*Hello there, readers! I put a lot of love into this chapter, so I hope you enjoy it. :) Sexual situations ahead. Be prepared. That is all.*

Looming perilously over the precipice of a mental breakdown, you had absolutely zero energy to handle the browbeating you were about to be subjected to. Briefly, you pondered over the perfectly-viable option of sidestepping Handsome Jack without acknowledging his presence whatsoever.

That could end in two entirely different ways. He might be so flabbergasted by the feeling of being invisible that he would cease to function. Or, he would brutally murder you in some morbidly spectacular display of self-validating violence. The former would be hilarious enough to revive some life into your body. As for the latter; the unappealing prospect served as a sufficient incentive to give Jack the attention he craved.

"Handsome Jack, sir," was you pre-programmed greeting. Slowly, you turned to brave the impending fit of rage. The simple motion nearly caused you to topple over, as your legs struggled to balance your bodyweight. The Insta Health serum had officially left your system, taking the adrenaline rush and soothing effects along with it.

Muscular arms flexing as they were folded over his broad chest, Jack must've been reciting some kind of menacing speech upon your return to Helios. Employing the security override he had, he programmed the fast-travel system to re-route in the event that you used your employee identification badge. Thus, ensuring you would be delivered right into his office. Whatever he planned to do in retaliation for your misconduct—having broken the terms and conditions of your employment—something distracted him.

The instant you turned, his previously-glowering eyes widened and his tightly-screwed jaw unhinged in shock.

"What in the ever-loving fuck happened to you? I mean, holy shit," he exclaimed. He ineffectively pressed a clenched fist over his lips to contain a very obvious fit of laughter.

Mocking the pain and suffering of others might have been some messed up coping mechanism, developed over years of living in a chaotic and tremendously violent environment. However, you weren't a certified psychotherapist. So, you weren't under any obligation to give him leniency for being an asshole.

Unamused by his insensitive giggling, you pouted your lips so as to avoid scowling. He better have appreciated the fact your pacifist nature was the only thing preventing you from slugging him on the jaw. Arms folded rigidly, you concealed how offended you really were. It was a challenge not to fire off a scathing remark. At least if he was entertained, he would hold off on beating you senseless.

"One of your Loader Bots exploded and part of it impaled me," you responded, in a manner similar to the robot in question. Human speech became increasingly tedious with every second you were forced to linger. Averting your eyes, you added listlessly, "I'm alive, though. So there's that."

Unexpectedly, you felt the warmth of his hand brushing over the skin of your exposed stomach. While you were explaining the unfortunate event of your nearly-fatal injury, Jack reached out with a child-like curiosity. He lacked the restraint necessary in normal human interaction; relating to others wasn't his strongest personality trait.

"And now you have a badass scar. Silver lining, right?" Jack offered as consolation.

Under any other circumstances, you would have jumped back or slapped his hand away like it was a venomous serpent. The rational part of your mind decided you were simply too exhausted to bother. He was just harmlessly moving the fabric of your ruined blouse aside, inspecting the three-inch-long scar marking the flesh over your navel.

Curved and jagged, the discolored tissue resembled what could be the remnants of a celestial body, floating in the wake of a world-ending catastrophe. Curiosity begged the question; what did it look like to Jack?

The ruthless Dictator of Pandora was smiling. Not in the misleading way that foreshadowed death, or the malevolent grin of a man who delighted in tormenting lesser mortals. There was no malice tightening his lips, nor was there any ill-intent behind his eyes. After all the physical and emotional trauma that would most definitely cause you night-terrors, it was a relief that Jack wasn't being an insufferable dickhead. Reminiscent of the expression he wore earlier, when he returned your bracelet, he seemed almost kind.

Disconcerted by the ambiguous look on your face, Jack frowned and began to retract his hand. Perhaps he thought he had overstepped boundaries. Before your rational self could reign in your impulsive and daring alter-ego, you caught his hand. His brows lifted at your brazen action. He had all the strength to jerk free if he wanted, but he allowed you to guide his hand back to your stomach.

