Jack – One More Time
"It ain't like you."
Jack's shoulders are drawn up, tight as he aims down the barrel of his rifle. His jacket's off, slung over the back of a bench a few feet away. A paper target is taped to a tree in front of him, riddled with holes. His finger relaxes off the trigger, eyes darting to the man beside him. "It's not like me to what?" he asks, knowing he won't like the answer.
Jesse takes a drag of his cigar. "To miss."
Jack's eyes narrow, pointedly ignoring the slow coil of smoke passing through the other man's lips. He rights himself, straightening up and letting his rifle rest at his side. "I never miss."
Jesse's brow arches, cigar bobbing between his lips as he moves next to the commander. He's too close for the other man to be comfortable, but he knows Jack won't back away. He's quick to pull out his gun; it's the cowboy in him, taking a single shot and ripping a new hole into the target. It's dead center, unsurprisingly, and he almost wants to smirk and be cocky about it, but they both know he's only proving a point. His body turns, hip cocking as he pulls the cigar away from his lips. "You ain't hiding nothing from me, Jack."
It's quiet for a few moments, neither one moving, only breathing. Jack's mouth thins, fist clenching before hesitantly going limp. His face sags and he runs a hand over it. He's not sure if he can say anything Jesse doesn't already know. He'd helped raise him after all.
Tanned fingers offer up the cigar and Jack almost wants to say he doesn't smoke.
Jesse knows better.
He takes the cigar, sucking in a mouthful of smoke and letting it warm him for a moment. Jack shudders, body clinging to the familiarity. It reminds him of Gabe, but tastes like Jesse. He has to exhale eventually, but hates to let it go.
The smoke leaves him in a rush, a tired and pitiful release. Blue eyes catch brown and its obvious Jesse's too smart for his own good. Jack can't help but look away. "It's not like it used to be," he says quietly, as if they aren't the only ones there. "He's different now."
Jesse takes his cigar back, shaking off the fresh layer of ash. His chest hurts, heart squeezed at the mention of the man who took him in all those years ago. The worst part is he knows Jack shares the same pain. "We all are."
The older man's face tightens. "He doesn't want you to see him," Jack spits out quickly. The lie tastes as poor as it sounds.
Jesse frowns. "You don't want me to see him," he corrects, and the stalwart soldier in front of him looks suddenly broken. Jesse feels eight again, reminded of the first time he'd ruined Jack's life. Back then, Jesse was a nuisance; a hiccup in Jack's carefully laid out plan. He'd suddenly appeared and taken over Gabe's life, pulled him away unintentionally. It was never what Jesse wanted. Jack was the Strike Commander Morrison, he was famous, he was a hero. Back then, all Jesse wanted was to be like him.
He'd realize later that maybe that was his mistake.
It took Gabe to bring the two together, to help them start over. Jesse remembers the first time he asked to sleep between them, arms curled around himself, thunder cracking open the sky. If he closes his eyes, he can still feel Gabe's heavy palm on his back, the feel of soft cotton on his face as he pressed into Jack's side. He'd found his place, safe between the two people who cared about him the most.
He remembers the same broken look on Jack's face when he'd first kissed him.
Jack turns his back to him, setting his rifle down and wringing his hands. He's frustrated and it's his own damned fault. His eyes dart to the corners of the practice range; they're out in the open and he doesn't want to risk someone hearing them. He couldn't defend it even if he wanted to. Turning back around, Jack rests a hand on Jesse's shoulder. He wants to say he's doing it to protect him, that he doesn't want Jesse to suffer like he does, that all it'll end in is pain. The words are there, climbing the back of his throat when he feels calloused fingers slide along the angle of his jaw and pull him forward.
Jesse ruins Jack's life one more time.
Jack's outside, leaning against the wall of an apartment complex down one of Dorado's many back alleyways. He's been here too many times to count and yet tonight feels infinitely different. Jesse's upstairs with Gabe. Jack doesn't have the stomach to go up there; he hasn't worked up the courage just yet. Maybe he should've warned Gabe ahead of time, not that it would matter much. They both knew deep down it was only a matter of time. Jesse was just like Gabe, the worst kind of drug to get addicted to.
And fuck was Jack addicted.
He checks his watch for the fifth time in fifteen minutes, his nerves on edge. He knew the outcome before the night even started, but it doesn't make him anticipate it any less. It's ten more minutes before Jesse ambles down the staircase and slips next to him, blinking back what Jack hopes is the residual sting of Gabe's vapor and not tears. He stays quiet until the other man is ready to talk.
Eventually Jesse clears his throat. "That…in there…that ain't him."
Jack thought he'd come to terms with it, accepted that the ghost of his past was just that, a ghost. But hearing Jesse say it was a new kind of pain. "No, it's not," he says anyway, as if the affirmation will make either one of them feel better. There's quiet for a few minutes longer, both of them fixated on the dark of the night surrounding them and the grey clouds rolling through.
Jesse wonders if it'll storm.
Blue eyes slide sideways, watching the other man sigh. Jack only has one more question. He doesn't know if he really wants to know the answer or not, but it's worth asking. "Did you leave, or he send you away?" He almost misses the way Jesse shivers, but the man's next words tell him all he needs to know.
"He told me to come get you; said we need to talk."
Jack's ruined Jesse's life one more time.
