Lady Bess

✨Star Wars ✨

🥃Kingsman🥃

🌲The Last of Us 🌲

♥ Pedro Pascal Characters ♥

Jack Daniels | Joel Miller | Frankie Morales | Javier Peña | Javi Gutierrez | Marcus Pike | Max Phillips | Tim Rockford | Agent Ortega | Plus more to come!

✨Doctor Who✨

Predominantly the 11th Doctor!

Thank you for reading!

It had been a relatively good sleep, so far as sleeping anywhere that wasn’t your own bed was concerned. It was something you always struggled with, but the more missions you did for Statesman the better equipped you became at adapting to wherever you may be. You just thanked your lucky stars that this mission allowed you to be in an actual bed, and not some shoddy digs in a hideout. 

Your peaceful slumber was cut short though with rapid movement in bed from the side of you. You roused yourself from unconsciousness to see what was going on, expecting the need to scold Jack for fidgeting to arise. But what greeted you as you rubbed your eyes to rid them of bleary vision immediately put to rest any thoughts about berating him. 

Jack was laid almost in a state of shock by the time you awoke, his eyes wide and clouded with a sheen of tears. His breathing was rapid, obvious not just by sound but by the fact that even laying down in almost darkness you could see how much his chest was rising and falling. His body shook, trembles going down each limb, and the bed sheet clung to him. 

Whatever had happened in that head of his, he was now seriously paying the price. 

“Hey, hey, Jack, look at me,” you said, sitting up in bed and encouraging him to sit with you. Jack’s breathing was erratic, shaking and rattling in his chest, and as your hand reached out to comfort him you felt a sheen of sweat littering his body. He jumped a little at your contact with him, clearly still in a bit of a daze and not realising where he was. 

For a few minutes all you could do was comfort him, letting him calm down on his own time before trying to pry into what was happening. Immediately looking at him you could see there was nothing physically wrong, so your need to get to the bottom of this could wait a little while longer. 

Turning on a small side lamp quickly, you sat back next to Jack and wrapped your arms around him, letting him lean on you for support if he wanted it. And wanted it, he did. No sooner had you clasped your hands together to stabilise him in your arms, his body began to go limp in your hold as he calmed down. Slowly but surely he began to relax, his breaths becoming more constant as you calmed him with gentle hushes and a comforting embrace. 

It took time, but eventually Jack came back to himself. He regained a bit of his strength and slowly sat back up, having been leaning on you for a while. Exhaling roughly, he finally turned to look at you. 

“I’m sorry - that was mortifying,” he said, sheepishly. 

“Nothing to be sorry about, so far as I’m concerned. But you do need to tell me what the hell that was, Jack.”

Jack. His own name made his eyes screw up and a look of guilt awash his face. Shaking his head, Jack pushed himself out of bed, heading over to the small mini-bar in the room. He rarely had to resort to anything like drink to calm himself down, even with all that he had gone through, so to see him do so now made you realise that this was far more serious than you’d anticipated. 

“I don’t think so,” was all he mumbled out, before reaching for one of the small bottles of whiskey. It was cheap stuff, and barely enough in it to constitute a proper drink, but that didn’t seem to phase Jack. He tipped the entire small bottle into one of the glasses provided, and slung it back in one. 

“Jack, don’t be like this,” you got out of bed and padded over to him. Part of you was concerned about what had happened, but the other was just annoyed that he was reverting back to how he used to be. So much work had gone into him being able to open up, the idea of him shutting down again made you want to throw up a little bit. 

“Just-,” he sighed, wincing as the cheap whiskey burned his throat on the way down, “Just give me ten minutes.”

He disappeared into the bathroom without another word, closing the door behind him. With ragged breaths he leant over the sink, letting cold water pool in the bowl before splashing it onto his face. 