Something about the genuine awe on his face inexplicably turned you on. The fact you could elicit such a reaction from a man in his position was empowering. Remaining where he stood, Jack proceeded to stroke his fingertips over the sensitive flesh and scar tissue. The heat radiating from his hand and skin-on-skin contact was therapeutic. Eyes fluttering closed, you subconsciously leaned your hips forward. Funny, how such a simple touch could be so enjoyable.

Another hand ventured to your face, caressing your cheek to encourage you to open your eyes. Jack had stepped closer to you, his chest only a couple inches apart from yours while he captivated you with a smoldering gaze.

"Kiss me," he prompted in a low, sensual voice. It was more of a suggestion than a command. Unlike the first time your lips met, he was giving you the power to consent or refuse.

The list of reasons not to kiss Handsome Jack could be written in-depth and published in several volumes, detailing every act of depravity and disregard he had shown for human life. Yet there was a mutual attraction between you that was as impossible to ignore as it was to explain. It defied all conventional laws of reason entirely.

To hell with being rational.

Forsaking all your inhibitions, you snagged hold of his jacket collar. Tugging him down so you wouldn't need to stand on your tip-toes, you captured his lips with unrestrained fervor. For a mind-blowing moment, he held still and allowed you to control the kiss. You took advantage of his temporary vulnerability, stealing his breath like he had done to you. Then his hand slid from your stomach to encircle his arm around your waist. Leaving your cheek, his other hand wove into the hair at the nape of your neck. His tongue requested entry, which you granted. A small moan escaped you as his tongue massaged over yours. He imitated your moan with a deeper, more masculine sound that was closer to a growl, tightening the arm around your waist so your heels were lifted off the floor.

With your hands latched onto the collar of his jacket, it was a relief to your aching legs that he was supporting the entirety of your weight. You were able to completely surrender yourself to the kiss, without worrying about the possibility of collapsing. Jack conquered your mouth as ruthlessly as he had seized control over Pandora.

When he finally broke the kiss, you were both breathing hot and heavy, clinging onto each other as your bodies trembled.

"Let me tell you, cupcake; if you didn't look ready to pass out, I would be ripping your clothes off right now," Jack admitted with a breathy laugh. Unprofessional would be a severe understatement, in regard to the subject of having forbidden office sex on top of his desk.

Earlier, the very thought would've repulsed you, but something had been irrevocably altered inside of you after recent events. Perhaps your moral compass was damaged, when you were caught in the path of a detonating Loader Bot…

While Jack still clutched you against his solid body, his other hand was idly toying with a strand of your hair; he was unbothered by the traces of blood. Pouting in deep thought, he mused, "There was a thing I wanted to talk about, but now I can't remember what it was. Any guesses? Really, I'm drawing a blank here."

Things had certainly gone off the rails after a sensual touch ignited the passion you had both been holding back for the sake of professionalism. While your heart hadn't quite calmed to its usual beat, you knew exactly what Jack had been about to reprimand you for before the impromptu make-out session. He would eventually recall your indiscretions, so you sighed and resigned yourself to refreshing his memory. It suddenly made you nervous how much you were currently relying on him to remain upright.

"I think you were about to yell at me for fast-traveling into Overlook during an assault. And you were probably going to strangle me for visiting Sanctuary without permission."

Pursing his lips slightly as he listened, Jack widened his eyes as it all came rushing back to him like a major buzzkill.

"Oh, right, right. I was about to kill you, I think," he muttered, furrowing his brows in deep thought before chuckling. The empty threat still had your body tensing up, which he noticed. "Just kidding, you're too cute. I feel like we've had this conversation before—I like having you around, Y/n."

Well, that was comforting. Even if you were still puzzled as to why he was so fixated on you.

"Seriously, though," Jack continued, "If anybody else pulled that crap, I wouldn't even strangle them. That's wasted energy. Do you know how long it takes to kill someone that way? Not even worth it. They would win a one-way trip out of an airlock; efficient and no messy clean-up. Consider yourself the exception, cupcake. Not everyone gets away with the things you do."

