Leo
AssoonasNorthgives us permission to go, I grab Jack and all but hustle him out of the room and into the exit lift. Jack lets himself be manhandled, which is a relief because there’s nothing I want more right now than to get the hell out of the FISA base and go home.
I haven’t been back to the house since the end of our last mission, too worried about leaving Jack on his own to think going home was worth it.
We don’t talk much on our way to the house, both of us likely too busy thinking over everything that was said at the team meeting.
I feel a bit guilty for how I blew up at Anabelle and somehow turned a conversation about saving Jack’s brother into a bullshit power struggle between my aunt and me. It was just the way she talked to Jack, like he was another game piece for her to push around without care to how it might affect him, how she tried to dismiss the magnitude of Dan coming back into his life, like how she thought it was okay to tell Rohan he would need to suck it up and work with his mother’s killer. I couldn’t stop myself from pushing back on Jack’s behalf, using the privilege all the other agents accuse me of having.
There have been times when I’ve stood up to Anabelle before, but those arguments usually took place in private, where no one else could see the strange battle of wills echoing between us. I might have waited until we were alone this time as well if Anabelle hadn’t out and out threatened Jack with imprisonment or death if he went after Dan, which showed her fundamental misunderstanding of him. If she thinks there’s a single chance Jack would choose his own safety over his brother, she has badly misread the person Jack is. A strange thing for Anabelle since she’s usually such a good judge of character.
I don’t understand why she thought he would choose the security of the agency over the possibility of getting his brother back, but there was clearly something in her mind which made that seem like a viable outcome. If I thought she would ever explain her internal reasoning to me, I would ask why.
An immense pit of relief opens up inside me when Jack and I get home. Whenever I come back from a mission, I’m always a little bit surprised the house is still standing in the exact same condition as how I left it. I don’t know why I expect to find it on fire or damaged beyond repair in some other way, but it gnaws at me when I’m gone, and there’s a feeling of inevitability, like I know something is going to get destroyed one day, and I’m constantly waiting for that to happen.
Seconds after crossing the threshold, there’s the sound of nails scrapping against hardwood flooring, and King scoots around the corner to come barrelling towards us so fast the momentum almost causes him to roll over like a car skidding across tarmac and flipping onto its side.
Damon told me he dropped King off at the house this morning so he would be here when I got back. I’ll have to remember to thank him for that because having an armful of fluffy corgi makes me feel better about almost everything. I always miss King more than I think I will and don’t realise it until I see him again.
Jack, who came into the house behind me, kneels down to take his turn at being unsuccessfully mauled by an excited corgi. King just about shits himself with happiness at the return of his new friend. Jack seems about ten percent as happy, which is still more joy than I’ve ever seen him outwardly express. I have to keep my lips pressed together so I won’t give into the sudden need to call him “adorable” and get a crack to the jaw for my troubles.
King allows himself to be fawned over in the entryway, yipping and licking like a mad thing, for a good few minutes before herding us into the living room so he can jump up onto the sofa I’ve repeatedly told him he’s banned from sitting on and settling into his usual spot.
Jack sits down on the sofa next to King and grabs hold of my hand, yanking me down beside him, leaving zero space between us, our legs and arms pressed firmly together. I take his hand and lean sideways, resting my temple against his. King shifts forward slightly to rest his head on Jack’s leg, and Jack raises his free hand to begin rhythmically petting him.
It feels exponentially good to be home.
I spare a stray thought for my mum, remembering that Damon told me the last time he checked in on her was yesterday. She doesn’t seem to be home, but that probably just means she’s out with her mates working on whatever future headache she’s going to give me.
We sit and bask in the quiet stillness of the house, neither of us willing to break the bubble of quiet, like we’re both trying to catch our breath for a while.
Jack is thinking hard; I can feel it like a magnetic pulse coming off him in steady waves. Leaning back so I can turn to look at him, my thoughts are confirmed by the deep frown on his face. It makes him seem anxious despite the relaxed state of his body. Jack realises I’m watching him a few seconds too late, furthering my suspicion his mind is off somewhere else entirely.
There are no prizes for working out who and what he’s thinking so intensely about.
“We’re going to find him, Jack,” I promise him, putting all the self-assured confidence I can into the statement. This is no time for doubts or worst-case scenarios. We can’t allow ourselves to imagine anything other than a positive outcome to this. If for no other reason than I think it would kill Jack to lose his brother a second time, especially so soon after realising he’s back. Or more accurately, never left.
All those months of grieving and wasted emotional turmoil. It must be tearing Jack up to think of his brother being alive all this time. I genuinely can’t imagine how hard it must be to keep it together enough to function, to not break apart at the seams.
Jack doesn’t respond right away, and I begin to worry that I’ve annoyed with my typical optimism, when he suddenly looks at me with raw confusion and anguish on his face, like he’s been turning something over in his head and can’t keep it to himself anymore.
“Dan was so bloody angry at me. I thought they’d twisted it. I thought he was pissed about what I did to him. But. He said”—Jack shakes his head like it makes so little sense he can barely articulate it—“he said I left him.”
I blink at Jack, not quite discerning what he means by that, letting the words tick over, repeating them to myself until I can make some sense out of them.
“Dan said youlefthim?” I ask for clarification. “Not that youkilledhim?”
Jack gives a shallow nod, brows drawing together in another frown. “Yeah, he said it like I’d abandoned him with OI on purpose.”
Jack sounds deeply wounded by that, like the implied accusation he would leave Dan by choice is a blow that still lies flayed open and bleeding.
“You think OI has messed with him?” I’m disturbed by the thought but unable to dismiss it as a possibility. God knows they’re capable of that and worse. “Made him think you left him behind to turn him against you?”
Jack heaves a shrug, distress at the idea clearly prickling at his features. His hand tightens on mine without him seeming to realise it, like he’s subconsciously seeking comfort and reassurance. “Maybe they used the blue drug to manipulate his memories somehow.”
“Maybe,” I agree reluctantly. “We can ask Rohan more details about how the drug works.”
Jack reacts to Rohan’s name more viscerally than usual, a wince creasing one side of his face, almost a flinch, like he’s been smacked by thoughts he doesn’t want to deal with. It seems like more than his usual aversion to remembering past actions that he feels extreme regret over.
