Playing Jacks

v. Life is a puzzle, part 2

“Callan?” Jacks asks, surprised at the name.

Sophie nods enthusiastically, digging her phone out of her pocket.  She dials the number but has to leave a message on the extension. “I’m going,” she announces, pulling out of Jacks’ weak grasp. 

“Going?” Jacks demands. “Going where?”

“The beach.”

“Now?”

“Now,” she announces and, thus decided, Sophie makes for her small apartment. 

Jacks watches her ascend the stairs, for once not distracted by the way her curves sway.  He’s too busy wrapping his mind around the words ‘FBI’ and ‘Callan’.

The autumn breeze carries the soft sound of a woman crying and the deeper tones of reassurance from one of the windows upstairs.  Following the sad notes, Rachel sits on Jeremy’s bed and clings to her boyfriend, her tears wetting his shoulder.  The bruises on her arms anger him but for now he strokes her back and promises to take care of everything, even as his mother stands outside the closed bedroom door and debates an intrusion. 

Down the hall, James speaks on his phone to a client he can’t dismiss.  Hunched and rubbing his forehead with his fingertips, his posture tells of his discomfort but he will tend to this man himself.  He trusts no one else. 

JJ calls from the front door, bringing nothing significant.  The small detour is little more than an alibi.

Still Jacks sits, struggling with risk verses reward; but when he hears the old Rust Bucket wheeze and sputter to life, he jumps to his feet.  Risk be damned- there’s no surrender; there’s no retreat.

Jackson Mancuso doesn’t seem to comprehend the word, ‘no:’ that’s the only explanation Sophie can give to the presence of the overly long man crunched into the front seat of the Red Rust Bucket.  Hints and subtle dismissals ignored, she’d even said the two letter word- clearly and in close proximity to his nose.  He just lowered himself into her front seat and refused to answer her.

She’s never met a man more infuriating.

But when the day’s long hours ate the last of her energies, he quietly ordered her to pull over and commandeered the car, pushing the drivers’ seat back as far as it would go.  Curled on her side, Sophie watches Jacks’ impassive face as he drives.  Her eyes are heavy but she fights the much needed sleep.

“Where did the scar come from?”

“French Foreign Legion,” he answers succinctly, as if there was nothing more to the story.

Sophie softly curses, but it’s the sound of respect. “Earned your man-card, didn’t you?”

Jacks lips lift into a sly smile. “You could say that.”

They travel for a while longer, the only sound is that of the tires’ hum on the road.

“Don’t you have to kill someone to get in there?” Sophie softly asks, her curiosity tainted with a reserve of fear.

“You don’t have to,” Jacks answers. “But they make up for it once you join- believe me.”

Sophie swallows, reflexively.

“You give up your life,” Jacks continues, his eyes anchored to the road ahead of him. “Your entire life: everything, right down to your name.  In return you get a new one.  It’s the only reason anyone joins.”

Sophie stares at his profile: the hard grey eyes that won’t flinch from their attention; the jaw flexed with stress.  Something clicks- his interest in the FBI, his concern as to whether she’d mentioned him- and her hands start to tremble.  Tucking them between her thighs, she softly presses the inquiry further. “So, why’d you come back?”

“Why are you making this drive twice in one day?” He bites back.

“Jacks, I didn’t do it,” Sophie asserts, desperately wanting someone to believe her.

“Neither did I,” Jacks admits, his eyes finally turning to take in her wide Bambi-eyes. It’s not entirely true- he concedes that- but its true enough. “I just want to come home,” he finally admits.

Sophie’s heart lurches with empathy.  Today of all days, wouldn’t she understand the need to prove oneself innocent?  To return to a safe place with family and friends?  To reclaim a life that others have stripped away from you?  Her thin fingers curl around his arm, gently squeezing the rock-hard muscles until they start to relax. “At least you have a home to come back to,” she softly offers.

Gradually her fingers kneed the tension out of his arms.  His shoulders follow suit, falling from their bunched roost around his jaw.  Popping his neck, he exhales and the last of his tension seems to leave with the breath.

Her eyes never leave him.

Jacks sneaks a glance from the road to look at the exhausted woman desperate to prove her innocence. The wide-eyed fear he’d seen in her shadowed features has settled into something timidly accepting.  The respite from everyone’s judgment is like someone has dropped chains that heretofore have bound his chest and restricted his breath. 

Reaching across the small distance, he brushes Sophie’s hair away from her face. “Try to sleep, kitten.  I’ll get us there.”

His soft order was hardly necessary.  Though she never breaks her curious study, exhaustion weighs heavily on her and without conversation, her lids quickly cover those intense, intelligent eyes.  The hurt and fear that once edged the atmosphere softens with slumber.  Her hand slides down the length of his arm until it comes to rest on the partition between them, her fingers still curled around his arm, just above his wrist.   He doesn’t pull away and although the grip is light, she never lets loose as if, even in sleep, she needs something to remind her that she’s not alone.