Don't mess with Jack

Of course it still hurt like before, but the despair he had been feeling crunched down to a minimum. His maker was now here and would handle it. He’s save. So he closed his eyes without a second hesitation when prompted.

He felt something like free-fall happening, his world suddenly off-tilt and on pure instinct he opened his eyes again to come face-to-face with the slightly yellow desk lamp before he was moved away and down and sat heavily onto the familiar couch, just opposite of the big TV he had spend most his nights in front of.

"The bone is shattered." Kiwi noted, and his shoulders dropped, and he sighed. "This will take time to heal."

Both knees were clean through-and-through shots. “She was close, wasn’t she? Small caliber. That’s very lucky for you. We can just wrap these and you just be fine.”

Kiwi checked his watch. “We have a minute.” 

Then, without saying another word, Kiwi jabbed a sharp, glassy nail into the curve of his wrist, hissing only a little with a jold of breath through clenched teeth. Crimson welled up at the site almost instantly, and Kiwi held it out. 

His nightvision might be getting better, or the pain throws everything into sharper contrast.

Thinking about the pain makes it throb - as if answering or just reminding him he’s still hurt – and his composure cracks with a high noise of distress. He distantly feels that both his knees and legs are getting really cold and wished they’d turn numb too. There’s no escaping this though, it’s very unlikely he will get any painkillers because he will not be brought to a hospital. SHIELD medical might be the place where he’ll end up again.

He blinks a few times confused before he can even focus long enough to realize he’s being offered food. The pain of leaning forward travels down to his toes and leaves him gasping and biting down on his lip before he gets his lips around the bleeding spot on his maker’s wrist.

The effect on him was nearly as tangible as a physical blow to the face. For the first time in a long time that he could remember,  Kiwi felt himself visibly flinch. 

Not because of the pain and the subtle pull of Jackson at his wrist. But there was an overwhelming feeling of wanting to take that hurt away, to make everything better, to chase away whatever pain had seized him. 

Kiwi drew a hiss from between his own teeth, but then his chin craned down again, and before he was consciously aware that he had moved, his other free hand draped with a hesitant touch on the back of Jackson’s head, and Kiwi found himself leaning over with his forehead touching Jackson’s shoulder and his nose shoved just in the curve of his throat. 

The next words that came from him as his thumb traced a small path through Jackson’s shorn hair were almost inaudible. 

He can feel the first contact of his makers fingers on his neck - unbearably hot on his cold clammy skin. But he quickly warms up to it and relaxes, content to lick at the blood pooling out, while enjoying having his maker so close.

The sense of being connected has never been this strong before, just simply drinking his blood. While it was warm, it tasted different and always felt private. And intruding.

With the others face burrowed in his shoulder and his stubble rasping against his throat it felt like belonging.

He just had his lips pressed to the wound now - like a kiss – because he felt tired and with the adrenaline gone he was suddenly too weak to keep concious. “Okay.” He would have forgiven him anything right now. The feeling war bizarrely like he had been back in SHIELD, coloring the floor with his blood and being asked to be turned inhumane to live. Because he had said okay then too, on the same grounds.

A characteristic cloud of blue and the smell of lit fireworks almost startled him out of his reverie. 

Kiwi lifted his head in a haze. From what, he couldn’t tell. Blood loss? No. Jackson had drank him to a trickle but he’d had worse. This was something else. 

"Kurt." was all he said, and tried not to slur the words. 

The man in blue looked with a perked black eyebrow between the two of them, and Kiwi mirrored it with a ‘don’t ask’ warning expression. But Kurt didn’t. Always a gentleman, and never one to judge. There was no one more honorable. 

"What has happened?" The other inquired, his accent still very thick and German. 

"Jackson." Kiwi put a hand on Jackson’s shoulder to stir him a little. "Jackson? Let Kurt look at your knees. Please," he added. 

Kurt’s eyebrow lifted at that again, but he came down in front of Jackson with something like an emergency medical kit in his hand. 

At his name he blinks open eyes he didn’t realize he had closed – just in time to see Agent Black shift back and stand up.

When his maker moves away Jackson starts to panic. Not visibly and not audibly but the pressure behind his eyes makes him ache in every inch of his body and he’s blinded by it.

The blood he drank just a mere minute ago burns in the burst of useless adrenaline now that he’s safe.

He wants to grab him by the clothes, drag him back by his hair or simply claw at something in a lost effort to make him stay.

But he doesn’t let himself cling, his expression pained and stoic as he blinks black the black and white and regains control over himself.

It was his expression that told Kurt everything… . Kurt had worn it himself once, and it was painfully familiar, something bittersweet that a dark part of him still longed for. To tangle his fingers in the fabric of one of Tony’s expensive dress shirts. Fingers that twitched even months later with the sheer mental effort it took not to reach up and touch those ragged scars on his throat that he still wore like a badge of honor, where Tony’s teeth had taken greedily. Kurt still said his Hail Marys and contritions for sometimes finding himself wishing that cure had never come about.  Tony’s bite had brought out a need in Kurt that he didn’t know until that moment had come that he’d had… the need to belong to someone, totally, completely,  with no questions asked. 

"Hallo," was what Kurt said, and his smile was empathetic. Compassionate. Here were two thralls meeting one another for the first time. Kurt couldn’t find any fault in Kiwi, either. He loved his brother dearly, for the first, and for the second, Kurt had no regrets about his own ardor towards Tony when the latter had contracted the vampire virus. He was pretty sure Jackson didn’t, either. 

