Helpless Resistance

Jason Gideon

I sat at a picnic bench, waiting. Admittedly, I'd been gone for years, but I was really hoping that he would remember if I sat where we had first met. It had been raining then, and we'd been sharing a game of chess, but he was smart, and I really hoped he wouldn't have forgotten about me.

"Xiomara, you're home." There was a loud, wet-sounding, exhalation and then an extra weight was added to the bench beside me, causing it to groan and bend, as warm arms and a corduroy jacket wrapped around me as though to conceal me from the rest of the world.

"I told you I'd be back, Gids." I hummed, my face pressed into his shoulder as he refused to let me go. "Was beginning to think you forgot about me, I've been out here every day since my discharge." I forced a small chuckle despite knowing his profession and that he could easily tell.

"I would never." He pulled back from the hug but kept his arms around me, holding me close. "I'm not based here anymore, I decided it was time for me to explore nicer horizons. I'm not getting any younger, you know." His soft chuckle soothed my ears.

I knew that there was a wealth of terrible occurrences that had led to that decision because Gideon sent me a letter every day when I was gone. At the end of a case, he'd tie the bundle together in order and post them together, it was the nicest and cruelest thing to come back to base and see a pile of letters on my bed. Not knowing which person he loved was going through it or if it was, in fact, himself. I had no doubt that his decision to leave had more to do with Frank Breitkopf's brutality of his late lover Sarah Jacobs, the loss had hit him ridiculously hard, I had noticed that his behaviour and writings had become more erratic after.

"Neither am I. Maybe I'll come around to bother you," I joked, hiding both my realisation and the mirthless laugh behind a wide smile and twinkling eyes. "I'm turning twenty-one soon, Gids and I've already run my purpose."

"What happened?" He queried, his whole body angled towards me, giving me his utmost attention. "You're still young. You made Sergeant, and you're not in prison," he speculated, then his eyes sharpened and he clenched his jaw, expression nearing a scowl as his eyes darted around what he could see of me. He was scouting for obvious injuries, about three months too late, but I was grateful that he cared enough to do so. "When were you hurt?"

"I can tell you that I left med three months ago and went straight back into active service to complete the tour I was on, but I think you'd blow a gasket if I told you how long I was there for." A soft smirk lifted the left side of my lips, and his scowl worsened at the lack of information. "I was captured along with one of my rookies and one seasoned officer, I was the only survivor." That was the most I could give him, in fact, that was probably way more than I was allowed to tell him before the news had dropped publicly but Jason Gideon was the only person in my life and I needed to tell someone. He would understand anyway, working with criminals often ended in blood, and from his letters, he was equally as prone to survivor's guilt as I was.

"I worry about you, kid. Give me a break about it," he nudged me softly, his expression fading into a barely there smile. "You still hurting?"

"Nah," I scoffed. "I'm a little stiff sometimes in my back and my left knee, I got scars like you wouldn't believe, worse than the ones from before, which I almost couldn't believe." I threw my brows up and widened my eyes as I shook my head, exaggerating my disbelief. "Just bored now, got nothing to do with myself except for running down my savings and dying on the streets." I grumbled as the pessimist within me reared its ugly head.

"No one hiring?" His tone told me that he knew that wasn't the case.

"You know that's not it," I gritted my teeth, frustrated with myself. "I need something high stress, Gids. The police won't even look at me unless I apply to the academy, which I refuse to do, and being a bodyguard isn't dangerous enough to pique my interest." I realised that I sounded like a spoiled brat and turned my face away from Jason as it reddened from embarrassment.

"I can understand that," I felt him shrug, glad that he hadn't forced me to turn back to him whilst I was getting myself back under control. "As soon as I started my first case with the FBI," he paused, arms tightening around me for a moment. "I could never consider anything less violent. It's not anything to be embarrassed about, Xio." One of his hands came up to cup my chin, and he turned me back to him. His smile was soft and sweet, I knew he was about to impart wisdom. "Some men are born willing and prepared to be taken over by darkness. Others, like you and I, are made ready and willing to battle that darkness. Sometimes we win, and sometimes we lose. In the end, it comes down to sheer strength of will whether we die heroes or live to give up on ourselves."

"It's looking less likely that I'll die a hero every day, Gids. I'm stuck, I need advice, help, from you." I sighed, lips twitching downwards. "I'm not talking about your philosophical wisdom helter-skelter brain-melter shit. I need you, as my parental figure, to tell me what to do." I leaned towards him, taking his hands in mine, my green-eyed gaze refusing to part from his own eyes.

In that moment, his whole being seemed to fill with light. He and I had not previously discussed how much weight or what place he held in my life. although I'm sure he had assumed I had confirmed to him, for the first time, that I saw him as a father.

"I would like to introduce you to my old team," he smiled widely, almost leaping from the bench. He pulled me up and started off, in a rush, towards one of the many park exits. "I make no promises, but I have a feeling they'll find space for you."

"Gids, I'm pretty sure they don't want people like me working there. I'm riddled with PTSD, I have borderline personality disorder, and I have depressive episodes that make yours look like a holiday to the Bahamas." I listed off as he dragged me behind him. He didn't stop, or even turn around, only snorted to show his derision and continued.

"The team already knows these things about you," he stressed. I punched his shoulder with my free hand, which finally got him to look at me, and when he saw my upset expression, he showed me an unimpressed face of his own. "Much like you're the only person I trust with my team and I's secrets, they are the only people I entrust with yours." He stopped by a sandy coloured chevrolet silverado, sweeping the door open and assisting me into the front passenger.

This was going to be a disaster.