Angie
"Requited love is truly wonderful; however, unrequited love is infinitely sweeter."
-William Shakespeare
Switzerland, 10 years ago…
"Play it, Sam…" the phone whispered, her voice as smooth as fine brandy, gently tipped into a crystal tumbler. The keys of the piano, hesitant at first, began to play. Their slow reluctance betrayed the mind of the pianist, but his hands quickly followed the memory of the melody as the rest of the band joined in to the song. Angela Ziegler began to hum along as she sat at her desk, one hand supporting her head as she focused on the papers at her desk, paying no mind as the sounds of her phone filled her office and the hall immediately outside of her door.
The beds of the infirmary and ICU were all empty, the lights were dark in the surgery suites, and all of the medical equipment was off and the laboratories dark. After all, it was the night before Christmas. Doctor Ziegler was a part of a four-man skeleton crew between her, two nurses, and a paramedic. Like with the rest of her 12 hour shift, she was sure that the other three were either working on inventorying their equipment or getting coffee in the lounge. For as much as she wanted to be home, she felt that this was appropriate. She didn't have a family of her own to go home to, and it felt wrong to take the time when there were other members of the medical department who could actually spend the time with their loved ones. All she had left to do was be on duty for the rest of tonight and tomorrow and she would have her own time off to visit her extended family out in the countryside.
The day had been boring, nothing of note happening besides ordering in meals throughout the day, but that didn't mean she hadn't found something to occupy her mind. As swing jazz from over one hundred years ago filled the air, her mind was focused on the paper in the center of her desk. With her pencil, she slowly traced a line down the sheet, making a rounded corner on her illustration, adding more details to the drawing. Going off memory and a few glances at the photograph of Overwatch's founding members, what had once been a blank white sheet was now slowly turning into a profile of Commander Jack Morrison. It wasn't easy, doodling wasn't her strong suit, and a small mound of crushed papers were sacrificed to the gaping maw of her garbage bin, but she was sure that she had finally "got" his strong chin and slight stubble.
"Hey, Doc." Came a kurt, gruff voice. Angela felt a cold feeling instantly freeze her body and made her hair stand on edge as she realized the hubris of thinking that she had privacy while leaving her door wide open.
Angela Ziegler looked up, her hands becoming a blur as she flipped her paper over and gasped as the man she was drawing appeared standing in her open doorway. "C-C-Commander!" she stammered, darting around for her phone and silencing the music. "I thought you were on holiday this week."
"Yeah.." he mused, scratching the back of his head as checked down the hall once more, "I was, but I- Uh… 'forgot' something."
"Forgot something?" the doctor wondered. Her vision panned down to his hands, to which her eyes opened wide at the sight of a bottle of dark red wine with a fine black and golden label around the neck of the bottle. Her eyes glanced up to him and back to the bottle and back again until she finally realized what he meant. Not knowing what else to say, she stammered, "oh my."
"So um… do you think you can help me with… this?" he asked, raising the bottle in the event that she didn't catch the offer he was making.
Angela hesitated for a moment, her body starting to feel warm at the sudden Christmas Eve surprise. She didn't know what to think, but knew what she wanted. Upon reflection, she didn't even remember what she said, but whatever it was, it meant, "yes."
"Good." Jack Morrison said, relief visibly washing over him, and proving that he was as uneasy with the interaction as she was. "I know I can always count on you." He finished. Angela began to look around for a set of cups to use, but was surprised when Jack placed the bottle of wine on her desk as well as a roll of Christmas-themed plastic ribbon. Angela was confused as she looked at the two items, but had an epiphany when Jack added, "I already wasted half the roll trying to tie it myself."
Indiana, Present…
For as much as Jack Morrison had wanted to never see the farmhouse again, he always had a feeling that, somehow, he would come back some day. It had been years, but the slow walk down the old gravel driveway from the paved country road brought back a strange memory of coming home after riding the bus back from school. It was hard to justify in his mind, but he supposed that part of him had never left this place.
As he approached, he saw some commotion coming from the house. He wasn't surprised, he had known that there had been a perimeter of motion detectors set up around the house, so he kept approaching at his same pace with his duffel bag over his shoulder. When he was twenty paces from the house, he saw Lena Oxton at the door, only missing the hypersonic pop that she made when she made a temporal blink. Soon after, Fareeha was there as well, slowly walking the slamming door back to a silent close. It was only at that moment that he noticed the two women were looking at him with sour looks in their eyes as he approached. He did his best to hide the roll to his eyes as the two met him in the yard and stood akimbo, blocking the direct pathway to the house.
Before he could mutter a halfhearted, "Good morning", Fareeha stated, "You know she talks about you."
"Yeah, a lot." Lena added.
"Okay." He added, not sure what they were after.
"Well, if you're going to make her wait around for you to pop into her life when you feel like it, the least you can do is come see her every now and then."
"Yeah," repeated Lena, "especially when you're not full of holes and dying, too."
Jack was about to ask them if they were being serious, but the look in their eyes answer the question before he could ask it. Giving a sigh, he agreed, saying, "Fine, I'll go talk to her." Before walking past both of them and into the house.
The two younger women started daggers into his back as he walked in and stopped the door from slamming by using his foot to catch it. After he was in, the two looked at each other with victory in their eyes, but before they could celebrate, Lena ran a few paces forward and shook her fist before shouting, "And you better wear a bloody rubber!"
It was an unspoken rule that Lena and Fareeha had developed that, when the house seemed to get quieter than usual, it was time to begin to tiptoe around the premise and search for Angela. After her unintended sleep strike, the two women had begun tallying up when the doctor had crashed, and although still a narcoleptic, they did develop a rough sleep cycle. It was actually their game of pretending to be church mice that had placed both of them by the front door when Jack tripped the first motion detector.
As she had done to occupy her idle hands, Angela had been in the guest bedroom when the drowsiness hit. It had started as a bit of muscle fatigue while stripping the sheets off the new bed, but by the time that she had changed out the pillowcases and gathered up the old bedding in a heap, her head felt as if it weighed an extra ten pounds. So, with no dinner to cook yet and laundry that could wait, Angela slipped off her dress and went down to her shorts and an undershirt. Two hours later, as an oblong square of the sun's warm light traced up expanse of the bed, Angela's eyes opened to a quarter-mast as the slight burn of red light forced her to emerge from the dark recesses of her mind. A simple remedy to the intrusion, the doctor rolled over onto her side to face away from the window. Free of the glare, Angela's consciousness faded once more, her blue eyes closing on the shadowed sight of a man sitting on a chair at her bedside.
She startled awake at the sight, body jumping on the mattress, and retreating a few inches away as she pulled the sheet to her chest. "Co- Commander." She stammered reflexively.
"Hey doc. How're you feeling?" he asked.
"I- I- I'm" She stammered, voice quiet and the surprise visit, feeling her body crawl at her situation. "I'm not…" She thought for a moment, finally finishing with "Decent." The ex-leader of Overwatch tilted his head at the statement, to which she then said, "I'm not… dressed."
Confused at what she meant, seeing the white undershirt at her shoulders, but understanding her condition regardless, Jack Morrison looked aside, apologizing, and then had an idea. He unzipped his coat, the infamous white leather jacket with his vigilante namesake, a red "76", and set it down on the bed. "Here," he offered, "use this."
He didn't see her, but he could hear the weight shifting in the bed, and after a brief stretch of fabric and leather, he could hear the zipper clicking its way up. When he looked back, he saw the Swiss woman sitting up in the bed, legs covered by the sheets, but his jacket, about 3 sizes too big, hanging off her slender form with her fingertips halfway past the sleeves.