Kurt’s fingers were soothing and warm where they touched Jackson’s knees. Behind him, Kiwi was pacing madly with an obvious air of worry. Kurt was calm, and inspected the wounds carefully. 

The wounds were through and through. That was good; there wouldn’t be any bullets to pull out. Kurt could tell that the bone had been shattered, but that was already mending. Kurt reached for his bag and started pulling out a set of trauma shears and some bandages. 

"You heal very quick." Kurt observed, with a soft tone. "This must be my brother’s blood in you, ja? Like Herr Logan. It is a good thing. These wounds were very clean. I worry for the bone, but it looks to be mending itself."

"He’ll be able to walk?" came Kiwi’s voice over Kurt’s shoulder. The hopeful tone wasn’t missed. 

"Ja ja, soon I should think." Kurt cut a length of linen bandage, and started carefully for Jackson’s knee. "Though perhaps it would be best if he stayed off it for a while. You should do your very best to make him comfortable for a few days." 

"That won’t be a problem." Kiwi answered. 

Kurt chuckled at that. ” Nein, I should think not.” His tail flickered beside him, and he looked up at Jackson then. “You are in the care of a good man, Herr. His ways are bitter but you must put that aside.” 

Kurt added that last pointedly. 

"This is not a normal circumstance, ja?" Kurt’s voice dropped into an almost whisper. "Though I have difficulties of my own in saying it. He is not human. Perhaps you were once, but those days are gone. Live in the night as you were meant to. There is no shame in it. You are the last two. With the things you are made to feel, you could shake the world.”

As if to emphasize that point, Kurt went back to his bag for the medical tape, baring the side of his throat-and the scars there-for Jackson to see. 

He swallowed with pure force of will until he felt the panic give. Then he could concentrate on what was being said about him.

He felt doubt creeping into his face beneath the pain because he could not imagine Agent Black being pleased enough with him to fluff his pillow despite his words of doing so.

He had met a lot of people who promised one thing and then did the exact opposite just to please their father, their teacher or their brother.

The moving tail caught his attention before he moved his eyes up into his face a little guiltily. He pushed his fingers deeper into the couch but not hard enough to rip the texture just enough to ground him. He would have loved to push until his bones ache but he’d need solid rock for that now.

He tries to find an appropriate answer but Kurt continues – more hushed now and speaking as if his handler wasn’t pacing like a caged animal behind him still hearing everything.

His words ring true however – and he has been trying. But letting go of life has it has been is hard, especially when there’s so much to regret and not much that has value for him in exchange. Except the fact that he should have died and didn’t.

It does surprise him to see such visible bite marks on his throat. He feels suspicious and jealous all at once but tries to wrestle it down, because Kurt has always been a good soul so far and he doesn’t want to start disliking him now.

He nods heavily and he does trust his words but he still doesn’t understand. He would love to ask… he chances a glance at his maker but he got his back turned for now, every line of him edgy and angry. Jackson cringes inwardly. Definitely no pillow fluffing.

Of course it still hurt like before, but the despair he had been feeling crunched down to a minimum. His maker was now here and would handle it. He’s save. So he closed his eyes without a second hesitation when prompted.

He felt something like free-fall happening, his world suddenly off-tilt and on pure instinct he opened his eyes again to come face-to-face with the slightly yellow desk lamp before he was moved away and down and sat heavily onto the familiar couch, just opposite of the big TV he had spend most his nights in front of.

"The bone is shattered." Kiwi noted, and his shoulders dropped, and he sighed. "This will take time to heal."

Both knees were clean through-and-through shots. “She was close, wasn’t she? Small caliber. That’s very lucky for you. We can just wrap these and you just be fine.”

Kiwi checked his watch. “We have a minute.” 

Then, without saying another word, Kiwi jabbed a sharp, glassy nail into the curve of his wrist, hissing only a little with a jold of breath through clenched teeth. Crimson welled up at the site almost instantly, and Kiwi held it out. 

His nightvision might be getting better, or the pain throws everything into sharper contrast.

Thinking about the pain makes it throb - as if answering or just reminding him he’s still hurt – and his composure cracks with a high noise of distress. He distantly feels that both his knees and legs are getting really cold and wished they’d turn numb too. There’s no escaping this though, it’s very unlikely he will get any painkillers because he will not be brought to a hospital. SHIELD medical might be the place where he’ll end up again.

He blinks a few times confused before he can even focus long enough to realize he’s being offered food. The pain of leaning forward travels down to his toes and leaves him gasping and biting down on his lip before he gets his lips around the bleeding spot on his maker’s wrist.

The effect on him was nearly as tangible as a physical blow to the face. For the first time in a long time that he could remember,  Kiwi felt himself visibly flinch. 

Not because of the pain and the subtle pull of Jackson at his wrist. But there was an overwhelming feeling of wanting to take that hurt away, to make everything better, to chase away whatever pain had seized him. 

Kiwi drew a hiss from between his own teeth, but then his chin craned down again, and before he was consciously aware that he had moved, his other free hand draped with a hesitant touch on the back of Jackson’s head, and Kiwi found himself leaning over with his forehead touching Jackson’s shoulder and his nose shoved just in the curve of his throat. 

The next words that came from him as his thumb traced a small path through Jackson’s shorn hair were almost inaudible. 

