Void Without You ♥

[Lady Odyssey]

This is private between @Pipa The Great and I. Please do not post on here unless given permission. Thank you, and enjoy reading. c:


─Runner♥

 

[Pipa The Great]

It was a very beautiful December morning. The air was crisp and cool, the sun was clear in the sky, and all of life seemed to be up and about, ready for the holiday season. Well, almost all of life. Victoria Chamberlain was still trying to catch a few more minutes of sleep. It was only the first weekday she’d gotten off from school since winter break started, but already things were starting to go haywire. She didn’t know why she hadn’t planned for this in the first place; the same thing happened every year. Christmas break would start and her mother would begin to make plans for their annual Christmas party, the one to which all of their relatives were invited. Vic groaned as she finally noticed the neon red numbers displayed by her alarm clock and cursed, knowing her boss would strain a blood vessel if she didn’t leave in fifteen minutes. At that thought, Vic sprang out of bed and jumped into her morning routine, rushing to prepare for work.


For sure, Vic knew that her soon-to-be-tardiness was solely her mother’s fault. Yes, the woman had forced her to stay awake until the wee hours of the morning so that they could plan every single detail of the party, down to the very last themed ornament on their Christmas tree. She remembered making a passing suggestion of decorating the house for the sake of Christmas spirit, like most families, but her mother simply laughed. “The colors must match with the living room furnishings, dear!” Her mother had said. “Oh, I can’t wait to see the look on your Aunt Judith’s face when she realizes how luxurious we are!” Vic had wisely chosen to remain quiet for the rest of their planning period, only listing what her mother decided on. After all of these years, one would think that a twenty-two year old like Vic wouldn’t allow herself to be pushed over by such a small woman, but her mother’s bark was very consistent with her bite. Even her older brothers succumbed to their mother’s wishes in fear of the consequences. She was a scary woman.


She thought about all of this while she hastily pulled on her left gray boot, having made it successfully from her room while pulling on the right one. Glancing in the hallway mirror, she silently approved. She only had time to throw her hair up into a pony tail and she’d worn very minimal makeup, but she figured Mr. Dupree wouldn’t care about how she looked so long as she got to work on time. Overall, she didn’t look too bad for having only fifteen minutes to get ready. “Mom, dad, boys!” She called out as she collected herself at the front door. She could hear the typical morning chatter coming from the kitchen, so she assumed they would be able to hear her. “I’m running late, I’ll see you guys after work!” And then she was off to the cafe, expecting nothing more than the usual. It should’ve been just another normal day for her, no surprises. She had no idea.

 

[Lady Odyssey]

Darkness consumed the small bedroom. A cold air lingered from last night's winter breeze. Jackson lay on his back, upon the soft mattress he had once taken for granted, before the tour. Though he lay completely motionless, his breathing soft and even, his eyes were open. He didn't dare close them for too long, in fear of succumbing to slumber's violent grip. Christmas was near. His boss had been worried about Jack, and offered to give him a week off, claiming it'd be good for him to spend time with family ─ but he knew it was also because he was concerned of his PTSD triggers getting more frequent. He had insisted he was fine, and that he had plenty of time to spend with his family, but his boss, Jeremy, refused to have him work. Jackson left, defeated and tired. He didn't need time off. If anything, he needed more work hours. Work kept him busy. And if he kept busy, the haunting memories wouldn't creep up as easily. The dreams, the terrors, all of it. He hated being reminded of the hell he had put himself in. Was it worth it? Had it been worth it to lose her to save his parent's house? These questions often kept him awake at night, tossing and turning as he searched for an answer to ease his regrets and nerves.


Once certain he wouldn't be able to fall asleep, he sat upright, weary of trying to catch a few hours of rest; all in vain. Jackson gently kicked the sheets, untangling the soft fabric from his stiff legs. He set his feet upon the cold, hard dark wooden floor, his hands pressing on the edge of the bed for support as he stood up. He stretched in attempt to wake himself up from the dreariness and blurriness, but it didn't work as it once had. Blurred lines formed his room; four blue walls, a large window with curtains, a bed, a closet, a desk, and a bookshelf. He had moved into the small apartment months after his return. Eventually, he would move into a larger place, but until then, he would save up his money. The part-time job at the bakery made decent money. Of course, if he had the chance for a better paying job, he would definitely seize it ─ however, he's still trying to adjust to his new life of living on his own, being back from Iran, and everything in between. It didn't help that he had PTSD, either. It was an inconvenience to him, and everyone around him. He knew it. His parents had offered that he move in with them, again, until he could get back on his feet. Of course, being stubborn, he politely declined, and moved to a small apartment instead.


Hot, steaming streams of water splashed against his back, wetting his still-short hair. He had gotten his hair cut the day he arrived to train, and has kept the short hair ever since, mostly out of habit more than anything. The water seemed to revive him; he thought more clearly, and felt more awake. Still, the morning tiredness still lingered. Jack wrapped a towel around his waist, glancing at himself in the mirror. A young man stood before him in the reflection, dark half moons circled underneath his eyes, a perfect hair cut, and a body marked with scars he had earned over two years. He looked away, dried himself off, and got changed into his normal attire; a black t-shirt, some green cargo pants, and his combat boots he had grown to like. Jackson glanced at his tags he had lain on the bathroom's counter top. He grabbed it, and hesitantly put it on. It was a reminder for him, more than anything. A reminder of who he was, who he had been in Iran, and who he is now. He brushed his teeth, and glanced at the time. Exiting the apartment complex in a small truck, he headed for the cafe to get a cup of coffee he had grown dependent on for two years to stay awake.

 

[Pipa The Great]

The moment Vic walked into Java Hut, her senses were invaded by the heavenly scent of freshly brewed coffee and homemade pastries. One of the things she loved the most about the small coffee shop was that it was very homey and localized. She knew the regulars quite well, even coming to memorize their usual orders, but it never got boring for her. Each customer brought something interesting with them to the cafe. For example, Mrs. Johnson, an elderly woman who'd lived through World War II, loved to tell her tales of how she coped with life when both her husband and son were deployed. The reminiscent smile she wore on her face as she told these stories constantly reminded Vic of a time when she too had her own brave young soldier. Unfortunately for Vic, however, she hadn't allowed for the memory of welcoming the boy home as he returned from his service. For Vic, there was no joyful reunion, and it still left a dull ache in her chest every time she saw Mrs. Johnson's kind face. Every now and then, she'd wonder how he was doing, hoping that he was alive and doing okay somewhere in the world.


Anyways, she wouldn't let it get her down today. She made a silent promise to herself as she changed into her uniform that she would politely listen to whatever story Mrs. Johnson had in store for her, no more sulking. It was Christmas time, for Pete's sake! Vic smiled as she greeted her boss, more as a response to the thoughts in her head than to the instructions he was giving her. That's right, it's the holiday season! Her thoughts continued to wander. I shouldn't be so gloomy around this time of year, especially around customers. I've got so much to plan for the upcoming party, I've no time to linger on something that happened two years ago. Surely, the Jack she remembered would have signed up for the army knowing the risks. The Jack she knew would have come out alive. But then, if you're so confident, why did you get so mad at him before? Why end things if you knew he'd be okay? Vic hated it when her conscience brought about questions like this. It was what kept her thinking about him so long after their break-up. Gah! Didn't I just say I wasn't going to think about stuff like this? Vic hastily shook her head, unaware that her boss was still speaking to her.