Nonchalantly discussing the most practical way to execute employees who stepped out of line was the best way to kill the mood. The rational voice in your mind could be heard, screaming harsh judgement at you for showing the slightest affection toward a mass-murderer. Being held in his arms had lost its comforting effect. In that instant, you wanted to put as much distance between you as physically possible, disturbed beyond words.

Jack seemed to notice the change in your body language as you leaned back to the furthest extent you were able.

"Was it something I said?" he ventured to ask; the genuine tone of his voice helped his case, but there was no justifying the tendencies he had toward murder.

"You really know how to make a girl feel special, Jack," was your sardonic remark, causing his frown to deepen to the point where his forehead wrinkled.

"Meaning?" he prompted in a drawn-out enunciation.

There was no amount of patience, nor ample supply of crayons, available for you to sit down with him and explain everything that bothered you about his behavior. While you believed everyone was capable of being reformed and redeemed, that was contingent on their complete willingness to change. The crucial first step would be admitting they were wrong, which you were ninety-nine percent certain Jack was incapable of doing. It was a dangerous trap to fall into—attempting to change any man, especially one with such a history of violence and severely damaged psyche.

"Forget it, Jack," you told him with a sigh, managing to wiggle enough from his hold to plant your feet on the floor. Releasing the grip you had on the collar of his jacket, you slid your hands so they were lightly planted on his chest if only to fend off any further advances. "If you don't plan on reprimanding me, or killing me, then I'd like to go take a shower and maybe even sleep, who knows."

The man seemed confused by the conflicting messages you were sending; something you felt guilty over, deciding that it had been a moment of weakness on your part. Jack loosened his arm from around your waist but didn't pull away entirely, resting his hand on the curve of your back.

Before the silence could drag on to the point of being painful, he pretended to shiver and joked, "Brr, I think I felt a draft. What's with the cold shoulder all the sudden, babe?"

Hearing him call you that very specific term of endearment caused you to pull back. Resisting the urge to flee the office like you had before, you had to repair the boundaries that had been dismantled. It was time for you to do the right thing for everyone involved.

"We can't do this…" you stated, unable to ignore how your own heart winced.

Rejection wasn't something Jack handled well.

"Pause there for a second," he told you, holding up his hands in a placating manner. "This is too fast for you, I can tell. None of this was planned, you just surprised me is all. I can dial things down a notch or two, no problem."

Closing your eyes, you prepared for the worst part.

"Jack…you know this classifies as a conflict of interest. What I do, and because of who you are...this can't happen. I don't know what I am to you—a fling, or whatever—but if word gets out, it's going to cause problems for us both."

He stopped you by planting his hands on your shoulders, his brows furrowed intensely. "A fling? You've got it all wrong, Y/n."

"Jack," you pleaded softly, clenching your fists by your sides while avoiding eye contact. Why was he making things so difficult? What was he hoping to accomplish? Was it all part of some plan to comprimise your department? All of these possibilities only worsened the self-disgust you felt.

"I was afraid of this. Y/n, look at me," he implored as his voice took on a strained quality; he was getting emotional, which was heartbreaking for you to watch. His hands grasped your face, forcing you to meet his eyes. "Nobody can touch you when you're with me," he assured, as if the danger was what frightened you. "Don't let what people think stop you from taking what you want."

There was no denying that he made a good argument, but you couldn't be so selfish. Reaching up to grasp his wrists, you were able to slip your face free. Blinking away tears, the next words came out in a pained voice, "I shouldn't have kissed you. I'm sorry."

Speechless, Jack was too stunned by the one-hundred-eighty-degree turn on the situation to grab hold of you again. You hastily moved around him and practically ran from his office, muffling a sob by pressing your hand over your mouth. What the hell is wrong with me?

Overcome with the tormented emotions, your body shut down halfway across the Hub of Heroism and you crumpled to the floor.

"Y/n?" you heard, before someone crouched near you and grasped your shoulders.