He can feel the first contact of his makers fingers on his neck - unbearably hot on his cold clammy skin. But he quickly warms up to it and relaxes, content to lick at the blood pooling out, while enjoying having his maker so close.

The sense of being connected has never been this strong before, just simply drinking his blood. While it was warm, it tasted different and always felt private. And intruding.

With the others face burrowed in his shoulder and his stubble rasping against his throat it felt like belonging.

He just had his lips pressed to the wound now - like a kiss – because he felt tired and with the adrenaline gone he was suddenly too weak to keep concious. “Okay.” He would have forgiven him anything right now. The feeling war bizarrely like he had been back in SHIELD, coloring the floor with his blood and being asked to be turned inhumane to live. Because he had said okay then too, on the same grounds.

A characteristic cloud of blue and the smell of lit fireworks almost startled him out of his reverie. 

Kiwi lifted his head in a haze. From what, he couldn’t tell. Blood loss? No. Jackson had drank him to a trickle but he’d had worse. This was something else. 

"Kurt." was all he said, and tried not to slur the words. 

The man in blue looked with a perked black eyebrow between the two of them, and Kiwi mirrored it with a ‘don’t ask’ warning expression. But Kurt didn’t. Always a gentleman, and never one to judge. There was no one more honorable. 

"What has happened?" The other inquired, his accent still very thick and German. 

"Jackson." Kiwi put a hand on Jackson’s shoulder to stir him a little. "Jackson? Let Kurt look at your knees. Please," he added. 

Kurt’s eyebrow lifted at that again, but he came down in front of Jackson with something like an emergency medical kit in his hand. 

At his name he blinks open eyes he didn’t realize he had closed – just in time to see Agent Black shift back and stand up.

When his maker moves away Jackson starts to panic. Not visibly and not audibly but the pressure behind his eyes makes him ache in every inch of his body and he’s blinded by it.

The blood he drank just a mere minute ago burns in the burst of useless adrenaline now that he’s safe.

He wants to grab him by the clothes, drag him back by his hair or simply claw at something in a lost effort to make him stay.

But he doesn’t let himself cling, his expression pained and stoic as he blinks black the black and white and regains control over himself.

Of course it still hurt like before, but the despair he had been feeling crunched down to a minimum. His maker was now here and would handle it. He’s save. So he closed his eyes without a second hesitation when prompted.

He felt something like free-fall happening, his world suddenly off-tilt and on pure instinct he opened his eyes again to come face-to-face with the slightly yellow desk lamp before he was moved away and down and sat heavily onto the familiar couch, just opposite of the big TV he had spend most his nights in front of.

"The bone is shattered." Kiwi noted, and his shoulders dropped, and he sighed. "This will take time to heal."

Both knees were clean through-and-through shots. “She was close, wasn’t she? Small caliber. That’s very lucky for you. We can just wrap these and you just be fine.”

Kiwi checked his watch. “We have a minute.” 

Then, without saying another word, Kiwi jabbed a sharp, glassy nail into the curve of his wrist, hissing only a little with a jold of breath through clenched teeth. Crimson welled up at the site almost instantly, and Kiwi held it out. 

His nightvision might be getting better, or the pain throws everything into sharper contrast.

Thinking about the pain makes it throb - as if answering or just reminding him he’s still hurt – and his composure cracks with a high noise of distress. He distantly feels that both his knees and legs are getting really cold and wished they’d turn numb too. There’s no escaping this though, it’s very unlikely he will get any painkillers because he will not be brought to a hospital. SHIELD medical might be the place where he’ll end up again.

He blinks a few times confused before he can even focus long enough to realize he’s being offered food. The pain of leaning forward travels down to his toes and leaves him gasping and biting down on his lip before he gets his lips around the bleeding spot on his maker’s wrist.

The effect on him was nearly as tangible as a physical blow to the face. For the first time in a long time that he could remember,  Kiwi felt himself visibly flinch. 

Not because of the pain and the subtle pull of Jackson at his wrist. But there was an overwhelming feeling of wanting to take that hurt away, to make everything better, to chase away whatever pain had seized him. 

Kiwi drew a hiss from between his own teeth, but then his chin craned down again, and before he was consciously aware that he had moved, his other free hand draped with a hesitant touch on the back of Jackson’s head, and Kiwi found himself leaning over with his forehead touching Jackson’s shoulder and his nose shoved just in the curve of his throat. 

The next words that came from him as his thumb traced a small path through Jackson’s shorn hair were almost inaudible. 

He can feel the first contact of his makers fingers on his neck - unbearably hot on his cold clammy skin. But he quickly warms up to it and relaxes, content to lick at the blood pooling out, while enjoying having his maker so close.

The sense of being connected has never been this strong before, just simply drinking his blood. While it was warm, it tasted different and always felt private. And intruding.

With the others face burrowed in his shoulder and his stubble rasping against his throat it felt like belonging.

He just had his lips pressed to the wound now - like a kiss – because he felt tired and with the adrenaline gone he was suddenly too weak to keep concious. “Okay.” He would have forgiven him anything right now. The feeling war bizarrely like he had been back in SHIELD, coloring the floor with his blood and being asked to be turned inhumane to live. Because he had said okay then too, on the same grounds.

Once the fresh coffee was ready, James poured it into the mug he found and proceeded to search through the cabinets for honey or something to mix in. James preffered his coffee black with nothing in it, but when it came to night shifts he always added a bit of something to it. Never understood why he did it, but it seems to help get through the long hours. 

