do you think there's possibility that Jack is pansexual in his prime? he gives off pansexual vibes hahaha
bahaha i am of the ✌🏻alt-left✌🏻belief that EVERYONE can be pansexual if they’re open-minded enough and I love this head cannon. In my head Jack is so worried about appearances and looking “macho” especially in his prime and the beginning of the movie that I don’t personally see him wanting anything other than the ladies, but I am so open to head cannons that i can also see him being so sexually depraved that he’d flirt with anyone and everyone 😂😂
THERE'S A DELETED SCENE IN ZOOM WHERE JACK ASKED DR. GRANT ON WHAT HAPPENED ABOUT OPEN DESERT, SOMETHING, I CAN'T REMEMBER BECAUSE I WAS TOO FLABBERGASTED WHEN MR. TIM ALLEN TALKING ABOUT THAT, AND THAT JACK HAS A FRICKING GAMBLING DEBT😭😭 AND THE REASON WHY THE KIDS HAS POWERS IS BECAUSE OF CONNOR AND THE MAGNETIC FIELD OF THE EARTH
like WHAT, WHY AM I HEARING ABOUT THIS JUST NOW!!? AND THAT MR. ALLEN ALSO SAID THAT JACK IS A SUPERHERO WHO CAUSES PROBLEMS INSTEAD OF SOLVING THE PROBLEMS😭😭😭😭
I finally got around to getting a vector program for my iPad and made this. pretty sure there's some things I could fix but I'm not gonna mess with it for now
free to use! I tried uploading it to Redbubble but it got flagged (I think because I used the word "logo") but if it gets cleared I'll share the link here too. personally I'm planning on making a pin of it
Not of fate, but of timing. Equally as unforgiving.
But It was never fate that brought Jack Shepard and Marsha Holloway together. A small part, perhaps. But it was years of training and working on Marsha's part. Joining Dr. Grant's Special Projects team back in the day that would eventually work up to the reinstallation of the Zenith Team with the intention of bringing Captain Zoom out of retirement. There wasn't much fate involved, just a decade's worth of hard work and planning. High hopes and great expectations.
But the timing was bound to take them out at the knees. Mainly because Jack would never be ready to return to the place that had taken everything from him. He would be bitter about his losses for the rest of his life, blaming himself and anyone who had a hand in it from Area 52. How could he ever be prepared to move forward when a lethal mixture of guilt and grief were constantly dragging him backwards?
And from the minute they met, Marsha had this strange feeling that they were meant to meet. Not even just as a scientist and a superhero, as two people destined to work together and lead a team to greatness, but as individuals. As her and him, nothing more or less. He felt familiar to her in a way that she knew couldn't be true, because she had also never encountered anyone like him before. It took no time at all to memorize him and the way that he operated. His voice, his movements, the way that his mind worked. But as committed to memory as he was, Jack still managed to take her by surprise on some occasions.
Was it really fair to say that despite being meant to meet, they had caught each other at a bad time? If there was no good time to catch Jack Shepard at Area 52, wouldn't it all be bad timing?
It might not have been fair, but it was true. Jack was still bitter and washed up, even despite the change of heart. He was on his way to healing, and her and the kids helped with that, but the chip on his shoulder cut deep and still hindered just about everything he did. He couldn't be half-healed and half-bitter but ready to commit to somebody. Not even if he loved her. Which he didn't, of course, because he'd never let himself do that.
And though it might seem like Marsha had her life and emotional state together, she was not nearly as perfect as she seemed. Why did she get stuck with deadbeat after deadbeat? Abusers, addicts, selfish men who walked all over her? Because she let them. So desperate for love and connection and a fairytale type of romance, she never stopped herself from pursuing even the worst of men. So long as they looked at her that way. She would give anybody a chance.
Those self-sabotaging ways would not change for Jack. And he was perhaps worse than any man she had been with. No, he would never lay a hand on her, nor would he call her names or verbally abuse her in any way, but he was shackled to darkness. Addicted to his own misery – and alcohol, some would say. Though, he would only call it an appropriate coping mechanism.
But he wasn't ready to commit to her. He couldn't see himself with a wandering eye if he wound up with somebody as physically appealing as her, but he would always close himself off from her. Because she produced real feelings from him. He would be so desperately worried about letting himself love and then lose her that he would push her away, and not be the partner that she deserved and needed.