"Better?" he asked.
"Yes." She answered.
The two shared a moment of silence, the only sound in the room the clock on the wall ticking seconds away, Angela sitting up in the bed wearing the jacket while Jack leaned forward in the chair, his muscular arms flexed as his hands rested on his knees. Finally, Jack broke the stalemate, "I was going to check on you earlier, but had to wait because we got some good news. We can catch up when you're ready." He stood to leave the room, Angela's mind raced at what to say, finally calling his name out before he closed the door. "Yeah?" he asked.
Stuck again, Angela stalled for a moment before going to her old faithful response, "Thank you."
Jack, in his usual aloof way he responded to imminent danger, smiled and said, "Don't mention it, Angie."
Alone again, Angela Ziegler lowered herself back to the bed and stared up at the ceiling. It didn't matter that she was thirty-seven years old, she still hated her stage fright, and being surprised like that made her feel more uneasy than the brightest spotlight could hope to do. But, for as much as her body felt hot, a different feeling began to overwhelm her, a warm sensation that pressed in around her.
It took her a moment to realize that this new sensation she felt, it was coming from his jacket, the radiant bodyheat that it carried as a gift from him to her. Like in any normal day of her life, she felt awake and alert now, her habits of getting up and being productive in her day making the back of her mind shoo her to her feet to find something to occupy her time, but she didn't want to let go of this feeling. Reflexively, she turned away from the window, body on autopilot as the brilliant mind that could juggle complex equations, memorized measurements and reactions to chemical compounds and make lightning decisions in life or death situations was hard at work.
Was he really here to see her?
Preposterous.
Why did he give me his jacket?
Why did I say I wasn't decent?
Should I have given him something in return?
What did I have to give?
Should I have invited him in?
No, he would never treat me like that.
What to do what to do what to do-
Like in the prime of her youth, Dr. Angela Ziegler's racing thoughts lulled her into a familiar disconnect and drifted off into a deep sleep.
Switzerland, Ten years ago…
With one firm pull, the ribbon slid tightly around the neck of the bottle. Angela took her fingers and gave the loops of the ribbon a nice poof, giving it a fluffy presentation like a professionally wrapped present. Commander Jack Morrison stood beside her, watching as the surgeon was able to take the simple instructions on her phone and translate it into a fine finished product. Although relieved at first that she would assist him, his unease returned as he worried that the task would have been too much for her delicate touch, but alas sitting before them both was a big wrapped bow on a bottle of wine.
"Thanks, Angie. You're a real lifesaver." He said.
The doctor, whose mind was mulling over the conflicting feelings she felt about helping a man she cared for finish a gift that was undoubtedly for another woman, caught herself at the strange name he had just given her. "Odd", she thought. Normally, a name like that would be reserved for someone in a more intimate relationship rather than a professional one. But that was a question for another time, instead, her mind was now onto the more pressing question at that moment.
"So… who is the lucky person that this is for?" she asked.
"Oh, yeah. Ana actually." He declared, "She invited me to have dinner with her family. I got John a cigar from the shop across town and Fareeha one of those big comic book anthologies. Ana was kind of hard to think, but I think she'll like this."
Angela sat for a second, unsure if what she had heard was correct or if her commander was trying to play a prank on her. After a moment of waiting for a punchline, she said, "Commander… You do remember that Ana is a Muslim, right?"
"Yeah?" he answered defensively.
She gave him a moment to figure it what she was implying before answering, "Muslims are not allowed to drink alcohol." It took him a moment of thinking before his eyes bugged out of his head at the oversight and swore. He confessed not knowing what to do next and checking his watch to see how much time he had before the dinner, which Angela continued, "Well, if you are looking for suggestions, I do seem to recall that Ana does enjoy gardening-"
From the start of light panic, Jack sprung to his feet at the suggestion and said, "A plant. That's a great idea. You're a lifesaver, Doc." Before running out of the door and down the hall.
Angela stood at her desk, trying to remind him that it was currently December, but decided to sit down and hoped that he would realize his folly when he saw the snow outside. Alone once more, she rested her head in her hand and waited to see if he would come back inside so she could finish her proposal. As she did, her eyes shifted over to the bottle of wine that she had wrapped for him as her thoughts began to wander once more.
"'Angie', huh."
Indiana, Present
Fareeha, Lena and Jack sat around the coffee table in the living room, cups of coffee accompanying each individual as they sat. With a hushed voice, Jack sat at the loveseat and relayed the information he had gathered over the last few weeks while Lena sat cross legged on the couch and Fareeha sat normally on the opposite end. The two women sat and listened intently at the espionage-novella level conspiracy Jack described; from the leaker who had blackmail on someone else, who hand a security clearance here, and an exchange of money elsewhere, which ultimately lead to the attempt on Dr. Ziegler's life. Both of the two were interested in the corruption of the Helix offices in America, but there was more to their patience than wanting a justification to their days of hiding. There was another conspiracy being woven under the roof of the old farmhouse, and it required a spider's delicate touch to not unravel the plan before it had time to flourish.
Jack continued, unaware of the tomfoolery that was afoot. Be it an old habit, or just a matter of pride, he continued detailing more of the story, finally concluding with the plans for the future. He, being a wanted fugitive and also dead, would have no further part in the ruse. Like before, Lena would keep her involvement here to a minimum, using her spontaneous nature to decide to go backpacking in the United States on a whim. For Doctor Ziegler's part, once they returned to society, a quick call to her lawyer would silence Helix's inquiries, as her past as a member of Overwatch as well as the animosity between the disgraced organization and the UN's prized PMC would dissuade people from looking too far into her disappearance.
As for Fareeha, her future looked to be a bit more murky; her alibi for evacuating the doctor would be instinct and quick reflexes, and their hiding spot would be, an "off-the-books Overwatch safe house". The largest unknown at that moment would be how far the analysts would believe the trust between the two women, who only had a tangential relationship that was mostly ended over ten years ago.
When he was done, he took a sip of his coffee, and then set the cup down, unknowingly setting the ball into the women's court.
Lena took the initiative, "alright, so when do you think we should all split, then?"
"Soon," Jack answered, "prepare yourselves and then start to make your separate ways. I'm going to be gone by tomorrow. Best for me to disappear before anyone gets the chance to poke a hole in our stories."
"So… you're going to be leaving tomorrow?" Lena asked. Jack confirmed her statement automatically.
As rehearsed, Lena looked to Fareeha, passing the lead off to her. "Well," she said, pausing for a moment, "It's been so surreal having everything that's happened recently. I mean…" she stammered, hoping that the way she spoke didn't give away her speech. "It would be nice if could spend some time together. Do you have to go so soon?"
Jack gave a sigh, sitting back in his chair, "I'm sorry, Kiddo. I already have plans and its best I keep moving. The way things are now, its best I stay as far out of your life as possible."
"Could you at least stay for dinner?" Lena asked. Jack shot her down with a quick "No".
"Shit." She thought. She looked away for a moment, while she thought of what else to say. Seeing no other options, she thought to what Lena had called, "the secret weapon". As she had been told, Fareeha looked away, shaking her head to herself before looking back. "I'm sorry, its just…" she then cross one arm on her waist and held the other up to her head, looking at the ground before adding, "I thought that you were dead for the last ten year." She said. Doing what Lena had described as, "The Bow on Top", she stood up from her chair and stepped aside, facing away from the man she called "Uncle Jack" for the first years of her life.
