*Trigger WARNING* This book deals with a soldier who has been to war and seen and done some shit. Although artistic license has been taken, most of this shit is real. In fact, all of it is, but it has been gleaned from different people and put into one. Please, if you have PTSD or deal with issues around war and gore, proceed carefully or maybe give this one a skip. **Warnings for this one: fluff – not sorry – and then of course some horrible war shit that really happened once upon a time. Proceed with caution** PS: thanks for the reviews and follows, I appreciate them. :)
Disclaimer: I own nothing, no one in the WWE, no real or stage names. I write this purely as a form of bizarre therapy from my own time over there. I do own my own character Alicia Price. This book contains swearing (lots) and eventual smut, but no slash. It's a slow burn guys, so bear with me. This book is not cannon, and takes place vaguely when the Shield boys were together in the Shield pre-break up. The book focuses on Jon Good/Jon Moxley/Dean Ambrose/OC, but there are cameos everywhere later. I use their real names in here because I think would like to know the real person if I ever met them. I realize Renee is real, and I love her and Jon, but, sorry, for this story she's just in the background. Anyway, enjoy! Feel free to ask questions, leave reviews and any other such awesomeness.
The idea of this book came from the song Broken by Lovelytheband
I like that you're broken
Broken like me
Maybe that makes me a fool
I like that you're lonely
Lonely like me
I could be lonely with you
There's something tragic, but almost pure
Think I could love you, but I'm not sure
There's something wholesome, there's something sweet
Tucked in your eyes that I'd love to meet
Chapter 29
The sunlight poured through the curtains in Jon's room, slowly waking you from the best sleep you had had in your life. Looking over to his side of the bed, you noticed the empty space there. Figuring he had woken early to get his regular workout in, you slowly stretched your sore legs and sat up. Looking around the room you realized that the bags had been left downstairs by the door. In both of your rush to get upstairs last night neither of you had remembered to bring your clothes up.
You looked around the room seeing a dresser in the corner. Well, the man had seen all of you, so you might as well let him see you in something of his. The top drawer held nothing but socks and underwear, but the next drawer was filled with what you assumed were his old merchandise shirts. Grabbing a black shirt that sported an 'Explicit Mox Violence' logo, you pulled it over your head. You didn't understand the reference, but the shirt was soft and comfortable against your skin. It was so huge that it fell to just above your knees. Your hair tie had come out sometime last night and you didn't feel like looking for it now, opting instead to leave it flowing down your back. Looking down at the floor, you noticed the discarded underwear from last night. Choosing to not put them back on, you ventured out of his room and padded softly down the stairs to see what you could rustle up for breakfast. Your stomach was growling after the workout you had both had last night.
Barefoot, you made your way toward the kitchen, hearing Jon's voice talking to someone. Not wanting to intrude you stayed outside the door and out of sight. You weren't intentionally listening in, at least that's what you reminded yourself as you listened to him talk. "Nah, brother, no worries. Like I told y', we're doin' fine. She's a fuckin' trooper." He cackled at his own joke. "She didn' let th' shitty ass Divas get t' her. I fuckin' swear man, she's somethin' else. Like no one 've fuckin' ever been with. Y've not even heard half the shit she's gone through 'n she's still jus', well she's fuckin' amazin'." He paused for a second, allowing the person on the other end reply. By the use of 'brother' you knew it was either Joe or Colby on the phone. You would probably guess Joe, since he was the one who tended to worry more about how Jon was doing at all times.
"I know, uce, I fuckin' know that. Y' think I don' know that she's gotta go back? I fuckin' hate it 'n I can't help thinkin' 'bout it when I look at her. I didn' think it would be like this, y' know? It jus' started as a fuckin' ride in the middle of nowhere. Now I don' know if I can let her go when she has t' leave." He paused again, listening to the phone. "Nah, she's sleepin' upstairs still. We didn' get t' bed 'till late." He chuckled. "Fuck you, Joe, 'm not sayin' nothin' else. Cuz 'm a fuckin' gentlemen, tha's why." Joe must have asked something else because he replied, "Don' know yet, I mean, yeah sure, but 's never felt like tha' before." He said after a second. You heard him sigh before he continued a little more quietly, "'S fuckin' th' best 'n th' worst fuckin' feelin' in th' world."
You were beginning to feel a little guilty about standing there, and more and more like an eavesdropper. This wasn't your business, even if he was talking about you. It was a private conversation that he didn't invite you to. You retreated up the steps and coughed loudly to announce your presence. Stepping louder than before you made your way back down the stairs toward the kitchen. When you entered you saw Jon standing there, still on the phone, facing toward the windows and away from you. He was dressed only in cargo shorts that hung low on his hips. Your mouth watered involuntarily at the sight of his muscular back. You coughed again to alert him of your presence.
He turned to look at you and he immediately stopped talking. His mouth fell open. His grip on the phone loosened and it fell to the floor with a thump. You could hear Joe yelling out his name from the speaker asking if everything was ok. Smiling at Jon, you walked over and leaned down to pick up the phone. Holding it out, you gave it back to him.
