「 ☾ 」ʜᴏʟʟᴏᴡ ᴍᴏᴏɴ

@seeyaskaterlahey

    ‘ good to see you again  —-  went on a short little adventure out west,  ran into your sister.  man,  you didn’t tell me y’all were practically american royalty or some shit like that. ’

    ‘ we don’t talk about that time with jamie, ’  she says,  though regardless of the fact that one turned out  okay  she still thanks whatever god listens jackson had been there that night  —-  and that hayden hadn’t gotten offended that they’d picked a fight with his sire.

    ‘ you ever have anyone randomly approach you and know without talking to you that you’re a werewolf?  how are you supposed to deal with that? ’

      had he ever dealt with it? ‘ outside of the occasional group of hunters, no. people don’t typically approach me and know i’m not human. kinda hard to tell. unless you’re magic or something. ’

      ‘ so, can i ask why you were all shaken up when you came in last night? don’t think i’ve ever seen you so nervous before, except that one time with jamie a long time ago. ’

   it’s hard to tell what catches her attention first   —–  the display of emotion that was the first sign of the jackson she knew and loved,  or the usage of her old name.  either way,  her gaze lifts from the dresser and she turns to face him,  rising and crossing the room to him.  by the time she reaches him he’s already wiped away the tears and slipped right back into the cold man she’d been conversing with.

   it isn’t him.  and there’s something comforting about the fact that somewhere down there,  he  is still around.  she pressed a hand carefully against his cheek, bites her lip as she takes in his face and considers what to say.  ‘  you don’t  have  to do anything.  you can cry.  it’s okay,  i promise. ’  a long pause fills the space between them and she brushes her thumb over his cheek bones.  ‘ i miss them too.  but we found each other,  now.  that’s what they would’ve wanted,  don’t you think? ’

   obviously she knows he can’t stay.  if he’s still wearing that armor,  it has to mean he still has a job to do.  there’s still work to be done,  there’s still someone higher up calling the shots and needing him to be in certain places at certain times.  but maybe,  she thinks,  they can make it work.  or they can run away together and leave it all behind once and for all.  

      almost as soon as her hands settle on his face his shoulders are slumping in defeat, his expression ever so slowly slipping into one of heartbreak and fear rather than the emotionless one he’d been forcing her to see. she is gentle with him--- - she does not rush him nor does she tell him to SUCK IT UP and MOVE ON. jackson is utterly appreciative even if he can’t voice it, and as soon as she tells him it’s okay to cry he does. his bottom lip quivers, his own hands reaching up and settling over hers as he lets it all out.

      ❝ i’m sorry. god, hannah, i’m so sorry for all i’ve done. i’m sorry i left you there. i’m sorry i never came back. i’m-- i’m sorry i wasn’t better or stronger and i’m sorry i let you down. ❞ his voice cracks and he shakes his head, vision blurred from the crying. ❝ i don’t want to live like this anymore. i can’t. i wake up everyday and i look at myself and i see the thing they tried to make me getting closer and closer to being real. i do bad things because i don’t know how to be a good guy anymore. i never wanted to be the villain. i never wanted to be on the winning side for the wrong team. ❞

  she can tell it makes him uncomfortable.  it practically crashes off of him in waves.  ‘ freelancer thought i was dead,  so … all my assets were frozen. or else i could’ve done a whole lot better than this place. maybe someday i’ll come out,  claim my status as a freed p.o.w, get all that shit back. ’

  she pauses, leans against the counter facing away from him while he pieces apart his armor.  ‘ i don’t have much, but you’re welcome to help yourself to whatever food you can find in the fridge or pantry.  i was just gonna heat up something from a can for dinner,  probably. ’  it’s not nearly as thrilling as her days in the project,  but at least the food was still about the same.  she didn’t have to go getting used to eating quality food again.