The ball was now back in Jack's court. She didn't whimper, she didn't cry, she didn't give a sob. It was a game of Chicken now, and whoever spoke first, lost.
There was a creaking in the chairs, Fareeha wasn't sure if it was from Jack or Lena, but a sigh came soon after, and before she knew it, Jack asked, "what time is dinner going to be?"
SUCCESS!
Fareeha kept her composure. She knew that Lena had probably wanted to cheer at that moment, but she kept herself restrained. Luckily, being faced away from the two, Fareeha had time to wipe the victory smirk off of her face before she could give out the pre-planned time.
She was about to give out speak, when another voice intruded into their conversation.
"Oh dear, you silly man. You're going to catch a cold like that."
Fareeha turned, and was surprised to see Dr. Ziegler standing behind the loveseat. Perhaps she was too focused on listening to Jack that she had missed Angela exiting the guest room and traverse the audio minefield that the old house was. Yet, what truly surprised her was what the doctor was wearing at the moment. The leather 76 jacket bagged and hung off of her form, covering her from neck to thigh and only allowed her fingertips to penetrate from the sleeves. She reached her hand up to the neck and pulled down the zipper, opening the garment up like a set of bat wings and revealing the spanxs shorts and undershirt within. She then pulled the jacket over and let it down over the Commander's shoulders.
Jack, glancing at her as she did so, gave a nonchalant, "thanks," like the half-dressed woman had just brought the newspaper in. Jack took a sip of his coffee while the other two women watched as Angela turned and walked away, returned to the kitchen, and then made her way to the basement to get dressed.
Lena, who had been the brains behind the secret scheme, was dumbfounded for a moment, the success of their ruse gone from her mind for a moment as Fareeha tried to figure out what to say next. Jack, noticing the odd silence in the room, was about to repeat his question, but before he spoke more than a single syllable, Lena pointed at the jacket and blurted out, "Iwantthat."
Hours Later…
The run from town and back was easy. Lena had done it two times before to restock on food and other supplies for the days that they had been hiding out at the commander's old home. Sure, she could have borrowed a car, or asked the neighbors for a lift, but it was just as easy to go supersonic to cross the open country miles in minutes and then slow down and jog at a normal human speed when she got into town. After all, she was trying to keep a low profile here.
The farmhouse was in view as she slowed down from a run to a walk. Going out for a run in the fresh country air was always a joy, and although it was the easiest way to keep up her cardio, going out for a run with a goal in mind made the time pass faster rather than feeling like she was just spinning her wheels in circles. With a big comfy sweatshirt to cover up her chronoal accelerator and a backpack full of goods to weigh her down, she turned off the road and began down the gravel driveway and up to the house.
Fareeha may have been a co-conspirator to what was going on, but Lena was the true mastermind behind all of this, and there was more to her dark machinations than the younger woman had known. She had given the chance that this plan would fail at the second step a solid 65% probability, but Fareeha was the secret weapon that brought it all together now, and the girl had done her part magnificently. Still, there was one more ulterior step she had to do for her own plans before she had to keep with the current ruse.
Arriving at the house, she walked in and called out, "I'm back!" before the slamming door crashed closed behind her. She waited, and did not hear a response. She tilted her head up to look up the staircase, and then leaned over to angle herself to see around a bit of the corner into the kitchen.
She hesitated for a moment, and then determined that this may be the opening that she was looking for. Halfway between casual footsteps and careful light steps, she stalked her way into the kitchen, ready to act nonchalant if need be, but as she had assumed, the kitchen was empty. Quickly, she lugged her backpack off and then set it down on the kitchen table. Weighing about 30 lbs less, she slid her way to the laundry room and looked around. To her displeasure, it seemed that Angela's attentiveness was something that she had overlooked. While Lena, from her own experience, would have had every basket overflowing with sweaty socks and shorts and the machine loaded with last week's wash, Angela had ensured that all of the laundry was done. Looking out the window, not even the clothesline held a single article of clothing.
"Damnit." Lena thought to herself. The runner walked back to the kitchen and began to gut her backpack, thinking of what to do next while she put away the groceries. When she was done, two rotisserie chickens in plastic containers, butter, half gallon of milk, and premade pie crusts were in the refrigerator, two bags of frozen vegetables were in the icebox, and the remaining unions, salt, pepper, and chicken stock were waiting on the counter.
It was when she was reflecting on the 30 minutes of time wasted looking for chicken stock (or as she learned the yanks call it, "broth"), that an idea hit her. She left the kitchen and made her way up the stairs to the second floor of the house. From there, she heard the voices of the two other women coming from what had once been the parents' bedroom. Pretending to not want to intrude, she pushed the door opened and looked inside.
As she had expected, Fareeha was in the bedroom, leaning against the wall beside the bathroom door. Angela was nowhere to be seen, but the sound of running water and steam wafting through the cracked door gave enough of a hint as to where she was, as well as how the two hadn't responded to Lena's return. Seeing her, Fareeha interrupted what she had been saying a moment prior and said, "Oh, Lena's back from the store."
"Oh, good. Was she able to find everything?" Angela asked, her voice muffled by the running water in the room.
Lena snapped her fingers, ending the gesture with a thumbs up. Fareeha reported the success of the task before continuing with their previous conversation. "I thought for sure that you would be more of a lit candles and champagne kind of girl. Are you sure you don't want to do anything more for tonight besides pot pies and a plaid shirt and jeans?"
Lena scanned the room, and her eyes landed on the bed, where a fresh set of clothes were stacked in a neat, folded pile, while beside them was a less organized heap of clothes. It didn't take her long to spot the familiar look of unbuttoned straps poking out underneath an undershirt.
Bingo
"I don't understand why you are making such a big deal out of this," Angela said, "It's just dinner. I don't see the reason to bother with anything more. Besides, he probably hasn't had a home-cooked meal in years. I've heard that can rejuvenate a man's spirit, too."
"After going for weeks with nothing but MRE's, I suppose you're right." Fareeha lifted her palm up and flexed her fingers inward, inspecting them as she spoke.
Seeing Fareeha distracted, Lena knew that she had a small window of opportunity and it was closing fast. Trying to act as nonchalant as possible, Lena sidestepped her way into the room, keeping her front to the younger woman as she crept towards the bed. She glanced at the pile of clothes once and then looked away. She began to turn her head upwards, glancing up towards the ceiling to her right while her left hand slowly moved towards the bed. Once her hand left the realm of inconspicuousness, her fingers darted out, grabbing ahold of the brassiere and then snapped back to her side, tucking the garment into the back of her pants.
Still washing herself, Angela spoke once more, "Still, I don't see why you two won't be joining us tonight? You're both welcome to stay."
Picking at a spot of dirt that was trapped in her fingernails, Fareeha said, "You know, it was actually Jack's idea." She lied, "plus, Lena said she saw fliers for a festival while she was in town. We'll just go and get some fresh air and leave you two some time to reconnect."
The medical practitioner was silent for a moment, rightfully skeptical of Fareeha's fibs, but nevertheless going along with the ruse. After a short while, she answered with an uncertain, "okay…" but then followed up with, "would you be a dear and get the oven started for me? I'd hate to try to rush dinner."
Hearing the request, Lena shot to attention and blurted out, "I got it!" and then darted out of the room. Fareeha looked up as Lena left, not having time to process the request before the older pilot's reaction time beat her to a response. From her childhood memories, Fareeha would have described Lena as "devilish" at worst, but in her blink-and-you-miss-it exit, it almost looked like Lena had a little black tail flapping out from her pants.