And what would she do? Make excuses for him. She would be his biggest apologist, whether he deserved it or not. In order to be with the one man that she fantasized about since she was a pre-teen, she would put her morals and her self-worth aside, and take whatever he put her through. Just to be with him. And that meant that he had caught her at a bad time, too.
Jack needed to fall from his pedestal and be held to the same standards as anybody else in order for her to be ready to be with him. And he would need to seriously clean up his act and get himself together. He would need to let go of the past and forgive himself and others for the part they played in the destruction of his team. And more than anything, he would need to finally believe once and for all that his life did not end when his team died. He would need to open himself up to the possibility of having a life, with or without her. And now was not that time.
So, it wasn't fate, because fate was doing its part. It wasn't for a lack of trying, because Marsha Holloway did her level best and more. It was timing, plain and simple and a friend to no one. A pain in the ass to the woman who had fallen in love, and a crying shame to the man who knew no better than to run from it.
The fact that Larraby had fast-tracked the whole thing and put them at least a least a year ahead of schedule should have tipped her off that the timing wasn't right. They hadn't planned for that.
And in all honesty, it wasn't really fair to say that Marsha hadn't seen it coming. She had looked right at it. She merely refused to acknowledge it. Jack might have been happy and present after Connor returned, and things might have seemed like they were going to stay that way forever, but she knew a man going through the motions when she saw one. And as changed as he pretended to be, Jack often existed at Area 52 ass if he had already said goodbye and was visiting only as a ghost.
After he left her standing there in the hallway, trying to pick up the pieces of everything that he had just shattered, Marsha hadn't reacted in the way that she expected. She had predicted that she might need to lock herself away in her room for the rest of the day or at least a few hours as she tried to come to terms with his departure. She thought she might cry and wallow and grieve. Instead, she was fuelled by her anger.
She had gone about her day as if nothing had changed. She had spoken with the children after they came back from school to learn that Jack hadn't been joking the night before, and she had a lengthy conversation about how it made them feel and how they could move forward. All the while, she was in the most pain of all, and she had to pretend that she wasn't. Like any good psychiatrist, she couldn't actually feel anything.
Marsha toiled late into the night, desperate to prevent herself from having to be alone with her thoughts, until her eyes couldn't stay open. She made the quick trek back to her room before she passed out at her computer desk, but as soon as she showered and took a seat on the edge of her bed, she found herself wide awake.
And, of course, thinking about it all. She thought of the way that Jack Shepard had stained her entire life. From the second that she picked up her very first comic book, he was a part of her. He was her hope in the darkness, her fantasy in a life of cruel realities. He got her through some of her worst moments. The reason she agreed to work at Area 52 was because of him and his legacy. She wanted to fix the program that had ruined his life. Then, when the opportunity to bring him back opened up, she obsessed over it. She did everything that she possibly could to ensure that she would get to meet her hero.
When they did meet, of course, he started to stain her in different ways. He stopped being a character on a page or a picture on a wall, and became a human being. A man. A man that she disliked, if she was perfectly honest about it, but who she still found herself shamelessly attracted to. He stained her with lust and desire and a mutual longing that began to spark when they first started to understand each other. In a short two-week's time, he was staining her with love. True love. She knew what it felt like.
If she had been the type to keep a diary, he would have been on every single page since the age of nine. Twenty-eight years of her life she spent loving that man in different ways. Now, she'd gotten everything she ever wanted and more - because the man of her dreams came with four children that she loved with all her heart - only for it to be ripped away in the blink of an eye.
And the sweetest entry in that diary? It would have been those first five days of May. Just before it all fell apart.
10:15pm
Her phone ringing snapped her out of her trance and sent a jolt through Marsha's tense body.
The first time that Jack's sister Susan called, she had ignored it. She didn't know what it would be about for sure, but there was little doubt in her mind that Susan wasn't calling to try and figure out what was going on with Jack. Marsha did not have an answer, nor did she want to talk about it, so she ignored the call. She could justify it because she had been busy at the time.
But this second call came when she was at home in her quarters with nothing else to do. Marsha had no choice but to pick up the phone.
"Hi Susan," she said tiredly, recognizing the phone number.
"Marsha," the woman on the other line began, sounding almost shocked that she had picked up the phone at all. "I...." she began, before throwing away whatever small talk was about to be made and letting out a heavy, revealing sigh. "How are you doing?" She lowered her voice, asking as a friend. She wasn't even Jack's sister in this moment; she was just a friend to the woman that he had walked away from.
