Sidestory:
Burnt Out And Dried Up
by Angie and Tami
The home fires still burnt for Jack Reilly at the late hour of the night. Or, if not the home fire, the lightbulb of the bedside lamp that sat squarely on the floor for want of a crate to stand it on. Jace Kellen waited, ticking off the minutes, too nervous to sift through Jack's comics or go to sleep or watch the television. She'd been sick once; she'd then had a craving for burnt toast, which could be thankfully plentiful.
Now she waited.
In forty-five minutes I'll go Hephaestos and go looking for him.
In half an hour I'll go Hephaestos and go looking for him.
In fifteen minutes I'll go Hephaestos and go looking for him...
She scrubbed at her face, looking at a strand of hair that had fallen in her eyes. The dye hadn't wanted to really take to her cherry-red hair; the result was a horrible shade that looked dirty, as if it wanted to be both colours, red in some lights and black in others. She pushed it away from her cheeks with impatient hands, feeling clammy and sick and panicky as hell. Why the fuck did I let him patrol? Where is he?
A thud against the door jolted her from her thoughts. Then a scratch of key on lock drifted through the door, a faintly agonized sound of metal against metal. Slowly, quietly, the battered door to the studio apartment swung open and a long arm reached in, fingers searching for a light switch. The hand's owner seemed to finally register that the lights were on, though, and it paused in its groping. Instead it froze and there was another soft sound of body on wood as if the owner was banging his head every so gently against the other side of the door. "Go to fuckin' sleep, Jace," a low voice muttered, slurring and shaking and barely audible over the distance.
She knew something was wrong from the getgo; she sat up ramrod straight, propping herself up with her arms, grey eyes narrowed as she watched the door. "Jack?" she snapped, anger and worry and confusion all mixed up together in a heady cocktail. "Reilly, get your damn ass in here."
The moments stretched out without either party moving or speaking again. Finally, the door opened more and Jack slid in, turning immediately to relock the door. After a moment's thought, he fastened the bolt and chain. Something was clutched in one hand but she couldn't make it out; he moved to hide it against his stomach too quickly. Leaning forward, eyes closed, he again rasped, "Go to sleep, Jace." Gentler this time but more exhausted.
She hated her lack of movement; she was too heavy to fling herself off the bed and crawl to him, too off-balance. Jace wriggled to the end of the bed, also cursing the lack of light that meant he was wreathed in shadow. "I'm not gonna sleep when you're out and I don't know if you're dead or alive," she said flatly. He felt all wrong and now it was mostly worry; thick and filled with utter, total dread. "Jack?"
"I'm... Fine, Jace." Lies, oh, shit, you're lying to her. He cringed back further into the shadows. "Just a long night. Tired."
"Bullshit." His reluctance was frightening her, eyes big and dark as she looked at him, mouth a tight line. She moved one of her hands in demanding beckon. "Get over here right now."
He shook his head in the dim light, half turning to face her. Something was clutched behind his back and out of her sight. "Nah, I stink. Gonna go take a shower," he muttered. "Long night." Repetition seemed to be the safest way to go; he couldn't lie to her again.
She slithered down from the bed with an audible bump; on her side, carrying her swollen belly, she dragged herself over to him with obvious difficulty. She'd only gone a few feet before she stared at him, horrified. "Yeah, you do stink," she murmured, sounding absolutely lost. The smell coming off him was powerful and familiar and made her blood go cold. "Of fuckin' alcohol."
And there it was. Stiffly, he brought out the bottle, bone-dry, as if to show her the whole story of the night - of what he and the others had done, of what Tyche had felt when it happened, of how he had managed to feign strength until he had gotten Hedy home. Then, as if moving in a dream, his fingers unclenched and it fell from his hand, thudding on a worn rag rug, the neck hitting the wooden floor and breaking musically. A strange, choked noise slipped from him and Jack sank to the floor, hands coming up to cover his face. "Stay away, Jace, please," he hissed. "Just... Fuck it all, yeah. I'm drunk."
"Smells like you drank most of it through your shirt." She was terrified now, voice unsteady, pulling him forward as if both were wading through mud. She pushed herself the last distance and wrapped her arms around him, to keep him grounded, ignoring his request to stay away as she pulled him to her. I'm here, I'm here. "What the fuck happened, Jack?" she whispered, rough. One hand absently probed as she used what light was given to her; no blood, no injuries. He wasn't about to cark it on the rug. He smelt like cheap alcohol and gasoline.
The shakes took over as she held him and he buried his face in her shoulder. It was hard to breathe. There was no air in the room. He was suffocating. He hadn't had enough to drink. He could still feel her worry and fear singing over their bond like an out of tune radio. He was scaring her. Oh, shit, he should have stood closer to the fires.
Jace stroked his hair, over and over, the action meaningless repetition as she desperately and fruitlessly attempted to comfort him. His agony and her panic magnified each other until they were sharing the shakes. "C'mon, honey," she crooned, as if to a wounded animal. "Tell me. C'mon."
