Lady Bess

It had been a long day serving clients at work, you were exhausted and rather frustrated, more than usual. Probably because you had had to deal with two particularly rude customers that took up more time at the shop than you had anticipated. They had come in demanding a particular component your shop no longer had in stock, they seemed adamant you had it hidden somewhere despite your insistence you had run out of that item until the following day. They stuck around, continuing to cause a fuss and make a scene in-front of others, so you had to close up late, thus you didn’t get the typical free time you were used to upon retreating to the back of the shop, where your private quarters were located.

You were happy, at the very least that no weapons were involved. You were used to having your life threatened after spending as long as you had on Janix, operating out of a dingy shop in the unlawful parts of the city that catered to those with cybernetics and droids. You had now got to a point where instead of being worried for your life, you were more concerned about the potential clean up of the store when the short tempered patron got a little too trigger happy. Additionally, the stock you had amassed didn’t come cheap or legally for that matter, and so if any of it was lost it cost your business greatly and it’s not like you could complain to the local authorities about it. Thankfully you were familiar with techniques that gave you the ability to disarm a being of their firearm when necessary but sometimes you weren’t always so successful and it became trickier to do if the individual possessed a large, stocky build and multiple arms. You weren’t small, but you weren’t built to overpower, so you had to rely on your speed and the life form being a poor fighter in order for you to gain the upper hand. It was a living and you had received your fair share of bruises and cuts along the way.

You stretched yourself as you stood inside your little studio apartment. While small it contained everything you needed; a kitchenette, an enclosed bathroom, and a bed that appeared slightly smaller than a double nestled into the corner on the right hand side of the room. The idea of anything luxurious was kind of ridiculous given where you were located, you were lucky enough that your apartment had windows parallel to the entrance that allowed some light into the space in the mornings. While the view was mostly obstructed by other towering structures, what you could see allowed you to take in but a fraction of the sheer size of Janix’s underworld, perpetually illuminated by the many surrounding, colourful lights from vehicles, buildings and obnoxious advertisements.

You glanced at your watch and exhaled with annoyance. You had just enough time to shower and maybe eat something before it got too late in the evening before you risked not getting enough hours of shut eye before the early morning start the following day. You knew a rather important client was scheduled to arrive just after the shop was set to open, they had insisted upon the time much to your chagrin, but you agreed as you highly valued their business and the credibility it gave you from being able to work with them. You sighed as you hastily made your way to the bathroom, hoping to get just a little bit of personal time to yourself to help unwind from the events of today. You knew it was a process you didn’t want to rush, otherwise it left you feeling more frustrated than fulfilled.

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You weren’t able to get your me time. You strode towards the bed from the kitchenette, your figure stripped nude, gripping an item of clean clothing in one hand that you had retrieved from the dryer. Skin, cleansed of the dirt and grime from the workshop, and with your appetite partially satiated from the leftover sandwich from within the fridge, you felt somewhat content to retire despite the lingering need still lurking within. The shutters had already been activated to close inside the windows though, given its faulty mechanical system, there were still small gaps left in-between the slats, allowing dim streaks of light through, bestowing a striped appearance upon the bleak room. Despite the inconvenience, you were a pretty heavy sleeper once you got comfortable amongst your blanket and pillows, so it didn’t bother you much.

You pulled the oversized shirt over your nude form with one hand, whilst pulling the duvet back with the other. Typically, you would have worn some underwear along with your clothing but you were too tired to care at this point. Easing yourself down, you turned to the side to observe the never ending bustle of the city through the faint, horizontal opening of the improperly sealed blinds. Your eyes closed and you turned away, letting out a deep sigh as you nestled into your pillows.

As you drifted deeper into the realms of unconsciousness, your mind began to wander. Feeling unfulfilled from the events of the day, the salacious fantasies that you kept concealed within your subconscious made themselves known amidst your dreams. Undeniably, your body reacted to the delightful visions that drifted through your mind, squirming beneath the blankets as a carnal warmth spread from deep within. The duvet did not stay in place for long as it struggled against your stirring, settling in a new place at the base of your bed, leaving all of your body exposed to the crisp air. You would have likely blushed from embarrassment at the pose of yourself if you could see it.

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The room was cool during the progression of the night and into the early hours of the morning, a light draught flowed through due to the poor structure of the complex. The surroundings were washed in a sea of darkness, barring the faint, blueish white light that peered through the openings in the broken shutters. It appeared to be the only source of incandescence, that is until two glowing orbs opened from the far left hand side of the room, their colour a striking yellow, framed with a rich red that appeared to bleed into the whites of his eyes. A low, curious hum emanated from the throat of the shadowy being. He is intrigued and somewhat incited at the sight of your revealing form before him on the other side of the studio.He approached slowly, the bands of illumination that peeked through the windows gracefully washed over his features as he got closer and closer. Despite wearing a long cloak that concealed most of him and a hood that was pulled up over his face, he appeared to have crimson red skin that was elaborately decorated with black, tribal tattoos. The fabric around the top of his head was pushed up by a crown of small but sharp horns, a lone spike sitting at the very top of his head and two additional curved formations sitting on both sides of his temples.