Mr. Dupree was a medium-sized man in his late-thirties with a full head of brown hair. Contrary to popular opinion, Vic honestly saw the man as a good manager. He paid her well enough and gave her a sufficient amount of vacation days. Not to mention, he was very understanding of her role as a student too, so he was quite lenient about her work hours. Then again, he was her uncle, and she was his favorite (read: only) niece. "Victoria?" The man in question had his eyes narrowed at her. "Have you been listening to me?" Vic's cheeks reddened slightly, and her boss frowned in distaste. She thought it was weird to call him 'Mr. Dupree,' seeing as she saw him at least once a week outside of work for Family Night Fridays, but he'd requested she do so in order to prevent her coworkers from assuming that he gave her special treatment. "I know the holidays have come, Miss Chamberlain, but you still have a job to do. That is, assuming you still want this job." He quirked his eyebrows up. "Yes, sir. Of course, sir," Vic replied, nodding. She knew that he wouldn't hesitate to inflict disciplinary actions, despite their familial relation. He treated her just like any other employee; giving her the same benefits, treating her similarly, and administering proper punishment. He pointed at the cash register and Vic took the hint, moving to stand behind it just as the bell on the front door rang, alerting the staff of the day's first customer.

 

[Lady Odyssey]

Jackson was immediately hit with the strong smell of coffee. It brought memories back. Memories of his first week in Iran, spent with many cans of energy drinks, coffee, and cold canned beans, all spent in doubt and uncertainty of his new life ahead. He remembered the soldier he had bunked with, one he would grow close to over the span of the two years. The soldier he had called his own brother; the soldier that had died saving countless lives in their squad. The memory rattled in his mind as he stepped inside, causing his heart to hammer faster. In attempt to calm himself, he took a deep breath. He cleared his mind, and refused to let more memories resurface. Not now, he thought to himself. Later, I can. Just not here. The door closed behind him with a soft click, followed by a delayed ring of a bell. He glanced around the cafe, his eyes automatically scanning the four walls; it had been drilled into his mind to check a room for security reasons, even after a few months back from Iran. He lowered his eyes, as if waking from a dream. Another breath. Another step. Every movement felt heavy as lead, but he forced himself to move. It took a moment to register the empty booths and void seats. What time is it? he questioned silently, eyes still glancing around the place.


Hanging just to the right of the menu was a clock. 8:19 am. It wasn't even that early, so, where was everyone? Confusion settled deep for a moment, but then he remembered; most everyone was at work and at school by now. Some relief filled him. Less people meant less distractions, and less possible triggers. Being alone was always good in his book, ever since he came back. Being alone meant he could think silently without being disturbed or interrupted. Jackson took another breath in as he walked to the front counter. Along the cool granite was small little chalkboards, announcing weekly specials, discounts, and updates. The menu hung over the register against the warm wall, along with prices next to the variety of beverages' names. The girl standing behind the register was smiling, looking as if she had woken from a dream. Out of habit, he scanned her for potential threat before he could stop himself. Shoulders hung low, arms swaying. No weapons or explosive devices. And for a moment, it was as if he was back in Iran, checking civilians for potential terrorist threats. He blinked, looking away quickly. He instead stared at the menu in silence. "One cup of black coff─" he stopped abruptly, his senses tingling.


Then it hit him. The high cheekbones. The soft dimpled smile. The blue eyes. It took the breath out of him, and for a moment, he couldn't breathe. All movement stopped. Time slowed. The city noises became nothing more than a blur in the background. It was... her. Vic. Memories flashed in his mind. Memories of her. Of them. Innocent laughter, them cuddling on the sofa in his basement, catching her eyes under the lights of the football games. It was too much. It was all overwhelming. He didn't speak. He couldn't, even if he wanted to. What was there to say? It had been two years since he last saw her, or even heard from her. Jackson, with a heavy, pained heart, wondered if she even recognized him. Maybe she thought he was some delusional guy that was lost in the city. He diverted his eyes away from her. A voice in his mind told him to turn around, and leave. Never return. Don't look back. But he didn't leave. He stood there, shoulders square, body tense. He finally looked up at her, pain swallowing him, drowning him.

 

[Pipa The Great]

Every person comes across a point in their life when they begin to question what is real and what isn't. This moment may be triggered by a variety of reasons; it could be because of something traumatic, something euphoric, or something downright baffling. Vic thought that moment, for her, had happened when she found out Jack was going to Iraq. It sounds idiotic and totally cliched, but the truths were that she had been utterly in love with the guy and he didn't even think to tell her that he was leaving. For a place that could potentially have him killed, no less. But she'd been wrong. No, this juncture, seeing and recognizing the man who walked through the door of her work place... That was something else. At first, she wasn't totally sure because he had his head down when she first saw him. But then he'd looked up and she knew instantly. She felt hundreds of emotions at once, her breath escaping from her lungs and expression freezing. Her automatic greeting of 'Hi, welcome to Java Hut! My name is Vic, how may I help you?' died on her lips as she tried to make sense of what was going on. Jackson Wilde, her first love and ex-boyfriend, had just walked into her life again. She could think of nothing as she watched him attempt to order before that gorgeously familiar face dawned with remembrance.


After the mind-numbing shock came a wicked onslaught of questions. She couldn't care less about the clatter of dishes behind her or the steady stream of chatter emitting from the break room, where the other employees were probably still preparing. Each one zoomed past her consciousness and weaved throughout her mind, trying to process possible answers. How long have you been back? What happened to you? How are you doing? Did you miss me as much as I missed you? A dozen more inquiries abounded in her brain, many of which were incoherent and indistinguishable. She found herself wanting to know everything about him, and yet, a smaller part of her wasn't sure if she would like the answers. So many things could've happened in their time apart. Thinking about it now, she wasn't even sure if he was the same. She'd noticed his blank stare, that moment without recognition. She'd known who he was the second he'd stood right in front of her. Shamefully, it had hurt her when she knew she had no right to be hurt. What did I expect? For him to be pining after me, two years later? She was the one who'd broken things off, but she couldn't help feeling conflicted. She didn't know whether to hug the man or cry or laugh or run away from him.


Was she making a big deal of this? Quite possibly. When he left, a part of her always assumed that he'd return here, but now that it'd happened, she didn't know what to make of it. Jack looked away from her, breaking their gaze and her out of the trance she'd been in. She could feel her hands tingling. To her surprise, she'd been holding on to the cash register like it was her lifeline, fingertips going white with the tightness of her death grip. She forced herself to let go and met Jackson's eyes again. Her lips parted and closed, trying to form words she couldn't fathom. Her eyes scanned over his facial features. Jeez, he looked so tired. She saw the telltale bags under his eyes, and it caused her chest to bloom with worry. The twinkle that she'd loved so much was absent from his eyes, a thought Vic found incredibly disconcerting. She wondered if he was upset to see her, which wasn't an unexpected reaction to be honest. She would feel the same way if their roles were reversed. Vic started wringing her hands in her anxiety. Maybe she was overreacting. But the look Jack wore and the tension in the air told her that she wasn't. She had to say something to him. She'd wanted the chance to apologize to him for so long... Her brain screamed at her voice box to work. "Jackson," she nearly whispered his name. "It's really you."