Marsha could have lied. She could have acted as though everything was fine and perfectly normal and that it did not phase her one bit that Jack had up and left them all. Ran away like a scared dog with his tail between his legs. Or she could have pointed fingers and placed blame. She could have taken her frustrations out on Jack's family knowing that it was the closest to him as she was going to get.
But that wouldn't be much like her. It wasn't Susan's fault that Jack left. And Masha could tell based on the fact that she had called at all that Susan did not approve of the choice that had been made.
Masha took in a deep breath, her lips twitching before she spoke. "I have a team of children on the verge of falling apart," she revealed in a tired voice, "a life's work down the drain," she added, "and absolutely nothing I can do about either thing."
Susan shook her head and cursed under her breath. Her damn brother. "Marsha, I'm so sorry," she said, truly meaning it. "I just...I did not see this coming. None of us did."
Marsha could have let out a facetious laugh if she really wanted to. If Susan wanted to talk about being blindsided by Jack's actions, she was going to have to get in line.
"As his..." Marsha suddenly realized that she didn't know what to call herself, "colleague," she settled on, "I had hoped for better. But as a psychologist..." she trailed off, "I probably should have known better."
Susan understood what she meant. Jack was like the Icarus, always flying too close to the sun. But this Icarus learned from his mistakes. This time, he left before he could get burned. And in doing so, he managed to burn everyone else.
"I guess I just really thought that he'd changed," Susan revealed. "After seeing him with you and the kids. I don’t know..." she shrugged, "...I don't know how he could have walked away from something like that."
"He didn't walk away from anything, Susan," Marsha revealed tiredly. "He ran," she said. "I suppose it was only ever just a matter of time before he realized how real it had all gotten. He was always planning on running away from it."
Silence crackled on Susan's end as she pondered this. Her brother was a runner, that was true. He always had been.
"Still," she argued against him, "there comes a point in a man's life when he should be able to settle into his circumstances."
Marsha shook her head. She understood, but had to remember who they were dealing with here. "They weren't exactly normal circumstances."
Susan dug her heels in. "He's a forty-year-old man. The responsibility of children isn't that crazy," she reminded her. "I don't really care how it happened, but taking on those kids, you..." she dared to add, but regretted it almost instantly, "...he shouldn't have felt the need to run."
Sucking in a breath, Marsha wondered who she really was in this moment. Did she want to be the person who defended an emotionally immature man even as he hurt her. And to his own sister, of all people? No, she didn't need to be that person. Still, the words were tumbling from her mouth like a second nature.
"It's no surprise to me that he can't bring himself to stay here," Marsha began rather sadly. "Think of all that happened right here at this facility. I wouldn't last long here if the faces of those that I lost were all over the walls, no matter how long it had been."
That was the truth of the matter. She still could hardly bring herself to visit her brother back in Charleston. Yes, because of the children that made her long for her own. But also, because him and his wife had purchased the Holloway's old childhood home. They hung pictures of their parents and relatives who had since passed on. There was even one of Marsha and her late fiance Robbie back when they were in their early twenties. She couldn't stomach looking at those pictures or being in that house.
Susan seemed to understand this. It was why Jack didn't like to spend time with his own family. Because Susan reminded him of Connor. Because Georgia reminded him of their father. Maybe things would be different now that Connor was home safely.
"I just think it's a shame," Susan revealed strongly. "He looked like himself again, when I saw him with those kids. And I thought..." she trailed off, wondering if she dared to ask, "...well, I thought he looked happy with you."
Marsha held her breath and pinched her eyes shut for just a second, before relaxing. That was something that could not even be fairly reflected upon at this time.
"There was never anything between us, Susan," Marsha lied, only because it was what Jack had so obviously insisted upon. "Our partnership never went beyond professional. And I suppose that's all the children even meant to him, too," she continued with a sigh. "It was all just a job."
There was silence on the other end as Susan pondered this. On paper, it sounded true. But something about it felt off. Quickly, she realized what it was.
"Marsha," she began seriously, with great disappointment in her voice. "he wouldn't have run if that were true."
Marsha fell quiet momentarily. She had to admit, that sounded more like the truth. Jack didn't run for fun. Only if he had something that he needed to get away from. And apathy, boredom, and carelessness? Well, he's never had any problem with any of those things.
With a nod, she seemed to accept the tragedy of her circumstances. "Well, then, you're right," she began rather sadly, "it is a shame."
