#josef writes

That didn’t explain to him why the doppelganger was completely accepted though. Why should he, someone who had some control over who he was, be accepted by Lilith and her cronies over someone who didn’t exactly ask to be made? How was that fair? Then again, it was likely because poor Timothy Lawrence didn’t have a choice in undergoing surgery to have the voice and body of a raging douchebag – that, and he was “human”. It was such a ridiculous thing he’d heard from Lilith when she’d been debriefing every citizen on their fight against Hyperion.

‘If you come across a clone of Handsome Jack, you kill it with no mercy. If it is begging for its life, you kill it with no mercy. If it claims it isn’t Jack, you kill it with no mercy. Clones aren’t real people! They were grown! And any that look like Handsome Jack, no matter what they say, ARE Jack!’

It had hurt, of course it did. To be told you aren’t real, you aren’t human, hurts a lot. It’d been enough to ensure HJC-012 stayed well away from everyone and convinced himself to get hold of a better, more secure means of concealing a majority of his face to protect himself as opposed to a mere handkerchief tied about his face. He liked Sanctuary, he liked the people and the supposed safety. Hyperion couldn’t track him, neither could Dahl, yet it didn’t mean he was truly safe – those badass Vault Hunters could get him at any time if he wasn’t careful. Shoot first, questions later.

Speaking of the Vault Hunters, the clone became aware of their chatter and laughter dying down and he refocused his gaze on the group below only to see Axton staring up at him. His heart leapt into his mouth the moment the commando gave him a half-drunk but still very charming grin, the clone’s lips curling into a smile at first as his tuft-tipped tail wiggled from where it had been resting on the sill. It earned a particularly cute giggle from the dirty-blonde before the clone remembered himself and his eyes went wide, soon cringing and ducking back inside the apartment that resided near Moxxi’s bar. Damned Eridian parts, how could he have forgotten? The long, flexible tail swayed behind him as he cursed softly. He’d made a rule to himself, two rules rather; don’t get attached, and don’t let them see the full extent of what you are. The staying hidden part as easy, he just had to wear the mask and visor to hide his face and let natural fear of the unknown do the rest when it came to his Eridian parts. Not getting attached? That was significantly harder. He craved company. Axton was just so desirable; his laugh and smile melting away his fears of being caught, he was so attractive and charming and he seemed so friendly to everyone in Sanctuary, not to mention how he could hold his own in any fight. Timothy was extremely adorable, confused half of the time, and oddly charming for someone with the face of a raging douchebag. Maya was hard not to smile around, her calm demeanour soothing any worries he had, while Krieg’s nature made him feel as if he could be accepted by them all over time.

God help him, he was getting attached to merciless, badass, Hyperion-hating Vault Hunters. They could each kill him without hesitation, they could introduce him to his own grey matter, they could kill him stone dead with just one squeeze of the trigger and he could hear Axton calling up to him.

‘Hey! C’mon man, come back to the window!’ He yelled, the clone swallowing nervously as he tentatively called back.

‘Why?’ he called as he moved over to the open window a little, careful to lower his tone enough to obscure the familiarity of his voice. While he tended to use sign language as much as he could, especially around those that were statistically more likely to recognise it, this was not one of those moments and it caused great discomfort and paranoia. A long silence passed and immediately HJC-012 feared the worst before Axton finally spoke again.

‘Nev’mind, I’m gonna come to you.’ He grunted, a slight scuffle sound reaching the clone’s ears before he heard a tile shatter on the street below. The clone’s heart began racing at the thought – the ex-Dahl commando was climbing the front of the building just to see him and while he had his mask on that by itself wasn’t enough to ensure his anonymity. Instantly he began to hunt through the apartment in growing panic, actions frantic and desperate as he hunted for the visor he’d made of dark tinted glass. His ridiculous eyebrows he’d been cursed with would surely give his identity away! But when he thought back to Axton initially seeing him at the window, it’d appeared as if the eyebrows hadn’t given him away. The relief was momentary as he recalled two crucial factors from that moment – one, Axton was drunk and borderline inebriated, and two, the clone was on the top-most floor of the apartment block. It was unlikely his face had been clearly seen and it only spurred his efforts in finding his visor.