That night…
The key to survival in Jack Morrison's new line of work was to stay mobile and travel light. Part of that was to know where he had kept caches of gear and supplies for later so that the necessities to complete tasks didn't weigh him down on his day to day movements. Currently only carrying a duffle bag with three sets of clothes, pain medication, bandages, a knife, a mask, a semi-automatic pistol, three magazines, and 100 rounds of ammunition, Jack walked down the country road to his old home. The trip from his motel was uneventful, as was the long walk up the driveway until he reached the front porch. With three quick steps, he ascended the stairs and was face to face with the front door. Hanging by a piece of tape at eye level was a small white envelope. Written in the very center of the envelope was the name, "Morrison".
Curious, Jack pulled the note off the window and flipped it over, where another message was waiting on the flap of the letter.
"Have fun!"
He opened the envelope by sliding his finger into the fold and then tearing it across, exposing the top. He reached in and found a something inside. He pulled out the mysterious for inspection, but as soon as he read the word, "Trojan", he discarded it and then crushed the envelope in his hands, shoving it into his pocket with a roll of his eyes to be discarded later.
Without further delay, he opened the door and entered as a stranger into the house. Instinctually, he stopped the door from slamming with his foot and called out, "Hello?"
"Oh, come in." cried a voice in reply. Jack set his bag down at the door and did as instructed. Maybe it was the past mixing with the present, but the house felt like a faded photograph. Experiences off sitting down in certain chairs, turning a corner, or stepping on creaky floorboards triggered partial memories from a lifetime ago, but they were always incomplete, echoes of a time gone by. It wasn't until he was standing in the archway to the kitchen, the old bulbs in the ceiling light fixtures bathing the kitchen in a yellow glow, and the warm smell wafting from the oven hit his nose that the picture became clear, that this was his home.
At the far end of the kitchen, Dr. Angela Ziegler had just thrown her apron into the laundry room and set her oven mitts on the counter. She turned the oven off and then turned, parting her hair bangs as she faced her guest. The two stared each other down for a moment, almost unsure of what to do next. They both looked to have tried to present themselves in the best in their limited circumstances. Jack stood in his jeans, a red plaid shirt and his only pair of boots while Angela wore a green plaid over a white cami and pleated blue jeans. Unlike when he normally saw her, her high ponytail was now a low one, hiding behind her back instead of present like a firework behind her head.
"You look nice, Jack." She said, her voice firm yet gentle, almost afraid to shatter the moment.
"yeah… thanks." He said, caught off guard by the compliment. "you, too." His eyes glanced around for a moment before asking, "so… where are the other two?"
Angela gave a chuckle, "So, this wasn't all your idea, then."
"Nope."
"I thought so."
Jack Morrison shook his head, "well, we may as well give them a good show, then." He said as he nodded his head to the tiny spot in the corner of the ceiling, the subtle presence of a whisper camera watching them. Regardless, he walked around the table and pulled the chair out, offering Angela a seat before pushing her up to the table. He then took position at the seat on the opposite side of the table. When ready, they both took their forks and stabbed into flaky crust covering the top of their bowls, releasing a mist of hot salty steam from the trapped contents within. The kitchen had already smelled of warm and baked poultry, but smelling the contents in his dish forced him to ask the obvious question. "Did you make this?"
"Yes," Angela answered, blowing cool air onto the piping hot mix of chicken and broth in her spoon, "I found the recipe in a cook book in the cupboard. Judging from the crease in the spine of the book, it looked like a frequent recipe."
"No wonder," Jack muttered, "Just like how mom used to make it." After taking in a spoonful, he then asked, "by the way, did you really wear one of my mother's old dresses?"
The doctor gave a chuckle, "why yes, I did. Lena only packed a few changes of clothes, and I can't wear a tank top more than a few days." She took another bite of meat pie, swallowed and then continued, "Besides, It looked so pretty. I've lived long enough to realize that regrets are not worth having." She then gave him a sideways look before asking, "Would you like me to model it for you?"
Jack chuckled before shaking his head, "Well, it was actually my granny's before she passed, so it'd be kinda weird."
The two laughed at the revelation, Anglea adding how they must have had a similar figure, but after the humor of the statement died down, Angela set her spoon down and then asked, "Fareeha… its frightening how much she is starting to look like Ana. Do you think we should… tell her what happened?"
"Never in a million years," Jack thought, but then nodded slightly towards the camera in the corner and added, "I think there will be a time and place for that, but I just don't know where or when."
"Hmm." Angela grunted, she looked off to the side of the table, disconnected in the moment, but then chuckled to herself and slowly felt a smile creep back into the moment. She picked up her spoon and then said, "Do you remember that time that we all went to the Lindholm's family cabin for Christmas?"
"Yeah," Jack said before adding, "The year that Gabe bought her a 10 pump BB gun and you kept telling her, 'you'll shoot your eye out.'"
Angela's mood changed at the recollection of the puzzling memory, "yes. I never understood why you all thought that was so funny?"
Jack smiled, "It's from a movie. It's something you need to see to get."
"Well, I was just thinking how fortunate it was that she was so good at making friends. I'm glad that she was able to inherit that from her father."
"Eh, Ana wasn't that bad once you got to know her." Jack protested, but then said, "Brigitte, though… Fareeha almost tormented the poor girl with how outgoing she was. Do you remember when the 'org was going to have a snowball fight after new year's and Fareeha dragged the poor girl out of bed in her pajamas to make it to formation in time?"
Angela, mid spoonful, began to laugh at the memory and lost the contents of back into her bowl. She tried to scoop another serving out and said, "and on Christmas eve, poor Winston spent the night in the barn with a stomach ache after he tried eating meat to not offend Torbjorn's wife."
Jack put his elbows on the table and pointed at the doctor with his spoon, giving a controlled laugh while saying, "Yeah, I remember the sound he made." Jack opened his mouth and gave a guttural moaning sound, like a mix between a howler monkey with a sore throat and a drunk with a bad case of diarrhea. As he did so, Angela put the spoon of soupy chicken meal near her mouth, but the sudden sound caused her to gasp in some air and the sudden laughter, sucking in some hot soup at the same time. The sudden hot burn in her throat made her drop her spoon. She then covered her mouth, one part of her mind trying to swallow or eject the hot liquid, while her mind was trying to let out air from her lungs at the unfortunate memory. Neither side won, and she was left with a sealed throat and a need to breathe.
"You okay, doc?" Jack asked.
Somehow, Angela was able to release an "I'm fine." With a few escaped chuckles and a portion of hot broth sneaking down her throat and into places it wasn't meant to be. At the sudden escape/intrusion, she coughed, covering her mouth but only jostled the hot leftover soup into up into her nose. She stood, hoping to compose herself in private, but the sudden urgency caused her to try to cough once more. As she did so, her foot caught the leg of her chair, moving it while still trying to use it for balance. Before she knew it, she was on the ground. As soon as she realized the she was on the floor, Jack was already on top of her, ready to render aid.
Fareeha wasn't really sure what to expect from, "The Mulberry Spud Festival". She had seen of American fairs were like from television and the occasional film, but she still didn't really know what was fact and what was fiction. As expected, there were rides, some potato theme decorations and carnival games, but what she didn't expect was the big popup tent on the far end of the festival.
A part of her had expected it to be a small circus. But upon closer inspection, she found it to be something better; the beer tent.