Susan and Marsha did not speak much further before the former was receiving another call on her telephone line. It sounded like it was Jack's mother Georgia, who must have just found out. She was going to be more furious than anybody. Susan bid Marsha farewell in order to take what was bound to be a rather loud call.
And Marsha did her level best to sleep. There was no use in trying, she came to realize that after the first couple of hours. The television did not help, nor did some light music. Not reading, not doing a crossword puzzle, not even opening her laptop and trying to catch up on emails. All she could do was dwell.
Sometimes, it felt as though she had been cursed at birth. Born under the rules of some prophecy that was determined to leave her unhappy forever. Not that she was unhappy. She was fine on her own, should that be how she winds up. But that didn't mean that she didn't want love and connection. Family. She wanted all of it, but every time she got close, it fell apart.
If it wasn't jail that took the men that she loved, it was death. On the rare occasion, it was another woman. She hadn't yet forgiven Steven for that one, or so it seemed. But that didn't much matter. People always showed up in her life, let her love them, and then they were taken away from her as though fate had other plans. She had two exes in jail and two others dead. At what point did it stop becoming a coincidence and she could accept it as a pattern?
Jack was different. He never let her love him, she just did it anyways. How was she supposed to help herself when she had loved him since she was ten years old? She loved him, but they never got close in that way. Another month or so and they likely would have become thick as thieves. The kind of slow burn business partners that you see on television. Closest of confidants, the very best of friends, but that friendship would be tainted by a romance that made them both come alive.
They'd get stuck there in that comfortable spot and the stakes would grow even higher. Because then, they would have their friendship and their close working partnership to lose. They might never say those three little words to each other, but at least they would still have each other.
But no, Jack had walked away before anything could even begin. Maybe that birth prophecy did not allow him to stay. Marsha stayed awake all night wondering if she needed to pack her things and set out on a journey to find the witch that had cursed her at birth and demand that she change the prophecy that kept taking love away from her.
She couldn't sleep, because when she closed her eyes, she saw Jack with his back to her in the hallway, walking away for good. And sometimes in those flashbacks, she called out to him. She demanded that he turn around and face her. She says what needed to be said, and stops him from walking away. Was that the better reality? She didn't know anymore.
Then, she had to actively prevent herself from wondering what he was doing in this moment. If he had gone back home, kicked his feet up, cracked open a beer, and fell asleep in front of the television, finally peaceful enough to do so. If he had breathed a sigh of relief the second that he drove out of the facility. If he was already forgetting about her.
In reality, yes, he had breathed that sigh of relief. But it was bittersweet. He knew it was what he needed in order to remain safe and numb, but it did hurt to leave everyone behind. And no, he wasn't forgetting about her. Not about any of them. Though, not for lack of trying.
As Marsha tried not to let her mind spin alone in her room, Jack was back in his little house behind his autobody doing his level best to get blackout drunk. Back in Long Beach but so far from home. Only when he finally had enough alcohol be successful did he forget her face. Her voice. The look in her eyes. And at that point, he had long forgotten the names of the four children that she had been fighting for.
Tomorrow morning, however, would hurt like a bitch. For a multitude of reasons.
As the whiskey blurred the lines between reality and make-believe, Jack started to wonder if he had done the right thing. He didn't know if it was the alcohol or the distance, but he could no longer hear Marsha in his head calling him names and telling him he had made the wrong choice. He supposed that was the price he paid for walking away from her. He had removed her from him in all senses, and now he couldn’t even hear her. No, now it was only his own voice. And it was saying some very familiar words.
It's only how you feel, it's not what you want.
Well, what if this time, he should have listened to his feelings? What if it was worth the risk? And what if he didn't know what the hell he wanted? What if his truest desires had changed? What if he no longer craved freedom with nothing to lose and instead truly wanted to have something tangible in his life? What if he wanted love just as much as the next sorry idiot in this world?
The whiskey soon chased those thoughts away. Smoothed them out until all he was left with was a simmering anger. All he could remember was his and Marsha's fight, not the reason behind it. The bad times, the way that the program had ruined his life, and the fact that pulling out now before somebody got hurt was best for everyone, not just himself. Then, came the blissful oblivion of drunkenness.
