Isabelle woke up the next morning to find Jack's arm tightly wrapped around her waist, his body pressed against hers tightly. She looked over at him and placed her hand on the side of his face, gently pushing his hair away from it. He was so peaceful looking that she couldn't help but watch him for a moment.

Carefully, she removed his hands from her body and sat up. She slid out of the bed and lightly stepped out of the room, avoiding any creaking boards that would wake him. She opened the door to the bathroom, which was luckily unoccupied, and shut the door, locking it behind her. She walked towards the shower, adjusted the temperature of the water and then looked into the mirror examining her bruise as the room began to fill up with steam.

Her face looked worse than it had the day before, it was darker and angrier than before. She knew that this time she couldn't hide the truth, not only had Bobby seen the truth, but also there was no way to excuse a bruise of this caliber. What could she say, she got hit in the face with an elbow? No one would believe that.

Walking over to the shower, she quickly slipped off her clothes and stepped in. The water was unforgiving as it hit all the bruises on her exposed body. She winced in pain and somehow felt relief. Isabelle grabbed the shampoo and began to run it through her hair when Jack knocked on the bathroom door and called out her name questioningly.

"Yeah, Jack, it's me," Isabelle replied. She stuck her hand out of the shower and unlocked the door. "Come in."

Isabelle stuck her head out of the shower, her wet hair covering over the bruised side of her face, watching as Jack walked into the bathroom, covering his eyes. She laughed as he shut the door and sat down on the lid of the toilet, eyes still covered.

"You can open your eyes," she said.

"Are you sure?"

"Come on, Jack, I already know you were peaking and it doesn't matter, I'm already in the shower," she replied, unable to hide a small smile.

"Damn it," he said.

"I'm almost done."

"Okay."

Isabelle finished up and slowly reached her hand out of the shower, signaling for Jack to hand her a towel. He did and she grabbed it from her, wrapping it around herself completely nd making sure that her hair covered her face before stepping out.

Even though she was as covered as could be, bruises on her shoulders and legs were still exposed. Admittedly, she felt a little self-conscious in front of Jack, but he pretended not to see them. It was meant to be polite, Isabelle knew that, but it just made her feel worse. She hated acting like nothing was wrong, she was tired of doing that.

"You know, I think next time I wake up and you're not there when you're supposed to be, I'm just going to jump into the shower with you," Jack joked.

"And that will be the time I'm not in there and it will be Bobby. Try explaining that to him with out getting another fairy remark out of it," Isabelle replied. She noticed Jack looking down at the visible bruises, but acting as if he wasn't. "It hurts worse when you pretend they're not there, Jack."

"Can I see your face?" Jack asked solemnly.

Isabelle nodded softly as he stood up and walked over to her, kneeling down in front of her. He gently pushed the wet hair away from her face, exposing the bruise. He took it in, examining it with his eyes and then pressed his hand against it, gingerly letting his fingers explore the discolored area.

"Did he do this to you?" Jack asked. He was on the brink of tears, he remembered the pain he had felt in his past and how much she must be feeling. He hated knowing that someone was causing her pain that he couldn't make go away. "Please don't protect him anymore. Just tell me the truth."

Isabelle didn't know what to say. She didn't want to talk about but she knew if she opened her mouth it would come out. Understanding how she felt without words, Jack stood up and wrapped his arms around her delicately. He saw the reflection of her back in the mirror behind her and jutted out his jaw to keep himself from getting mad.

In the reflection Jack saw all of the bruises that the bastard had put on her. The anger rose in him to the point that he feared, the point that made him feel like he could end up like his father. Violence and anger had always been his Achilles' heel. However, something more powerful than anger overtook him. He felt this indescribable need to protect Isabelle, an insatiable want to keep her safe and near him.

"You're all wet now," Isabelle said, as she pulled away from Jack.

"It's okay," he said. He kissed her softly on the lips and rested his hand on the top of her head. "I'll let you finish up in here while I get changed. Just go into my room when you're done. I'll leave some clothes on the bed for you."

Isabelle nodded and watched as he walked over of the room.

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Isabelle walked down the stairs and into the living room wearing the clothes that Jack had set out for her. Jack was sitting on the couch, staring at the television screen before him. When he heard her coming down the stairs he smiled slightly and watched her walk over to him. Isabelle sat down next to Jack, curling up against him as he watched television. She felt his arms instantly wrap protectively around her and she felt safe. She brought her legs up onto the cushions and placed her head in his lap, lying down across the couch, using him as a pillow.

"Comfortable?" he asked, smiling down at her.

"Yeah," she said, nodding. "If anything, no one can ever say you're a bad couch, Jack Mercer."

Jack laughed softly at that and began to run his hand through her wet hair. He caught a tangle between his fingers and gently combed it out. She watched him, his eyes so attentive to the way he was touching her. She reached up and ran her hand along his messy hair, pushing a few loose strands behind his ears.

"I really do love your hair," Isabelle commented, bringing up their fake fight from the previous day, trying to be lighthearted.

"And my ass?"

"That goes without question."

"My face?"

"I could live with a different nose," she joked. She smiled and rested her hand against his cheek as he continued to brush his fingers through her hair. "But I never want you to change your personality. I think I love that the most."

Jack leaned down and kissed her softly. As he pulled away, she continued to stare up at him, her eyes taking in every slight imperfection that made him perfect and each curve of his face. She wanted to etch him at the moment into her memory so that she would always have him with her.

"Belle, I gotta get up for a moment," he said. "I know, you're all peaceful and serene looking but I have something on the stove that I don't want to catch fire. Stay there, I'll be right back."

