Old Number Seven || Cora and Jaxon (Flashback)
The mission went south.
It happened sometimes; there were too many unknown variables, too many moving parts, not enough information. Things couldn’t go their way every time. Objectively, Jaxon knew that. The thing was, Jaxon wasn’t very good at thinking objectively.
He’d seen bad things before, from that first memory of twisted metal and screams cut off before they were finished. You’d think he’d be used to the scent of blood in the air. He wasn’t. Not yet. One day, maybe, he hoped, but not yet.
He was still wired, sitting on his bed with his knee bouncing up and down until his roommate threatened him with a painful death to sit fucking still, at which point Jax figured it was time for him to take off. He wasn’t sure where he was going until he was standing in front of the door, bottle of whiskey in hand.
He’d never had much of a relationship with Cora. They knew each other, of course -- Hudson was too small for them not to -- but they’d never really talked. He didn’t think it mattered. She’d been there, too, so Jax figured she would be about as interested in talking as he was. But he didn’t want to drink alone, and he knew that if anyone could help him with that, it was Cora.He raised a hand, knocking once.
“Brought Jack,” he muttered to the closed door, leaning back and waiting for it to open.