“Come on, get it together,” he whispered to himself. He needed to tell you something, or else you’d wind up not trusting him. You weren’t an idiot, you’d know if he wasn’t giving you the entire truth, or at least enough of it to explain why he’d woken up in a cold sweat. But how much he was willing to give up was another matter…

The thought of revealing what he’d kept buried for years made him almost want to be sick. The things he had once done, something only a handful of seniors at Statesman would even know about, was enough to make him bury that part of his life; who he was, really. Even the events of The Golden Circle he was less ashamed about. The amount of killing he’d had to do, so many lives lost all with the goal of serving the ‘greater good’...

You sat on the edge of the bed and waited patiently for Jack. Something had to have been seriously wrong for him to need to step away. The last time he’d needed to do that was when you first found out that someone was carrying on Poppy’s legacy, and the stress of it threatened to bring back so many painful memories for Jack. 

How badly you wanted to take all his pain away and give it to someone else more deserving. He’d done wrong in his life, but Jack had repented for those sins now, and beneath all the anger and rage which had driven him to do what he had, there was a soft man who just so desperately needed love. 

And how badly did you want to give him that. 

You’d decanted out the remaining whiskey bottles (not that they were any more impressive than the one he had already consumed) into two glasses, and waited patiently. Whatever this was perhaps could benefit from both of you being somewhat more relaxed, and what better way than the hotel mini bar? 

It took him a while, but eventually Jack emerged from the en-suite. Wordless, visibly fatigued, the sight of him almost made you want to cry. It had been so long since you’d seen him like this that you’d almost convinced yourself that he’d always been the happier version of himself that he so often was around you. 

But alas, that was not the case. 

Jack slumped down next to you, and you could see even in the low lighting that it was obvious he’d been crying. Or, at the very least, holding back tears. His eyes were red and slightly bloodshot, the bottom waterline almost full with the tears threatening to escape. You reached out and dabbed the corner of one of his eyes with the pad of your thumb as he regulated his breathing a bit more, it still being shaky, before you reached out and handed him one of the two drinks. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled before taking a sip, then inhaled sharply. “You won’t think the same of me after this.”

“Try me,” you pressed, now sipping your own drink. Jack nodded slowly, then turned to face you, his free hand instinctively reaching out to find yours. You took it without question, letting him clasp it firmly. 

“Earlier, when you asked about my name, and if my parents saw the humour in naming me what they did. There’s a lot more to that story than I’ve ever told anyone,” he began. You nodded slowly. 

“Does anyone know?” you asked. 

“Just Champ. One or two other senior members of Statesman knew as well from way back when, but they’ve all since died. So no, not really,” he answered. You just nodded in response and gave him the floor to speak. 

“I wasn’t born as Jack Daniels. I was born Javier Peña, in Colombia, 1975. My father was Lucienzo Peña, and my mother was Isabella-Marie Lawson-Daniels,” he smiled as he said his mother’s name. 

“She has a beautiful name,” you said. It sounded like it was straight off the front cover of a best-selling novel, if you were being honest. Perhaps you’d tell him that one day; but not now. 

“It was. She was,” and with those words that answered any questions you had about his mother. 

“My mother and father got married in Colombia in 1965, and my mother moved from the US to be there with my father full time. They had my sister, Daniella, a few years before me, in 1969,” Jack continued. 

He’d never really gone into detail about his family, but even so it somehow surprised you that he had any siblings at all. 

“We left Colombia when I was only 3, and moved to the United States for a chance at a better life. My parents thought it was best to change our names when we got here, to Anglicise us a bit more and move us away from any potential racial profiling as my sister and I grew up. The surname Daniels was based on my mother’s double-barrelled name, which paid homage to her parents who she lost when she was young,” he said. 

“Okay, I’m with you so far,” you said, your thumb caressing Jack’s hand as you listened intently. 

“My sister kept her name, just changing her surname. With her being a bit older, she was a bit more vocal about the name change than I was. They figured it was easier to let her have that; Daniella wasn’t too far removed from some of her classmates anyway, as it turns out,” he chuckled to himself, his eyes wandering off into the distance as he recounted his memories. 

