flexed into a relieved, minutely smug, one.

If tinged by some curious regret a second after that, too.

They were complicated. Not cut and dry still.

Jo looked up from a bowl, lips pressed.

"Why?"

"Hard to tell, she keeps so many secrets," Jack reflects, but looks up at Jo. "Nothing large, I'm certain."

Jo moved to another table, thinking Rachel's main secret was large.

Anger wouldn't birth that betrayal. She knew the difference between business and personal too well.

"Rocks in her head."

She shook her head, with a roll of her eyes.

"She's comes round when she fights."

Oh, Jack knows. He just can't read anything else. It's like trying to catch the nuances in the tune when the sound's blasting at 11.

"And for what wait you now? Her?"

Jo looked over, eyes narrowing slightly as her lips pressed toward a frown.

"She asked that."

Jack immediately spreads his hands, apologetic.

"Mayhap we think too much alike?"

Her expression stayed sharp, even as she looked away.

"Wonderful. General consensus says I'm waiting. And what the fuck does it think I'm going to do on the other side of waiting?"

Jack drops his hands and crosses over to her.

"I can only speak for me and say that I just want to be by your side when you do it."

She head turned to look at him.

She was mad--

at the turn of conversation, at Rachel and Dean, at the universe, at Morte, at Metropolis,

even at her Mother

--but she wasn't mad at Jack.

Jo rolled her eyes again upward, and moved to another table.

"I'm not waiting. There isn't fuck all in this giant apocalypse to wait for."

Which, strangely enough, she felt was quite true.

"You speak true," Jack agrees.

He follows her again, not bothering to pretend to clean.

"When finish you tonight?"

Jo shrugged the edge of the frown not leaving.

"Whenever. It's not like she's paying me."

Beat.

"After peanuts."

Beat, again. She looked back up at him.

"Why?"

Jack grins. It's not innocent, but when are his expressions ever such?

"I would like to spend the evening in your company."

Her expression warred against a frown. And a smile.

It settled for an odd twist, before she shrugged and moved to another table.

"S'your party."

There was some relief in it as well as some wariness.

"Aye," Jack agrees.

"Would you choose it, though."

She wouldn't get indecently drunk or haul someone into a bathroom with Jack there.

At least she didn't think right now that she would.

The late evenings could be blurry like that.

Her head tilted, considering his face and sliding down for a moment to figure, thinking about clothes more than anything else.

"Do you dance?"

"Been known to, on occasion."

He then grins widely.

"I even know how to follow."

That part got a smirk.

"And you won't suddenly flake on me in the middle of a crowd, like another blonde we know?"

Jack is almost put out. Only not really.

"We're not that alike," he says.

Jo's smirk brightened, widening teasingly.

"Good. Then it's a date."

Jack's grin spreads again.

"Then I may treat it like one."