‘Hey!’ Axton grunted as he climbed up and sat himself on the window ledge, panting as the clone gasped and clipped the visor into place and linked it with this first neural port just in time. He spun around and laid eyes on Axton’s cocky grin the moment the visor’s display booted up, cheeks warming as the commando rather haphazardly climbed into the room.

‘Is there something I can help you with, Axton?’ HJC-012 managed to get out, his heart slamming against his ribcage so hard he wondered whether the Vault Hunter could hear it. Axton gave a warm, if drunk, laugh and approached with a slight wobble to his paces.

‘How come you wearin’ that visor at night? An’ tha’ mask too? M’sure y’ain’t that ugly.’ Axton nearly slurred, grinning as he stood right in front of the clone and inspected said items.

‘It isn’t a matter of being ugly, Axton.’ The clone said quietly and calmly, avoiding eye contact even though the visor obscured his eyes anyway. ‘It’s a matter of concealment and identity.’

Axton gave a noise of understanding, a dopey grin crossing his firm features as he stroked the parts connecting the visor to the neural ports, watching the visible shudder pass through the white-haired man.

‘Who ya hidin’ from?’ He asked, voice dropping to a low tone that made the hairs on the clone’s neck stand up.

‘I can’t disclose exactly who, but I know they wouldn’t hesitate to kill me if they saw my face.’ HJC-012 said just as lowly, Axton grinning and leaning in close so his mouth was right by his ear. The clone could smell the alcohol on the commando.

‘You got nothin’ t’worry ‘bout in Sanctuary. Know why?’ He asked, voice barely above a murmur as he leaned in closer until his chin was on his shoulder. Upon receiving a negative, Axton chuckled. ‘Cuz I’ll protect you.’

At that, Axton’s head fell against his shoulder and a low snoring left him. He’d passed out? Seriously?

‘Unbelievable.’ The clone groaned, slightly exasperated as he quickly contemplated his options. He could either leave the commando to sleep on the floor, drag him to sleep in his bed or somehow get him back to the Crimson Raiders’ HQ. The floor could easily result in Axton choking on his own vomit and realistically trying to carry him home wasn’t physically possible.

‘Bed it is then.’ The clone sighed as he carefully hooked Axton’s burly right arm over his shoulder and sighed again as the commando’s head lolled forward with a snore. The clone couldn’t help but groan as he struggled to haul Axton to his small bed, arms straining as he continued to drag him before finally dumping him down and watching him sprawl immediately.

‘You are so lucky I’m fond of you.’ HJC-012 deadpanned as he removed the visor and shunted Axton’s limp body over a bit so he could rest too. Though the second he laid his head back on the pillows, he couldn’t get himself to relax as his mind was constantly thinking about Axton and Dahl and Hyperion and Sanctuary and he just couldn’t get a moment’s peace. His mind turned slowly to his time under Colonel Zarpedon within the Lost Legion, a time that was full of gaps and missing pieces and questions that would never be answered. HJC-012 knew his purpose, they’d eventually told him that much after all the commanding officers perished following Zarpedon’s death and freed him from their direct control, but not once had he been informed of his origin and it drove him to the point of insanity. Everyone around him had families, friends, birthdays and memories, he didn’t. He had no childhood, no birthdays, no family or friends. All he’d had was the Lost Legion, the military, Dahl – all he’d learned, all he had in memory was how to be a soldier, how to fight to kill, how to obey orders and how to take apart a gun, clean it and put it back together in under six minutes and all to perfect standards. Okay, so he was particularly proud of the last one but it didn’t fill the gaping hole he felt inside, a yawning emptiness that begged to be filled even though he himself wasn’t empty – he had emotions, he felt pain, he laughed and he cried just like everyone else.