After a cover charge for a bracelet and tokens and a surprisingly high charge for a "table", she learned the second surprise of the night. Not only was this the beer tent, but this was also the concert venue for the festival's live band. The posters for "The Highwaymen" had been littered around the festival. As always, it listed the previous and future venues, as well as the photograph of the band, a group of young men in leather and jeans riding Harleys with Apehanger handlebars driving away from a setting sun on a long highway. What was truly thought provoking about the poster, though, was the interesting conundrum that it provided. Not only was this "The Highwaymen", but it was "The Highwaymen featuring original members Terrance Needles and The Bull." So, that made her wonder if it really counted as the same band if less than half of the same members were present.
Regardless, Fareeha and Lena found their way to a table and watched from afar as the band played. A disguise of overalls, a coat, and a hat with some local brand of beer across the front added to the blanket of darkness in the tent and made her reasonably comfortable in her anonymity. Lena had also taken precautions to disguise herself, but not in a way to dissuade attention.
Although the English woman wore a hollowed out backpack to hide her Chronoal Accelerator (which she was wearing backwards for the occasion) as well as an old sweatshirt, it seemed that Lena had hit an abrupt and violent case of puberty between the morning and the afternoon festival. For the once lean and nimble runner now possessed a voluptuous chest. Though their goal had been to get away from the house for a few hours, Lena found much more satisfaction in catching the gawking looks and sideways glances of those unfortunate enough to lay their eyes on her. Her chest was so large and distracting that only Fareeha was able to notice the nauseous smell of sweaty tube socks and cheap deodorant emanating from underneath Lena's shirt.
Ignoring the game that Lena was playing, Fareeha nursed off a beer and watched the band on the far end of the tent. Lena hadn't heard of them before, so she wasn't sure if the aggressive drum rhythm or screeching electric guitars were on key or not, but it was decently coherent as the aging frontman of the band sang songs about midnight rides, Las Vegas shootouts, and dark highways. It was a nice piece of melodrama for someone who had faced the reality of death before on several occasions, but Fareeha didn't mind. After another rock and roll inspired roadtrip song, the band took a short break, coming back fifteen minutes later to a darker stage set.
The singer for the band, an old man with greying hair, wrinkles, and a denim jacket that labeled him as, "The Bull" took to the mic once more. Strangely, instead of going right from song to song like they had from when the pyrotechnics first announced their arrival, there seemed to be an introduction to this melody. In a voice that sounded as if it had been worn out from decades of hard drugs, shouting, and gargling salt, The Bull took to the mic and told a story to the crowd, "I wrote this song for the third love of my life. It came from a different place, but as time went on, its meaning changed. Even through the anger and pain, as the bad times fade and the good times get better, you can always close your eyes and dream of comin' back." As he spoke, the lead guitarist, a man who looked to be less than half of The Bull's age in a similar yet newer denim jacket took position, raising his guitar pick in the air. As Fareeha observed the scene, she noticed that the two men seemed to have the same sideburns and hereditary widow's peak. The sound of a diesel bus's engine starting came over the subwoofer, signaling the start to the next song. Ready to conclude his story, The Bull approached the mic once more and called out, "This song goes out to you, Shirley."
On cue, the audience spoke as one to respond to the call and shouted back. "Ya bitch!"
With a hint of a smile at the story, the lead guitarist's hand fell, striking the chords and filling the tent with music once more. The sound Fareeha heard was unexpected, while all of their other music seemed to consist of bass heavy southern rock and roll, the new song started with an epic and sweeping tune, yet almost melancholic, like the electric guitar was being used for a wedding procession. The rest of the band joined in, their normally pounding rhythm and assault on the eardrum joining together to create a melody for the first time tonight. On cue, the spotlights focused on The Bull once more in the center of the stage as artificial fog began to roll out from behind the curtains.
"The bus is on the road, sweet Georgia fades away,
We'll be burnin' through Louisiana, by the very next day.
Lord, sleep will never take me, my mind is stuck on you,
And you better be layin' awake. Thinkin' of me too."
The lead guitar approached his own microphone stand beside the Bull, ready to echo the frontman's call.
"Won't ask one thing,"
"I'll ask one thing."
"Not that you be true."
"Not that you be true."
"The thing I'm ask-ing. Of .You!"
A heavy gust of fog shot into the venue, obscuring the band and acting as a pseudo screen for a projector to illuminate a set of feminine eyes above the above the stage as the chorus played out.
"Save some sugar! This won't take long.
I won't promise to stay the night, I won't sing you no song."
Together, the band and audience sang out,
"Save me some sugar, That's all I ask of you.
You're my ol' lady, but the road… my lady, too."
Maybe it was her life in dangerous environments that made her dissect information quickly, but Fareeha understood the meaning of the song almost immediately. The gallant and wedding-like instrumentals hid the anger and spite in the lyrics, disguising the drunken rage and alimony payments within what the uninformed may think was an endearing love song. Fareeha wondered how many white-trash children had been conceived under the false pretenses of this song.
Speaking of white children being conceived, the thought occurred to her to check on the date that Angela and Jack were having. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the small tablet to their security system and activated the cameras. As she viewed the kitchen camera, she felt her cheeks blush at what she saw. She nudged Lena beside her and moved the picture for both of them to view. The English woman covered her mouth at the sight, shocked to find that the doctor and her old commander couldn't even wait to finish dinner to take their intimate feelings into the bedroom, instead electing to do… "it"on the kitchen floor and with all but their ankles and feet hidden by the table.
Despite choking, Angela thought that she had outdone herself on the meal, and took a mental note to copy that recipe for pot pies down for her own leisure. Table cleaned off and dishes washed, dried, and put away, Angela had Jack drag one of the kitchen chairs into the living room. After doing so, Jack took paper towels and thumb tacks and covered up the whisper camera on the ceiling wherever he could find them. After that, he removed his shirt and took a seat backwards on the chair, resting his arms on the back of the chair and spreading his legs to comfortably sit.
Like she had done in the other unexpected/ expected visits from her old commander, Angela turned the lights on to brighten up the room and examined Jack's body, checking the wounds and ailments that he had to treat himself and seeing what remedies she could perform. Most of his self-treatment was serviceable, patch jobs in the heat of the moment, and more in depth treatments done by Ana. As she had expected, Angela found what had once been a line of stitches, not just a faded scar, stretching down from his right shoulder blade to the center of his back. She remembered that night, a pounding on her door at 2 AM and treatment done with no preparation time. She traced her finger down the line, feeling for the dissolving stitching that was no longer there.
"It seems your body has recovered quite well since the last time we've seen each other." She said.
"Well, what can I say," he said, "You know what to do to make me feel just right."
Mostly ignoring the advance, Angela took her finger and traced the contours of the muscles on his back, feeling for anything torn or healed out of place. Almost out of reflex, she answered, "I bet you say that to all of the girls."
Jack gave a chuckle before answering back, "No, just the pretty ones."
Angela caught herself at the statement, but quickly recovered. Back to checking on her patient, she saw a patch of irritated skin in the center of his back. She told him to wait, found moisturizer and lotion in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom and returned. When ready, she applied both of the remedies to the affected area and rubbed them in with gloved hands and tried to make a mental note to look into it further. It could have been a simple rub or itch, yet at the same time a localized infection from all of the strange places he had been. With his new mission of wandering the world the way that he did, both were likely. "I should thank you," she said eventually. "I hadn't taken normal patients before I had to conceal the treatments I've done for you. I must say that I have started to enjoy having a normal schedule."
"Well, that's good." He replied, "at least you were able to salvage something out of everything that went wrong."