  finally she glances up, the ghost of a smile on her lips.  ‘ remember our first weeks in the project when we all thought the body suits were weird and didn’t wanna take off our armor in front of each other?  then by like, the second month we’d practically all seen each other naked a dozen times in the showers or locker room. ’  a pause, and she leaves the kitchen to cross to the dresser.  ‘ there’s gotta be something in here that fits you. i’m not as tall as you,  though,  so you might have to deal with short hems. ’  

      he supposes it must be like reading a book when it comes to him because hannah catches his discomfort rather quickly for someone he hasn’t seen in years. ❝ with freelancer dead and gone, the sooner the better. you could set yourself up pretty nicely with everything you’d have. ❞ and that’s all he says on the subject, voice trailing off until there’s not much of a statement left.

      jackson does appreciate her offer, but does what he always has. ❝ m’not hungry. you have it. ❞ it shouldn’t be a surprise, after all his stomach has been tied in knots since he’d first seen her and he’s on the verge of being sick. it’s nothing new, either. his own personal needs have always come second to everyone else’s. ( maybe that’s why he’d been so blind to the project’s motives until it took everything from him. ) jackson sets the rest of his armor down gently, already peeling the top half of the body suit off as she speaks.

   leaning back, she finds her mug and pulls it into her lap, wrapping her fingers tightly around the warm ceramic.  ‘ you wanna do a couples costume?  alright.  just remember when sean laughs at how corny we are that it was  your  idea,  not mine, ’  she teases. after a pause she sticks her finger in the whipped cream on top of her hot cocoa and flicks it at him.  ‘ what about nightmare before christmas pumpkins?  like jack skellington and oogie boogie or something. ’

   all the way up to the director.  she believes jackson,  and she believes agent washington.  even if this is all a case of   he said she said  she’s going to choose to believe it.  if the director is dead,  maybe she still has a shot at reclaiming her life.  if the director is really gone,  she can disappear into the crowd and be forgotten and  left alone.  

   she pulls him off the street and into a small apartment building – unassuming red brick building about four stories tall.  ‘ this is where i live now.  home.  nicer than a hole in the wall and a cot. ’  a quick wave to the elderly woman behind the desk and she pulls him up the stairs to the third floor and down the hall. 

   it takes a few tries to get the lock to work.  she throws open the door and closes it tightly behind them,  latching the deadbolt.  ‘ you’re safe here.  you can take off the armor if you want. ’  she’s already busying herself in the kitchen area to make some tea.  the apartment itself is small,  cozy.  a studio,  with an unmade bed in one corner and no pictures or posters hung on the peeling drywall.  ‘ get comfortable.  please.  be my guest. ’

      she tugs him along and finally up into an apartment, out of sight and away from all of the fuss of the outside world around them. but as she closes the door, jackson suddenly feels very out of place and uncomfortable, vulnerable even. it isn’t a pleasant feeling and it twists his stomach in knots. ❝ it’s... nice. ❞ he admits, but she’s already moving away to the kitchen and leaving him alone in the middle of the room. and jackson, in full armor, knows he is extremely out of place here. he doesn’t belong in a mundane setting--- - that option had never been given to him and to see himself in such a place leaves him with an odd taste in his mouth.

      ❝ i’ll admit, it’s a lot warmer here than where i’ve been. you’ve actually got a bed, too. it’s good for you. ❞

      but not for him. never for him. he reaches up, already undoing the armor even as she says it. he wants to get it off as fast as he can, to hide it away even for just a little while, to play pretend and act like he’s not still stuck in his past and making mistakes. but as much as he despises it, this armor made him. these dents, scratches, chips and scuffs all had stories attached; they all shaped jackson into the person that he had become. whether or not that was for better or worse, he wasn’t sure. and even though the armor is worn and damaged, jackson himself had seen better days. he’s tired, worn down from all the years of fighting.

  ‘ oh,  is  that  why you took the day off? ’  she laughs,  moving to the counter and wrapping her arms around his waist.  she leans in to give him a quick peck on the cheek  ——  meanwhile, bandit recognizes that his parents are both in the kitchen and comes to scurry around their feet before settling on one of the warm air vents on the floor.  ‘ and what should we make our pumpkins into  this  year, hm?  another x-files themed halloween? ’  pulling away from jackson,  she hoists herself up onto the counter.  ‘ picked out a costume yet?  you know sean’s going to invite us to another party. ’