 

[Lady Odyssey]

It was her. No doubt entered his mind. It was Vic. The girl he had fallen for so many years ago; it seemed like a lifetime had gone by, it was almost disorienting to him as he stood in front of her, too dumbfounded to speak or even attempt to. His heart leaped as they locked eyes for a split second, the way it had so many years ago, but then sank, pain replacing it immediately. Guilt tore through him, ripping his heart open a scar he had tried so hard to bury, to leave it in the grave; where it belonged. She had moved on, no doubt. She could have a new boyfriend, fiance or husband for all he knew. The thought hurt too much to even consider, though he wasn't sure why. Vic was the one to break things off, after all, but he never did blame her. He blamed himself, every night and every waking moment. It was his fault for not telling her. It was all his fault, he knew. It made his throat feel tight, as if someone's hands were placed on it, squeezing the life and words out of him. And for a moment, he couldn't breathe. His hands shook at his sides, and in that moment, he wanted to explain everything. He wanted to tell her that he missed her, that he had loved her then, and still loves her now. But nothing escapes past his lips other than a shaky, slow breath.


Their eyes met. Jackson did his best not to squirm under her gaze as she looked him over briefly ─ he grew more tense as the seconds ticked by, the air growing denser and tighter around him. He looked straight into her eyes, searching for something. Searching for signs of any hatred of him he had seen the day he left. He could still see her when he told her the news. Anger and hate burning behind her pretty blue eyes, tearing spilling down her cheeks. The memory had haunted him his first year in Iran, and still does from time to time. Jackson bit his lip, remembering to breathe. Her mouth opened, but closed just as quickly. He searched his mind for what to say, but came up too short. She was the first to speak, breaking the tense silence. His heart skipped a beat as she, just barely a whisper, spoke his name. He stared at her in disbelief, suddenly afraid this was all a dream, and he'd wake up, back in Iran. He couldn't breathe, again. "Vic..." he trailed off, as if afraid anything he said would make her disappear into the oblivion of his mind. Jackson swallowed, hard. "It is me. Oh my God... Vic, I'm... I'm so sorry," he whispered, guilt contracting his chest. "You were right."

 

[Pipa The Great]

He was apologizing. She was the one who'd broken them up, and he was apologizing. She felt tears prick at her eyes and she felt them start to well up right away. Her heart ballooned in her chest, and she remembered the same old Jackson she'd known and fallen for. She started to shake her head, slowly before building up in intensity. He didn't need to say anything, she'd forgiven him the day after he told her. If only that hadn't been too late. She moved her hand to cover her mouth, willing herself not to cry because of the vision before her. She couldn't, not when she had so many questions to ask, so many things to say. "No, Jackson, no, don't apologize," she said, voice raw with regret. She felt her way around the counter with her hands, not wanting to take her eyes off of him. She was afraid that if she did, he would disappear again, and she felt like she'd lose her mind if he did that. Throwing caution to the wind, she walked up to him and made the first contact they'd had in so long. Her arms found their way around his neck and she stood on her tiptoes, chin resting on his shoulder. She tightened her hold on him, having missed the warmth of their embrace since he left. "I'm the one who needs to apologize, Jack. I never meant to get angry at you, I'm so sorry." She choked on the last few words, hot tears making salty trails on her cheeks. They were more tears of joy than they were of sadness, though.


He was here. That was all that mattered to her in that moment. She laughed a little at the odd picture they must've made, standing in the midst of Java Hut while meeting again. She pulled away hesitantly, wiping under her eyes. "God, I probably look like such a mess right now. But that's okay." Her throat tightened again. "I know... I know what I said. Before you left. It was so cruel." Vic looked down at her hands, which were know playing with her shirt. "Guilt has been eating away at me, I never should have said those things to you. I really am sorry, Jack. I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't... If I found out you were..." Vic couldn't finish the thought. She'd heard stories all the time about how soldiers were killed in battle, or missing in action. Somehow, they'd gotten lucky. She let out a long breath, stepping away from him to go make some coffee. "You said you wanted black coffee, right? I think we could both use something to drink." She slowed down her movements, aware that her actions may come off a bit strange. Frankly, she didn't know how else to act when meeting one's ex-boyfriend after two years. She mentally shrugged it off. "Do you want to sit down? Maybe if you have time, we could catch up?"

 

[Lady Odyssey]

Jackson couldn't bear to look at her any longer. Tears had glazed over her eyes; he was afraid his would, too, so he diverted his pained gaze away from her. Guilt swallowed his mind, blocking out her soft, regret filled pleads, telling him not to apologize. He was suddenly drowning in it. Breathing became a impossible task. Focusing became impossible, too. No tears threatened to spill, however. He was thankful for that. He refused to let his emotions seize control of him ─ it's too painful. Instead of releasing his regrets, guilt and anger for himself, he pushed them to the far back of his mind, as he always did. He'd been trained to do so, to survive. To feel love, passion, or any other emotion was weakness. It'd been seared into his mind that now, two years later, he refused such as thing as crying. Once composed and no longer feeling the remorse, his eyes found hers. Vic is crying, he realized. Three years ago, if he had seen her crying, he would have felt his heart tearing open for her. Now, he felt nothing more than a numbness that clawed away at him. He wasn't sure what was worse ─ feeling numb, or crying in front of her, or anyone else. It was all a blur to him; he found himself in her arms. Vic's hands wrapped around his neck, warmth spreading across his skin. Jackson reluctantly wrapped his arms around her, too, as she tightened her hold on him, as if afraid this was their last meeting.


Conflicted emotions brewed inside of him, as much as he didn't want them to. Somewhere, he was happy to see her again, alive and healthy. Somewhere else, he hated himself for holding her. For touching her. He didn't deserve this. I don't deserve to be holding her. Not after what I've done, his mind told him, over and over as if mocking him, torturing him. Jackson was the first to break the hug, giving into his thoughts jabbing at him, and pushed her away as she spoke, still weeping; of joy, or of sadness, he did not know. Maybe both, he thought. She then pulled away, too, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. He released a deep breath he hadn't known he'd been holding in; her next words made him freeze. "I know... I know what I said. Before you left. It was so cruel." She had called him a coward that day. A liar. She had told him that she needed him, and he was being selfish. Her last words had burned into his mind, and kept him awake during the first few nights spent in Iran. They still do. Jackson shrugged slightly, shoulders barely moving upward as if it hurt, as if it wasn't a big deal. He had believed her. He was selfish for leaving her. He was a coward for not telling her upfront. And he was a liar. Jackson swallowed. "Don't, Vic," he whispered as she apologized, saying guilt had been eating away at her, and then trailed off. He knew what she meant, even without her saying it. She had feared for his life. And at one point, he did, too. But in the end, he had made it out alive; his friends didn't.