“But I was younger, so didn’t get much of a say. To make it a little easier for me to understand, they kept with the ‘J’ name, and as a bit of a laugh I genuinely think my Dad came up with the idea for Jack after he’d had one too many of the bourbon drink himself,” he laughed now, properly. In spite of how shaken up he had been not ten minutes earlier, Jack was now smiling as he told you this tale. You smiled back at him. 

“He sounds like quite a trouble maker. I can see where you get it from,” you chuckled. 

“Yeah, he is. He’s still in Louisville now, too. Never changed his name back.”

“What did he change it to?” you asked, remembering briefly Tex mentioning about Jack’s father when he first explained Jack to you on the eve of your graduation from the training programme. Jack smiled. 

“Lucas. He won’t go by Lucienzo now, even to me. Nor will he call me Javier,” he said. 

“Do you know why?” you asked. Jack shrugged. 

“I think after my mother died in 1987, he threw away any idea that one day we’d all be back in Colombia as a family,” Jack smiled taut. 

“I’m so sorry,” you offered, wincing at how young Jack would have been when he lost his mother. Just twelve years old. He really had a life far more rough than you ever imagined. 

“It’s alright. Took me a lot of help but I eventually learned to process it. My sister, less so…,” his eyes filled with tears at the thought. 

“Can I ask what happened?”. Jack nodded. 

“Daniella went missing the year my mother died. She was 18, so part of us just thought she was trying to find her own way in the world after her death. We searched tirelessly for months, got law enforcement involved; the works. But we never saw her again. The only thing we got was the following year, a letter saying she was safe, had made it back to Colombia, and was married. She never said to whom, and there was no return address. It was the late 1980’s, so the technology for tracking was nowhere near what it is today. As of now, 1988 is still the last time I ever heard from my sister.”

“Fuck, Jack…,” you said, realisation dawning on you again at just how young he would have been to go through this. To lose your sister and mother in a year would be tough enough, but to have been through both these events by the time you’re 13 must have been an arduous task. 

“It is what it is. I like to tell myself she’s still living a fulfilling life, but I won’t let myself look into it. Just in case I’m wrong.”

“Understandable. What we don’t know won’t hurt us, I suppose?” you offered, and Jack smiled faintly, nodding in agreement. 

“Quite. Anyway,” Jack continued, “I didn’t re-adopt the name Javier until I began working with Statesman. I spent some time in Medellín working with local law enforcement cleaning up the mess from Pablo Escobar. He died in 1993 but there were many who came after him hoping to fill the gap in the market it left”. 

“When were you there?” you asked.

“I joined Statesman in 1998, 5 years after my wife died. I spiralled for a long while before finding Champ. But I ended up in Medellín in 2001 for a couple of years, but the leads I followed took me everywhere. Portugal, Mexico, Germany, Spain…”. 

“Did the new drug networks really reach that far?” you asked. 

“They were global, yeah. Had it not been for the lack of advanced tech, we could have seen a Golden Circle type of mission far sooner with how widespread they were,” he explained. 

“What made you change to Jack then, full time?”. 

“After I’d helped take down some of the biggest names in the sector, leads dried up. I can’t remember when exactly, but I know I was back in the States by 2006, full time. I-,”he cleared his throat with a swig of whiskey, “I went through so much as Javier, that I wasn’t sure I wanted to continue with him. My work had given me a hefty promotion, and with my full time status with Statesman in the US I was bestowed upon the gift of a very sprightly young Tequila,” he chuckled, and you remembered the photograph of all of the agents celebrating Statesman’s 80th anniversary, all those months ago in the archives. 

“I made a choice to draw a line under that part of my life. From then on I remained Jack Daniels, and tried to put Colombia, my family, and what I went through behind me for the sake of the organisation going forward. Statesman covered up any trace of my old identity,” he said, which explained why and how this was your first time hearing about his former name, even in spite of your own research. 

“So, there must be more to it than just not going by the name you were born with. What about that might make you think I’d not be able to be the same around you?”. 

