chimera | d. jackson

ONE | help wanted

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄.
HELP WANTED

                              𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐏𝐄𝐑 Loni Condos was many things to many people, but to most, she was the favorite bar owner in the small town of Almeda, Colorado, near Cheyenne Mountain. She was the person you could talk to and not receive a scathing remark. You could ask her for the latest in the town's gossip and she would be able to tell you anything about anyone, despite never actually giving more than necessary.

          As of the current moment, she was enjoying the peace and quiet of her closed bar, Above the Sky. There were only a couple hours until she'd have to reopen for the after-work 9-5 crowd that always made an appearance. She couldn't help humming a tune, one she learned from her mother, while drying the insides of the beer glasses she'd just hand washed.

          "Kiss me once again," she sang softly, reaching the end of the song, though fully prepared to begin again. However, she was caught momentarily off guard when she was joined by a rasped tenor-esque voice. "It's been a long, long time."

          "We're closed," was her automatic reaction, internal pleading that this isn't who she thinks it is.

          "Even to me?"

          "Hello, Dorian." A shaky breath fell from slightly parted lips as Juniper turned to face the main entrance to the bar, a small smile involuntarily sliding across her face as she connected eyes with her older brother. "It's been a while."

↩ 🌌 ↪

                              "𝐒𝐎, what do you want?"

          "I'm not sure I know what you mean, Lon."

          Juniper could barely contain the scoff that edged forward. Despite her frustration at his faux-innocent attempt at a deflection, she answered with, "You never come home, not without wanting something."

          "After Frank and B, th-"

          "Mom and Dad," Juniper corrected, fiercely defending them like always.

          "Not to me," was Dorian's snipped reply. At that, Juniper felt the anger she had buried about him leaving in the first place want to burst past its containment and into the awaiting silence. And yet, she did no such thing.

          In an attempt to prevent an all out screaming match with her brother, the brunette worked to change the subject.

          "Why are you here? There's nothing left for you to take," she said, the harshness of her second statement hitting its mark as Dorian physically recoiled. And yet, they both knew she was speaking the truth. He had already taken everything he could, the only thing left for her was the bar and the apartment, locked into place by Frank Condos' final will and testament.

          "I need your help."

          Four words she never expected to hear and Juniper felt the tension in her shoulders dissipate as she deflated. Her back made rough contact with the wood back of the barstool she sat in. Her fingers skimmed the glass of scotch set before her, an identical drink in her brother's white-knuckled grasp.

          There was a beat of silence as Dorian continued speaking.

          "But I can't give you any information until you agree."

          That obviously meant military involvement. Juniper took a steadying breath, one meant to quell the pit in her stomach, one she knew all too well. Using the silent air to her advantage, the brunette looked over her brother for the first time since he'd walked into her bar.

          His once unruly brown locks were no more, in their place was a cropped haircut that reminded her all too well of a younger Franklin Condos, the man she called father. Clad in his Class A uniform, she decided to distance the brother she once adored from United States Air Force Major Dorian Condos, son of the most world-renowned geneticist and one of the best Air Force pilot of the last three decades.

          His eyes, once soft, were now stone. The hint of a smile his resting expression used to possess was nothing more than a memory as his lips set into a permanent scowl. His features were better defined, worn by time and training. She mentally reminded herself to give his former training officer a scathing phone call at some point, though preferably sooner rather than later.

          "What would be so dire that the United States Air Force would call in a former behavioral analyst," Juniper questioned, flames licking at her gaze as she remembered the smell of burning paper, of her burning PhD in a field yet to be truly understood.

          "Classified until you sign on," comes the sighed answer from Dorian.

          "Alright, sure."

          "What?"

          "I'll offer my services to your brain-dead superiors on one condition."

          "And that is," Dorian drawled skeptically.

          "I get to say goodbye."