A brief moment had passed by. She stepped backward away for him, asking if it had been black coffee he had wanted. He numbly nodded, not trusting his own voice just yet. Jackson, wordlessly, took a empty seat in the nearest booth he found, his body still tense. He took in a deep breath. How could they possibly catch up? Two years. Two years he had spent in Iran, and within those two years, he feels years and years older. He's seen things people should never have to see. He's changed. By now, he's certain she's noticed. He didn't want to share what had happened. It would destroy her innocence, the way it had done to him. He's broken because of it, so why would he share any of it with her, or anyone as a matter of fact? Jackson forced himself to clear his mind, and nodded again at her question. He had time. Plenty of time. Too much time, in fact.

 

[Pipa The Great]

Vic's hands worked with practiced experience. She grabbed two cups from the rack on the counter and placed them on their respective saucers, as if it were a normal day. One black coffee for him, a green tea for her. It was only when she tried to pour the hot caffeine and spilled some on her hand that she realized her grip was unsteady. She flinched and hissed, shaking the liquid off immediately. Putting the warm pot down, she hugged her hands to her chest and took a deep breath, even closing her eyes for a moment. She still couldn't quite believe he was here, sitting in the coffee shop she'd chosen to work in about a year and a half ago. He could've gone anywhere after he finished his service, but he decided to return to this city, where she was. She blushed lightly and stared at the dark surface of the coffee in Jack's cup. Was there a possibility that he'd returned for her? She pondered the idea for only a second before shooing it away. Oh, come off it. Don't be ridiculous. His parents live here, as well as his old friends. You're much too wishful for your own good, Victoria. Ah, yes, the logical side of her brain always knew how to kick down her silly theories. Besides, she could feel a different kind of apprehension about him. It would never be the same for them again, she knew that much. Not to mention, she had no idea of what his feelings were for her anymore--if he even felt anything romantic towards her, after two years and a terrible break-up.


Vic felt dizzy at all of the complications that had come with Jack's arrival. She hadn't felt comfortable with the idea of love since he'd left, disliking it even, but now that he was back, her mind felt the need to wonder about it over again, just like she had when they'd first dated. She finished preparing the drinks and carried them steadily to where Jack sat. She caught the way his posture seemed so rigid, probably a result of his military training. Military training. It sounded so real now, seeing him face to face after his service. She was aware that war did strange things to people; Mrs. Johnson talked about it all the time. How the light in her husband's features had been so visibly doused after he returned, and how even her son seemed to have matured, like he'd been broken in. Vic swallowed, preparing herself for a different Jackson. She stood up straighter as she carried the cups and placed his coffee in front of him. She set her own beverage down on the table and sat across from him. Those seconds passed in an almost painful silence. She tried to meet his eyes again, but for once, she couldn't see anything behind them. She couldn't find a single distinguishable emotion, and she thought about just how much he could've changed. Was he still the Jackson she'd grown to love? Memories of a red and white letterman jacket, a brilliant white smile, and crinkled green-blue eyes dangled just behind her immediate vision. She compared that Jack to the Jackson in front of her now, clad in a black shirt and green pants. She feared the answer to that question.


She put her hands around her cup of tea, finding comfort in its warmth. She knew for a fact that the only thing that had really changed about herself was her need for something outside of routine life. He had been the reason for that change too, and it was a welcome feeling. She moved to lean back in her seat when a glint caught her eye. She squinted, searching for its source, stare landing on the silver tags hanging on a long beaded chain around Jackson's neck. It was the standard-issue accessory given to every soldier for identification and a kind of permanent reminder for the wearer's courage and bravery. She found her lips moving to form the question in her head, too late to second-think the notion. "What was it like? Spending two years away from home, having to fight other people in a foreign place?"

 

[Lady Odyssey]

Jackson kept his hands on top of the smooth table, fiddling with his calloused fingers. A lot had changed about him; physically, too. His hair is shorter. He has collected new scars over the years, though most of them covered underneath the protection of a shirt, thankfully. He had gotten more built, of course, and his nose no longer straight; he had broken it half way through his first month in training after the drill sergeant ordered him and another soldier-in-training to brawl, to break them past their physical limitations after a brutal day of running, push-ups, and other exhausting activities. His hands have a few scars from fighting. A small burn scar on his right arm, just underneath his bicep. He consciously rubbed it, suddenly all too aware of what he must look like. Bags underneath his eyes probably, too. Oh well. Not much he can really do, so he tried to not let it bother him too much as she prepared some coffee. He absentmindedly stared out of the front window, eyes scanning the incoming traffic out of habit. His eyes found the drivers, some talking on the phone with a laughing smile, others eating fast food hurrying to work. He looked away, pressing his lips together, jaw tightening. A small cup of coffee slid in front of his hands. He quickly set both hands to his side, not wanting her to see the scars, the callouses that had developed by handling guns and other equipment that, ultimately, kept him alive over the course of the two years. "Thank you," he said out of habit, with little to none emotion whatsoever. Steam rose from the cup, swirling into the tense air.


Her eyes bore into his own, and as much as he wanted to look away, he didn't. He wanted her to see through him. He wanted her to see how much he had changed so she wouldn't get her hopes up. He would only disappoint her and break her heart if she thought he could possibly be the same. He would shatter that hope in seconds if he didn't make it clear to her that he has changed, and has been broken into a soldier. Jackson didn't lean back into the seat's cushion, like he normally would have years ago. He forced his shoulders to be upright, limbs stiff and motionless as he looked at the cup of coffee, waiting for it to cool off. He could practically feel her stare at him ─ more rather, at his tags. It took everything in him to not tuck them underneath his t-shirt; he didn't wear the tags for remembrance of his service, honor or valor. No, he didn't see the tags a symbol of bravery. He saw it as a reminder. A reminder that his brothers had fallen in Iran. A reminder that he had left Vic and everything he knew and loved. He reached for his coffee, bringing the warm cup to his lips just as she opened her mouth, voicing her thoughts as she always had done. The question nearly made it impossible to swallow the hot liquid. No matter who the question came from, it always threw him off, and made him freeze. Jackson set the cup down, finally allowing the coffee to burn down his throat. Did she really want to know? A part of him hoped she didn't, and was just trying to make conversation, but another part of him knew she was, in fact, curious. Besides, he owed it to her, but at the same time, he didn't want to speak of the things he went through.


His shoulders lifted into a heavy shrug as his mind pondered for a short, simple answer that wouldn't be too painful. "Well, it was... well, a lot happened, I'm sure you've guessed. I went to basic training, paired up with a few guys I met in a squad, and just... just did what I had to, I guess. Went on missions ─ nothing large or note worthy ─ and just dealt with it," he finished, expression darkening. It was a vague, short answer, he knew. He planned to keep it that way, too. She didn't need to know he had saw his friend die in front of him. She didn't need to know the horrors he had witnessed. No, she didn't. It was better if she didn't; he was protecting her from it, whether she knew it or not. Jackson avoided eye contact as he spoke, staring into the black abyss in the cup of coffee. He swallowed, shifting in his seat nervously, keeping silent as he glanced outside the window, watching cars and people pass by, carefree and smiling. In that moment, he almost envied them. They all had it good, completely oblivious to the outside world; to the world soldiers had to have lived in. He looked away, his shoulders slumping downward. If only they knew they had it so good. If only she knew.

