Disclaimer: I do not own Zoo or its characters.

Summary: It was 1:16 AM, and Jackson can't sleep. Too many thoughts crowded his mind, scratching at the walls of his brain, making sleep impossible. Tag to 1x04, in which both Jackson and Chloe were revealed to be awake at the same time in that Mississippi hotel, yet nothing became of Jackson's restlessness. This is my take on what could've happened. Jackson-angst.

Characters: Abraham Kenyatta, Jackson Oz

Pairings: None

Rating: K

Unbeta'd.

Here's my second Zoo fic! To be honest, I struggled with this one. I finally settled on something that satisfies, but I'll leave the final judgement up to you, readers.

Enjoy!

1:16 AM

Jackson glanced at the clock for the sixth time within eighteen minutes, bathed in the blue glow of the incandescent numbers.

You just need to sleep, Abe had said.

His father's voice argued, I'll sleep when I'm dead.

Jackson had never understood that saying, much less his own father, who would utter those words whenever the circles beneath his eyes were questioned. His son had never understood his driving need to keep going and to find answers. Until now, of course.

Abraham had long since gone to bed, the large man having no trouble closing his eyes. But Jackson didn't have that luxury. Every time his eyelids slipped closed…

Bats. He saw bats. He saw Minako's lifeless face.

And if he didn't see that, he saw his father, his incoherent ramblings colliding together in Jackson's mind. He saw the blind horses, the assistant's missing fingers.

He saw the wolves, and Evan Lee Hartley's face. Howls joined his father's babblings.

But over it all, the lion roar silenced the cacophony, so close and so loud. Jackson jolted upright, the defiant pupil bright in his mind, as if he were back in Africa, staring into the lion's eyes.

Cloth shifted beneath his hands, grounding him to reality. The hotel came into focus, dark, quiet. But his mind was still too cluttered, thoughts racing too fast for him to grasp at one and follow it through. Suddenly the room was too small, the darkness closing in on him, suffocating him.

His feet had barely touched the floor when an exasperated and sleepy, "Jackson," rumbled from Abraham's side of the room.

Jackson cringed, embarrassed. "Sorry, Abe. I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't," Abe replied, unmoving, and had yet to even open his eyes.

Jackson furrowed his brow, mind momentarily stilled. "You've been awake this whole time?"

"So have you," the other man countered, evenly, and without hesitation.

Jackson raised his eyes to the heavens, praying for patience. Abe had always known how to turn a conversation away from himself, straight to the point. "Yeah, but—"

"Rafiki." Abe sat up, swung his legs over the bed. "I have known you for a long time. Do you think I would not notice when something was on your mind?"

Jackson's response was a humorless huff of laughter, and a weary rub at his tired eyes. "I just need a drink." He stood, reached for his jeans on a nearby chair.

"Jackson." A warning, a plea, and a question all wrapped into a single word.

"I just need to get out of here, Abe. I can't think." Jackson buttoned his jeans and grabbed his notebook from the nightstand. He headed for the door without sparing a glance at his friend. "I'll be back." Eventually. Abe's concerned gaze burned between his shoulder blades. Even when the door closed behind him, the feeling lingered.

Standing in the hallway, he inhaled what felt like his first breath in a long time. The fresh air soothed his mind in a way that sleep couldn't. But questions continued to buzz, pricking at his thoughts. So he went downstairs, to get a much needed drink.

The bar was empty when he sat on a stool, except for the bartender, who merely raised an eyebrow. "What'll it be?"

"Kentucky bourbon," Jackson replied, settling in. "Please."

The bartender nodded, moved to grab a glass and a bottle. "Late night?"

Jackson sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Something like that." He opened the notebook, tapped his pen to the page. "Time-sensitive work, you know?" The bartender set down the glass, poured Jackson's drink. Jackson accepted it with a grateful upturn of his lips, tossed back the liquid and winced at the burn in his throat. He set down the glass, watched the liquid fill it again. "I've got so many questions, not enough answers, and not enough time. How, when, why, where, what—I just don't have enough information to paint a clear picture."

The bartender's silence drew his gaze from the surface of the bar, and Jackson saw the man carefully choosing his words. The man set down the bottle, leaned against the counter. "Sounds to me like you're trying to understand something that, maybe, was never meant to be understood." At Jackson's inquisitive tilt of his head, the bartender continued. "Maybe the picture you're trying to paint is too big. Maybe you're trying to fit too many details into one scene. Maybe…maybe you just need to find the one question that will give you a canvas to paint on."

Jackson rested his chin on his hand, placed a finger against his lips in thought. He considered, chewed on the man's words. Then he chuckled, dropped his hand to the bar. "You realize that you just left me with more confusion than before?"

The bartender smiled, straightened. "I'll leave the bottle." Then he was gone.

Jackson shook his head and poured himself another drink that disappeared seconds later in one swallow. Picking up his pen, he got to work, trying to unravel his tangled thoughts.

On the empty pages in the notebook, he wrote down everything he knew so far—about the lions, the bats, the dogs, Evan Lee, the wolves. He wrote down theories (some of his father's, some of his own) and tried to make connections. The pen scratched across the paper, writing out words, only to cross them out hastily. Eventually the pages became a scribbled mess, just as scrambled as Jackson's mind.

