by Xavier Neal
“I want the girl brought in tomorrow for questioning. 8 sharp.” He turns around his attention focused on me. “Am I clear?” His eyes land on mine. They're empty. Emotionless. Robotic. They're the same pair of eyes I used to see when I looked in the mirror before Haven. The same pair of eyes I should see now. Cold. Shepard takes a step towards me. “I do not like repeating myself Jacket. Am. I. Clear?”
Through the rage that's stuck inside of my throat I answer, “Yes. Sir.”
“Good.” He walks past us and out the door without another word.
My eyes hit the ground as my breathing goes rigid. There's a small shift beside me, but not a word. This is not happening. This is not fucking possible. There is no way that this is happening to me.
“Let's get you Jackets home,” Jazz's voice says as if nothing is wrong. “Early day tomorrow.”
“Yes ma'am,” Lordy answers first and Glove echoes.
The two of them glance at me for my response. Slowly I drag my eyes back up to hers ignoring them. For a moment I see remorse. Sadness. And then it's gone leaving her looking just as indifferent to the situation as the director. In a sharp, callous voice I state slowly, “Yes. Ma'am.”
We follow her out to the SUV and allow her to drive us to their apartment in silence. At least to them it's silence. All I can hear is the thundering sound of my own heartbeat, the booming sound of my jaw clicking, and the roaring echo of my blood pumping. Every time I think I can't reach a new level of uncontrollable fury, I'm mistaken. Proven wrong like Death is mocking me. Tempting to get to a new level so intense it hands me over to it on a silver platter. Right now. I'm close. So fucking close.
Glove and Lordy exit the vehicle with muffled goodbyes and Jazz takes off down the road. We're about ten minutes away from their place when she finally speaks. “I know you wanna say something.”
My fist curls as an answer.
“Go ahead Grim. You know you want to.”
I shut my eyes. I squeeze them tight.
“Wow. Not even willing to fight for her off the record. Well doesn't that say a lot.” She pushes.
Knowing she's crossed the line I growl, “Stop the fucking car.”
To my surprise she doesn't question me. Doesn't hesitate. Jazz takes an exit and pulls off into a deserted parking lot of a strip center. Immediately I get out and slam the door shut behind me. The cool night air slaps me across the face. I hunch over trying to catch my breath. Trying to calm myself down. If I could just breathe for a minute. If my life would just stop fucking falling to shit at such a rapid rate. If there was something, anything to fucking hold on to, I would be alright.
Jazz slinks around to my side of the vehicle that I've walked away from and places her back against the door. “Are you ready to talk about it or are you just gonna keep up with the snarling and growling like some sort of warthog?”
My mouth forms a hard line. She is my commanding officer. She is in charge. I can't lose my tongue. I. Can't. Lose. My. Tongue.
“Forget that I'm above you. For sake of conversation right here, right now Grim, we are equals. You can say whatever it is you need to.”
And like she lit the fuse to the fireworks inside I explode. “You fucking bitch!” The words are out of me in a harsh tone and even harsher intent. “You fucking lied to me!”
“I didn't lie--”
“You used me!”
“Grim--”
“All that bullshit about me being the fucking best! That bullshit about wanting us because we were already a damn good team! Fucking bullshit! You wanted me because you wanted to get to Haven!” I scream approaching. “You wanted me because you fucking knew it would be the easiest way to get Haven!”
“I--”
“You manipulative bitch!” I yell again at the top of my lungs the words echoing all around us. Shaking my head I growl, “I can't believe I fucking trusted you.”
“Are you done with the pity party because I'd like to take back my invitation?” she bravely says to me. I ball a fist. I know I can't hit her. I'd never lay a finger on a woman, but fuck me if it hasn't crossed my mind more than once today.
“What'd you say to me?”
“You heard me.” She stands up a little straighter. “I asked were you done. Done being this whiny, whimpering, woe as me piece of worthless shit! I asked were you done playing the victim in your own life!” My head tilts in disbelief at her, but I don't argue. “So I knew who we were going to go after when I recruited you. So what! It doesn't change the fact you are the best sniper I've ever seen! Doesn't change the fact you three work together better than I imagined! And damn sure doesn't change the fact that you were meant to be a member of this unit! Did it ever occur to you that you being there with Haven is a good thing?” My eyes lower to a glare as the breath I was holding constricts. “Did it ever fucking occur to you that I knew the only person who could keep her safe from the shit storm that lies ahead is the same goddamn soldier that rescued her?” The words stumble me back. “That reinvented her. That killed for her?” The truth settles heavily on my shoulders and my face falls.
My eyes shut as I shake my head, “I don't wanna bring her in. I don't wanna put her through this. She can't handle it. She can't...go through this Jazz.”