Panicking for a moment, you thought it was Jack until you recognized the blue hair and amber eyes.

"Henry…" was your pathetic whimper. The entire universe seemed to be self-destructing around you. There was no explaining anything at that point; you had become a sobbing mess of a woman.

Directing an accusing glare toward Jack's office, Henry knew there had to be some connection. Whether or not your friend had the mind to confront him over what happened, you were his first priority. Sweeping you up off the floor, he opted to carry you, knowing that you were incapable of walking a single step in your current state.

Fast-traveling to the living quarters, Henry carried you all the way to your apartment. Despite being a lanky man, he was stronger than he looked. Swiping your employee badge, he unlocked the door. Inside the relative safety of your private quarters, you felt more at ease. Gently setting you down on the sofa, Henry tucked himself in the corner. Managing to shed your jacket, you tossed it to the floor while Henry placed a pillow over his lap. Naturally, you laid your head there, curling up close to the only person who had consistently supported you over the years.

Rather than firing off questions about what he missed, Henry said comforting things like, "You're safe now" and "I'm here, nobody can hurt you". His hand idly petted your head, smoothing out some tangles in your hair. He occasionally wiped away tears, but the flow was constant.

After what seemed like an hour of crying, and Henry soothing you, fatigue won out. Energy depleted, your conscious mind drifted off and you were able to sleep. Henry's presence allowed you to relax enough to get a decent amount of rest.

Waking some hours later, you found yourself huddled on the sofa alone. The stinging of your eyes forced you to close them again. All that crying had irritated them; they were red and puffy, no doubt. Groaning miserably, you slung your arm over them, unwilling to get up just yet.

Running water could be heard, coming from the bathroom. Henry hadn't left; he must've gotten up recently, to shower. Comforted by that, you decided to snooze a little longer. He would wake you up if he had to.

Sure enough, Henry nudged your shoulder. "Y/n," he said softly, knowing he didn't need to raise his voice. You were a pretty light sleeper, as most had to be living anywhere near Pandora.

"I'm up," you grumbled, opening your eyes reluctantly to observe the tall form leaning over you.

Henry had changed into fresh clothes; you both kept clothing in the other's apartment, for the occasional sleepover. His shirt was black, with gold-tinted buttons, while his sleek black pants had similar gold accents. He ruffled his hair with a towel, causing the locks of blue to look like the feathers of a funny-looking bird.

"Nice hair. You should wear it like that more often," you teased, still half-asleep.

"You're making fun of me. Does that mean you're feeling okay?"

Sleep had definitely restored some of your sanity. You sighed, pushing yourself up into a sitting position. Smoothing back your horrid mess of hair, you said, "Yeah, I'm okay."

Henry seemed unsure whether to believe that. "Hungry?" he asked, putting off the conversation that needed to happen sooner or later.

"Breakfast. Pretty please."

Nodding with a smile, Henry turned and headed off into the small kitchen area. Lazing on the sofa, you used the free time to collect your thoughts. Ten minutes later, Henry emerged with two plates of food. He set his down on the coffee table, returning to the kitchen to grab the fresh pot of coffee and two mugs.

Shoveling some eggs into your mouth, you chewed slowly to avoid choking. It had been almost an entire twenty-four-hours since you last ate; the health serum you ingested didn't count as actual food.

Henry settled down next to you, eating his own food quietly. Once you finished, you went for the coffee, preparing it just how you liked it. Gulping down an entire mug full of the stuff, you began to feel somewhat human again. You were still in your filthy clothes from the previous day, which felt gross. You had never longed for a shower more, but you knew Henry wanted to talk.

Swallowing the last bite of his food, Henry took both plates to the kitchen sink. Then he returned to his place beside you. His arm rested on the back of the sofa, behind your head. You nestled against his side, resting your head on his shoulder with a sigh, dreading the subjects that would need to be discussed.

"Y/n…I need to ask you something," Henry finally said, tacitly. "You would tell me if Jack…hurt you, right?"