He stood over you, admiring your semi nakedness, his piercing amber eyes seemed to devour every inch of you, as though they had been starved up until this moment. He took in your relaxed expression, your lips were parted ever so slightly and your breathing so quiet it was almost imperceptible. The gentle rise and fall of your chest drew his attention next, along with the enticing outline of your breasts that stayed concealed beneath the thin material of your night shirt. He smirked, noticing the hem was sitting around your torso, which had wriggled up due to a night of tossing and turning. He observed that your arms were raised upwards, hands resting near the sides of your head making you appear so open, so vulnerable, so desirable. It was almost like you were enthusiastically offering yourself to him.

His gaze drifted lower, eventually settling upon your parted, uncovered thighs and the inviting space between them. Even in your sleep, there was no disguising the truth of your deepest desires. It revealed itself in the warmth of your body, in the subtle twitches of your limbs, and in the enthralling scent that surrounded you. He didn’t need to use the Force at all to assess the depths of your mind, for the signs were written so plainly before him what you craved. A faint, wicked smile began to pull at the corners of his mouth, whatever fantasies held you so completely, he found himself more than willing to indulge them.

His gloved hand gingerly reached out, placing two fingers on your shin that was closest to him, his eyes quickly darting up to your face, trying to analyse the deepness of your rest. Your body reacted mildly with a light shiver to the touch, barely stirring you from your sleep. Acknowledging this, he looked back down, his digits still positioned where he had placed them. Gradually, he moved them upwards, ensuring to take his time so that he could savour all of your subtle reactions to his chilled contact; no matter how small.

They glided higher up leaving a trail of goosebumps, past your knee, towards the upper part of your leg until he stopped just before your sweet spot and he could have sworn he heard a subtle whine escape from your mouth. He chuckled at the idea, drawing broad circles with tips of his fingers over the innermost part of your thigh, where the flesh was its softest. He still had yet to reach your most sensitive part and yet he could sense your heart rate steadily begin to rise as he continued with his motion. He peered below at your folds between your legs and he relished in knowing you were becoming undone by his simple touch alone, for you had already begun to glisten, yet remained under the trance of somnolence, you were still but your body was so clearly hungry, hungry for more!

"Such a greedy yet alluring display from you," He said under his breath. "Even in your state of sleep, your body doesn’t comply with slumber. It craves such devious acts, it begs to be defiled". His fingers continued their agonising knead so close to your womanhood. A soft whimper drifted from you, as though you were begging him to cease with his teasing and relieve you of your frustrations. A wicked smile spread across his face, happy to oblige the indirect command your unconscious yet eager form gave him.

He slowed his circular movements on your thigh and paused for a brief second before letting his hand wander higher, his index and middle finger finding their place on your aching bud above your dripping mound. The sudden contact brought forth from you a long, delicious moan, much to the delight of the horned individual before you. Your hips reacted of their own accord, creeping upwards at the sensation, appearing as though they were pleading for friction against those mysterious fingers. The shadowy figure complied, repeating the previous gestures on your thigh, now onto your aching clit. His own rising excitement from witnessing such a lustful performance was becoming apparent from below his waist, his gaze burned yet it was drowning in the image of your form as it blissfully contorted under his touch.

You began to gently pant as the pangs of ecstasy shot up and around your abdomen as though you were filled with tiny fireworks. His circular pace on you was soft and slow, occasionally going faster before easing back in order to keep you on edge, wanting to keep the divine trembling of your form continuous for him. His other hand, voracious for more of your bare figure, roughly grabbed the hem of your night shirt and pulled it further upwards, exposing your breasts. His eyes glimmered as they drank in the voluptuous, teardrop shape of them in the dimmed light, the buds atop deliciously hardened.

While he took great delectation in every graceful curve of your body, he seemed to find the most joy in watching your face throughout it all and how your once peaceful features now reflected the profound sense of longing coursing within you. Your brows were knitted together, your breathing rapid, eyes darting from beneath closed lids, skin flushed with a prickling heat. Despite the veil of sleep, he felt a rather mischievous sense of contentment in knowing he was the source of your feverish undoing.

He realised his own hips were beginning to move against the small, empty space between you and him and he could no longer deny how much the state of your inflamed being was affecting him. He almost couldn’t help himself as he hastily freed his hardness from the suffocating confines of his garments. His spare hand gripped firmly onto his painfully stiff shaft, stroking it as it hovered above your serene, sprawled figure.

