Once the funeral for the burnt to a crisp Harry Potter book concluded, Jack and Scarlett finally went to bed. The cat was skeptical of everyone, though he figured it was mostly his girlfriend's - wife's - horns that were freaking little Lucy out. He doubted the furball would be sleeping with either couple that night, and he didn't really blame her.
As they entered his bedroom, his first instinct was to close the door, but there was no door to close. He saw it laying lopsided on his bed and groaned dramatically. "This is why we can't have nice things."
Scarlett laughed and wrapped her arms around his middle. He put his hands on top of hers and sighed, trying to reassure himself that all of this was a good thing. Powers were good, very good. He had felt empty without them last time, and, while he didn't have them all, it was something. It was a step forward for everyone but the boy who lived.
"I should try to put this door back up," he declared after a moment. "Don't want to disturb my roomie."
And so Jack attempted to put the door back where he'd pulled it from. Lifting the door was child's play. It barely weighed anything. He felt like Hagrid in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone as he attempted to get it to stand straight up in the frame. The hinges were so busted that it didn't want to cooperate. Eventually, he leaned it against the frame so that most of the open space was covered. It was the best he could do in these circumstances.
Jack turned around to find Scarlett waiting for him on the bed, looking at her nails as if she were bored out of her mind. "Bored, baby?" he asked, to which his girlfriend nodded her head. He climbed into the bed and crawled so that he was hovering over her, a sly grin on his face. "Maybe I can help."
She grabbed him by the arms and pulled him in for a kiss, but he immediately sensed something was off. Were his lips burning? His eyes grew wide as he realized what was happening, but he couldn't seem to stop kissing her. They were stuck together like glue, and his wife was damn well going to drain the life out of him. For all Jack knew, he didn't have the ability to regenerate. He made sounds of protest, trying desperately to get Scarlett to stop. Eventually, he pushed himself away from her, no doubt bruising her in the process.
There was nothing but horror in her eyes as he leapt from the bed, gasping for air but unable to take any in. "Fuck," was the one word he managed to choke out before he fell onto the ground and cracked the floor with his head. He barely even noticed it when Scarlett started to hover over him, calling out his name and trying to slap some sense into him.
It took nearly ten minutes for things to go back to normal. Jack was certain he was going to die, but, somehow, he didn't. He started to breathe easily, and he could feel Scarlett relax.
"Kiss of death, huh? Let's do that again," he finally said as he worked to sit up. Scarlett smacked him playfully on the arm and shook her head.
"No, let's go to bed."