   for a long moment she purses her lips,  as if playfully debating whether or not to accept his apology.  ‘ you’re doing it again.  you know you can’t give me those eyes.  it’s cheating,  mister.  i won’t stand for it. ’ as she speaks,  she wags a finger at him.  after a short pause she breaks into a grin and leans forward,  pressing her lips to the tip of his nose.  ‘ i love you too.  even if you’re cranky. ’

   the mention of the other freelancer catches her attention and she glances back at him.  ‘ wash is still alive? ’ her voice is quiet  ——–  they probably shouldn’t be having this conversation in public.  she remembers how  secretive  the whole project was.  she knows if it gets out to the director that she’s still alive,  she’ll be expected to answer for her desertion.  a part of her knows that’s true even if the rumors are correct that the project was disbanded.

 ‘ i thought  —–  i hadn’t heard from anyone,  i heard the project got split up and everyone died. ’ 

   she shakes her head, squeezing his hand and wondering how much of it he can feel through the armor. sometimes she can almost pretend she’s forgotten what it was like to carry that armor on her back  –  sometimes she can almost pretend she’s forgotten what is was life to feel so lonely and isolated behind it.  ‘ you mean since i supposedly died.  i … i’ll tell you when we get home.  it’s a long story, and not one for the wrong ears. ’

      his gaze meets hers for a second before he looks away, lips settling in a thin line as he nods --- - ❝ somehow, by some goddamn means he’s not dead. not by a long shot. ❞ this is probably best left for another time, he decides, and he trails off as they walk on. he can’t help the tiny voice nagging at the back of his mind, wanting to ask questions but he brushes it off, tells it to leave him alone. now is not the time for it to be bothering him.

      ❝ everyone’s dead, all the way up to the director, from what wash told me. part of me believes him. i want to. ❞

      jackson sets his jaw and falls quiet as she speaks again of her supposed death, still caught on the fact that after all this time, he’d been wrong. he’d just left her there like that to die. ❝ you mean when we get to your home. you’re probably right though. it’s best we talk about this inside. don’t want these things overheard. ❞ and he falls silent, mind wandering off to the last time he’d seen another living freelancer. if there were still some, could there be others? how many had just up and left, faked their deaths to get out while they still could?

   she hadn’t been expecting him to take her up on the offer.  frankly she’s a little surprised it even crossed her mind to  make  the offer.  but it was out there now,  there was no taking back. 

   hannah all but ignores what he tells her,  the idea that she should turn her back on him and the justification behind it.  instead she reaches forward, fingers brushing against his with hesitation before her hand grabs his and tugs him forward.  ‘ come on.  we aren’t far.  i’ll get you out of that armor.  i have some sweatpants too big for me that just might fit you,  and some shirts.  i’ll make dinner.  you’re going to rest.  you’ll be   safe   there. ’

   she moved forward,  sure ——– it was all she  could  do given the circumstances.  but there was always that part of her dragging her back,  holding her down.  try as she might to forget project freelancer and everything that had happened to her,  to her team,  the heart just didn’t forget something like she had with him.

   the thought of a small civilian woman ( though she was anything but ) dragging a freelancer in full armor through the streets was enough to bring a smile to her face for a short time.

      why did he accept that offer? he knows he shouldn’t have, but he didn’t have time to stop himself from responding to her offer. he can’t say no now. he’s in this, whether he likes it or not.

      brown eyes drop to the ground and he says nothing as she takes his hand, leading him forward with the gentlest of tugs. his weapon is discarded, his helmet in his free hand as they walk on. what is his supposed to say to her? nothing, if he can help it. and the last thing he wants is for her to find out what he’s been doing. ❝ i don’t know if i’ve ever felt safe. it sounds too good to be real. hell, for all i know i’ve lost it or i’m dead. and this... i dunno. it feels unreal. ❞

   his hand settles atop hers and suddenly tears spring to the corners of her eyes.  she looks away,  blinking,  biting her lip.  she can hardly look at him  ——  it’s too painful.  everything she lost,  staring back at her.  the new scars on his face – the memories of the way she used to trace the old ones – that look in his eyes – it’s all  too much  for her. 

   the way he says her  name  brings it all back.  brings back all the memories she’d tried so hard to bury.  including  his  name. 