The way he said "hurt" was rife with implications. He didn't need to be blunt; you could interpret he meant something of a sexually violent nature.

"He didn't," you assured him, lifting your head so he could see the sincerity on your face. "And of course I'd tell you."

Henry averted his eyes for a moment, as he considered your answer. "It's just that I saw you run from his office. You were so upset, I couldn't help but think…"

Grasping the hand he rested on his lap, you squeezed it gently. "It wasn't like that, Henry. Trust me, okay? Jack's an asshole. But I don't think even he would do that."

"How do you know that?" Henry asked, keeping his cool but clearly unsettled by the topic. Heaving a sigh, he squeezed your hand in return. "If you say so, then I'll trust your word on it. I'm just glad you're not dead—everyone thought you were."

"Seriously?" you blurted out, baffled that they had jumped to conclusions so quickly.

Henry locked eyes with you, dead serious. "Y/n, your ECHO-comm went offline. I had no way to contact you. Propaganda was already being written about how you were killed by rebels. They were going to broadcast it. I was on my way to Jack; that's when I saw you."

How enlightening. People were eager to dig your grave, before they even had your corpse to bury. While you reflected on that morbid reality, Henry continued, "There's something else you should know…"

Blinking, you met his amber eyes and regretted it. The sorrow in them told you the news would be devastating.

"Overlook is gone."

"What do you mean?" you asked, shaking your head slowly as you were already in denial. "It can't just be 'gone'."

"It was occupied by Crimson Raiders," Henry pointed out glumly. He anxiously ran a hand through the semi-dry hair draping his forehead. After he collected his thoughts, he looked back at you and explained, "Overlook wasn't protected by a shield, like Sanctuary is. Jack exploited that. Moonshots were fired. It's gone, Y/n…There were no survivors."

Mouth open, a strangled sound of grief escaped before you could stop it. Standing up, you aimlessly walked away from the sofa, as if you could step out of reality to escape the truth.

"No, I was just there," you thought aloud, distraught. Replaying the moments over in your head, you recalled all the carnage and death. While the Crimson Raiders and Hyperion forces were at war, the town had remained relatively in-tact. The locals had been quarantined in their homes. They must've been terrified, cowering indoors as they had been forced to do for months. Recovering from the skull shivers had been hard enough on them. Being caught in the middle of a battle was the last thing they needed...

Running both hands through your hair, you were starting to hyperventilate, on the verge of another mental break. Overlook had their defenses down, because they were under the protection of Hyperion. You were the one who convinced the inhabitants to remain compliant; they hadn't put up any shields, which left them wide open to the moonshots.

"It's my fault," you whimpered, "Oh god..."

Henry was on his feet, enveloping you into a hug. "Don't say that," he chastised, his voice strained. He was trying to keep his own emotions in check, to comfort you. The disdain was clear as he stressed the fact, "Jack gave the orders. The blood is on his hands, not yours."

Clutching at the fabric of his shirt, you fought back sobs. "I'm sorry," you whispered, loathing all the terrible mistakes you had made. The one that pained you most was how Jack used him against you. "I'm a terrible friend..."

"No, I should be apologizing," Henry countered, smoothing his hand over your hair. "You were protecting me. I know how things work around here. Stop blaming yourself for Jack's actions, Y/n."

Sniffling, you nodded and hugged him tighter. He never failed to ease your conscience; whether or not you deserved his forgiveness he never held anything against you. He was your best friend and greatest ally. Reflecting on what you had been through together, you recalled the unpleasant reunion with a certain pair of bounty hunters.

"Rian and Gunner are back," you informed him quietly.

The mention of the pink-haired menace caused an involuntary reaction in Henry. His shoulders tensed and his hand stilled on your back, you could even hear him catch his breath. He certainly had no fond memories of the twins; Rian, specifically, left an impression on him that scarred more than his flesh. "Son of a bitch..." he muttered scornfully. "They were supposed to stay off world."

"Rian shot at me," you mentioned in passing, as that wouldn't come as a shock. For some reason, you felt obligated to add, "Gunner was sweet, though."