 

[Pipa The Great]

Vic sat still while she listened to Jack talk. He didn't let on much about what had happened to him out there, a little to her disappointment. But everything she needed to know was written in between the lines--the way his frame moved so stiffly, his monotone voice, his determination to keep their eye contact from lasting too long. Something out there had broken him; something happened in Iraq that led to the destruction of the Jackson she once knew. That Jackson used to tell her everything that happened to him. It was usually random stuff about how his day went, or quirky stories from when he was a kid, but it made her feel special, loved. The guy who sat in front of her was keeping the stories tucked away, probably locked in his own heart, a burden she suspected he wanted to carry on his own. But she was't being fair. The Jackson from before also kept his recruitment a secret, so maybe that part of him remained the same. He'd always had good intentions, trying to withhold information that could've been potentially harmful to her. Even so, it had angered her so much. She hadn't wanted him to take the hits for her. She had wanted to be by his side to support him, through anything, and he chose to make the decision in her stead anyways, the very thing her own mother had done for Vic her entire life. He was supposed to signify her freedom from those kinds of binds, but he'd proven her wrong. That was the reason why she'd hated him so much in that moment, and that was the reason why she'd said all of those terrible things.


Sitting in that chair, Vic suddenly felt very empty. So much more alone than she had felt in years. She'd dreamt of this moment, of seeing her old love again, so many times, but she'd never imagined she would feel as alone as she did now. A chill ran down her spine as she realized that the man across from her felt no more familiar to her than a passing stranger, and she wanted to cry again. She didn't want him to be a stranger. In an attempt to cope with the newly formed ice in her heart, she curled up in her chair, folding her legs underneath her. She brought the hot tea up to her lips and took a sip, preparing for what she should say next. She wouldn't address his secrecy now, that was for sure. The wound in their relationship was too fresh, too vulnerable for that kind of talk. She was sure he had his own demons to hide, and she would allow both himself and herself at least a little bit of peace before bringing them up. She gave Jack a brief, mirthless smile instead, only looking up at him for a second. Her eyes found the steaming liquid of her cup again. "You sound so grown up," she dryly joked. "It couldn't have been easy, though. I wonder if you ever missed mom's meatloaf."


She bristled at the memory that overwhelmed her. Her family was hosting a special dinner, and Jackson was invited along with his family. It was the year her mother had tried to cook a traditional meatloaf. Her mother had the cooking skills of a rock, but she'd given it her best and attempted to serve it up regardless. The sad thing was burnt into an unrecognizable crisp--nobody would eat it. That is, no one except for Jackson, of course. The idiot had taken a bite out of it just so he could compliment her mother, despite the fact that it tasted worse than a bag of garbage. He'd said he wanted to get on good terms with Vic's mother so that she would stop hating him, and it had worked. It'd become an ongoing joke since then, which was why the phrase had slipped from her mouth so easily. Feeling awkward, Vic tried to change the subject. "She misses you, you know," Vic said quickly. "After you were gone, everything was so different. Everyone reacted to it differently." She twiddled her thumbs, took a deep breath, and looked at him again. "I mean, it doesn't compare to having to face a war, but..." She shrugged. It was another kind of battle. "We're having the Christmas party again this year. I'm sure your family is invited." For some reason, she couldn't find the strength in her to ask if he was coming. It was a loaded question of sorts, she guessed, what with all of the traditions and memories tied to it.

 

[Lady Odyssey]

As much as he tried, he knew she saw through it all. She knew him too well--well enough to know that he was keeping vital, crucial information out of the big pictures, info he would rather not speak openly about. His mother had tried coaxing it out of him the first few months back, telling him in the dark hours of the night that she was there for him whenever he needed her. He still felt bad for both of his parents; they had only been there supporting him, and he had pushed them away, afraid to open up to them, to discuss things that he had made forbidden to speak of openly, family or not. Jackson wouldn't speak of the day he lost his close friend, a brother he had never had. He wouldn't speak of the memories that had broken him over the years in Iran. Not now, at least. Maybe someday he would shatter once and for all, and would, having no other choice, finally open up to someone to get it off his chest and out of his mind. But for now, it was be his own burden. His own demons. He didn't want to weigh someone down with him with the burden of it all--especially not family, or Vic. Not Vic. Anyone but Vic. The very thought of dragging her into the wreckage of what was left of him made his heart skip a painful beat. He couldn't put her through that, as much as she wanted to lighten the load, as much as she wanted to help. It would destroy her along with him; it would hurt her, in the end. And that would just make everything worse than it already was. Jackson felt he had no other choice but to carry the burden on his own.


Silence stretched between them, making him feel miles away from her. How long ago had it been that they shared every little detail with each other? Had things really changed that much that he wasn't even willing to talk to her about the last two years? It all made everything seem surreal in that moment. Three years ago, they would talk for hours in the middle of the night, side by side, about their day, along with things weighing heavy on their hearts; future college plans, their dreams, their fears. Jackson, when trouble sleeping, had often picked up the phone, called her, and the two would just listen to each other in silence as white noise. It had once been comforting to him to listen to her breathe, or to listen to her do late night studying, the occasional flip of a paper, or the creak of her house. But that was a life time ago--had it really been only three years since they had done that? It didn't matter anymore. Just another memory to look back on, and long for. Another memory lost in the abyss, really. He fiddled with his thumb, wondering if she remembered those nights spent listening to each other drift off to sleep at two in the morning. Jackson avoided looking at her--he could practically feel her eyes melt right through him--by looking out of the window again, his hand holding his coffee cup, the warmth spreading through his body, along with the buzz of the coffee which soon kicked in, making him feel a bit more awake than he had in a previous moment. He finally met her eyes as she spoke.


He cracked a small, somewhat-fake smile at her joke. He knew her enough to know she was only trying to lighten the mood, but he could easily spot the disappoint hiding in her eyes, almost a sad realization that he had changed. He swallowed down another drink of the bitter coffee, letting the liquid burn his mouth a little. "I would have eaten your mother's meatloaf any day, believe it or not. The meals at base were... pretty bad. Canned stuff, mostly, but hardly looked and tasted edible at all. We were lucky if we got half-warmed beans," he chuckled quietly, thinking back to the first week at base. Most of the 'Newbies' had refused to eat the revolting meals, but over time they grew to appreciate food whenever they got a chance to eat. Jackson, out of habit, traced his fingers over his tags, feeling the letters that formed his name--Jackson Tyler Wilde. Along with his name was his standard issue ID number. He noticed Vic watching him, and immediately lowered his hand wordlessly. He thought back to her mother and the small inside joke of theirs. Vic had invited him to some special dinner event, with which her mom had hosted; and it was a well known fact she couldn't cook anything well. The main course that night had been meatloaf--and in effort of winning her mother's favor, he ate the meatloaf, and did it while smiling, trying not to gag. No one had even dared taking a bite other than him. And it had worked, and is a small little inside joke between the two families. The thought made his heart ache, longing for the comfort of family and being open with them. Those days were long gone, though.