Jon cleared his throat a couple times, placing the phone back up to his ear. "Huh, wha? Yeah, 'm fine," he rasped out hoarsely. He cleared his throat again and said, "Y' know what, Joe. 'M gonna have t' let y' go. Uh, somethin's come up." He paused a second then grumbled out, "Fuck you brother. I'ma fuckin' kick y'r ass." He sighed, "'N thanks. Talk t' y' soon." With that he hung up the phone and placed it on the counter.
You looked at him curiously, "You ok there, babes?" The pet name rolling off your lips without a thought. "You look like you might need a chair, or a drink of water or something. You know I'm a medic; I can help," you giggled.
He looked you over with the interest of someone who wanted to wreck every bit of you. With a low growl he asked, pointing to your attire, "Jus' where the fuck y' get that, cupcake?"
You looked down at the shirt, feeling immediately like you had just invaded his privacy again. "Um, I didn't think you'd mind. My bags were downstairs and with all the windows I didn't feel quite like walking around naked in your house." You fiddled with the bottom of the shirt, trying not to shrink into yourself.
"Mind? Fuck me, Alicia, I don' mind. Wha's mine is y'rs while y're here. 'N believe me when I say that y're a fuckin' dream in that shirt. Wish I coulda known y' when I was Mox. Y' might have enjoyed him." He said with a leer.
Glancing up at his face, you smiled. "I'm pretty happy with the man I know now. Not sure I could handle more than one of you," you chuckled.
He reached out to grab ahold of you and yanked you to him. Tilting up your face you accepted his good morning kiss. You moaned into his mouth just as your stomach began to growl in earnest.
He pulled back and looked down at you, "Mmm, gotta get y' fed. I ran t' the store this mornin' while y' were still out. Joe told me wha' y'd probably need, so I got some eggs 'n shit so we could make breakfast. Then," he giggled like a schoolboy, "we c'n get on th' way t' fun." He grinned, dimples popping out while he bounced excitedly on the balls of his feet. Reaching behind you he opened a drawer and pulled out his famed 'kiss the cook' apron and handed it to you. "'Kay my darlin' cupcake, show me wha' y' can do in a kitchen," he chuckled while he smacked your ass.
Giving him a small glare, you accepted the apron and put it over your head, turning so he could tie it for you. He turned you around when he was done and kissed your nose. "Jus' followin' th' orders on th' apron, cupcake," he laughed. You rolled your eyes and opened the fridge to peruse the ingredients he had gotten. Thankfully, Joe seemed to know what he was talking about and you had everything you needed to whip up some decent omelets. You handed the ingredients one at a time to Jon who placed them on the counter near the cooktop. Telling him what you needed, he walked around the kitchen, getting pans, whisks, a cutting board, knives and a large bowl.
Turning to start cooking, you felt the calm of the process flow over you. Feeling in your element, you tuned out the noise in your head from the phone conversation, from last the past week's breakdowns, from everything that had happened. You worked on autopilot, allowing muscle memory to guide you through chopping and seasoning.
Jon didn't say much while you were cooking, instead opting to watch you as you worked. He stood close by as you finished up breakfast. You knew he would help if you asked, but you didn't really want it. You were enjoying this way too much. Every once in a while, he would move your hair to the side and kiss your neck proclaiming that the apron made him do it. The whole scene felt so fucking domestic. It felt so fucking right. The omelets were finished in record time and Jon provided the plates so that you could take them over to sit in the kitchen nook.
While you ate, you asked him about the day's plans, but he refused to tell you. Even with the threat of no kisses for the whole day, he wouldn't budge. He devoured his breakfast and sat there with a grin, "A-fuckin'-mazin' breakfast there, cupcake. Seems like 'm gonna have t' keep y' around for more than jus' a late night swimmin' partner 'n co-sleeper."
You snorted and finished off your breakfast. You both rose from the table and took the dishes to sink. He placed his hand at the small of your back and led you back to the stairs. Remembering to grab your bags, he allowed you to lead up the stairs and back to the room to get ready for the day.
Jon dropped your bags near the end of the bed and took a seat. You took off his shirt before you began rifling through them to find an appropriate outfit. You looked over your shoulder at him to ask what you should wear, but he seemed engrossed with just watching you.
"What are you looking at over there, Mr. Good? You've already seen it all, shouldn't be a surprise at this point," you said.
"'M lookin' at y'r back, love. Just appreciatin' the view 'n the artwork that is y'r body," he replied slowly. "Why'd y' choose that for y'r back? 'Ve never seen anythin' like it."
"Ah, well, that's because I made it up from my memories and a reminder to keep going. It's like it's my own personal warrior going through hell to battle for me whenever I need. And fairy wings cus… well I mean, come on. They're gorgeous on anyone." You winked at him.
"Y'r memories? Like bad ones from Iraq?" He asked you softly.
"Erm, yeah." You turned to face him, not happy about the fact that you didn't have any clothes on to fiddle with, but you figured you were already in for a penny and a pound. This man knew way more about you than anyone else in the fucking world at this point. Why start keeping things back now. You walked over to where he stood and sat next to him on the bed, glad to be able to fiddle with the sheets between your fingers.