"Sure he was," Henry replied cynically. He didn't share the same...understanding with Gunner that you did. "They were in Sanctuary?"

Nodding against his chest, you composed yourself before pulling back to look up into his eyes. "Roland contacted them. He was trying to recruit them, but Gunner wanted no part of it."

Pondering that, Henry looked none too pleased. Wetting his lips, he shared his thoughts, "I have a bad feeling that's not why they're back."

You had the same suspicions, but nothing else to go on. "Any guesses?"

"Knowing them, it has to do with money. Maybe Jack summoned them to get rid of the Vault Hunters."

"Maybe..." you responded distantly, as your mind drifted. There was something else you had neglected to explain to your friend; the matter of Roland asking you to help assassinate Handsome Jack. Withholding those things from him felt wrong, but anything he knew would put his life in danger. You decided to leave that subject untouched for the time being.

"I should shower," you told him, beginning to pull away.

Henry nodded, but caught your arm gently. "We need to call a board meeting," he advised, before adding grimly, "to discuss what happened in Overlook."

He was right, of course. Such a tragedy needed to be addressed, as soon as possible. Swallowing at the lump in your throat, you nodded mutely. Henry let go, allowing you to head toward the bathroom. While you stripped free of the soiled clothing, he was busy calling all the necessary figures to gather for the meeting. Beneath the steaming deluge, you allowed yourself to relax, knowing the next twelve-plus hours of your shift would a nightmare.

Scrubbing the blood—most of which didn't belong to you—from your skin and hair, you forced yourself to detach emotionally. If you started to cry, there was no telling when the tears would stop; nobody would take you seriously if you showed up to the meeting with red, puffy eyes.

With your hair properly washed and body cleansed of all things vile, you begrudgingly turned off the water and wrapped yourself in a towel. Stepping out of the bathroom, you glanced toward the den where Henry was pacing, agitated. He was speaking with someone over his ECHO comm. You would've listened in, but that would be awkward considering you were naked, in a towel.

Quickly ducking into your bedroom, you searched through your wardrobe. A pantsuit would be appropriate for the meeting ahead, so you went for jet-black pants, a matching jacket, and a dark sapphire blouse. After all, you were in mourning. Dressing in record time, you hastily dried your hair and decided to leave it down, having no time to do anything fancy with it. Applying minimal makeup, you slipped on some sophisticated flat shoes before heading back to meet Henry.

"Y/n, we have a problem," Henry said when you came into view, walking over to you.

Frowning, you searched his face for clues. His brow was furrowed, as something deeply troubled him. You had to ask, "What is it?"

He was about to explain, when he glanced down at his watch. "Damn it," he cursed under his breath. "We have no time. The meeting is already in session. Come on."

When he snagged your hand to rush you out, there was no use resisting. You followed him to the door and swiped your badge to unlock it, before taking the lead through the corridor. "Does the problem have a name?" you inquired, since he was offering no hints.

"You're not going to like the answer to that," Henry said, once you reached the fast-travel station. He used his own badge, transporting you both to the appropriate wing where the meeting would be held. It was close to your office, in the same place the anniversary had been celebrated.

"Great," you muttered sarcastically. There was a very short list of names you knew that filled you with dread. It wasn't difficult to guess which one would be making a nuisance of their self at a board meeting.

Pausing at the entrance to the room, you took a breath to compose yourself. Henry placed a hand on your upper back, rubbing lightly to soothe your nerves and remind you he was there for support. Nodding once to him, you let him know you were ready. Then you stepped closer to prompt the door to open. When it did, you were able to see everyone seated around the table. Seven people; six of whom you knew were allies, friends, and colleagues worthy of indisputable trust.

The unwelcome seventh had made it her life's purpose to torment you in every way conceivable in her vindictive little mind.

"Y/n, back from the dead I see. Ladies and gentlemen, please give your warmest greetings to the Head of the Department of Pandoran Relations. Or should I say, former Head."