Jackson didn't know what to say. More guilt filled him as she stated her mother, along with everyone else, had missed him. It made his heart ache more than it should have. The day he had came back, his mother had held him for about a good ten minutes, sobbing and telling him how much she had missed him. He pushed the memory away with much effort. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, eyes downcast to the table. He didn't know what else to say other than to apologize again. Jackson was now looking at her, realizing she was inviting him, even though she hadn't said it directly. He thought about this for a long, silent moment. He wasn't sure if he wanted to--or if he was up for it. But he didn't want to be rude and not show up. After all, her family had been a second family to him, at one time. They deserved to know how he was doing, that he was back and safe. He nodded slowly, still uncertain. "I'll... I'll work something out with my family," he paused. "I mean.. if that's alright with you, of course. I'm sure my family would love to attend," he tried to keep his voice steady, tried to convince himself that he was doing the right thing--tried to convince himself that her family wanted to see him again, despite how things had ended two years ago. Jackson took a long drink from the cup, losing his train of thought as he looked around the place again, purely out of paranoia the training had caused.

 

[Pipa The Great]

Vic felt an acute stab of pain deep in her chest, and she frowned, hearing a sharp intake of breath. It took a second for her to realize that it had come from her. Those words… I’ll… I’ll work something out with my family. They sounded so familiar. She’d heard them only one other time in her life, and the reminder brought a lot of hurt. She didn’t know where else she could’ve heard them. The blank emotion behind his voice was all too alike, too similar to that moment when he’d told her about the problem he and his family were having. She was pulled into that vivid memory again, the two of them sitting in her living room on the couch. Her favorite movie, Clueless, was playing on the tv, and it’d been just another normal day for the two of them. She was laying next to him, all wrapped up in his arms and comfortably warm. His fingers were nervously toying with the ends of her hair when he had decided to tell her about the house. He’d said it so quietly that she thought she’d imagined it—even hoped that she did. It wasn’t that she was offended by the fact that he was having financial trouble. She could care less that they came from different social standings. No, rather, it was that she was afraid of what might happen to them (he and his family) if the issue wasn’t resolved, and soon. She remembered telling him that she wanted to help. She’d pick up a job, try to give them something to make the money situation a little easier, but Jackson would have none of it. He’d said there was no way he would let her do that, and after talking about it for a few hours, movie long forgotten, he’d muttered those words, and Vic convinced herself that things would be okay. Jackson always had a way of making things okay.


Oh, but she’d been so wrong. She could see Jackson clearly in front of her, just a couple of feet away, but in her mind, their distance might as well have been hundreds of miles. Their conversations no longer carried that warmth of intimacy it used to. He didn’t radiate infectious happiness anymore, a trait of his that Vic missed dearly. It was why she felt so empty still, she realized. He hadn’t even cracked a real smile yet, not one that showed his pearly whites and crinkled the skin around his eyes. The half-smile he’d used in response to her silly joke was practically nothing compared to the ones he used to give to her, when they were in love. Those smiles had been priceless, of course. Treasured. But she used to see them so often way back when they were together. She’d questioned him about it once, too, and he’d said something she would never forget. He'd looked like he had been thinking about it for a while, and his answer didn't disappoint. “I smile because I get to see you witness all of the wonders of the world, in a way no one else can.” She had no idea where it had come from, why he’d said it, or how she’d gotten so lucky, but she knew she would always remember.


Vic moved to stand up, the strangeness of the situation finally getting to her. What had she been thinking? She was sitting in a coffee shop with her ex-boyfriend, having tea, all in hopes of catching up? Her throat closed up and she felt the air thin because of her own ignorance. Her first instinct upon seeing Jack again had been to assume that he’d be the same as she’d remembered him. She’d been so stupid. She should've known right away that he wouldn't--no, he couldn't be the same. The poor guy had to endure a war, for goodness' sake. He was likely to have seen things she herself could never imagine. The death, the violence, the destruction he would've had to see. All color drained from her face at the thought, but she steeled herself and picked up her cup of tea. She needed to get back to work, to distract herself from this new reality. She reassured Jack with a small smile, trying to convey the message that she was just fine. “You do that,” she said. “It’d be good to see you at home again. For now, I have to get back to work.” Just as she said this, the bell above their front door tinkled, and another customer came in. Vic pulled a pen out from the front of her apron and grabbed a napkin from the table. Despite the fact that she understood how different Jack was now, Vic didn’t want to detach herself from him. Not completely. She wanted to believe that the old Jackson was still in there, somewhere, and she missed him. She scrawled her number onto the paper and slid it over to him. “Call me sometime. Don’t be a stranger, kay?”


Vic lingered for only a second more before she turned, making her way back to the counter. She clutched the mug in her hands, but walked briskly to the sink where she put it away. She wasn't sure what kept her going, but she was willing to place a bet on the adrenaline in her veins. The caffeine from her tea probably didn't help, and the shock from seeing Jackson again would last her at least a couple of days. A calloused hand gently touched her shoulder and she started. She turned to face her uncle, who dropped his arm as soon as he got her attention. She swallowed hard, standing straighter. "Er, hi, Mr. Dupree. I was just--" He cut her off with a wave of his hand and paused, then pointed at Jackson. He was wearing a contemplative expression. "That young man," he started slowly. "I know him, don't I?" Vic's mouth opened in surprise. She glanced over at Jack. "Um, yes, sir, but... I... I can explain later," Vic tripped over her words. She hadn't even thought about how her family would react to seeing Jackson again. Judging by the way her uncle openly stared at her ex-boyfriend, they would react similarly to how she first did. Gradually, Mr. Dupree nodded. "Alright," he sighed, looking at his niece. "We can talk about it after work." He gestured to the new customer, who, Vic noted, had also noticed Jackson and was currently giving him a once over. Seriously? Hardly appropriate behavior for a woman of her age. Vic cleared her throat loudly and stepped in front of the cash register. She didn't even need her uncle to remind her of her job this time.

 

[Lady Odyssey]

Jackson felt anxiety gnawing at him, making his heart pump faster with a new found uncertainty of the upcoming event--will her family even recognize him? Surely they would. After all, Vic, after all these years, had recognized him, though he had not recognized her at first as she had. He had stored so many memories while away from her and home, but now they all seemed to be blurred, slowly fading away like everything else did in his life. It scared him, if anything. He didn't want to lose the very memories that had kept him alive and going in Iran. They were a treasure to him, something he wanted to grip on for as long as he could, but between the terror-filled dreams and constant reminders of what he had gone through, the good memories are slowly blurring away, replaced with the more recent, more horrifying ones. He was losing his grip on reality; or, at least, it felt like it. Some nights he can't distinguish what's real and what isn't. On top of all that, his PTSD doesn't help anything. He hates it. Especially when his parents bring it up around their guests, or even simply when alone with only family members. He hates being reminded, and though he wants to try to move on what has happened, he can't with the constant dreams, and panic attacks. Sleeping pills don't work. He even went as far as trying strange home-remedies his mother tried for him, but nothing seemed to help him. Nothing could or would, as frustrating as it is. Jack wanted the PTSD to leave him in peace. He wanted the dreams to stop making him relive the terror, adrenaline-driven life he wants to forget. But none of it will stop--fear will forever grip him, awake or not.