Monday, June 5th, 2006
The month that passed was a tense one. It's funny how crucial a person can become to something after only a few short weeks. Jack was never a part of Special Projects when they had been planning the reinstallation, but his absence was felt like a hole in the centre of the project. Drs. Grant and Holloway began to bicker, General Larraby cracked down on everyone harder than ever, certain people dropped out of the project entirely, foreseeing its subsequent failure without Captain Zoom, and even the children grew undeniably pessimistic.
Marsha was doing her level best to hold everything together. She used to work late in general, but now she was keeping ridiculous hours just trying to get everything done. She was still running morning training with the children, which tended to serve as a pseudo-therapy session for the poor guys. They missed Jack, and they needed to talk about how him walking away made them feel. So, she let them.
The rest of the staff stepped up and tried to fill in wherever they could. Denise often came by outside of her allotted hours to work with hem. She would sometimes even sit with them in the cafeteria. Dr. Grant did his best, but was a busy man.
Jason Becker took over Jack's physical training in the afternoon, but even that was a futile endeavour. The man had spent decades of his life running drills and breaking in new recruits. He didn't know the first thing about working with children, and he certainly did not specialize in metaphysical abilities. There was only so much he could do.
Him and Marsha didn't see eye to eye and often bickered back and forth during training, but it wasn't the same. That should have been reminiscent of her and Jack, it should have made her feel alive, but instead it only reminded her that everything had gone wrong. Jason shouldn't have been there because he wasn't qualified or interested. He, like the others, did his best, but it didn't get them very far.
Dylan tried to step up. He knew that Jack had been training him to eventually take over the team, but that day should not have come so soon. He was still just a kid who needed guidance in all aspects of his life. He put on a brave face and tried to say the right things for the rest of his team, but it was unfair to ask him to lead. Just as it was unfair to appoint Jack as the commander when he was but fourteen years old.
And once again, Marsha saw it all coming. She was a logical woman. Not only that, but she was a scientist. She knew how to spot patterns and see facts for what they were. But she could not bring herself to be objective about this issue, even as their projections started to tank. She found a silver lining wherever she went, she tried to come up with temporary fixes for long-term problems, and she did her best to keep everybody smiling, including herself.
Even as she sat there heartbroken beyond belief that the man that she had stupidly let herself love had walked away and ripped her heart to shreds, she kept her chin up and a smile on her face, trying to keep everybody else positive. It was exhausting. When she finally went back to her quarters for the night, there were tears in her eyes. Every day she woke up and had to remind herself that they were living on borrowed time. And she was doing it alone.
She appreciated her friends doing what they could. But Jason was only doing it because Larraby threatened to cut his hours if he didn't. Grant was doing it because it's all he's ever known. And Denise was doing it because she knew how much the program and the children meant to Marsha. The only reason Marsha was doing it now was for the children. Jack was a lost cause and god only knows where. The children were here, and they were still trying, that's all that mattered.
Marsha didn't even let herself think of a future where the program was cut and they were sent back home. Dylan and Summer were starting to get serious, and their "homes" were in separate states. They were too young now to move out and just start their lives together. That meant long distance would be forced upon them, and they would ultimately lose each other. They would lose the rest of them. Far too young for interstate travel on the weekends, the children would likely just fade out of one another's lives and become distant memories of a happy time when they felt understood. Less alone.
And she would never see them again.
In other words, Marsha had no choice but to make this work. She could lose love a thousand times over - at this point, she might have - but she could not lose those children. Not when they were the closest thing she had to her own. Not when she did Cindy's hair every morning. Not when Summer had lunch with her and asked for advice the same way that a teenage daughter would ask her mother. Not while she helped Dylan with his homework every night as a means to get him on track to graduate. Not while her and Tucker talked about books and friends and life. She couldn't lose that.
Because she'd seen it all.
Before she was even a pre-teen, she had seen the horrors of the Catholic church in the deep south of the Bible Belt. Her parents had her exorcised as a means to rid her of the demonic entity that lived inside of her. She had fought tooth and nail against that religion, to the point where she still felt the guilt of that denunciation to this day. Her siblings all scattered across the country - one even father - and her parents died in a sudden and tragic accident before she even turned sixteen.
Thrown into the system without any remorse or assistance. She went from living lavishly in a life of luxury in gated communities, sneaking cocktails at the country club, sailing the summers away, to having not a cent to her name. She'd felt poverty, hunger, the terror of the streets. And that was all on top of the run-of-the-mill bullying that came with being "different."
She'd been preyed upon by an abusive twenty-two-year-old drug dealer when she was but sixteen years old and successfully lost herself to his world of criminality and danger. Of physical abuse, verbal atrocities, and visits between the hospital and the sheriff's department.