Still, it was funny to run into the same person he met at the club when he was somehow turned into a woman. Never figured out how or why, but it seems to be a regular occurrence on certain Wednesdays. Still can’t remember the damn name. Jason? Jeckles? Jensen? Jack? Jeffrey? Nah, he did not look like a Jeffrey. There was a chance that Amara may have mentioned something to the guy, but there was only one way to find out. 

"I don’t think we’ve met before. James Hyun" He said as he extended a hand out in greeting. 

 “Jackson Hood.” He answers steadily and shakes his hand, concentrating on not gripping too tight but probably still failing. (At least he doesn’t break fingers, right?)

It feels like his strength is always failing him when he needs it, but a nagging presence when he tries to blend in with his fellow humans.

“I’m on regular Night Shift. How about you?”

Maybe that’s from where he knows the smell of this one. Clinging to doors or walls when he passes them.

They spend a little time after that in silence both thinking, while James drinks a few sips of his coffee still watching him. Jackson decides that his own coffee is not worth drinking anymore and puts the ceramic in the sink, opening the fridge.

He finds his container easily, it’s the only thing with a honest-to-god lock on it. So far no one tried to open it and see what’s hiding inside.

He grabs for the chain around his neck that has additional to his dog tags also a key to his drink cooler. He opens it easily and takes a long drink.

Jackson could just rip the top off the metal container if he so pleases. He was careful enough to put food nearly in ever fridge on ever floor, should he ever feel hungry at work.

Locking it shut he puts it back in the fridge again and goes back to sit down by the homey wooden table.

Damn…this guy had a grip. Confident, which was a good quality. “Nice to meet you”  Getting his hand back, he gently massaged his knuckles and fingers. “Got a grip on you. At least this isn’t some testosterone battle or I’d have a broken hand” 

Just a slight ice breaker, nothing fancy here. “Day shift with the occasional night shift under my belt” It was a bit of a surprise that they haven’t met until now. Other than his little adventure in the club under something. Guess some people were just put straight on the night shift. Must suck should they ever be given a day shift. Their hours must be fucked up too. Lifting the mug to his lips, he enjoyed the fresh brew and sighed. 

Coffee was a godsend for hours like this. Of course, during the silence James was ever watchful. Waiting for the right moment to drop hints or something. With Amara he was more open about it, but he has never met Jackson until then and now. Should be interesting. “So you’re the guy putting those locked bottles in the fridges” Commented James, watching Jackson open the container and drink from it before locking it up and putting it back inside. 

"I’m not going to pry or anything…But I’m guessing its something to help you get through?" Must’ve been in an accident or something. "Or is it some special brew for long nights?" He smiled a bit

He doesn’t comment on the guy’s hurt, it looks like playing up on his part. But he laughs – well more like exhaling through his nose while smiling – so he doesn’t seem unfriendly.

Jackson smiles, easy and big and with no teeth so it doesn’t show if they are tinted pinker. He always uses this smile to throw people off scent when they’ve poked their noses too close.

It’s a rarity but he really doesn’t want this guy to pack out an army knife and level apart his bottle cap. He shrugs then, the motion running through his whole body. “It certainly helps me get through the night without murdering anyone.”

Drinking more of his own coffee and finishing it, even if his mouth  burned from the hot liquid, James walked over to the sink to wash the cup and set it aside to dry on the rack. “Just out of curiosity, mostly because of how you carry yourself…Military?” Even if he was wrong about that, it could also be cop or government. Either or. 

Jackson had just decided to leave when he’s held up by a conversation starter again. Apparently this guy really wants to make friends.

But he himself still doesn’t feel very safe around him, with that confusing thought of I know this one. But he has never seen him before.

He gets out his old trusty cell phone and sends Amara a quick message. While he does this he answers with the sweetest smile that hides all of his amusement. – But it’s directed at his phone.

He’d meant to distract her just a little. He hadn’t thought she’d just disregard the possibility of a camera without even a blink of an eye.

The pain hits him all at once, when he takes the fall with his shoulder. He’s blinded from the pain for long seconds and her words seem quieter through the rush of his blood. He still heard her though and he’s furious.

“You will regret this you bitch!” He puts both hands flat on the ground and pushes himself up, but there’s no escaping the pain that causes. He grinds his teeth against it and blinks after her retreating back. The alley and the street are put into sharp focus. The lights that spill into the alley hurt his eyes but he keeps his eyes on her until she walks out of sight.

Then he unlocks his jaw and whimpers, fingers digging into his hips and chest heaving with his breaths but there’s no counter for this intense pain.

He drags himself over the floor to one of the dirty walls to lean against, his hands digging into the beer can like a lifeline.

It takes ages for him to remember that he has a phone and maybe he should call for help. By the time his fingers fumble through his phones contact list and the dial tone’s in his ear his pants have soaked through and he’s shivering hard enough so he drops the half-empty open beer can and adds to the mess.

Kiwi’s voice was a snap, and he reached for his phone. Saw that it was Jackson calling. Frowned more. 

Pushing the button with an irritated hiss, he answered. ” What?”

There was quiet for a moment on the line. 

"This had better be a goddamned fucking joke, or I am going to run your ass into the ground, Joey."

Another moment. 

"Slow the fuck down. Who shot you?”

Pause. 