She is now standing, looking as if she could burst into tears at any given second--it tore his heart painfully, making him hug her all at once. Her face is pale--her hands are shaking at her sides. Worry twisted in him, making a knot in his gut. Was it something he had said, or done? Or was it just the fact that he is there, in front of her? Either way, she tried to mask it with a simple, lopsided smile that was just as fake as his own he had given her earlier. Jackson craned his neck to look up at her, now frowning as she responded in a monotone, almost robotic voice. She was right. He hadn't realized he was taking time away from her when she was supposed to be working. He let out a long breath, slowly nodding, watching as she scribbled her number on a piece of napkin in silence. Though she gave him the napkin, he didn't have to look at it to know her number--he had memorized it a long time ago, and it, somehow, is still seared in his mind as if he had gotten it just a day ago. Jackson shivered at her words. That's what he is to her--a stranger. Was that why her hands had shook? Was that why she couldn't sit any longer? His throat tightened, his mouth a tight line. He couldn't trust his voice, so he simply nodded. He cleared his throat, glancing at her one last time. "Bye, VP." It had been too long since he used that nickname. VP. Something he had called her since the day they ran into each other in high school. It had been, at first, something to use to tease her, since he had found it a bit amusing she had introduced herself to him with her full name, where as he normally just introduced himself with his first name. And the rest was history, and now here they are, in the same building, but still worlds apart.


Everything around him melted away--the distant city noises, the customer entering, and the male voice speaking quietly to, presumably, Vic. Quite frankly, he was thankful for it, too. When distracted, it meant he couldn't have a trigger bringing him back to Iran, back to some awful memory he had tried so desperately to bury. Jackson fiddled with his calloused fingers as he stared past the clean window, a new wave of traffic emerging from the left flank. His coffee is still hot, reminding him time was too slow. It always was. At work, at home--especially during restless nights. He tapped his hand against the smooth surface of the creamy wooden table, letting the steam rise from the cup as he blew on it, a tad impatient and frustrated, though he wasn't sure why. He still felt conflicted about... well, everything. It was as if Vic's visit caused him to rethink it all, and it was beginning to give him a piercing headache. He ran a steady hand through his messy hair, his shoulders slumped forward as he reached for his coffee, taking a cautious sip before gulping more down in attempt to rid his headache. Of course, it didn't work. Not that he cared. Jackson continued to look out the window as he drank. Soon enough, the black coffee was all gone. The buzz from the caffeine finally kicked in as he threw the cup away. Grasping the small napkin, he folded it neatly, carefully, and put it in his back pocket where he'd find it later at home. Jackson hadn't noticed, but the cozy cafe is now flooded with customers of all sorts--some old, some young, and some in between. Just by observing, he knew they were the cafe's regulars. He was the only outsider here. With a sigh, he stood up. And in silence, he left the cafe with a heavy feeling weighing him down still.


As the door closed behind him with a soft click, followed by the delayed little bell, he felt a cold wind brush past him, making him shiver. He regretted not bringing a sweater, or some sort of coat. The cold was bitter against his skin, but he didn't mind too much. In Iran, the nights had gotten colder than this. Hands resting in his pockets, he began to walk, unsure as of where to go next. He wasn't ready to go home yet, and he had no work to be done. Once again, he had too much time on his hands, and it's killing him slowly. Walking casually, he glanced around the city he had once knew so well, but now it seemed too... foreign to him, almost. Despite being back from Iran for quite a while, he still can't get used to seeing whole buildings, not a sign of war displayed anywhere. It almost bothers him, though he isn't sure if it's because he should be used to this by now, or he is uneasy by it. Either way, he glanced around the buildings skeptically. Finally having enough, he fixed his gaze down on the ground. He didn't need to trigger his PTSD right now. Not here, not out in public. He could deal with that later, in the privacy of his own home. He sucked in a large breath, forcing himself to drown out the memories that threatened to consume his mind. Then the panic was gone, and he was left walking alone in the city, not sure where he is going or what he wants to do. After a long while of walking and avoiding looking around the buildings, he decided to head home. He needed to sleep, as much as everything in him told him not to. It was a risk he'd need to take--he could barely keep his eyes open by the time he entered his small apartment. Setting his keys down, he kicked off his boots, and collapsed down on his living room couch, wrapping a blanket around himself as he closed his eyes. Then he was swallowed by dreams once more.

 

[Pipa The Great]

Greet, smile, take order, repeat. This became Vic's working mantra as she tried to ignore the elephant in the room.


She couldn't resist the urge to glance over at Jackson every now and then, though. In between cappuccinos, she would get the urge to check and see if he was still there. Then, embarrassed at herself, she would get back to work, stirring glorified coffee in cardboard cups. She shook her head. She was letting the stress get to her again. She finished up another order and handed it to the waiting customer, wishing him a happy holiday season as well. That stranger had been the last of the usual brunch rush, so Vic plopped down on a stool behind the counter for a moment to herself. To her surprise, Jackson hadn't moved from his seat yet. She saw him as he stared out the window, probably wandering around in the labyrinth of thoughts that was his mind. Even before he went off to Iraq, Jackson had always been the thinking type. Many a time she'd caught him in that same position, staring off into blank space and thinking about nothing and everything at once. She never told him, but she loved observing him in those moments. She used to be able to see all sorts of emotions cross his face and felt like she was getting a special look into something he held very dearly. She understood then what he'd meant by those words he'd spoken forever ago.


He hadn't really changed much, in that sense. Although Vic couldn't decipher his cryptic thoughts now, she could see a similarity in how he held himself. Her eyes roved over his features, and she hesitantly admitted that he was still very handsome. His jawline seemed even more defined, if anything. He had also built up a lot more muscle and stood taller than she remembered. But there were also many little things Vic noticed about him that were physically different. His hair, for example, was lighter in color. The color of his eyes had faded with experience, making Vic wonder once again about what he'd seen out on the battle field.


"See something you like?" A high-pitched voice cut through her thoughts, startling Vic and causing her to nearly fall from her perch.


Vic lifted a hand to her heart, willing herself to calm down. Judging by her reaction, one would've thought that she'd been caught doing something forbidden. And maybe, on a different scale, she had. She looked over at one of her female coworkers, Jessica. "Uh," Vic laughed nervously. "Hey, Jessica. I was just..." Vic trailed, her eyes going over to the counter. She grabbed the first thing she saw, which was a stack of business cards. "Reorganizing these. You know, for the bulletin." Vic pursed her lips.


