Regarding Jesse

Author: ghostwritten

Type of story: drabbles

Season: set in the future sometime after season two, sequel to my other story "Noah Kilmartin's Son"

Warnings: deals with character death, minor language

Disclaimer: I don't own MX, and I'm not sure who all does, but it's theirs and not mine.

Summary: Shalimar, Emma, and Brennan's thoughts regarding life, Jesse, and Adam's death.

Notes: This hasn't been beta-read and isn't anything special, just me trying to work through some writer's block. I'm only posting this since several people requested a sequel to my other drabble.

~~~~~

Shalimar's POV

~~~~~

I can't believe we just left him.

That's my only thought, and otherwise I'm numb. We left him there. How horrible are we that we fled and didn't bring him back home with us? Whatever happened to nobody gets left behind?

And this wasn't nobody. Isn't nobody! This is Adam.

Jesus Christ, we came home without Adam...

It hurts to think it, and I want to punch my fist through the nearest wall. Better yet, I'd like to tear a hole through Eckhart's chest and rip the heart from his body. If he even has a heart.

I hate him. I hate this. I need to break something. That's how I cope with the bad stuff, I break things.

And yet... I can't manage to so much as get up. I'm just sitting on the floor. Sanctuary feels empty and cold. I detest the cold, but it doesn't really matter, I hardly notice it. There's still that all-consuming numbness. I should be angry rather than numb, shouldn't I?

Why am I numb?

I can't believe we left him. I hate Brennan for making that call. I don't care that he was already dead when we got there. It wasn't just his body to me. It mattered to me. Couldn't Brennan see that? Doesn't he know?

Adam is - shit, but I can't bring myself to say was - like my own father. He has always been there for me, near about so long as I can remember. He's been there.

Bren and Emma, they're too new to get that. They didn't know him like I did. I want Brennan to be in as much pain as I am. How dare he make that decision! And what right did he have? He can never replace Adam! And I hate Emma as well. As soon as we got home, she just disappeared. I wonder if she cares at all that Adam is gone.

Her and Bren, they don't understand. Adam was like flesh and blood family to me and Jess. He was more of a father to us than ours were. I don't care what they say, water is thicker than blood.

Water is all I have left.

At least I still have Jesse. My brother, regardless of blood. We're both Adam's children, and that's enough to seal us together for life. Jesse is the only family I have now.

And I hate him too. He's the reason he's all I have left in this world. Adam is dead because of him.

I'm standing in the doorway of his room now, and I don't even know how I got here. I'm just here. I can't feel my legs, but I must have walked. I stare at my feet, at the floor, and then at the wall. Finally, I look over at Jesse.

He's crumpled, lying on his bed as if he just collapsed onto it. He's at an angle, his head not at the pillow and his feet pulled up just enough so they aren't hanging off the edge. He looks like he just fell down and doesn't care that if he moves a mere foot, he might actually be comfortable. Maybe he's like me, though. He won't be comfortable no matter what.

I want to be mad at him, but instead I find myself crawling up onto the bed with him and settling close beside him. He's not asleep. He shivers a bit and coughs from too much crying. It's been hours and the tears have run dry, but he's still shaking with the sobs. He coughs again and I wrap him in my arms.

Are his clothes damp? For the most part, they seem dry, but the material is cool at the seams. I shift a bit and realize that his shirt is very faintly stained. With Adam's blood.

Aww, Jess... He hasn't even changed his clothes.

I stroke his hair gently, brushing it back from him forehead. Then I worriedly place my hand against his cheek. His skin is slightly warmer than it should be. Damn it. He's exhausted and he's grieving, and now he's making himself sick on top of everything else.

But it's nothing some dry clothing and a full night's sleep won't fix. I automatically stand and walk to his dresser, fetching a pair of sweatpants and a shirt. Then I return to the side of the bed.

"Come on, Jess, get up," I prod softly. He doesn't move.

I tug his arm until he sits, then I yank at the old shirt and pull it over his head. I pause, holding the material in my hands. I look at the stain left by the blood - I don't want to look, I just can't not. I don't know what I'm doing any longer, and I don't know why, but suddenly I'm crying again. I wouldn't know I was crying, but my face is wet from tears dripping down it. Damn tears. I never cry.

I cross the room and consider dropping Jesse's shirt onto the pile of dirty clothes that occupy his floor that I suppose is his version of a laundry hamper. I fold it neatly before letting it go.

My mind must have wandered off without me noticing, because as I turn back around, I notice Jesse is now fully changed. He's watching me, but his expression is blank. We're both just going through the motions right now. Nothing wants to register.

I grab a blanket from somewhere and return to him. I drape it over him as I encourage him to lie back down, head on the pillow this time. I lie beside him, hold him close, and I want to cry. More than just silent tears, I want to weep.

But I can't wail out my sorrows now, because Jesse curls up against me, sniffling and crying himself, and I instinctively begin to shush and soothe him. He knots a fist tightly in my sleeve, clingy and desperate. I hold him more tightly.

I can't be angry with him. It wouldn't be right, and also I just can't. I'm forced to let him off the hook. He's lost more than any of us today.

I can't hate Brennan or Emma either. This is a lot to deal with, and I can't fault them for being distant. Brennan's in a hard place right now, and Emma feels all that we do, so she needs to be alone to clear her head. They both have their own sorrow to deal with. I do know that.

But I have to hate somebody - blame somebody - because I need to fault someone. If no one else, then I'll blame Adam for leaving me. And I will hate myself if I do that.

So I curse Eckhart's name. I will curse him until the day I die.

I can't bear the numbness, yet I can't cope with the aching either. And I'm sorry, but I can't do this right now. Jesse and I have always gone to each other for comfort and support, but this pain destroys us both. We're both seeking a shoulder to cry on, but neither of us is ready yet to provide one. The wound is too fresh. We only want and can't yet give.

I can't be his rock right now. I'm not strong enough. I can't hold him up when nothing is keeping me from crashing down.

I don't know how or when I left Jesse's room, but I'm now walking to Brennan's. If I can't find solace in Jesse's arms, then I'll look for it in Brennan's bed, in his touch, in the feel of his body.

I yearn for him to fill this emptiness because anger isn't enough. Hating Eckhart brings me no peace. I need to be comforted, in any way I can receive that comfort.

I know it's never been true love or anything sappy like that. I'm not blind, despite trying to be. It - this relationship between us beyond friendship - well, it was just fun. Stress relief, I guess you could say, and no potential for anything deeper. But it's been good. And even if it's not forever, I need him to be with me tonight.

But when I reach his door, it's locked.

Everything has changed already. It's all changed, and I don't know how to deal.

Already, Bren? You're different already? And you've locked me out. You've never closed your door to me before. Are we over? Were we over the instant Adam died? Were we over long before even that?

Why can't he still love me? I only want tonight. Just one more night before I admit I can no longer have him.

We could make love as if there'll be no tomorrow. Pretend that the world is ending, because in a way, it is. The life we had is gone. We'll wake up in the morning to a completely different reality.

If we can even sleep at all.