“I suppose that might have been an overestimation. But I feel like I’ve just lied to you after all this time of trying to change…,” he said. 

“Don’t be silly, Jack,” you said, now resting a hand on his lap and squeezing gently out of comfort. He smiled at your touch, resting his hand on yours. 

“So, what woke you then?” you asked. 

“Night terrors,” he replied, “I get them every so often. I was captive for a brief while for some of the guys who I was hunting down, and tortured brutally. I don’t remember the name of the guys who got me, but they worked for the Castellano family, a crime boss who had basically taken over from Escobar and taken his sales international. I eventually got him in 2004, but it wasn’t without a struggle”.

You sighed softly. Truthfully there were no words other than ‘sorry’ which could ever be appropriate in a situation like this. Other than that you didn’t know what to say. 

“I’m sorry, Jack. I wish I could help you,” was all you could offer. It felt like it paled in comparison to what you knew you would do to help him - if you could move the heavens and the Earth to cease his pain, the pain you knew tormented him every moment of each day, you would. 

But this wasn’t fantasy, it was cold hard reality. And the reality of his situation meant you had to put aside your personal feelings for just a moment, and be the training officer he needed. 

“Will you be able to complete the rest of this mission, or do you need to be withdrawn?” you asked. Jack shook his head. 

“I’ll be fine, Whiskey, I promise. The terrors shake me up, but by morning I’m always alright. But…can you still work with me, knowing I am not who I say I am?” he asked. 

His eyes were soft, a vulnerability seeping through which you hadn’t seen with him for the longest time. It broke something deep inside of you, and your stomach did a flip as you gazed back at him. 

Screw professionalism. For all the will in the world you knew nothing else that would fully convey to Jack just how serious you were right now. Words often fell on deaf ears with him; but you knew something that wouldn’t.

You closed the gap between the two of you, and pressed your lips against his. The taste of the whiskey you’d both drunk coated Jack’s lips, but when it came from him the burn felt somewhat more bearable. If anything, it was a delight, and felt so quintessentially ‘Jack’. You may be the one to possess the moniker of Whiskey now, but it was still his drink of choice. 

You squeezed his leg a little firmer as you pushed your lips against his tenderly, not overstepping too much and making this a friskier endeavour than what you set out to do - although Lord knows you wanted to - and smiled softly as you felt Jack kiss you back. His hands glided their way to land on your waist, holding you close to him as he kissed you back, savouring every moment he had with you like this, choosing to question what was happening after the fact. 

“Does that answer your question?” you asked, pulling back eventually but barely retreating from being in his space. Jack breathed your name, your real name, softly against his lips. 

“What was that for?” he whispered. 

“I know that us being involved isn’t a smart move, and I still agree with that sentiment. But when the smoke clears, and this is behind us, and it’s something we can consider…I need you to see that this doesn’t change what I’d very much like to try for one day”. 

“So you’re okay with this?” he asked. 

“As far as I’m aware, you’re still Jack to me. Doesn’t matter who you once were. We’ve all got skeletons in the closet. Now, let me ask again. Can you complete the mission, or do you need to withdraw?”.  Jack nodded in response, his hands still resting on your waist.

“I can continue,” he smiled faintly, before whispering, “Thank you.”

Dawn had broken by the time you’d wrapped up the issue, and with how awake you now both were, it made no sense to try and go back to sleep. 

“Come on, let’s get ready for the day. If nothing else it means we’ll be first in line for breakfast!” you said, giggling as you grabbed some belongings and headed into the en-suite to shower. 

Jack smiled back at you, relief washing over him. He’d opened up to you in the last few months more than he had to a lot of his coworkers in the last decade. And when it came to a secret he had sworn he’d take to the grave, not let anybody in on again? You accepted it and continued on like nothing had changed. 

Because, for you, that was the case; nothing had changed. You were truthful - to you he was still Jack. 

But for Jack, it changed everything. 

And with how he felt towards you, he was well and truly fucked.