“She can't or you can't?” the question grabs my attention so it's back on hers. “See that's you're fucking problem Grim. You wanna shelter her from her life and you can't.” Her words have my heart rate climbing. “Sorry to be the big bad wolf and tell you this Grim, but you can't fucking shield her from life! She's gotta learn on her own! She's gotta make mistakes! She's gotta be given the chance to live outside the little perfect bubble you tried to enclose her in!” I feel my jaw tremble in aggravation. “Oh, and while you're busy placing all the blame on her for kissing that French Fuckhead, you're wrong. She wasn't the only one who messed up. She responded to the way she had been treated. Like a China Doll. Like she was too fragile when she was around you. Like she couldn't survive in the real world. Like she was nothing more than just another pat on the back for a mission well done Marine.” The final sentence is followed by fist flying through the back passenger window beside her face, glass landing beside her feet, in her car, a few pieces in my hand. It should hurt. It should dull the ache that's gnawing in the rest of my body, but it doesn't. Jazz let out a relieved sigh before she says, “Hope you feel better, because it doesn't make anything I said less true.” Jazz starts marching toward her side of the vehicle. “Now get in the goddamn car.”
Inside the vehicle I let my eyes fall and my mind wander.
“You promise you'll call me?” I scrub my chin to keep my hands busy.
“Clint, I always call you.”
“You don't always answer.”
“I can't always answer,” her tone drops low as she continues. “It's not always a good time.”
“Even between classes?”
“Even between classes. Sometimes I have to talk to my teachers or a fellow classmate.”
“I just...I worry. With everything that happened with,” my voice stops. “With what happened before I left. I just. I just need to know you're all right.”
“I need you to trust that I am sometimes.”
“It's easier if you pick up the phone when I call.”
“Okay,” she sounds defeated. “I'll try harder not to miss your calls.”
She says it, but it doesn't kill the anxiety inside. Fuck. It creates a new one.
When we finally arrive in front of my house, Jazz unlocks the doors, and continues staring straight ahead. “I'll be here at 8. You'll follow me to the service entrance we use for transporting visitors.”
In a short response I exit the car. “Yes. Ma'am.”
Heading to my front door I quickly let myself in knowing I have to get my hand cleaned up and have to tell Haven that first thing in the morning she's going to be dragged in for questioning. To relive a nightmare out loud. Again. And again. And again, until they get everything they need from her.
The thought forces a growl out of me as I stomp up the stairs to my bathroom to disinfect my cut hand. Inside I slam cabinets and knock over bottles in an attempt to find the right things to clean me up, but instead I manage to make a lot of noise and a large mess. Frustrated I slam the cabinet, drop to the floor and scoot my body so my back is against the tub, the coldness from it leaking through my shirt. The cold doing it's best to soothe my burning skin. I shut my eyes tight, the nightmare reality that is my life closing in on me. The mix of terror from the unknown and emotions I never learned to cope with winding around my neck firmly. The noose of my decisions tightening so hard there's no air getting to my lungs.
“Hey,” a soft voice says as a warm hand lands on my cheek.
On instinct I lean into the gentle touch. The familiar soothing feeling that only comes from my angel. When my eyes open they are captured by hers, they are desperate for something from me. Forgiveness? Acceptance?
“You okay?” she questions looking over me in my workout gear, the reminder I left my formal wear from my party on site now apparent. Before I can answer she spots my hand causing a gasp to come out of her, “Oh my god! What happened?!” When she reaches for it I don't resist. I let her. I let her gently hold it. Gently take care of it. Of me. The way she used too. The way I want her too. The way I always have. Fuck. What if Jazz is right? Haven gives me a good stare before she nods, “Okay...if this is what you look like should I see the other guy?”
The joke forces a smile on my face and she returns one. The warmth of it spreads through me quickly, the rage so easily erased. It fucking terrifies me the same way it always does.
Meekly she asks, “Can I clean it?”
I nod.
Haven tries not to smile again but does. Carefully she gathers peroxide, rubbing alcohol, cotton balls, tweezers, and bandages. I watch as my angel who's wearing nothing more than one of my old white long sleeve t-shirts and her dog tags, begins pulling small chunks of glass out of my hand.
Before I know it I get lost in watching her.
“Stop wiggling!” my mom fusses as I kick my dangling feet off the edge of the counter.
“But it hurts...”
“Well that should teach you to stay out of Mrs. Mulliganie’s rose bush.”
“But I needed my baseball.”
“And that was the only way you could get it out?” She scolds pulling another thorn out of my hand. I don't answer. I use my other hand to wipe away my running nose. “Exactly. It wasn't. It was just your first reaction Slugger, but sometimes you can't just go with what you wanna do first. Sometimes that's how you get hurt...”
“Clint?” Haven's voice cuts into the memory and I clear my throat to try to bring myself back.
“Yeah?”
“You wanna talk about it?” she questions pouring peroxide over the cuts, the burn feeling like a pleasant change.
“No.”