She found herself at Stanford University, where she also happened to fall in love. She loved him right to death thanks to a disaster that proved even the natural world was out to get her. Standing in her would-be wedding dress, weeks away from the big day, her life was torn apart yet again.
She'd been shot, she'd been stabbed, she lost friends during a massacre. Her best friend was lost to cancer, she'd been cheated on, she'd lost she'd survived the terrorist attack on the Pentagon, she'd lost a lover to radiation poisoning. She was told that she would never have children naturally, and no adoption centre would look twice at her. She lost and she lost, and she lost, and still she persisted.
Somehow, she stayed optimistic. And she had to imagine that all the negativity had been for something. When her and Jack formed this new team, that's what she thought it was all for. All the pain and the grief and the constant loss, all her unwavering optimism, it had led her there.
Then, time proved her wrong.
And losing Jack Shepard felt different to any of it. When the people that she loved perished, she knew that there was nothing that she could be done about it. Out of her hands. It was far more black and white. Even when she had been cheated on or broken up with, at least she knew why. Jack had simply walked away. Without every saying anything important, he walked away.
That left her with a wandering mind, which she could not afford right now. It also meant that he could reappear in her life at any given time with little to no warning. She certainly couldn't handle that.
So, yes. Yes, she was heartbroken over somebody that she'd never even been on a date with. And she couldn't justify that, so she pretended that she wasn't. But anybody could see that he had painted her blue where once she was golden.
And life went on. For a little while, anyways. Though, it was undeniably quieter without a certain troublemaker around. The Zenith Program held on without him. But one woman's knuckles were turning white. Some people knew when to let go. Jack Shepard was one of them. Get out before the ship goes down. And that's precisely what he did. Marsha, on the other hand, often went down with whichever ship she had tethered herself to. And another shipwreck was on the horizon.
And when the change in the air became apparent, Marsha ignored it. In the past, she had been a woman who went whichever the wind took her, as it was safer to do so than stay in one place. But as she got older and tougher, she became someone who stayed put amidst a windstorm. She was ignoring the whisperings in the halls, the knowing looks during progress meetings, the element of nihilism in training sessions. She was ignoring every sign that she didn't wish to read.
But even she could not be blind to what was going on. And after a couple months of trying her best, she realized that it almost felt as though they were all standing in silence, listening to the countdown before a bomb was set to detonate and destroy them.
As everyone else wrote it off, and Marsha anticipated Larraby pulling the plug any day, she wondered why she constantly seemed to be the only one who had been given the job of actually caring. The others saw it as a shame, but they didn't truly care the way that she did. Did it speak positively or negatively about her that she was the only one still passionate about something that had become so doomed?
Summer was approaching them fast, and things were supposed to be different once the children were released from their academic duties for a couple of months. But that was all based on training with Jack. Nobody had bothered to modify their plans to adjust for the fact that he was gone. That told Marsha that those with the power never intended on letting them get that far. The Zenith Program wouldn't see the summer months, so there was no use in planning for them.
And as the woman ripped at the seams, she wondered when it would happen. When would Larraby call a meeting and pull the rug? When would her best stop being good enough?
June 16th. That's when.
Friday, June 16th, 2006 – 7:00pm
Marsha was first to arrive in that meeting. It was called for Friday evening after training. They didn't typically have end of week meetings, because they hosted them Monday mornings instead. They would debrief after simulation training on Thursdays, and that would be it for the week. But Larraby's presence had been felt all throughout the work week. He had been far more interested in Special Projects than usual, and he always had a lackey or two taking notes for him. She had seen this coming from a mile away.
She sat up at the front of the room bouncing her leg, tapping her pen on the desk, her eyes wide and waiting to hear the words that she hoped would never have to be spoken. The room slowly started to fill up. Half the people -those who cared - looked just as worried as she did. Those that hadn't devoted their career to this project or fallen deeply in love with the four children carried on their conversations casually. When Dr. Grant and Larraby entered, Marsha knew that was it.
Larraby looked unchanged if not rather irritated. Grant was solemn. Guilty. He refused to meet her eyes. And Marsha knew in that moment; it was the end of the Zenith Program. Yet again.
Larraby quieted the room as soon as he stood up behind the desk. "We'll keep this brief," he grumbled, looking down at a file folder that Dr. Grant had passed off to him.