Voice thick and nearly incoherent, choking on the words and the no- longer-familiar taste of alcohol, he finally muttered, "He killed, Jace. I killed."
She knew this territory. She'd walked it herself. A wave of pity washed over Jace and she hugged him desperately, remembering Sophie's words, ghoulish. Her voice was deceptively calm. "Like... Axe murderer or enemy senshi?"
"Like... Like..." Jack swallowed hard and tried to pull away. It wasn't funny, dammit. He hadn't been in control so it was his fault that they had died. Tyche had only been doing his job. He, Jack, was the one who hadn't stopped him. He collapsed against her again and fought the sobs, drunken and pained, that swelled in his chest.
She closed her eyes. Oh, Jesus, his misery would have been tangible even if they hadn't been bloodbound; he was hollow and empty and burning like a Roman candle. She stroked his hair again, voice soft. She needed all the tenderness she had. "Listen to me, darlin'," she murmured, fierce. "You are not a killer. You are not a murderer. You did what we were all apparently put on this planet to do, and it wasn't even you - it's that fucktard Tyche, got it? You are not a killer. Shhh, sweetheart. It'll be okay."
"I did it," he insisted harshly. "He's me, I'm him, I'm a fuckin' killer. I did it. Me. Jace, I... Oh, shit, I fucked up so bad, Jace."
"He's not you," she insisted, low and firm. "That is not the same man, okay? That's some fuckin' bastard killer who's not my Jack. You can't control him lately and you know it. I've seen him getting stronger. It's not you. You couldn't have done anything, honey." She clutched him tighter. "Wasn't there anyone with you?"
He nodded mutely and then suddenly released his death grip on her, pulling away, pushing her from him. He couldn't hurt her and that's what he was going to do if he kept clutching at her like that. Curling up against the door, he closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around his knees like a little boy. The room was starting to spin; maybe he had drank more than he'd thought.
The redhead moved beside him, doggedly, resting her shoulder against the door as their skin touched. "Who was it?" she muttered, after a few long moments.
Jack swallowed and curled up tighter as if her skin burned his. "... Cupid and Aesculapius. Maybe Neptune, I don't know."
Cupid. Heh. Jesus, she felt numb. Zach would be pissed if Jack had done in Neptune, she thought idiotically. Jace swallowed, one tan arm slinging over his shoulders, both of them close again. "How?"
His words fell heavy from his lips, weighted with importance that few would understand. "Murphy's Law." He knew she would understand. She had been with him when Percy had explained his powers. She had watched him use everything but that one.
Jace winced. Murphy's Law. And the only time he had used it, it had taken out three fucking senshi. Tyche was dangerous as all hell and murderous to boot. "It couldn't have been your fault," she murmured. "You don't know what the fuck that thing'll do."
"Should've. Gas station, fire, and me. Oh, fuck, Jace." He started shaking again and curled up more, face pressed against his boney knees.
"Shhh." She waded in again, pulling him half-apart, into her arms and into her complete absence of a lap. "It's okay. It'll be all right, Jacks. You didn't want to hurt anyone."
That broke him and he dissolved in dry, wracking sobs, lean body shivering uncontrollably. Part of him had meant to hurt, to kill. That part was called Tyche but how could he say that wasn't him? He felt what Tyche felt and knew what Tyche had been prepared to do from the first moment they had seen the Romanus. He could have stopped him. Couldn't he have?
"Shh, shhh," she soothed again, rocking back and forth. The light played shadows on both of them, locked half in the darkness, alone. "It's all right, darlin'. He's not you, he's not you. No hands. You didn't mean it. You never would've. Was too quick, baby, I know it would've been. No time to stop. One spark and petrol burns up like crazy, honey, shhh."
"It went up so fast," the dark-haired man whispered through his pain. Once the words started, though, it was hard to stop. "Bang. Just like that. Hedy threw those fuckin' little balls and then he... I said the words and it was all over and it was so hot and burning and... Oh, fuck, Jace. They probably had parents and families."
"I know." She held him even tighter, voice thick. Iapetus would have just encouraged Tyche's spree. It should have been Persephone. "We all know that, darlin', when we walk out there wearing that getup. We've got parents and people who love us and futures, and we might be throwin' that all away."
"Everything." Struggling upright, he again buried his face in her shoulder. "Shoulda been me," he finally whispered. "Don't have a family, really."
She moved a hand up to his hair, tightening her fingers in it almost painfully in her fright. "Jackson Alexander Reilly," she hissed through gritted teeth. "Don't you fuckin' say that. Don't you even talk about leaving me." She grabbed his hand, the one with the scar, forcing it past the loose billows of her t-shirt until it grazed against the matching one on her shoulder. "Don't you forget about this."
A strangled noise escaped him at the contact, colored with pain close to agony, and his hand tightened on her shoulder, long fingers strong and digging. "I can't. Oh, shit, I'm sorry, darlin'. So fuckin' sorry."