Salvage…
Angela stopped when she was finished with the treatment. She kept looking at Jack Morrison's back, at all of the scars that lined across its expanse, lost in thought at what he had said. Finally, she said, "Do you remember what you told me after it all happened, before you disappeared for almost a decade?"
Jack was quiet for a moment, before quoting the words almost as if it was scripture. "Let it die. Burn it to the ground if you have to. It was all over, and I wanted you to get away while you still could."
"I tried, but it still lives on."
"Don't blame yourself, Angie. I shouldn't have made you do that by yourself, but for everyone's sake, I was more useful as a dead man than alive."
"Yes, I understand that." she said, still looking at the marked tapestry of her old commander's body. "It just took me a while to see that not all scars are on the outside."
*Ping*
"C'mon, Lena. You can do this!" she said to herself, steeling her gaze and willing her muscles to tighten.
*Ping*
*Ping*
*Ping*
"C'mon…" the English woman tightened her form together, sticking out her tongue on reflex to somehow balance her body together. Her left eye was closed, forcing her right eye to focus down the barrel of her gun, blocking out the world around the circular diopter and only seeing the front post at the end of the barrel. She squeezed the trigger, causing a small flash and small push into her shoulder as a tiny .22 short round fired and hit the metal duck placed ten feet in front of her. Although the round did not land on the chipped and scarred bullseye, the metal silhouette went down with a satisfied *ping*.
"Yeah!" she cried, but immediately was answered back by a chorus of other contestants hitting their own targets. She gave a small yip at the fright and stuck her head back down and moved onto the target that was six inches to its right. She tried to focus once more, but increasing beat of her heart began to move the front bead of the light down the gun, and made her aim more uncertain. She looked around, trying to find some solution to her problem, and the sight of the flat table right before her and the lip at the far end of the battlement. She brought herself down to the table, placing the wooden stock of the gun against the stand, adding a solid rest to shoot from.
She smiled at her own quick thinking, knowing that a solid object and three points of contact would easily stabilize her aim. But as she went down to get in line with her sight, she found her next problem. As she tried to squeeze her body down towards the table, her chest, once a source of fun in the night, was now her biggest obstacle to aim the rifle. The plush padded prosthetic beneath her sweatshirt buffered the area between her body and the table, and as if on cue, another salvo of pings blocked came from the far end of the range.
"No! No! No!" She screamed to herself. She stood up from the stool and then placed her knee on it, bending her body over and placing all of her weight on her new chest, forcing her head down sideways to see down the peep sights. Now stable and able to co-witness both of the apertures, Lena stuck out her tongue and squeezed the trigger, resulting in another ping.
After the hypersonic pop of the round leaving he barrel, another, much louder ring filled the air as a medium sized brass bell chimed, declaring the competition over. "We have a winner!" cried out the stand attendant, walking over with a metal hook after instructing all contestants to lay down their weapons.
Lena looked up from her lane, seeing 2 of her ten ducks being brought back to the standing position as the attendant handed a lavender bunny-rabbit to a seven year old girl. As the other children left the stand, Lena unzipped the top of her sweatshirt once more, reaching in to find her wallet and cried. "I wasn't done yet! I want another go!"
"Not so fast." Said a voice behind her, but Lena was undeterred. She pulled out her wallet, and was about to dig more money out when a force pulled her from behind. Like a dog on a leash, the straps around her chest tightened and pulled forcing her out of her stool and away from the shooting gallery. When they were ten feet away from the stand, Fareeha let go of Lena, causing the taught bra strap to fly beneath her clothing and smack Lena on her back like a disobedient animal with a switch.
She gave a short cry at the lash between her shoulder blades and turned to protest, but the look in the other woman's eyes said that she wasn't interested in hearing any of it, so she gave up without trying. As she had been doing for the last thirty minutes, Fareeha had been waiting patiently while holding a large stuffed bear with a pink body and white ears, mask, and nose. She looked to be cradling the toy in her arms, but instead prize was so large and neck so oddly thin that it had a lopsided hourglass shape and required two hands to hold. "Come on," Fareeha said, offering the stuffed animal to her cohort, "I heard that they're going to be starting a movie in the parking lot soon."
Lena agreed, and the two began making their way towards the parking area for the fair, where a large white screen had already been set up and projector was being tested. Fareeha walked with her hands in her jacket pockets while Lena viciously molested the stuffed animal by rubbing her face into the neck like a toddler trying to wipe off its cheeks. Half way to their borrowed truck, Fareeha looked to the woman walking beside her and asked, "You know, for a fraction of what you wasted trying to win one of those toys, you could have just bought one. I'm sure you can just buy them on the internet."
"Yeah, probably." Lena said, "but half the fun in life is the struggle to get what you want."
Fareeha kept walking, thinking of what she said and then realized the flaw in that logic. "wait, but I was the one who won the bear, not you."
Lena giggled at the correction, "too right. But it made me realize something else."
"That you're a horrible shot?"
"No. its that some things in life are precious because you can't have them." She said. After delivering her pearl of wisdom, Lena went back to violently motorboating her stuffed bear.
"So Fareeha took my dad's old crop duster and took you for a ride?"
"Yes." Angela answered, "I thought it was very unnecessary, but how could I say 'No' after all the effort she put into it. I only had a few restless nights, afterall."
The house had been put back together after Angela's examination. Once again, the two found themselves sitting in the family room in opposite chairs. "Well," Jack replied, "to be fair, you always were the first one up at base and the last one out every day. Hell, I thought you slept in your office after a while."
"What?" she protested, "Is it wrong to enjoy your work? Everything was so engaging, exciting and… fun."
"Well Angie, you and I have two very different definitions of 'fun'." He joked.
The two smiled over the memories as Angela's eyes drifted out the windows at the setting sun. The two shared the silence for a moment until Angela's smile faded. Still watching the last embers of daylight fade away, Angela spoke once more. "Jack, I always wanted to ask you about that name… Angie. You call me that every now and then when we happen to be alone. Why?"
"hmm." He mused. "Sorry, its just an old habit. You just, well… you remind me of someone I used to know."
The commander's unease was obvious, but Angela was far too invested to let the story end there. "who was she?"
Jack gave a sigh and then stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the far fields. He took a moment before saying, "My sister."
"I didn't know you had a sister."
"Well, technically, she was my cousin, but she was adopted by my folks before I was born. I suppose that, deep down, she was always someone I could trust." He turned to look at Angela once more, "Like I said, old habit." Angela sat in her chair for a moment as she mulled over the new information. After all these years and keeping all of his secrets, she thought that she was one of the few people who knew him the best. She kept watching him as he looked out the window of his front yard, until his lip twitched and stood up straighter. He checked his watch, and for whatever reason, the time had completely changed his attitude. "Hey," he said, "go and grab a blanket. I want to take you somewhere." Before she could ask for more information, Jack had walked out the front door and towards the barn.
Angela Ziegler did as instructed as she thought over the previous conversation. It was odd to think that, after all of these years, she was now learning about this new development. A part of her was worried that she had prodded too far, that he was about to push her away again. But she couldn't jump to conclusions yet. A few minutes later, she had strapped on her boots and was standing on the porch to the farmhouse, blanket folded over in her arms she waited.
As expected, a racket was coming from the barn again, and the doctor hoped for the sake of her nerves that this didn't mean that she was in for another plane ride. Relief washed over her body as the rectangular shape of a green John Deere tractor poked out of the barn and pulled its way over to the farm house.
Speaking over the *pup pup pup* of the engine, Jack Morrison waved his hand and called, "Climb on board!"