He throws his head back for a split second at the feeling that melts over him, his other hand still rhythmically working the delicate nub above your positively saturated cunt. The aroma that radiated from it, now pungent with your pheromones, was absolutely intoxicating to him, like a prized perfume. His fingers then begin to drift lower, to your drenched entrance. He maneuvered the position of his hand so that he could push his middle and ring finger deep inside you, while his thumb took over the empty space on your clit. He began to pulse in and out of your core, his thumb gliding over and pressing into your engorged nub with every movement. This was it, this was what was going to make you unravel, make you fall apart, make you cum and the devilish man would be damned if he wasn’t able to be the one to bring you to your release. As he attended to both himself and you, he began to sense your approaching peak, the tension within you wound so tightly, it was on the verge of snapping. The realisation sent a shiver of anticipation through him, and he fought to keep himself measured, determined to hold back just a little longer so that your climaxes might arrive together.

"You really are a fiendish witch of a woman," he huffed, struggling to keep his composure. "Whatever spell you have placed upon me through this tantalising performance…" He leaned himself down, his face but a few inches from the swollen bud atop your breast. "… has me utterly weak to you". His lips enclosed around it and his tongue lapped hungrily, taking in the taste of you. Your back arched in response as though a burst of lightning had electrified you, the sensation surged its way down into your core that was already on the verge of eruption. You couldn’t take it anymore and suddenly, your head was involuntarily thrown back, the ever-so-tight coils within you furiously became undone and your whole being shuddered as the internal explosion pulsed its way over you in waves. Your eyes were still closed tightly but your mouth was wide open and you were almost singing with the intensity of your release, the sounds causing the mysterious Zabrak to falter in his stance, his release rushing to the surface the second your euphoric song entered his ears.

He felt the walls of your canal clamp over his fingers as he continued to work you, attempting to draw out your orgasm for as long as possible, until you concluded your glorious melody. He quickly leaned forward to the side of you, placing a knee on the mattress to balance himself. He positioned the tip of his throbbing cock over your blossomed womanhood before letting out an animalistic growl from deep within his chest as he painted you with hot, thick, streaks of his cum. His breathing ragged and his fingers still buried inside you, he eagerly watched the pale fluids that glazed the top of your cunt, drip down to the sheets below, colouring the remainder of your untouched skin white in the process. Feeling satisfied in claiming you, his eyes finally returned to your still ravished face, keen to take in the last ripples of your delight as it gradually left you.

As the seconds ticked by, the intensity of your moans started to lessen until they were but a faint whisper and so he withdrew his fingers from within you, raised his gloved hand to his mouth and pulled it off with his teeth, tossing it aside, getting a faint taste of you mixed with himself in the process. He then, once again, eased himself down, this time his face hovering just over yours. He breathed in deeply, taking in your scent once more, his bare hand lovingly taking a hold of the side of your face, his thumb resting on your plump lower lip. His eyes were still fiercely bold yet now held a sense of calm and tenderness to them. They ran over your features, that had now softened back into their state of tranquility, before settling on your slightly parted mouth.

"You are, without question, a truly bewitching creature. Breathtaking in either a state of blissful sleep or exquisite rapture," he murmured as he stroked your lip. "I can only hope that this moment has brought you as much pleasure as it has brought me, for I have found you utterly captivating throughout". He then closed the distance between you both and pressed his red and black lips into yours with both passion but also gentleness, cherishing the sweet stillness of the afterglow, only your combined breathing and subtle moans interrupting the silence.

"MAUL?!" Your eyes snapped open, body shooting upright in a state of panic while trying to gather your lagging senses together. You blinked rapidly as you looked around the apartment, there was no one to be seen, not even the faintest shape of a figure amongst the shadows. You then took a moment, trying to steady your breathing, only just now realising how intense it was.

Did that really just happen? You thought, still reeling from the vividness of what you thought had transpired in reality. Despite your previous state of unconsciousness, your mind seemed to remember everything as though you had observed it at the same time as experiencing it. You then recalled a particularly messy moment and quickly looked down at your stark, exposed self, inspecting it closely for anything other than yourself. By the stars… you really were a mess, the very obvious remnants of your enjoyment spread out like a puddle underneath you, seeping into the sheets. You frowned, you knew you weren’t going to be able to sleep until they were changed. Disregarding the disarray before you, there was no sign of anything foreign. You leaned back, flicking on the side lamp to double check. Nothing. You sat bewildered. But… it felt so real?

The blood then rushed to your face and your hands clasped your cheeks in embarrassment. "Oh by the stars, Maul! He’s coming into the shop early today. How can I even look him in the eye after this?" You stayed planted there for a while, pondering how you were going to endure the impending encounter with the infamous crime lord. Regardless of the fair few interactions you had had with him before, you knew you wouldn’t be able to keep the memories of tonight blank from your face. "It’s going to be a long day…"

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.