The description matched a recent, new addition to SHIELD’s database of top most-wanted criminals. Kiwi swore under his breath, and then said, “Given who you just ran into, you’re lucky you still have your fuckin’ head. Sit tight. I’m coming.”

Kiwi thought another moment.

And his maker yelling at him through the phone just made him want to curl up and whimper, but he held steady and clutched the beer closer to himself.

He would be alright, he’d be home soon. He’ll accept being put in house arrest for the rest of the century, though. Second time out and he manages to get put out of commission for month.

Or does he heal faster now? His head is swimming, he can’t focus.

“I got it.” He says and his voice is high on pain, and the desperation bleeds through. “I was on my way back. I was.” He remembered wanting to take the long road though, and the guilt is adding to his weight, dragging him down. He sinks back against the dirty wall, having crawled and clawed his way there, leaving a bloody path.

"Shit." 

That slipped out before Kiwi could really contain it. And then he swore to himself, because usually he was better at keeping his composure than that. The smell of blood was fresh. And there was something else, too. A lingering smell like a cold snowy day, and just underneath it, something akin to burning trees——

Mephisto. 

Kiwi’s lips thinned in a near-snarl, but he tossed that notion aside for a moment, and went to Jackson. 

Kneeling beside the boy … fuck. Jackson was a Newborn, and would heal, but not quickly. Kiwi’s eyes danced over the damage, and his hand rest on Jackson’s shoulder. 

"You fucking idiot." 

That was the first think he said, but he looked up with eyes that started to turn crimson, and there was no look of anger or harshness about it. Rather, the expression was… something else. 

"I’m going to get you home. We’re taking a shortcut. Just close your eyes. And don’t retch on me."

In a moment, they disappeared in a cloud of red smoke. 

They came back in Kiwi’s apartment, and Kiwi winced, and helped Jackson to the couch, managing to look weary at the same time. “Just sit tight for a minute… “

Kiwi fished his phone out of his pocket and dialed a number. 

"Kurt. It’s me." pause. "Well who the hell do you think? Hey listen up. You got about twenty minutes? Pull yourself away from your damned real life wet dream and get your fuzzy ass down to my place would’ya? I need a doc who won’t ask questions. You feel me?" another pause. "Great. See you soon."

Of course it still hurt like before, but the despair he had been feeling crunched down to a minimum. His maker was now here and would handle it. He’s save. So he closed his eyes without a second hesitation when prompted.

He felt something like free-fall happening, his world suddenly off-tilt and on pure instinct he opened his eyes again to come face-to-face with the slightly yellow desk lamp before he was moved away and down and sat heavily onto the familiar couch, just opposite of the big TV he had spend most his nights in front of.

"The bone is shattered." Kiwi noted, and his shoulders dropped, and he sighed. "This will take time to heal."

Both knees were clean through-and-through shots. “She was close, wasn’t she? Small caliber. That’s very lucky for you. We can just wrap these and you just be fine.”

Kiwi checked his watch. “We have a minute.” 

Then, without saying another word, Kiwi jabbed a sharp, glassy nail into the curve of his wrist, hissing only a little with a jold of breath through clenched teeth. Crimson welled up at the site almost instantly, and Kiwi held it out. 

His nightvision might be getting better, or the pain throws everything into sharper contrast.

Thinking about the pain makes it throb - as if answering or just reminding him he’s still hurt – and his composure cracks with a high noise of distress. He distantly feels that both his knees and legs are getting really cold and wished they’d turn numb too. There’s no escaping this though, it’s very unlikely he will get any painkillers because he will not be brought to a hospital. SHIELD medical might be the place where he’ll end up again.

He blinks a few times confused before he can even focus long enough to realize he’s being offered food. The pain of leaning forward travels down to his toes and leaves him gasping and biting down on his lip before he gets his lips around the bleeding spot on his maker’s wrist.

He’s shredding the equipment but no one seems to care. He had found himself a spot in a local gym around the same time SHIELD offered him a job. He had always found time to go and train but with the sudden changes to his DNA he had evaded the spot.

Thankfully they are open non-stop and he can pound away at sandbags all night long if he so pleases. He had scared away the men previously working a few feet away and now only the owner seems to be watching him. It makes him tense, and furious all of sudden and with the next punch he rips the thing right off the hook and his whole hand breaks through the material into the soft filling. The bag spills it’s guts on the floor and the anger is gone as sudden as it came.

The owner charges him for it - calm as ever and totally unconcerned - but hints that a guy like him should do this professional, while his body is still young.

But that was life. This time, a late night run was not cutting it and it was luck that a 24/7 gym was just up ahead. Entering the building, she scanned the area for the owner to see if she could use the equipment just for this night. Or maybe more should something like this happen again. Might as well since she only used the training facility at SHIELD to do anything. 

He thinks about getting a dustpan or a vaccuumer to straighten out the mess he made with the sandbag. Or he could just leave like an asshole and let it lie for the cleaning lady.

In the end he can’t do neither because he notices movement to his right. He turns his heard towards it slightly curious but not feeling threatened.

When he notices that it is Ashe he smiles – even if he’s suspicious what she’s doing here at this time of night, in his favourite gym.

It would take the air out of the pleasant surprise if she’s here because someone told her to.

"Although I think a better question is…How are you? Doing alright?" Ashe’s eyes were scanning the area, mostly out of habit, wanting to know where the exits are. The gym was unfamiliar to her and it was better to know where she can make a quick escape should anything happen. Doubtful, but with the way the world was progressing…No one really knew. 