Nodding softly, Isabelle sat up and watched him walk into the kitchen and over to the stove. She stood up and made her way over to the fireplace, looking at all the pictures that Evelyn had adorned it with. The first was a picture of Bobby, a huge grin spread across his face and decked out in his hockey gear. Right next to it was what Isabelle assumed was a picture of Angel from how Jack described him. He was sitting on the floor beside a Christmas tree, the rest of the brothers, with the exception of Jack, in the background, and he was holding a model ship in his hand. The next was Jeremiah, without a doubt, it was his school photo from when he must have been in elementary school. He smiled, showing off every one of his huge sparkling white teeth, his was happy, the sign that it was Jeremiah.

The last photo on the mantle caught her eye the most. It was Jack when he was young. She thought his body looked like he was around nine years old but his face seemed to be in his teens. He was clad in a leather jacket at least five times too big and his hair was messy, a signal that his style had always been the same. He was grinning, his dimples showing off his cuteness factor, but it ended with his mouth. No other sign of happiness was expressed by this shell of a boy. He seemed frail and much too thin, but he appeared to be on the way to recovery. Isabelle noticed a small bruise around the base of his neck that had faded to a yellowish brown, so small and faint she was surprised she could even notice it in the picture.

"I'm shutting the stove off now, I'll be right in," Jack called from the kitchen.

Isabelle nodded, despite the fact that she knew he could not see her. She heard his footsteps leading into the room as he walked over to her.

"Didn't I tell you to stay on the couch?" he asked lightheartedly. "What made you get up?"

"You were a cute kid," Isabelle said, picking up the picture of Jack.

"That was about a month after I came to Evelyn," he replied. He hovered over her shoulder, looking down at the picture. "I barely know who that is anymore."

"How old were you?" she asked. She traced her finger over the picture, outlining the frame of the youth. "I mean, you look so small."

"Eleven."

"You were so young," she said, astonished.

"I was seven when it started. I was at my fourth foster house by then," Jack admitted, his voice cracking slightly. "At least that's from when I can remember it happening."

"What did your foster father do?" she asked, willing him to let it all go. She craned her neck over to look up at him.

"At first it was just vicious names and then it escalated into violence," he said. He laughed coarsely and shoved his hands deep into his pockets, forcing his shoulders up around his neck. "I liked it better when he was violent, it hurt less than the words he said. He told me things like how I was with him because nobody wanted me and that I was and always would be a fuck up, that I was worthless, my life was meaningless. I believed him too because there was nothing to disprove him but there was tons of evidence to back him up."

"You're not worthless, Jack, and I want you…I need you," Isabelle said, comfortingly. She placed the picture down on the mantle and turned her whole body to face Jack. She placed a hand on his face, catching a stray tear on her thumb.

"At least when he hit me I could project myself into this other state of being, like it wasn't really me being hurt, but rather some other kid I was watching from a safe distance," he said, like he hadn't heard what Isabelle had told him. "Helen, she was my foster mother, she tried to keep me safe, tried to tell me that what he said wasn't true. He beat her too. It got so bad that she just gave up."

"Gave up?"

"Killed herself."

"Jack, I'm sorry."

Jack glanced down at Isabelle's hand resting against his cheek. He placed his over hers and looked down at her, keeping his eyes locked on hers. She tried to smile, grin, do anything to make him feel better, but they were so false that they could never reach her eyes. She could feel his pain and all she wanted to do was to make it better. He looked out down at the floor, his eyes glazing over in a distant way and began to speak again.

"One night, when I was about eight, he came into my room," Jack said, his voice coming from a distant place. "He did things to me and I didn't know what to do. I wasn't even sure that it was wrong. I didn't know what was going on, I…" his voice trailed off.

"I understand." She leaned up to kiss his cheek and felt Jack's arms wrap around her waist, pulling her to him. He felt the need to be connected to her at that moment, as did Isabelle. She buried her face in his chest and softly whispered, "I was thirteen."

"What?" he asked. He placed his hand on her face, leading it up to look at him. "Belle, wh-"

"I was thirteen when it started happening to me," she repeated. She took a step away from him, breaking the connection and leaned against the wall. "Like you, it was words at first, then it was fists, and then…Then…"

Jack looked over at her, wanting so badly to make everything right for her. When he tried to take her hand she moved further away, cowering in the corner.

"I couldn't do anything, Jack, you have to know that. I tried, at first, I wanted it to stop. After a couple of months I gave up trying to fight it, I just laid there, I thought that I deserved it, that I had done something wrong and this was my punishment."

"I did too."

Isabelle slid down to the ground, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them protectively. She looked up at Jack for a moment before looking down at the floor. He kept his eyes on her face, trying to find the courage to ask her the question on his mind.

"Is that why you're here? Is it still happening?" he asked.

"The other day when I came here, Bobby picked me up, he stopped him. That's why I'm here." She stared out into the space before her, her eyes distant and wild. "Don't blame Bobby for not telling you, I made him promise. I just had to find the right time to tell you. Please don't be mad."

"I'm not mad."

"I want it to stop," Isabelle whispered.

"It will, I promise you that," he replied. "I'm going to do whatever I can to make it all better. Just wait and see."

Jack kneeled down beside her, gently resting his hand on her shoulder. She couldn't look at him, she felt ashamed and dirty after confessing everything. Jack kissed the top of her head, trying to soothe her. She looked up and flung herself at him, violently sobbing into his chest. He sat on the floor beside her, holding her tightly until Evelyn came home.

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