"Remember how I told you that they change all the stories that happen over there so that people here get different news?" You asked. He nodded and reached out to run a finger down your cheek while you spoke. You leaned into his touch, relishing the feel of his warmth and comfort.
"I was on my first deployment. We were in the middle of Iraq on a really tiny forward operating base. I worked as an evac medic. That just meant that while we were having mas-cals I would transport all the wounded from the gate to the hospital. Then when they were patched up enough for long range transport, I would take them to the helipad.
"It had been a slow couple of weeks for all of the units that were stationed there with us. An armory unit was scheduled for a dry fire exercise to ensure they were ready in the event of an attack." You sighed, "apparently the notes got changed, or the orders were crossed. In any event, something happened, and they didn't use empty shells when they performed the exercise. The fuckers had aimed at a small town to practice. They used a mosque as a target. Their aim was true and in the middle of the fucking evening they shot off live fucking shells into the town. It hit just after prayers. A small coffee shop next door was filled with the wives and children of the men who were in the mosque praying. Everything started to burn."
You paused for a minute, hating the memories that were rushing back into your head. You could still see the faces. You could still see the red glow of the town on fire as the sun set, and darkness fell. Swallowing, you continued, "Our unit got the news that the town's hospitals were overrun. They needed help and were bringing casualties our way. We got to the gate for the injured as quickly as we could. There were so many fucking kids, Jon, so many kids. So much screaming. A woman had her jaw blown off but she was awake enough to keep her baby in her arms. She wouldn't let go, even when they needed to take her in to fix her for flight. I was on a rotation switch from getting the ones from the gate, so as I waited for patients to finish up and be ready for evacuation I had a few minutes of free time. They didn't know what to do with the baby when she was being treated so I took him. He was so innocent, only about nine months old. Wrapped in his little infant clothes, dirty from the blast and covered in his mother's blood, I just held him. His mother was stabilized, and we loaded her into my ambulance. Three other men were loaded with her, all extremely bad cases. I rode in the back to maintain the CPR on one of the victims and to also ensure that the baby was fine. During the trip to the helipad, and we're talking like a two-minute drive, the guy died on me. I couldn't feel a pulse anywhere. I didn't keep him alive even long enough to get him to better treatment." Tears were burning behind your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Swallowing again, you continued.
"We loaded the three who had survived the trip, not wanting to waste a space on a dead body. He was moved to the side of the helipad to be evacuated to a morgue later. As the night went on, we treated 44 men, women and children in less than two hours. I didn't care to listen to how proud everyone was, though, at the after-action review. I don't even remember how many died. On our last trip to the helipad, we went to load the man who died on me and discovered that he was breathing. I'm telling you, Jon, he died. There were no signs of life at all. Another medic even checked it out. But here he was, spontaneously breathing… coming back to life.
"The armor unit passed the whole thing off as an attack on the town from the outside so that they could look a hero. I only knew what happened because I happened to be around a couple generals who were smoking outside. I even bummed a cigarette off one of them without knowing what rank they were." Exhaling a shaky breath, you looked over and decided that there was nothing else you needed to hold back from this man. "When I got home from the war the first time I couldn't get these images out of my head. I couldn't wrap my mind around the fact that this 'war' we were fighting was so fuzzy. There were no good or bad guys. There wasn't even a purpose. It got to me." Gazing deeply into his blue eyes, you took hold of his hands. "Understand me, there is no way I would ever take my own life now. No fucking way. But back then, understand all of that got to me. Reliving those memories every day, seeing that baby's face covered in blood every night when I closed my eyes. I couldn't deal with it. I sat in my bathtub one night with a razor, running the dull part over all of the important arteries I would need to cut to stop the pain." Jon's sharp intake of breath was the only tell of how this was affecting him. "I'm not sure why I never went through with it, maybe I wasn't strong enough. Maybe I got strong. The next day I asked for help and started a long road of therapists and talking sessions. I understand why Marcie did it, I understand why they all did it." You leaned your head against his chest as he brought his hand around your waist. You sighed again, "Anyway, when I had enough saved up for my entire back to be done I met up with an artist and described the town. That's why it's on fire in the background. I think somewhere there's a guardian warrior who was looking out for me and that's why I chose to make him that way."
Jon pulled you fully into his lap and hugged you tight. "Goddamn Alicia, 'm so fuckin' glad you didn' do it. 'M so fuckin' glad y're here with me right now. Y're the…" He paused to find the right words. You felt bad for him, you understood that you had just dropped yet another major bombshell in his lap. "Y're fuckin' the best thing t' happen t' me. 'M so fuckin' glad y' have the strength y' have." He nuzzled your neck and you leaned back to give him access.
"I need to forget right now, Jon, help me." You said quietly.
With that he lifted you from the bed and walked you into the bathroom. He started the shower and stripped out of his cargo shorts, holding the door open for you to step in. The water sluiced over both your bodies as your lips met. He pushed you up to the wall and wrapped your legs around his waist. Your memories faded away as his touch became the only thing that occupied your mind.
