Chapter 53: Momma Tried
1:35 A.M., September 15th 1952 (Gregorian Calendar) Residency of Cortana Toren, Hell's Kitchen, New York, New York
The sense of smell.
Cortana had told him when they had first made love in that too small hospital bed amongst the decaying ruins of Fedic that the ability to smell had replaced touch as her favorite sense. As he laid there with her head just under his chin, the scent of her strawberry shampoo making its way lazily up to his nose, he had to agree. Still, has he rubbed a rough hand along her back, fingers finding a small mole that had appeared in the seven years they had been apart, he had to admit that touch came in a close second. She was small next to him, and soft when compared to the leathery feeling of his scars and the hardness of his muscles.
He felt Cortana shift next to him, the fingers of her right hand creeping dangerously close to his groin, just enough to tease him. She smiled mischievously. "You really want to go again?"
He gave a short gruff chuckle. The sensation of his chest vibrating underneath still had the ability to send shivers down Cortana's back. "Not yet."
Cortana giggled, withdrawing her adventurous hand from underneath the covers and laying on his chest. "So even you need to take a break every now and then."
John glanced down at the place where Cortana's hand had been only moments before, the one place on him that, for now at least, was soft. "I can't change biology."
Cortana laughed again. It hurt him in a way, her laughing. Every breath, every word, ever touch just served to remind him of just how short their time was becoming. At sunrise he would leave, not even five hours from now. Neither of them had spoken about it much, hardly at all. Just enough to come up with an explanation for John's absence to Jack. John would be going to Korea, to serve in the ongoing war there. He had already mentioned to Jack that he was in the Navy, so it made sense. The look in Jack's eyes, however, when John had told him this, produced an anguish within him that was to agonizing for words to describe.
Cortana sighed comfortably next to him, pressing her body closer and intertwining her legs with his. "Do you have to go?" The question was spoken quietly, barely heard above the whirl of the spinning fan blades, softer than the air that was being blown gently around the room. More hopeful than the breeze pushing up against the window sill, promising of more warm days to come in defiance of the inevitable winter chill.
John was silent. Her hope was almost enough to make him believe that he could stay here forever. That if he just wanted it bad enough, he would not have to leave. He had seen so much. He had seen his son, and Jack was his son. No one would ever be able to tell him otherwise. He had been there for his birthday, had seen Cortana fuss over his new school uniform, chuckling under his breath when Cortana furiously attacked a rouge cowlick with a comb on the morning of Jack's first day at school, causing him to groan in annoyance. John had seen firsthand just how bright Jack was, how full of life. The Master Chief had come to see that being a father was something that could make him happy. He had seen Jake, and felt a sense of pride in how the boy had grown into a man, who much like himself was willing to sacrifice everything for the people he loved.
Many terrible things had happened to John's family in the months since he came to New York. A part of him wished he had stayed away in the hope that none of it would have happened, a larger part realized that if he had not come Selena would have come up with another way to take out her revenge, and in that scenario John would have not been there to stop her.
The thought of Selena, about what she had done, caused John to absentmindedly rub a hand along Cortana's stomach. The goddess had killed his unborn daughter, and in doing so had made Cortana sterile. She would never have children again. Familiar anger rose up inside him, but it receded when Cortana placed her hand on his. Her thumb traced circles on his hand, and John closed his eyes. When he did the Spartan was nearly overcome with the sensation of falling, of being dragged over the precipice of a bottomless pit whose name was illogic. His eyes snapped open, his body jerking slightly.
Cortana looked at him with concern. "What does it feel like?"
"Remember when Mia opened the door in the Calla and you were sucked through?" he asked, and Cortana nodded. "It's like that, only more." His brow furrowed in thought. He was not the best with words, by he tried to explain. "It's like a hook his digging into me." He traced a line across his abdomen. "Pulling me." He blinked heavily. "I feel tired." It was true. For the first time in ages he felt the need to sleep, fighting it off becoming increasingly difficult.
Cortana could guess the rest, thinking back to when Black Thirteen had sent John, Eddie, and Jake Todash. John would begin to flicker in and out of existence, until finally he faded altogether, sucked back into the meaningless void that existed in the cracks between realities. The realm of gods and demons.
He felt Cortana holding onto him tighter, begging him not to leave. He squeezed her back reassuringly, words that did not need to be spoken flowing between them. Entire conversations taking place with each subtle touch and display of affection. Cortana brought her face level to his. "I love you."
John put a hand on the back of her head and pulled her forward, their lips pressing together. Their kissing did not pick up in intensity, but it made up for it with passion. "I love you too," he said, their lips not even a centimeter apart when he spoke the words.
Cortana withdrew from him, laying down on the bed, tracing a finger down his chest. "If you love me," she said, her hand slipping back underneath the sheets. "Then love me."
John positioned himself on top of her, using his hand to guide himself into her warm entrance. Their eyes remained locked as he slid inside her, Cortana's mouth parting slightly in a small gasp as he did. When he bottomed out, Cortana snaked an arm around his neck, and pulled his head back into hers.