He could guard her home this night, he thinks. But she doesn’t seem afraid of the dangers lurking, or even just nervous. No, he’ll not burden her with his possessive instincts. Some days he doesn’t feel any superior than dogs pissing on lampposts.

He lets her run out of questions first, before shrugging. “I think so.” Which is actually the only answer he can give to all three of her questions.

He looks around for a dustpan they can use to get the sand back where it belongs, or at least into a trash can.

"I’ll find another dustpan to help out" She offered and started to look around. Hearing that he was still getting used to stuff, she looked at him and smiled a bit. "What’s that saying again…baby steps?" It sounded right and yet it didn’t at the same time. English sayings were quite different from Japanese. 

He hadn’t even started cleaning up. Now he feels bad for that and crouches down, disposing the sand in the bucket the owner helpfully put down near them.

“It will get easier.” He tells her and himself. “Im just still not used to it.” This is his daily mantra when his body reacts different than it had before. In times like these he always felt betrayed and angry, all these urges that are not his bleeding through when he’s feeling low.

He would have never wanted to know how it would feel to bite the head off a pigeon. But now that he saw it once on TV as a circus act, he can’t help but wonder…

Shaking his head vehemently he crouches down again, putting both his hands into the sand to see them disappear wrist-deep.

It makes him think of the beach. White sand, crystal blue waves, burning sun. Burning.

He’d meant to distract her just a little. He hadn’t thought she’d just disregard the possibility of a camera without even a blink of an eye.

The pain hits him all at once, when he takes the fall with his shoulder. He’s blinded from the pain for long seconds and her words seem quieter through the rush of his blood. He still heard her though and he’s furious.

“You will regret this you bitch!” He puts both hands flat on the ground and pushes himself up, but there’s no escaping the pain that causes. He grinds his teeth against it and blinks after her retreating back. The alley and the street are put into sharp focus. The lights that spill into the alley hurt his eyes but he keeps his eyes on her until she walks out of sight.

Then he unlocks his jaw and whimpers, fingers digging into his hips and chest heaving with his breaths but there’s no counter for this intense pain.

He drags himself over the floor to one of the dirty walls to lean against, his hands digging into the beer can like a lifeline.

It takes ages for him to remember that he has a phone and maybe he should call for help. By the time his fingers fumble through his phones contact list and the dial tone’s in his ear his pants have soaked through and he’s shivering hard enough so he drops the half-empty open beer can and adds to the mess.

Kiwi’s voice was a snap, and he reached for his phone. Saw that it was Jackson calling. Frowned more. 

Pushing the button with an irritated hiss, he answered. ” What?”

There was quiet for a moment on the line. 

"This had better be a goddamned fucking joke, or I am going to run your ass into the ground, Joey."

Another moment. 

"Slow the fuck down. Who shot you?”

Pause. 

The description matched a recent, new addition to SHIELD’s database of top most-wanted criminals. Kiwi swore under his breath, and then said, “Given who you just ran into, you’re lucky you still have your fuckin’ head. Sit tight. I’m coming.”

Kiwi thought another moment.

And his maker yelling at him through the phone just made him want to curl up and whimper, but he held steady and clutched the beer closer to himself.

He would be alright, he’d be home soon. He’ll accept being put in house arrest for the rest of the century, though. Second time out and he manages to get put out of commission for month.

Or does he heal faster now? His head is swimming, he can’t focus.

“I got it.” He says and his voice is high on pain, and the desperation bleeds through. “I was on my way back. I was.” He remembered wanting to take the long road though, and the guilt is adding to his weight, dragging him down. He sinks back against the dirty wall, having crawled and clawed his way there, leaving a bloody path.

"Shit." 

That slipped out before Kiwi could really contain it. And then he swore to himself, because usually he was better at keeping his composure than that. The smell of blood was fresh. And there was something else, too. A lingering smell like a cold snowy day, and just underneath it, something akin to burning trees——

Mephisto. 

Kiwi’s lips thinned in a near-snarl, but he tossed that notion aside for a moment, and went to Jackson. 

Kneeling beside the boy … fuck. Jackson was a Newborn, and would heal, but not quickly. Kiwi’s eyes danced over the damage, and his hand rest on Jackson’s shoulder. 

"You fucking idiot." 

That was the first think he said, but he looked up with eyes that started to turn crimson, and there was no look of anger or harshness about it. Rather, the expression was… something else. 

"I’m going to get you home. We’re taking a shortcut. Just close your eyes. And don’t retch on me."

In a moment, they disappeared in a cloud of red smoke. 

They came back in Kiwi’s apartment, and Kiwi winced, and helped Jackson to the couch, managing to look weary at the same time. “Just sit tight for a minute… “

Kiwi fished his phone out of his pocket and dialed a number. 

"Kurt. It’s me." pause. "Well who the hell do you think? Hey listen up. You got about twenty minutes? Pull yourself away from your damned real life wet dream and get your fuzzy ass down to my place would’ya? I need a doc who won’t ask questions. You feel me?" another pause. "Great. See you soon."

Of course it still hurt like before, but the despair he had been feeling crunched down to a minimum. His maker was now here and would handle it. He’s save. So he closed his eyes without a second hesitation when prompted.

He felt something like free-fall happening, his world suddenly off-tilt and on pure instinct he opened his eyes again to come face-to-face with the slightly yellow desk lamp before he was moved away and down and sat heavily onto the familiar couch, just opposite of the big TV he had spend most his nights in front of.