Angela looked over the machinery and deduced the proper steps to take on the ladder, wheel well, and hand bars as she climbed. Jack gave her a hand to support her as she neared the top, but ran into another problem. It was a single seater.
Angela thought it over for a moment, seeing his legs spread in the compartment, and then decided to lay the blanket down across his lap and sat herself down on his leg. She sat for a moment, first straightening her back to sit up straight, but soon realized that such a posture may be uncomfortable after a while. So, she moved herself backwards until she was sitting against his chest and shoulder. Being the old farmboy that he was, Jack Morrison placed his free arm around her waist and secured her to him as he put the machine into gear and began to drive down the farm fields.
For the first time in weeks, the farm house was now empty once more. The last view of the final two occupants was that of their silhouettes as the two drove off into the setting sun.
"C'mon luv, don't strain yourself." Lena said, dissolving Fareeha's fear that she was the only person here that thought that this movie did, indeed, suck.
The two women were lying in the bed of the truck, tailgate down, and a portable radio was between them playing the audio to the film as they both used different sides of the stuffed animal won at the fair as a pillow to support their posture. Apparently, the film they were watching was part 13 of some long running space opera. Fareeha was completely lost as to what was happening, but Lena kept them both entertained by mocking the actress' English accent with a stereotypical version of her own. As they were currently watching, the main character had raised both of her hands up into the sky and had apparently used space magic to move an entire planet in the way of the sun in order to cause a solar eclipse, all the while doing a low-volume scream and making an awkward scream-face.
Fareeha chuckled at the comment and then kept watching. After a few more moments of watching, Lena then added, "I think I've watched the ol' rub and tug films with better acting with this."
Fareeha tried to act like she didn't hear that, and after another moment of her life she wouldn't get back from watching the film, said, "I hope Jack and Angela are still having a good time. Should we check on them?"
Lena thought for a moment, tilting her head as she did so, but then said, "Nah, leave them be for now."
A small hill stood on the northwest end of the property. Two hundred years ago, the hill was the result of terraforming the surrounding land into farm fields, and after all of this time, green grass and a great tree stood on the top of it all. Under the cover of the tree and the blanket of the stars above them, Jack Morrison and Dr. Angela Ziegler sat on the sheet that she had brought with them on this trip and looked out at the moonlit expanse of the countryside. Angela wasn't sure what the destination was on their moonlit adventure, but after taking a seat and breathing in the fresh air, and taking in the scenery of a humble land untouched by the war that had shaped both of their lives, she had come to the conclusion that this was it.
"It's beautiful out here." She said.
"Oh, you haven't seen anything yet." He said while checking his watch again. "We used to sneak out here after dark. Half the time, we would smuggle cigarettes out with us. The other half was just to get away from it all. Never thought I would show this to someone else."
"I see." Angela said, but noticed that he wasn't just talking about himself once again. It brought her back to the same question that had been on her mind during the ride over here, and for as much as he may have regretted revealing the mystery, a part of Angela felt that being home made the memory return.
"Jack, what happened to Angie?"
"She died." He answered, not automatically, but with respect to the memory of his kin.
"I'm sorry." She said.
"Don't be, Angela. It was a long time ago." Jack paused for a moment and took Angela's silence as a silent request to continue. "It was the damnedest thing, 'dry drowning'. We went to school like it was normal, she had to go swimming for gym that day, and somehow water got into her lungs. A few hours later, she felt really tired and couldn't shake it."
"I understand."
"Hmm. That day, I lost a lot more than my sister. When things got bad at home, we would always come here our special place and she would help me unwind and recharge."
"I'm sorry. I know how it feels to lose someone."
"Yeah," he leaned back on his hands and looked at her, "we all do."
Angela looked at him, his shadowy form before a backdrop of stars. Seeing him now made her feel strange, it gave her a sense of belonging that she hadn't felt in many years. This old tree on top of a grassy hill wasn't a fancy villa or a private resort, but a sacred and close kept secret that only Jack Morrison possessed, and of all of the people in the world, he had let her into it. In a strange way, being by his side made her forget about herself was for a while, or more accurately, let her mind fade away from what she was and focus on who she was. Yet, for as pleasant as it was, there was a remorseful thought in the back of her head reminding her that this, like all of their other meetings, was finite. If she did cherish this feeling, than she would have to act.
"Jack, I-"
"Here it comes!" He said, his excited reaction cutting off her confession. Angela, being distracted by her thoughts, turned her head around to look out into the countryside. Her eyes searched at first, confused as to what was happening, but then quickly discovered why the younger Morrisons had claimed this spot as their sacred ground.
A distant whistle called out into the night, and heading southbound on a long set of parallel lines, a massive steel locomotive made its way across the Great Plains. The rhythmic cycle of the side rod powering thousands of tons of steel down across the countryside acted as the soundtrack to the performance reserved for those two. Angela leaned back onto her hands as she spectated the scene before her. Underneath a full moon and dotted canvas of stars, listening to the sounds of industry from a mile away, she felt at peace, but being next to Jack made her feel content. They had been all around the world, but there was no place that she would rather be than right here, right now. She didn't want to break the silence, she truly didn't, but she had to ask him the question that had been on her mind for a very long time. Without taking her eyes off the train, she asked, "Jack, why do you keep running?"
Laying beside her, he answered, "You should know, Angie. Because there's something worth chasing."
"I see." She said, readjusting her arms and inadvertently touching her shoulders to his.
"Angela?" he asked.
"Yes?" she answered, not taking her eyes off the traintracks.
"You deserve a good man."
The doctor turned her head to look at him, and as she did, she noticed that he was looking at her. It was at that moment that she had wondered what he had been watching this entire time. The train, or her? It took her a moment to understand what he had said, but she answered firmly and without a tremble in her voice. "I already have a good man, Jack." She slowly lowered her arm and descended onto the sheet until her head was supported by his chest as she watched the show.
Twenty eight cars later, and the whistle on the engine was only a faint whisper as the caboose faded from view. Jack gave a sigh at the end of the sight as she moved his weight around. "It's always a shame that it couldn't last longer."
Angela know that feeling all too well, but felt anxious as the fading embers of the moment flickered away. Up until now, she had felt like a passenger in the situation, watching and doing as asked, but she didn't want to be like that. Her more rational side had kept her emotions in check for years telling her that she had been acting careless in this silly fantasy, but sitting here, underneath an old tree, she had realized that her fantasy could become a reality, but it was all up to her.
Her chest got tight as her breathing felt heavy. All her professional life, she had bottled up her performance anxiety by thinking of herself as a tool, her body performed in front of students, her writings were just being repeated by her words, it disassociated her body from herself. But in this moment, if she wanted to get what she desired, she needed to break the wall down and become her true self.
"I'll go and get the tractor started." He said.
"Wait-" Angela interrupted. She placed her hand on to his chest before turning to look him in the eye.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"I'll wait for you, Jack." She declared, "No matter how long it takes. I'll wait for you, as long as you promise to be mine."
"Angela, I-" he started, but she stopped him. She lunged forward, planting her lips on his and closed her eyes. She didn't know what she was saying or how to express her feelings with words, so she made her commitment with a kiss. She didn't care what excuses he had, or how hard it would be, she… loved him. She loved him, and she wasn't going to keep it to herself anymore. She didn't care about him going out and playing soldier anymore, with enough time and planning, they could create a story or find a way to bring him back from the dead, bring back Jack Morrison to the world or create a new identity for him. Angela didn't want someone who could quote poetry, sign a ballad in her name, buy her fancy things or take her to exciting places. In this moment, he made her feel safe, untouchable, looking towards the future at a bright horizon, a feeling she had been missing since the day that she had learned that her parents had been murdered.
