I crack the underside of my fist against the wall in frustration. "You need to get it through your thick head, I don't care about having to kill people. I'm an assassin, Leo. I know you don't understand how I can be okay with that, but can you at least believe that I am?"
Leo gets another conflicted look on his face, like he's trying so hard to shift his worldview to accommodate me and just can't quite do it. "I don't think … alright, yeah, I'm sorry," he eventually relents, sagging back against the wall despite there being no real space to do so.
"Okay, well.” I stroke my thumb over his throat and nudge his cheek with my nose. “If you want more ‘communication’ from me, then I'm going to need you to actuallylisten when I talk. I've told you a million times I have no interest in running off and starting some bullshit life as a civilian." I pull back and lock gazes with him again. "When I tell you things about me and my life, I need you to believe me, or you're right, this partnership won't work."
And it has to work if I'm going to be allowed to keep Leo.
"Yeah, okay, deal," Leo breathes out in agreement. "You be straight up with me, and I promise I'll listen from now on."
Relief hits me like a runaway train, and I all but collapse into him, letting my hand slip from his throat and yanking him far enough away from the wall I'm able to bury my face in his neck. I wrap my arms around his waist and hold him to me with a strength I know must be hurting him, but Leo doesn't protest and hugs me back with equal ferocity.
"You want to go lie down for a bit?" Leo asks me after a decent amount of time has passed with us clinging to each other pathetically.
"Hell, yes," I agree eagerly, the exhaustion of the day starting to take its toll. "Feel like I'm gonna fold in like a fucking deck chair any minute."
Leo laughs at that, the sound still a bit strained from the earlier choking. He leans back from our embrace and kisses me softly on the mouth. It sends shudders of excitement and warmth through me despite the tiredness of my mind and body.
"How about you find a bed to collapse on, and I'll make you something to eat," Leo offers. "You've probably not had anything since yesterday, and your weird metabolism is getting snarly about it."
I hum in irritation but don't protest Leo's proposal of rest and food.
Leo pulls away from me entirely and skirts around the kitchen island. His feet crunch through the window glass. He shoots me a semi-amused look over his shoulder. "You're going to catch so much shit from North for fucking up one of FISA's safe houses with your glass-exploding powers. You know how he feels about Liquid Onyx survivors throwing tantrums and costing the agency money."
Leo isn't wrong about that. North has complained so many times about the Liquid Onyx survivors who are part of the Secret Superhero Service destroying public property and causing the taxpayers more and more trouble. If Diane Foxley knew about him and his prejudice against supers, she'd want an interview. He's almost as anti-vigilante as I am, which is moderately hilarious.
I press a hand over my heart. "The sheer lack of fucks I give about the agency's shady property portfolio is truly profound, Leo. They could write sonnets about that shit."
Leo lets out another laugh, this one deeper and longer lasting. It ignites the sunshine on his face, lips spreading into the smile I've found myself becoming increasingly addicted to.
I wait until Leo turns away before I go take a much-needed timeout in the nearest bed.
Chapter nine
Leo
IletJackreston his own for a few hours, using the time to clean up the glass from the kitchen and deal with the tiny cuts that Jack's flying glass made on my arms before making an absurd number of sandwiches for him to devour. Considering how hungry he must be, I expect him to unhinge his jaw like a snake and eat them all in one go.
Jack is awake when I go in and watches me as I drop down next to him on the bed with two plates stacked with bread and meat. He sits up to rest back against the headboard, giving me a look of thanks and picking up one of the thick sandwiches. He offers up a little smile when he bites into the sandwich and realises what I've put on it.
I've learnt Jack isn't a very picky eater, which would make sense considering how he was raised, but he is partial to honey in his sandwiches. He'd probably eat sugar and honey from a jar if I let him.
Having already eaten in the kitchen earlier, I lay down beside Jack, resting my head on the pillow and allowing my eyes to flutter closed. After all the awfulness and high emotion today, I feel drained enough to sleep for a week.
Jack cards his fingers through my hair, tentative with his gentleness like he’s afraid of getting it wrong.
Once he’s finished eating, Jack moves the empty plates to the nightstand and shifts down the bed until we’re facing each other. The distance between us is a foot at most.
Still, Jack doesn't breach the divide to touch me, keeping one arm buried under the pillow and his free hand pressed to the white duvet. We gaze at each other from across the expanse that separates us, eyes locked on hard, like we're both waiting for something significant to happen.
I'm reminded of that day a month ago, right before we first slept together. I wonder if Jack will be as willing to be honest with me now as he was then.
"Will you tell me what he made you do that caused you to hate him so much?" I ask, knowing Jack will understand who I mean.
Jack is silent for a long time. So long, I think he won't answer at all. When he finally does, it's both a relief and a surprise.
"There was a girl who agreed to testify against him," Jack tells me, voice quiet and reserved, like he needs to distance himself just to remember it. "Young, not involved in the gunrunning business."
"Did she accidentally witness Bullet in the middle of a weapons transaction or something?" I ask, unsure how far to push this. The fact he trusts me enough to share awful things is the part that matters to me, not the actual content of his secrets.