It almost broke her mental barriers; their pain was the same pain, his thoughts were in her thoughts and the mesh of their minds was pushed inexorably together. All she could hear was the constant ache of his mourning, for the people he hadn't even met, and she wept into his neck.
She rubbed the tears away after barely a few seconds, clinging like a burr, hands gentler than they had previously been. "You're all right, honey," she managed. "I'm here. It's gonna be okay. I know how it feels."
"Like..." He shuddered and went abruptly limp against her. "I wanna make it stop. I keep seeing it all and it's..." He hissed, emotions too tangled with hers and confused in his own head. They were both all broken edges and razor blades. "I wanna go home, darlin', but there's no more home to go to."
"We could leave." She closed her eyes, half-burrowing her face into his hair, knowing it was a pipe dream. "We could leave Roanoke. Leave all this death and the shit and being a senshi behind."
"Can't." Dead now, too tired to be angry or sad or anything much, Jack sighed into her neck. "Can't leave the others. Never been any good, Jace. Never did anything right but... Can't let them down."
She sighed with the same force, eyes half-closed. "You're better at that than me, Jacks."
There was a long moment of silence, the two friends holding each other close, breathing rough and synchronized. Suddenly, Jack shifted against his best friend in the world. Pulling back, he met her eyes solemnly. "Jace?" he whispered. "I'll do better. Do it right... And Jace? Love you." Then he moved forward again to press his face into her shoulder, forehead to her scar, a shudder running through him.
"Love you." Her fingers were much gentler now, tracing over his hair, the line of his neck, his earlobe and earring. "Love you, Jack. You've always done it better than me. Always been more right. You're the goodness."
Something twisted in him at her words and Jack squeezed his eyes shut tighter. Well, that just made him feel worse. If she thought that, he had obviously been lying to her from day one. Oh, shit, Jace. I'm sorry.
Almost hearing his mental thread - probably feeling it, in retrospect - Jace cleared her throat, soft and tired. "I never told you the full truth 'bout Sextans, Jackalope, n'I'm sorry."
"You told me it happened. No lies."
"Never told you how. Not properly." She lifted his chin, looking him directly in the eye. "I took a teenage girl into an alleyway and I hit her and I hit her and I broke her arm and snapped her fingers in front of her face and smashed a couple of her teeth out and slugged her in the kidneys until she was spitting up blood and only after that did I tear her heart out with Soulmetal, Jackalope. What I did, that's murder, and that's why I've always been different to the other Graikos. What you did? That was an accident. That's the long and short of it, honey, and that's the way it's going to stay."
He choked slightly, trying to swallow the new information and failing. His Jace? He knew it wasn't necessarily an accident but... This version was so brutal and callous. It wasn't his Jace, couldn't be his Jace. Slowly, he found himself nodding, then shaking his head. "Jace... He laughed. I laughed."
"And I told her she deserved it and smiled at her before I blew her ribcage out, and I don't have a snake in my head." She tilted his chin up and kissed him, kissed away the last traces of alcohol and smoke and the night. "You're bone-tired, honey. Let's get you to bed. You can have a shower in the morning, when I call your boss and tell him you're taking a sick day, and if you open your mouth and argue I'll shut it."
He nodded docilely, too tired to fight anymore. "'Kay, Jace." Bending his dark head, he nuzzled into her neck for a moment, inhaling. She smelt clean and pure and right; no memories of the pain clung to her. Then he stood, unfolding long and cramped limbs. "You hit hard," he murmured as he bent again to pick her up, stumbling at the combination of her awkward weight and his lingering inebriation. "But I gotta take you to the clinic tomorrow. No matter what."
"Don't want to," she groaned, arms around his neck to help him balance, suddenly so tired herself she could hardly keep her eyes open. "Can't we stay in bed and eat crackers and watch Powerpuff Girls?"
"Before and after, sure." Carefully, he pushed aside the broken bottle with his foot and moved towards the bed. "I've gotta clean that up before, though."
A few quiet moments were spent settling the ex-redhead on the bed, pulling the covers up and over her, brushing back hair. Then he sat heavily on the edge of the mattress and bent to undo his boots. "Maybe I should take the floor," he finally muttered. "I reek."
"If you take the floor tonight, I take the floor tonight," she said simply. Jace held the covers open, waiting for him to jack his boots off, deep shadows under her clear grey eyes. "Get into bed, retard."
He sighed. There was no arguing with her when she was like that and, truth be told, he didn't have the energy to argue. He wanted to be held and told it wasn't him. Even if he knew, deep down, that it was. Shaking his head, he peeled off his overshirt and undid the button of his jeans before slipping into bed obediently. Less one shirt should help with the smell, he hoped.
Jace wrapped her arms around him immediately, cradling him, managing to find a suitably comfortable position on her side where the weight of her pregnancy wasn't seperating them. "It'll be better in the morning," she murmured.
Jack didn't answer, only shifting to hug her back and closing his eyes. This was one lie that he was willing to forgive. If only because he desperately wanted it to be true. He sighed. "G'night, Jace. Sleep tight." And don't dream.