‘ you can’t live like that forever,  jackson.  you have to let go.  none of what happened was your fault.  not one second of it. ’   

  and if anyone had the right to hold it against him it would be her; she’d been struck down in the heat of battle and  abandoned.  they thought she was dead.  her ai turned on her,  refused to call for help or backup.  and she was taken by the enemy.  as soon as the first opportunity to escape presented itself,  she ran and never looked back.

                                                                       ‘ you look tired.  come home with me,  get some rest. ’

      she looks uncomfortable. his hand falls away, head tilts to the side. and then she uses his name and he shuts his eyes to hold back the tears. he’d tried to move on, to move past all of this, and while he has in some ways there are other ways that left him tied down. he was a freelancer. he was a mercenary. now, he’s lost and he doesn’t know who he is.

                                                                        ❝ okay. ❞ 

      his voice is soft, the tenseness leaving him until he’s limp under her touch. years of simply accepting what he’s told shows on his face and he truly, truly does appear to be sick and tired of it all. and yet he wants to fight her on this. he wants to tell her no, to refuse her, and maybe it’s the part of him that still loves her and that wants her to be free of all of the horrors of the past telling him that. maybe, it’s a last ditch effort to protect her from the monster he’s become.

        When he snaps at her, Hannah huffs and crosses her arms over her chest–but she immediately relaxes and forgives him the moment he apologizes. She knows he’s just stressed. As he eases onto the couch she settles next to him and falls into his lap.  ❝ Don’t worry ‘bout it, I know you didn’t mean anything by it. So… maybe our normal, or your normal or whatever isn’t what other people consider normal. But that’s okay. ❞

  it is him.  there’s no denying it,  not really.  not after the way he responds.  she knew his name long ago  –  his real name,  not the name of the old earth state he was identified by.  he’d shared it with her once in a forbidden moment of weakness and vulnerability.  

                                                                                                      ‘ you were a good person. ’

  she can’t speak for the now.  she doesn’t know enough;  she’s left that behind, she’s left the whole project behind.  made herself forget.  didn’t dare try to remember it, any of it.  as soon as she was free of it she turned and ran and never looked back and had spent years just trying to clear the blood from her hands.

  she’s not sure what spurns her forward but it does and she takes several slow steps towards him  ———-  hesitant, slow.  she remembers fear,  anxiety.  remembers being trained to distrust anyone who wasn’t on her team.  

she rests a hand on the chest plate of his armor.  ‘ i know you more than you care to admit,  i think.  i know that deep down in here somewhere is the heart of a good man.  i remember that. ’

      and the moment her fingers come to rest against his chest, he lets out a breath he hadn’t been aware that he was holding. the touch is real. SHE is real. there is a long pause before jackson makes any sort of movements, slow, so as not to startle her as he brings his hands up to pull the helmet from his head. he needs to see her with his own eyes. the light is bright and he blinks several time before his eyes find her face. he’s seen better days--- - he’s tired, worn down from years of fighting & struggling to survive, scars old and new still present.

                     ❝ you’re right. I used to be a good person. ❞

      jackson rests a hand over hers, the urge to cry stronger now than it had been moments prior. ❝ before all of this, before freelancer & before I had everything taken from me. I was a good man. I was trying to do what was right but I failed. and my failure--- - that cost lives. our friends’ lives. they--- - they’re never coming back. I don’t even know how you’re here. I watched you die. there was nothing they could do and I--- - things are different, now. ❞ but how different he couldn’t say. he was still fighting, maybe even for the wrong side. but it had always been for his friends, for her. ❝ I deserve it, deserve this, after what I put them through. what I put you through, hannah. ❞

      ❝ look, it’s not technically fall until we do this. hence me saying that we should take a break and why I took off today instead of dragging myself to that boring coffee shop. ❞ jackson’s currently got a grin on his face while he watches hannah, arms folded over his chest as he leans against the kitchen counter. his suggestion? carving the two large pumpkins sitting on their dinner table with two hot chocolates and a pumpkin pie. really he loved the fall. the colors of the leaves as they changed, the way the air cooled and how legends and stories seemed to come alive as the nights grew longer and darker. ❝ besides, consider today a regular ol’ couple day. is it too much of me to ask to spend one, nice day with my wife? ❞