She nods that she understands and returns to doctoring me up. As she starts to wrap the bandage around my knuckles, I allow my eyes to wander across the curves I miss being beside me. Her dark brown hair that's two inches longer. The moment my eyes reach the dangling tags around her neck the sound of them clinking fills my head with visions of her on top of me, them swaying back and forth. Our first time together and them clinking during the entire experience. Emotions running on high. Clarity, the other companion in my life at that time. Suddenly the memories become too much and I tense up right as she finishes.
“Thanks,” I grumble having a hard time letting my eyes meet hers.
“Welcome,” she hums in return putting the cleaning supplies away.
When she bends over and my eyes get a glance of the lace of her underwear I shut them quickly, my dick already responding. Your opinion really doesn't fucking matter nowadays. I adjust in place and clear my throat again knowing what I have to say next is going to hurt. More importantly, if I don't say it, it proves Jazz is right. She's not fucking right.
“I need you to come with me to work tomorrow Haven,” I declare in a voice that leaves no room for questions.
“Okay,” her voice sounds uncertain.
“Be ready by 7.” And with that I rise to my feet and exit leaving her alone to finish cleaning the mess I made. Funny how it's not just the mess with the first aid supplies I left her to clean up.
Official HORN Duty Day 6
My hands wrap around the back of the couch I spent the night lying sleeplessly on as dad walks down the stairs clearly not all the way awake yet. With his good arm he scratches the beard on his face, but his eyes waste no time focusing in on me. Reading me. Pulling me apart the way they always have.
“Explain.” He demands his eyes assessing me further. I straighten my body out to full attention and stay stiff. My body giving the illusion that I am calm by the way my breathing and body language is. “No.” He shakes his head approaching. “I don't want Grim back in my house to replace my son. Where's Slugger?”
The question has my shoulders desiring to drop, but Haven's face at the end of the stairs changes that. I have to be Grim. I have to be cold. Calculated. And emotionless. I have to be empty. The moment I stop, all these walls I spent most of the night putting up to get through this will crash. And that insanity inside? Will flourish.
“Ready,” she calls to me, pulling on the sleeves of her dark brown sweater. Nervous. Her nervous trait of trying to hide herself down to her fingertips. I let my eyes process her attire of fitted jeans, flats, and the thin sweater. She's covered. She looks innocent. Fuck. She is innocent.
“Ready for what?” My father shifts uncomfortable, the pain still obvious by the subtle winces.
“I...am going to work with Clint today,” the statement that should be cloaked with fear, almost sounds like it's filled with hope. Hope that this might give her answers to the questions I refuse to acknowledge. It's a bitter fucking poison I wish she wouldn't take.
Slowly he turns his face back to me and nods. His gray eyes flicker. Now he knows why I can't be his son. Why I can't stand before him as that angry kid just looking for his praise, his pride. No. That kid can't protect Haven from the hell she's about to go through. Fuck. I'm not so sure Grim can.
“Be safe,” he clears his throat and tries to offer her a smile. His eyes run cold as they land on me. “Keep her safe.”
“Yes sir,” I respond and pull my keys from my pocket.
“Oh Whiskey,” Haven stops in her tracks. “I'm not sure when I'll be back, but Mindy promised she would come and check on you--”
“I'm a grown man. I was in the Navy for years Haven. I can take care of myself,” he argues.
“I know,” she lays a hand gently on his chest and I watch the irritation slip out. “And no one doubts that. Mindy's coming to check on you as a favor to me. It would make me feel better since I can't be here.”
The corner of his mouth curves slightly, “Alright. For you.”
And just like that it's over. He's at peace once more and she's beaming bright enough to blind the world. How the fuck does she do that? How the fuck is it the only thing it takes for this girl to make the entire world more peaceful is a gentle touch? Why the fuck am I wasting time not letting her erase that pain from me? Replace it with the love she once did? The love that's still settled deep, at a constant war inside of me to come out.
Haven follows me out the front door to see Jazz waiting against her own car. This one is black, sleek, and clearly her own vehicle she uses for personal reasons. Upon sight Haven lets out an annoyed huff under her breath, but doesn’t actually comment. Jazz gives me a nod and I walk around opening Haven’s car door for her to slide in.
The car ride over to the center is quiet except for the sounds of the honking traffic horns, construction vehicles, and music booming from other cars. Jazz leads us to what appears to be a parking garage, hands the guard papers, and he lets us through. I park my car beside hers and unbuckle, my attention focused on each small task at hand. I can't wrap my mind around what I'm abo
ut to do.
Haven starts, “Clint am I--”
Jazz's tapping on the glass cuts her off, and I turn my face to get a look at hers. I nod as a reply to the unasked question and in a low whisper say, “Get out of the car.” She hesitates. Frightened. My hand reaches across, gives hers a tight squeeze, and in the same low voice I say, “Alpha Haven.”