It was strange to be coming in for a night shift. Especially since he didn’t know who was going to be working, since most of the people he knew worked during the day. Most. He figured Amara and Lisa might still be around finishing up projects. Stuffing his backpack into his locket, James then shut the door and locked it. He was going to need a whole lot of coffee just to get through tonight and to get home. 

At least the break room was close to where he needed to go to see what had to be done. Be it training, paperwork or just some odd job. Briskly making his way to said break room to get his first cup of java, the man checked his phone for any messages. He did have one, it was from his neighbor watching over Alice tonight. He couldn’t help but smile at the picture of Alice covered in glittered showing the drawing she made. 

That was going to be a hell of a clean up. Because glitter was hard to get rid of. Fun fun. Stuffing the phone back into his pocket, he entered the break room and went straight for the coffee machine. Of course, he noticed that someone else was there. While he waited for the damn thing to brew, he turned to greet the man. Before he could open his mouth, James noticed that he had met him before. At the club when he was still a woman. Oh…What was his name again? It started with a J that was for sure. 

It’s just depressing him down to his bones. But still he makes himself a fresh cup every morning. He’s just like his mother. Dad always liked coffee but Mom never liked the taste of it – but the smell still was drenched in every childhood memory.

He picks up his lukewarm coffee and walks over to the sink, dumping the whole contents in there. He watches the brown fluid run into the drain, not knowing why he just did that. It felt like a good idea.

Maybe he should visit their graves and tell them what’s been going on in his life. It feels fitting, between the dead and all.

He turns around when he can hear someone approaching. But the person still needs a whole half minute until he walks through the door. Jackson has made himself a new coffee in that time and stares at the guy, leaning back against the small fridge, taking a sip of warm water for all that it tastes like nothing.

“Like always.” Is what he says, rising one shoulder in a gesture that he couldn’t care less. He’s just waiting on Amara to finish her overtime. There’s still no one who would or could train with him and his handler’s disappeared into the ether again. “Someone needs to keep an eye on the squirrels.”

He’s smiling and thinking hard not about Lisa. He fails and smiles and- The guy smells familiar, he suddenly realizes.

Once the fresh coffee was ready, James poured it into the mug he found and proceeded to search through the cabinets for honey or something to mix in. James preffered his coffee black with nothing in it, but when it came to night shifts he always added a bit of something to it. Never understood why he did it, but it seems to help get through the long hours. 

Still, it was funny to run into the same person he met at the club when he was somehow turned into a woman. Never figured out how or why, but it seems to be a regular occurrence on certain Wednesdays. Still can’t remember the damn name. Jason? Jeckles? Jensen? Jack? Jeffrey? Nah, he did not look like a Jeffrey. There was a chance that Amara may have mentioned something to the guy, but there was only one way to find out. 

It feels like his strength is always failing him when he needs it, but a nagging presence when he tries to blend in with his fellow humans.

“I’m on regular Night Shift. How about you?”

Maybe that’s from where he knows the smell of this one. Clinging to doors or walls when he passes them.

They spend a little time after that in silence both thinking, while James drinks a few sips of his coffee still watching him. Jackson decides that his own coffee is not worth drinking anymore and puts the ceramic in the sink, opening the fridge.

He finds his container easily, it’s the only thing with a honest-to-god lock on it. So far no one tried to open it and see what’s hiding inside.

He grabs for the chain around his neck that has additional to his dog tags also a key to his drink cooler. He opens it easily and takes a long drink.

Jackson could just rip the top off the metal container if he so pleases. He was careful enough to put food nearly in ever fridge on ever floor, should he ever feel hungry at work.

Just a slight ice breaker, nothing fancy here. “Day shift with the occasional night shift under my belt” It was a bit of a surprise that they haven’t met until now. Other than his little adventure in the club under something. Guess some people were just put straight on the night shift. Must suck should they ever be given a day shift. Their hours must be fucked up too. Lifting the mug to his lips, he enjoyed the fresh brew and sighed. 

Coffee was a godsend for hours like this. Of course, during the silence James was ever watchful. Waiting for the right moment to drop hints or something. With Amara he was more open about it, but he has never met Jackson until then and now. Should be interesting. “So you’re the guy putting those locked bottles in the fridges” Commented James, watching Jackson open the container and drink from it before locking it up and putting it back inside. 

Jackson smiles, easy and big and with no teeth so it doesn’t show if they are tinted pinker. He always uses this smile to throw people off scent when they’ve poked their noses too close.

It’s a rarity but he really doesn’t want this guy to pack out an army knife and level apart his bottle cap. He shrugs then, the motion running through his whole body. “It certainly helps me get through the night without murdering anyone.”

She leans down and presses a hard kiss to his lips before letting go of his hands, rocking her hips against him as she builds up a faster rhythm. She’s still slamming down hard, breath almost forced from her in moans and curses as she rides him.

He’d meant to distract her just a little. He hadn’t thought she’d just disregard the possibility of a camera without even a blink of an eye.

The pain hits him all at once, when he takes the fall with his shoulder. He’s blinded from the pain for long seconds and her words seem quieter through the rush of his blood. He still heard her though and he’s furious.

“You will regret this you bitch!” He puts both hands flat on the ground and pushes himself up, but there’s no escaping the pain that causes. He grinds his teeth against it and blinks after her retreating back. The alley and the street are put into sharp focus. The lights that spill into the alley hurt his eyes but he keeps his eyes on her until she walks out of sight.