Amid all the chaos, Jackson became aware of Abe's solid presence at his side. He didn't know how long his friend had been there; he didn't ask. The silence was comforting, and he had no desire to break it. So he swallowed another drink that he didn't remember pouring and returned to the notebook, and the answers he hoped to find within it.

But he found nothing.

Eventually, frustration mounted at the lack of forthcoming answers, and he closed the journal with a furious slam. "It's pointless!" he snapped, scrubbing a hand at his forehead. "The more I try to understand the man, the more enigmatic he becomes."

A hand rested on his shoulder, heavy, grounding. "Rafiki, stop. Take a deep breath."

Jackson didn't want to, felt like he couldn't. But he tried anyway, after the grip on his shoulder tightened. His chest rose in a single breath, then fell, slowly, as the air left his lungs.

"Good. Keep breathing." The hand left his shoulder to scribble a note on a napkin, tucking it under the bottle of bourbon. "The answers will come, Jackson. In time."

Jackson opened his mouth to reply, but made the mistake of meeting Abe's gaze. He saw assurance there, a calm that infected his thoughts, slowed their frenzied pace. He wanted to argue, wanted to say they didn't have time, but instead he nodded.

Abe smiled, eyes twinkling. "Now, my friend, it is time for you to get some sleep."

Jackson chuckled. "Yeah." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, alright."

Abe draped an arm over his friend's shoulders, pulled him close as they headed back to their room. "Rafiki, you worry too much," he teased.

Jackson grimaced, but the corners of his mouth curled into a smile. "Like my mother?"

Abe laughed, then shook a finger at Jackson. "Your mother has every right to worry. I am surprised she has not yet turned grey from all the trouble you have caused."

Jackson sputtered. "The trouble I've caused?" He pushed the button for the elevator. "It's not like I go looking for trouble."

"No," Abe retorted, grinning at his friend's indignation, "it seems as if you are just a magnet for trouble." The elevator dinged, and the door slid open. Stepping inside, Abe continued, "You do not need to go looking for trouble. Trouble finds you." Laughter bubbled in his chest, deep rumblings that filled the elevator car.

Jackson jabbed at the button for their floor, sulking. "Laugh all you want, Abe. But just remember: If trouble finds me, it finds you, too. Because you're stuck with me."

Abe's laughter quieted, but didn't disappear entirely. "Yes, indeed I am."

Jackson glanced at Abe, surprised by the lack of regret—mocking or genuine—in his best friend's voice. And Abe, with a meaningful look and a raised eyebrow, let the silence communicate for him.

Because, to Abe, he would rather be stuck with Jackson than stuck without him.

Trouble and all.

Ten minutes later, Jackson found himself once again lying in bed. Sleep tugged at him, but his stare remained on the ceiling. His mind was blissfully quiet, save for one last thought plaguing at him, the last barrier holding sleep at bay.

"Hey, Abe," Jackson began, and Abe's melodramatic sigh brought a grin to his lips.

"What is it, Rafiki?"

"Do you think my mom is okay?"

Silence. Then, "I am sure she is just fine, Jackson." The words, as comforting as they were meant to be, did not inspire comfort for either of them. Abe, clearing his throat, added, "The village is well-guarded. She is in good hands."

Neither men had the courage to mention Simon's village, which had been considered the safest place in the surrounding countryside.

"Yeah." The word left Jackson's lips as a breathy exhale, soft and unconvinced. He pictured his mother, smiling her gentle smile at one of her patients. And in the back of his mind, a lion roared, shattering the peaceful memory. "It's just…" His voice had fallen to a whisper. "I left her." Simon's village flashed before his eyes. It could have easily been his own—abandoned, laid to waste. "I left, because I was coming back. I was going to come back. Then…" Then they were swept off to Tokyo, to a meeting room in a skyscraper. Suddenly, they were a team, traveling across the globe. His mother had no idea where he was. She wasn't stupid: she knew that a trip to Japan to track down his father's missing research wouldn't take this long.

He was going to come back—he didn't. She was going to be fine—but…what if she wasn't?

"Jackson." Abe's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Your mother is a strong woman. If—if—something happened, she is a survivor. She will be okay, Rafiki. Besides…" Abe rolled onto his side, towards his troubled friend. "If she knew that you were losing sleep worrying about her, she would tell you to close your eyes and rest, because you will need all your energy to worry about saving the world."

Jackson chuckled, rubbing at his forehead. "Yeah. You're right."

"Of course, I am." Abe adjusted his pillow, pulled the blankets up to his chin. "Now get some sleep."

Jackson hummed in agreement, eyes drawn to the ceiling once again. He wouldn't stop worrying about his mother—couldn't. And the questions would still be there in the morning. But sleep was his opportunity to forget it all, even for just a couple hours.

He allowed his eyes to close, and the lion roars faded into the far recesses of his mind. His mother's laughter took their place, and her gentle smile followed him into unconsciousness.

1:58 AM

When morning came, when Abe's pestering drove the sleep away, when his mumbled, "Go away," into the pillow failed to dissuade his friend—he awoke with sudden clarity.

How.

How?

How were they going to stop this… this mutation from affecting the rest of the animals?

How were they going to stop it?

Jackson woke with sudden clarity, because now he had a canvas to paint.

The End.

Please review! I'd love to hear your thoughts. Any OOCness? Did you love it? Hate it?

Even if you favorite this oneshot, it'd still make my day a little brighter!

Until next time.