She wasn't afraid of starting over. She wouldn't even mind becoming the wife of a farmer. She knew the days were long and the work tough, but she could see it; him waking up to start the day while she enticed him to stay in, creating a lab in the basement or a barn so she could continue her work, seeing their children off to school with a wave, or even starting a local practice out here. She didn't mind. The only thing he needed to accept was her.
Slowly, she pulled away, creating a snap as they separated. Angela slowly opened her eyes as the two stared into each other. Angela felt a gentle hand being raised up to cradle her head. His fingers were warm as the reached into her hair. She normally didn't like to be touched, but she would let him pull her back in if he so desired.
"I'm sorry, Angela. I don't deserve you."
The woman sat up, facing away as her hand met her face and covered her eyes. She had failed. She had given it her all and it wasn't good enough.
Without prompting, Jack said, "I walked away from you once already. I don't deserve a second chance that could ruin you. I don't trust myself to not do it again. I'm sorry."
Jack raised his hands to comfort her, but he didn't know what to do. Right or wrong, nothing he could say would make things better, so he may as well get the tractor running. He got up, mentally calling himself all of the slurs that he could think of while wishing there was a way that he could kick himself in his own ass. He didn't want to say it out loud to crush her any more, but he would give her some time, and wait all night if he had to.
He took a few steps away, intending on circling the hilltop and walking down the back towards their vehicle, but before he got too far, he heard her voice again. "You're wrong, Jack." He turned to look at her, standing in his childhood hideaway with the blanket hastily folded in her arms. "You're wrong, Jack Morrison." She declared, a single star shining down her cheek as a defiant smile broke across her composure. "You don't know it yet, but you're wrong."
Fareeha bit down onto her lip, the pain acting as a release to the building tension behind her eyes. She could feel her nose clogging up at what she was witnessing, as the dam in her eyes cracked under the swell of water within.
"I love you, baby." The man said, "Daddy's gotta go save the world, now."
With that, her composure broke, letting the tears flow down her cheek at the sight of the actor on the screen. She thought that she was special, that the narrative presented to her of comedians and rednecks being sent into outer space to stop an asteroid from destroying all life on earth spoke to her because of the time she had said goodbye to her mother not knowing that it would be her last, but from the sound of other cars and the sobbing Englishwoman beside her, it seemed that her hypothesis was not true.
With a chorus of rock n' roll and a montage of all the mistakes he had made in his life, the action star hit the big red button, splitting the colossal space by the force of thermal nuclear fire and saving humanity from Armageddon. With a pause in the cries beside her, Fareeha felt a nudge on her shoulder. Fareeha looked over to see Lena with a gentle smile on her lips. She knew all too-well what must have been going on in Fareeha's head as she pulled a rolled pair of clean athletic socks out of her deflated cleavage and offered it to her younger friend.
Without question, Fareeha took the socked and dapped up the tears around her eyes.
The Morrison farm house was dark, save from one light in the living room. An old TV, hidden in the basement for storage, had been brought up to the living room and was placed against the wall on top of a coffee table. Beside the TV was an old gaming console, with a web of wires hastily set up to connect the two devices. Placed six feet before the television, the loveseat in the living room had been turned to properly view the screen while Angela Ziegler and Jack Morrison sat before it underneath a sheet.
Jack occupied the far arm rest of the chair-and-a-half while Angela sat on the opposite end, her legs curled underneath her as she used both hands to hold a bowl full of popcorn. Before them, an old black and white film played before them, its lack of general color making its provided light much less than a more modern film.
"You know," Jack said, "I heard that plane in the background isn't real, and they just hired dwarfs to walk around a-"
"Shhh!" Angela said, "this is the best part!" As she stuffed a handful of popcorn into her mouth.
The film was dated, that was for sure, and the actors happened to have an incredibly funny way of talking, but she didn't mind. On the screen, a man in a trench coat pulled his lover aside as the camera zoomed in on the two as he said, "Last night we said a great many things. You said I was to do the thinking for both of us and I've done a lot of it since then, and it all adds up to one thing. You getting on that plane where you belong." The woman protested, to which the man said, "I'm saying it because its true. You belong with Victor. If that plane leaves the ground and you're not on it, you'll regret it. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but soon enough you will."
Jack Morrison gave a sigh as Angela nudged herself closer to him under the sheets, a smile on her face as she watched. In a last ditch effort, the woman on the screen pouted and asked, "what about us?"
To which the man placed a hand on her chin and answered, "We'll always have Paris…"
Outside the house, Lena and Fareeha walked down the driveway to the old farmhouse. The borrowed truck had been returned to the neighbors and Lena had donated Mr. Beary Manilow to the couple's daughter as a gift. Lena had returned to her normal size, and had stuffed her backpack with the spare socks that she had used throughout the night. The two younger women walked up to the porch, but upon climbing the steps to the landing, Lena's hand grabbed Fareeha by the shoulder. The darker woman stopped, and looked as Lena pointed at the two inside on the couch. The English woman covered her mouth as she swooned over the sight, looking up at her taller cohort as she saw the two of them as well.
Fareeha smiled, giving the older two a few more moments alone before returning home and interrupting them. She turned to the pilot beside her and said, "Lena, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."
Switzerland, 10 years ago…
As expected, Jack Morrison was back in Angela's office within a few minutes of him leaving, as she had estimated, within the time frame of him running out to his car, seeing the snow, and seeing the folly of his plan.
"Doc." He said, nearing panic, "its winter. There won't be any plants available for months!"
Angela sat at her desk, hands together and supporting her head as she waited. "Oh dear," she said, preparing for the last 4 minutes on what to say, "Well then, I do know that Ana has been talking about trying to find a new sun hat for herself." She removed her hands and clicked the pen that she had been holding onto. "I happen to know of a shop down town that should have what she's looking for. Why don't you give her a card for it?"
"You're a life saver!" he cried, but as he was about to leave again, he stopped himself and asked, "Do you happen to know where it is?"
"Why of course." She said, trying to hold back amusement at the exchange. She took her pen and looked for something to write on. Oddly enough, she found a blank piece of paper right in front of her on the desk. Something in her mind told her that the blank paper was important, but she couldn't understand why. Regardless, she wrote the address down that she had memorized from her computer a minute ago and folded the paper over for him, handing it over across her desk.
Jack took the paper and looked it over as if it was the cure to cancer. With visible relief washing over his body once more, he said, "thank you, Angie. You're a life saver." He was about to leave, but before he ran down the hall he popped into the office once more and said, "keep it. For all the help," he nodded at the bottle the she had wrapped on her desk before adding, "Merry Christmas."
And with that, he was gone. She took the bottle of wine and filed it in the bottom drawer of her desk, before grabbing her pencil once more to return to what she had been doing before, but was lost after a few moments of trying to figure out what she had been doing before the interruption. Confused as to what she had forgot, Angela decided to give up on returning to work and instead reflected on the surprise visit. She held her head up in her hands once more and slowly closed her eyes while shaking her head. She gave a sigh in self-pity and said, "I don't know which one of us is the bigger fool…"
Holy fucking balls, this chapter took me 2 years to write.
Anyway, I have one more chapter planned, but I need your help first. Go onto youtube and post below with what you think is the best version/ cover of the song "Country Roads" by John Denver.