…
John methodically dressed himself, moving slowly and refraining from turning on the light so as not to wake Cortana. After lacing his shoes he turned towards the bed, running a hand through her raven hair. Cortana stirred, pulling her pillow in closer, smiling softly in her sleep. Reluctantly he pulled his hand away, his eyes lingering on her until he left the room.
He had heard Jack get up at around four in the morning, and by the sound of it Jake had been with him. His suspicions were confirmed when he opened the bedroom door and saw that the light in the living room was on. His son was sitting on the couch, his legs folded up into his chest and his arms wrapped around them. The position was so eerily similar to his mother than John could not help but let his memory wander back to the Ivanoff Station.
The couch sagged considerably as John sat down next to him. Jack did not look at his father, instead focusing on the area between his knees. "You're leaving," he said simply, but with enough sadness to leave him at a loss for words.
The Master Chief wanted desperately to say something, to come up with the right words. He wanted to see Jack smiling one last time before he left.
Jack's voice trembled. "I'll miss you." He turned towards John, and in one swift movement wrapped his arms around him, burying his head into his chest. "Don't go," he said, and began sobbing, the tears chocking out his words. "Please, I'll do anything. Just don't go."
John put his arms around his son, embracing him. He held him close, and the action made him feel warm, reminded him about how much he truly cared about the young boy. "I said I was coming back." Jack looked up at him, dark streaks running down his cheeks. "What did I tell you about promises?"
"K-keep them," he said, choking back a sob.
John nodded, let his arms give Jack all the reassurance he needed. "I will be back."
"When?"
"As soon as I can," John replied, letting Jack bury his head into his father's chest again. He looked around the small apartment, everyday he had spent here playing through his mind. "As soon as I can."
…
Jake was waiting for him by the stairs, cigarette smoke rolling out of his mouth. The two men regarded one another, neither saying a word. They did not have to. There was nothing to be said. John respected him, both as a soldier, and as someone who was as close as family to him. Jake dropped the cigarette in his hand, letting it fall on the stairs into a pile of other spent smokes. The grey white ash of the pile made it look like an ash cloud from an erupting volcano, tumbling down the mountain slope and devastating all in its path. Ripping apart forests that had stood for centuries in a matter of seconds, suffocating all living things that got in its way, coating their lungs with sulfur. That ash pile was enough for John to know what Jake was feeling, that the gunslinger would miss him as well. Those sky blue eyes may belong to a man now, but John still saw a glimpse of the boy he once knew. A boy who looked up to him, considered him as much of a father figure as Roland was.
John descended the stairs. There would be no goodbyes with Jake, no parting words. The gunslinger knew what was required of him, and John trusted him implicitly, not because John was asking him to take care of his family, but because it was Jake's family as well and he would take care of them regardless of what John had to say.
The Master Chief stuck out a hand, and the gunslinger took it. They shook firmly, almost professionally, but for those that know gunslingers and Spartans that was the greatest sign of respect they could bestow on one another. The respect of fellow soldiers, the love of comrades in arms. John walked past Jake, taking each step without thought. His eyes were growing heavier, the hook that had him around the waist pulling him further into the darkness with each passing moment. The Master Chief was not long for this world, but he resisted the urge to fade away. Continued to resist it until he made it to the waterfront, felt the warm breeze from the ocean caress his cheek like a lover's embrace. He sat down at the dock and watched the sun rise over the water.
As his eyes finally closed, sleep coming fast upon him like the beating hooves of a galloping horse, he felt himself smile.
He knew, without a doubt, that Jack would be alright.
…
One and only rebel child
From a family meek and mild
My mamma seemed to know what lay in store
Despite all my Sunday learning
Towards the bad I kept on turning
Until momma couldn't hold me anymore
…
5:31 P.M., May 15th 1962 (Gregorian Calendar) Hell's Kitchen, New York, New York
He is only sixteen.
He rode in the back of a cop car, the handcuffs clamped tight around his wrists. Jack shifted in the seat, trying to get comfortable. The jet black hair was damp on the right side of his head, dried blood causing the strands of hair to stick together. The blood had started to trickle down his face, leaving red streaks across his cheek. Jack leaned against the window, blue bombardier eyes, his father's eyes, watching the pedestrians walk by. Some of them looked curiously at him, and one little girl actually waved before being hurried along by her mother who gave Jack a disapproving look.
Jack did not care. His head was pounding, and he needed to smoke.
"Get your head off the window," the cop in front said. "Don't need to get your blood all over the damn place."
Jack complied, leaning back in his seat. The cop looked at him through the rear view mirror, noting the blood that was splattered across the boy's white shirt. It was not Jack's blood. The cop shook his head. "You know you could have killed those two boys back there."
Jack ignored him, tilting his head back and looking up at the roof of the cop car. None of it mattered anyway. Nothing mattered. As the months and the years dragged on after John had left, without so much as a letter from him, Jack had come to the slow realization that John was not going to keep his promise. He was not coming back.
He closed his eyes, the bumps and pot holes in the street rocking his body back and forth as the cop drove to the police station. The sensation was strangely soothing. He closed his eyes and waited for the ride to be over.
…
Dear old daddy rest his soul
Left my mom a heavy load
She tried so very hard to fill his shoes
Working hours without rest
Wanted me to have the best
She tried to raise me right but I refused
Merle Haggard
Momma Tried