Marsha's eyes widened even further, and she could feel Denise at her side who was just as tense as she was.
"Our projections for Zenith Team improvement and success have fallen consistently with the last three evaluations," the general nodded, closing the folder. "At this point, it officially costs us more to keep the program up and running. I have no choice but to dismantle the Zenith Project."
A few mumbles of surprise or protest from the small crowd, but no outroar. Except, of course, from the woman front and centre, who nearly shot up out of her seat but did her best to stay put where she was lest her legs fail her. She knew that she had to remain diplomatic about this, especially if she was going to interrupt the general of Area 52 without even bothering to raise her hand.
"Sir," she began, "as soon as the children are out in the press, our funding will skyrocket," she insisted. "I was just talking with finance last week about it."
Larraby had already been looking at her, expecting her to argue. "Then they must have told you that without the promise of Captain Zoom back in the public eye, our profit projections are cut in half?"
Marsha's mouth clamped shut. No. No, they had not told her that. Larraby didn't think so. Not that it would have mattered, because she would have chosen to ignore that little tidbit anyways. Just like she'd taken to choosing to ignore anything that was not positive and in her favour lately.
Okay, so she had to throw away that argument. But Marsha was quick on her feet. "Is this really just about the money?" She pleaded like some kind of social justice warrior at a protest.
The rest of the room understood, and they felt for her, but the Zenith Project became a sinking ship the second that Shepard had walked away. They had all made their peace with that. Not her. She refused to make peace with anything that she still saw the hope to change in.
"No," Larraby said firmly, "it's not." He actually sounded truthful. "Contrary to what you might think, Miss Holloway," his words were biting, "I am not about to march four civilian children onto the battlefield unless they're damn well ready for a fight. Which, no offense to you and Sergeant Becker, they are not."
Marsha's face morphed into a scowl. Jason shrugged the comment off. He knew that his training wasn't working on the kids, and he also knew it was because he was underqualified for the job that had been thrust upon him. He certainly didn't take it personally. He would have recommended this same action did he not think that it would break his friend Marsha's heart.
"You had no trouble doing it when Concussion returned," she said bitterly, forgetting who she was talking to. Marsha folded her arms over her chest as she sat stock straight in her seat.
Denise nudged her, but she didn't even flinch.
"That was a vastly different scenario," he snapped back at her. "And nobody was thrown into battle. You five stormed onto the scene of what was supposed to be a fight between the two brothers."
He was blurring the lines, and she knew it. Yes, the children were always supposed to be a part of that fight. But they were supposed to be radioactively enhanced before that time came. So technically when they ran onto the battlefield, it was not what Larraby had planned, no. He had her on a technicality.
Larraby bristled and the room knew better than to poke the bear when he was agitated. It was Dr. Grant who stepped forwards.
"Marsha," he said calmly, with a knowing look in his old eyes, "let's not make this harder than it has to be."
"Dr. Grant," she said firmly, refusing to let him casually take over this meeting, "these are human being that we're talking about. Children. It should be the hardest thing in the world to do to them."
Larraby shook his head, straightening his shoulders. "Spare me the hysterics, Holloway," he grumbled.
Marsha gave him a look of disbelief. She was most certainly not being hysterical. She was simply reminding him of the humanity that they were dealing with. Leave it to this crew to diminish a woman's opinion by likening it to an emotion.
"I'm far from hysterical, sir," she stood up for herself coldly. "I'm reminding you that you're not dealing with test subjects, here. These are lives."
The general nodded flippantly. "You're right, Miss Holloway," he nodded, "we are dealing with four children." He was turning to leave the room now. "Children who now get to go back home to their parents. To their lives."
Marsha was shaking her head. "Sir, th–"
"Effective immediately, the Zenith Project is dissolved," he interrupted her on his way out. "That means no more funding, no more hours, and no more superheroes," he said firmly. When he reached the door, he didn't even look back. "Dismissed."
Marsha stood from her seat, as if the movement could stop him from leaving. Around the room, her friends were looking at her sympathetically. Some were rising, hoping to go to her. Slowly, though. Like a wild animal.
Something caught her eye. Dr. Grant, on the move. He was on his way out, in Larraby's footsteps. He watched guiltily as Marsha caught his eye and opened her mouth. There was nothing he could do for her this time.
"I'm sorry, Marsha," he said, before leaving the room.
Despite the fact that those around her were coming towards her to regroup, Marsha did not seem to notice or care. She tore out of the room, hot on Grant's heels.