Then he unlocks his jaw and whimpers, fingers digging into his hips and chest heaving with his breaths but there’s no counter for this intense pain.

He drags himself over the floor to one of the dirty walls to lean against, his hands digging into the beer can like a lifeline.

It takes ages for him to remember that he has a phone and maybe he should call for help. By the time his fingers fumble through his phones contact list and the dial tone’s in his ear his pants have soaked through and he’s shivering hard enough so he drops the half-empty open beer can and adds to the mess.

Kiwi’s voice was a snap, and he reached for his phone. Saw that it was Jackson calling. Frowned more. 

Pushing the button with an irritated hiss, he answered. ” What?”

There was quiet for a moment on the line. 

"This had better be a goddamned fucking joke, or I am going to run your ass into the ground, Joey."

Another moment. 

"Slow the fuck down. Who shot you?”

Pause. 

The description matched a recent, new addition to SHIELD’s database of top most-wanted criminals. Kiwi swore under his breath, and then said, “Given who you just ran into, you’re lucky you still have your fuckin’ head. Sit tight. I’m coming.”

Kiwi thought another moment.

And his maker yelling at him through the phone just made him want to curl up and whimper, but he held steady and clutched the beer closer to himself.

He would be alright, he’d be home soon. He’ll accept being put in house arrest for the rest of the century, though. Second time out and he manages to get put out of commission for month.

Or does he heal faster now? His head is swimming, he can’t focus.

“I got it.” He says and his voice is high on pain, and the desperation bleeds through. “I was on my way back. I was.” He remembered wanting to take the long road though, and the guilt is adding to his weight, dragging him down. He sinks back against the dirty wall, having crawled and clawed his way there, leaving a bloody path.

It was strange to be coming in for a night shift. Especially since he didn’t know who was going to be working, since most of the people he knew worked during the day. Most. He figured Amara and Lisa might still be around finishing up projects. Stuffing his backpack into his locket, James then shut the door and locked it. He was going to need a whole lot of coffee just to get through tonight and to get home. 

At least the break room was close to where he needed to go to see what had to be done. Be it training, paperwork or just some odd job. Briskly making his way to said break room to get his first cup of java, the man checked his phone for any messages. He did have one, it was from his neighbor watching over Alice tonight. He couldn’t help but smile at the picture of Alice covered in glittered showing the drawing she made. 

That was going to be a hell of a clean up. Because glitter was hard to get rid of. Fun fun. Stuffing the phone back into his pocket, he entered the break room and went straight for the coffee machine. Of course, he noticed that someone else was there. While he waited for the damn thing to brew, he turned to greet the man. Before he could open his mouth, James noticed that he had met him before. At the club when he was still a woman. Oh…What was his name again? It started with a J that was for sure. 

It’s just depressing him down to his bones. But still he makes himself a fresh cup every morning. He’s just like his mother. Dad always liked coffee but Mom never liked the taste of it – but the smell still was drenched in every childhood memory.

He picks up his lukewarm coffee and walks over to the sink, dumping the whole contents in there. He watches the brown fluid run into the drain, not knowing why he just did that. It felt like a good idea.

Maybe he should visit their graves and tell them what’s been going on in his life. It feels fitting, between the dead and all.

He turns around when he can hear someone approaching. But the person still needs a whole half minute until he walks through the door. Jackson has made himself a new coffee in that time and stares at the guy, leaning back against the small fridge, taking a sip of warm water for all that it tastes like nothing.

“Like always.” Is what he says, rising one shoulder in a gesture that he couldn’t care less. He’s just waiting on Amara to finish her overtime. There’s still no one who would or could train with him and his handler’s disappeared into the ether again. “Someone needs to keep an eye on the squirrels.”

He’s smiling and thinking hard not about Lisa. He fails and smiles and- The guy smells familiar, he suddenly realizes.

Once the fresh coffee was ready, James poured it into the mug he found and proceeded to search through the cabinets for honey or something to mix in. James preffered his coffee black with nothing in it, but when it came to night shifts he always added a bit of something to it. Never understood why he did it, but it seems to help get through the long hours. 

Still, it was funny to run into the same person he met at the club when he was somehow turned into a woman. Never figured out how or why, but it seems to be a regular occurrence on certain Wednesdays. Still can’t remember the damn name. Jason? Jeckles? Jensen? Jack? Jeffrey? Nah, he did not look like a Jeffrey. There was a chance that Amara may have mentioned something to the guy, but there was only one way to find out. 

It feels like his strength is always failing him when he needs it, but a nagging presence when he tries to blend in with his fellow humans.

“I’m on regular Night Shift. How about you?”

Maybe that’s from where he knows the smell of this one. Clinging to doors or walls when he passes them.

They spend a little time after that in silence both thinking, while James drinks a few sips of his coffee still watching him. Jackson decides that his own coffee is not worth drinking anymore and puts the ceramic in the sink, opening the fridge.

He finds his container easily, it’s the only thing with a honest-to-god lock on it. So far no one tried to open it and see what’s hiding inside.

He grabs for the chain around his neck that has additional to his dog tags also a key to his drink cooler. He opens it easily and takes a long drink.

Jackson could just rip the top off the metal container if he so pleases. He was careful enough to put food nearly in ever fridge on ever floor, should he ever feel hungry at work.