Jessica shook her scarlet curls. "Yeah, okay. Sure you weren't ogling Mr. Brooding-and-Mysterious over there?"


"What? No," Vic lied, happening to glance back at the spot where Jack had been. But the space there was now empty, and she felt herself deflate.


Jessica looked unimpressed. Vic had only worked with the girl for a couple of weeks, and so far, she hadn't shown any interest of a friendly relationship with Vic. This was the first time they'd had anything close to a conversation. The other girl shrugged. "Mr. Dupree wanted me to tell you that your mom called. Something about a preparations for a Christmas dinner. She wants you to meet her at home once you get off work."


Vic nodded. "Okay, thanks Jessica."


She looked like she wanted to say something else, and Vic raised an eyebrow in query. Tired of feeling confused, Vic voiced her question. "What is it?"


Jessica shrugged. "It's just... Don't mess with guys like that. Usually they don't turn out to be worth half the trouble." She gave Vic a small smile, then turned and disappeared into the back.


Vic's expression softened at the girl's advice. "She's right," Vic said to herself, pausing. "Jackson's worth it all."


For now, Vic was content with the situation. She would delve more into the details later, preferably after a good night's rest. Vic carried on with work until her shift was over, and she returned home to a very frazzled mother, worrying about what food they should serve at the party. Vic wanted to laugh at how ridiculous it all was, and she wondered if her mother knew that Jackson was back. Was it even her place to tell? She didn't know. As she watched her mother busy herself with a checklist, Vic decided that she would wait before telling her the news.

 

[Lady Odyssey]

Flakes of ashes swirled around him. Stray bullets ripped through the hot air, ending with a few distant pops. Jackson could feel the weight of the equipment weigh down on him, making it feel hotter than it actually was. In front of him is his squad, all loaded with the same equipment and gear as he was. A M16A4 in his hands, he ran as his squad leader told him to run to the next building where they are to extract their target--alive, they had told them. But every last one of them knew it was highly unlikely to extract the target, a Taliban leader, and get him out alive. Either way, it was orders. They would do their best, and if things go wrong, they will at least have that to fall back on. The squadron leader, Scott Price, moved his hands forward, yelling at them to go, go, go. And he did. He ran as if the devil himself was chasing him. A few bullets sniped past him. Somewhere, he heard someone groan, dropping to the ground. Jackson knew who it was. Bryan Willows. His only true friend left in Iran. He stopped dead in his tracks, feeling the heat of the sun beam down on his face. Scott Price yelled at Jackson, telling him to leave him. He didn't. He couldn't. It was his friend. Jack, bending down, grabbed the unconscious friend by his arms, and hauled him on his back just as they had been trained to do so. He stirred as he ran, but Jackson didn't dare to stop, afraid he'd get hit too. Somewhere, bombs dropped. And somewhere, another soldier is dying. But right now, Jackson's objective is to get them both out alive, somehow. Unlikely, but not impossible, he told himself, over and over. Finally safe in a abandoned building, he set his friend gently on the ground. He felt his heart breaking. Bryan isn't breathing.


Jackson gasped, heart thundering inside his chest as he sat upright. Tangled inside the blankets, he shoved them off in frustration, trying to control his breathing. If he lets the panic take over, he could trigger his PTSD--and he didn't want that. Just a dream. It was just a dream. It wasn't my fault. Bryan wouldn't blame me. It isn't my fault. It isn't my fault. He ran a shaking hand through his messy hair, finally catching his breath. He could still see Bryan's lifeless eyes every time he shut his own. "It wasn't my fault! It wasn't my damn fault!" he shouted to no one, frustration seeping in. Looking for the nearest thing to slam his fist in, he found the small mirror that hung on the wall. He didn't know what happened, but he found himself standing in the middle of the room, something warm dripping from his hands. He blinked rapidly, confusion washing over his face. Sometimes, this happens. The doctors had said this would happen if he let the PTSD take over and cause a panic attack--he'd do things unexpectedly, and he wouldn't remember what he had done. He looked around the living room. The small coffee table was flipped over. The mirror was broken, some stray shards laying on the carpet. His hands felt.. numb. That's it. He doesn't feel sorrow anymore. He's numb. For a moment, he considered what would be better. To be grieving for a lost friend, or to be completely numb. He didn't find the answer, but instead found his bleeding right hand, knuckles cut and fingers aching. Jack sat down on the edge of the couch, staring down at the carpet, now stained with his blood. He sat there for a long while, trying to get himself composed, before standing up to wrap his hand up and stop the bleeding. He hoped the Christmas dinner wasn't soon--he didn't want anyone to see what he'd done to himself.


His right hand hung over the white sink as his left hand reached for the faucet, turning the water on. The cool water ran over his hand, washing the blood away. The red water washed down the drain. He winced, his mouth a thin line as he hesitantly touched his teared up hand. He never should have closed his eyes. He shouldn't have fallen asleep--it had been a bad idea, and now, this is what he gets. A stupid dream--well, a memory, really--triggers his PTSD, and he freaks out and punches a twenty dollar mirror and flips a coffee table. What is wrong with me? He pondered over this as he managed to stop the bleeding after a good ten minutes of washing his hand, and he shut the faucet off, very gently drying his hand off with a few curse words sworn under his breath. Jackson stared at it for a long moment. He knew after it's healed, there would be scars. Fantastic. As if he needed more of those to add to his collection. Glancing around the silent kitchen, he walked down the small hallway and stepped into the tiny bathroom, enough space to occupy one person, and maybe a really small child. Searching the cabinet with his left hand, he found the small roll of gauze. With a lot of effort and patience, he wrapped up his right hand--it still hurt like hell. Now satisfied with his work, he glanced at himself in the mirror. Well, for one thing, the nap had made the dark shadows underneath his eyes disappear somewhat, though they still are visible up close. His hair is a mess--not that that's unusual for him. His clothes are wrinkled, and he could already see blood seeping in through the white gauze. Sighing, he flicked the bathroom light off, walking into his living room.


The living room was cluttered just a bit; a small couch for two in the middle, a cheap TV, a brown armchair to the side by a lamp. The coffee table. He had almost forgotten about that, and the shattered mirror. "For Christ's sake," he mumbled, bending down to carefully pick up the large shards of the mirror, tossing them away; he could sweep up the smaller ones in just a few minutes. He took down the mirror, deciding he would throw it away--he never used it, anyway, so it wasn't really a big deal. Jackson threw the small mirror away in the trash, grabbing a small broom. Once the shards were cleaned up, he scanned over the upside down coffee table. Thankfully and surprisingly, it wasn't broken like the mirror had been. Just out of place. His hands reached for the corners of the small table, and he turned it upright, and glanced once more around the living room. Nothing else has been damaged. Jackson neatly folded the blanket he had used, straightened the pillows on the couch, and stood in the middle of the living room, suddenly feeling more than empty. As if he was missing something. It bothered him, but he eventually gave up and went into his room, unsure of what to do next. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he grabbed his phone, and ringed his parent's home number. May as well ask them if they want to attend to the Christmas dinner party since he has nothing more to do.