AN: This is my first real attempt at angst with this couple.I mean, I've thought about it lots, but this is my first written piece. andI like the subject matter, though I'm not sureI conveyed the feelingI wanted to. I'd love reviews on this one guys! well, I'd love reviews on all of them, but I'll take whatI can get! And for all of you who have boosted my hit count up to 1200-some, but never leave reviews, a pox on your house.
Scars
Some scars never healed. He knew this from years of experience. He probably couldn't count the number of injuries he's accumulated over his few years of fighting. He knew he couldn't. He lifted a hand to his right shoulder and rubbed it lightly. Glancing down, he ran a finger over the familiar line. It was the very first scar he'd received in the line of duty, fighting Goldar. Billy had done his best to repair it and treat it, but it had left a large and bitter scar.
Jason had never liked looking at it, but after time he had grown used to the pinkish ting of the skin. He'd forgotten about it, and worn tank tops again in public. It had stopped bothering him. Scars never went away, but somehow you learned to cope with them.
Jason's fist clenched. He glanced again at the cabinet in front of him. Not these scars. Jason stood and took hold of the lock over the cabinet. With a swift tug of his arm the lock and the bolt it had been attached to came loose, and he tossed them on the floor. Jason grabbed the first bottle he saw and opened it.
He went over to the sink and poured it down the drain. He watched the foul smelling liquid circle down the drain, and once the bottle was empty he tossed it in the trash. He repeated this procedure several times, his thoughts spiraling and his eyes tearing.
This scar would heal. He would make it heal.
Jason tightened his grip and the clear, thin bottle shattered in his hand. He cursed and staggered backwards, grabbing a rag. He held it to his bleeding hand for a moment, and then he began picking little pieces of glass from the blood and ran it under cold water.
"Jason?" The familiar voice sounded, but Jason did not turn. He refused to show his father the tears threatening to spill over.
He knew Jonathan Scott was looking around the kitchen confusedly, and Jason tried his best to control himself, focusing only on the pain in his hand.
"Jason, what're you doing?" His father asked, stepping closer. Jason blinked. Hard.
"I'm getting rid of this trash." He mumbled almost incoherently. He heard his father sigh.
"Jason listen, what happened to Kat-" He attempted to place a comforting hand on Jason's shoulder. His Jason shrugged him off and turned.
"Don't say it! Just don't!" He yelled, tossing the bloody rag at his father's feet. Jason willed his eyes to stay dry, but they would not obey. All the frustration, all the anger, all the rage, all the pain he had pushed aside for her safety was surfacing.
Jonathan dared not move, to afraid of setting off his troubled son. Jason turned away, taking hold of his bleeding hand again.
"I don't wanna be like him. I don't want this filth anywhere near me!" He pointed towards the alcohol cabinet he'd been in the process of emptying earlier. "I will never hurt her like that. I'm never going to drink, and she'll never have to be afraid of me, ever! She's never going to be afraid like that again!" Tears poured through his eyes as he spoke, remembering the look on Kat's face as she'd crawled into his arms earlier that evening, having run for miles to get away and into Jason's arms.
He remembered the pink bruise across the side of her face, and the blood on her arm. He had held her while she sobbed, dried her off and tended to her wounds. He'd held her until she fell into a shaky sleep, safe and far away from her father.
Jason had never seen her so afraid. And he was never going to see her that afraid ever again.
"Jason." For a second he thought he'd imagined it, but when he saw his father turn around as well, he knew it'd been real. Standing in the doorway, tears' straining her own face was Kat. She was dressed in one of Jason's T-shirts and her white shorts. Her hair was down, and it just barely hid the bruise that covered the left side of her face. Her arms were crossed as she starred at him, and he felt suddenly like a child being reprimanded by his mother.
She was barefoot, but she took careful steps towards him, avoiding the shards of broken glass. Finally she stood right in front of him, and her arms reached for his face.
"You are not my father." She whispered tearfully, pulling his head towards her own. She pressed their foreheads together gently. "I know you'll never hurt me, and I'm not afraid of you. That's why I trust you, Jason." She whispered. Jason nodded, thinking that he should be the one comforting her, instead of the opposite.
He rested his arms on her sides, and she pulled him into a fierce hug.
"That's why I love you." She breathed into his ear. Jason nodded solemnly, kissing her neck and cheek.
"I love you too." He whispered back. "I promise you, I'll never let him hurt you again." He swallowed hard. "I'll never hurt you."
Kat chuckled a little and pulled away from him. "I know." She told him gently. "I know."
The smile on her battered face was a double edged knife, but Jason knew that the bluish bruise would face, but her smile would remain.
She leaned into him again, sighing. He rested his chin on top of her head. They both jumped when they heard a sudden pop, and Jason opened his eyes to see his mother with tears on her cheeks, and his father pouring a bottle of alcohol down the drain.
"Some scars do heal, son." His father promised. "Some scars do heal."