"You're sorry?" She reiterated, prepared to rake him across the coals. "Larraby's pulling the plug on our life's work and you're just going to let him?"
Grant sighed and turned to her.
"You should be a hell of a lot more than sorry, Grant," she shook her head. "You should be giving me back the last ten years of my life."
"Marsha," he leaned forwards hoping to appeal to her sense of reason, "we tried.," Dr. Grant was not happy about any of this either, but he wore it better. "We did our best. But we both know that despite our efforts, we've got nothing without him."
She was shaking her head again, in denial.
"It's not fair to those kids," Dr. Grant said firmly, basically pleading with her to understand. "Without Jack here to lead them, success rates have plummeted, and you know that," he reminded her rather callously. "Larraby's right. We can't in good conscience prepare them for battles that they'll stand no chance in."
She understood that. She really did. As tough as it was to admit, she did see his point. That didn't mean she wasn't still upset.
"So, pull them from the field!" She insisted. "Keep them in training until Dylan's ready toke over as commander. Just give them time, Grant."
"Time is something that we don't have, Marsha," he said. "We've poured decades worth of funds into this project with the understanding that by now, we would be reaping the monetary benefits. If you want to be the one to stand there and tell Larraby that he's going to have to just keep funneling government money into a profitless program, be my guest. But if you think that I haven't already tried, then you don't know me as well as I thought you did."
They were both troubled by this. Yes, Marsha was upset because she was now going to inevitably lose four children that she loved, and she could see how separating them from each other and a protective program like this might negatively impact their lives, but Dr. Grant had now come to witness two Zenith Teams under his coordination fail spectacularly in different ways. He was furious with Jack for pulling out when he did, regardless of how it would affect anybody else. He had been furious all month.
Now, things were coming to a head. He didn't appreciate Marsha standing here and blaming him. She didn't appreciate the way that the rug had been pulled without a formal warning. Dr. Grant had devoted the last thirty-five years of his career to the Zenith Project. He had been brought on board at Area 52 in his late twenties just to lead the initiative. Ten years of hard work and they finally put it to motion, bringing in the original team.
After that all fell apart, it took another ten years before Marsha came along to help him start it all back up again, and the two of them had spearheaded the reinstallation. Ten years of her own career devoting overtime and research into this project. Getting her hopes up, desperately hoping to change the world for the children that had been too different to fit into it previously. Getting her heart and soul involved. Yes, it hurt both of them.
"You're not mad at me, Marsha," Grant shook his head, preparing to take his leave from her. "You're mad at him for walking away. We all are," he reminded her. "I warned you of the person that he had become over the years. It's not my fault that you chose to see the best in him."
Marsha stood there watching with a broken heart as Dr. Grant turned from her and walked away. This was going to destroy all of them if they weren't careful. Already, partnerships were suffering.
7:50pm
The good news came less than an hour later. As a cherry on top.
In exchange for her hard work and heartbreak, Marsha also got to be the person that told the children they were going home. When she got that news, she actually had to excuse herself to the bathroom, where she lost what little lunch she'd managed to eat. Her nerves hadn't been this wrought in a long time. She only ever threw up when she was asked to do something that she really didn't think she could do.
But it forced her not to fall apart yet. Because the children were still here, at least for tonight. Tomorrow morning would be the big send off. Dylan would go back to Denver, Summer back to Oklahoma, Tucker to Scranton, and Cindy to Spokane. And Marsha would stay there. Suddenly, she came to understand why Jack couldn't handle remaining at Area 52 after his team died. She had no desire to be haunted by people who were still living.
Yes, this was destroying her soul, but she was a grown woman. The children were about to be ripped from the place that they had just started to think of as home. Their family was about to be torn apart. She had to tell them that they were losing each other for good, and that there was nothing that anybody could do about it. She couldn't break yet.
The kids were waiting not in the lounge, but in a small conference room. That had tipped the older kids off, who had been suspicious of bad news for weeks now.
With a creak of the door, Marsha appeared. She seemed smaller than she usually would and perhaps a bit older. Dark circles under her eyes, lines at the corners that no makeup could hide. Marsha was surprised that she hadn't sprouted grey hairs over the last month.
"Well, children," she began, and her voice sounded rather hoarse.
There was a particular look in her eyes that some of the kids recognized it. Summer had seen it from her parents when they dropped her off here in the first place. It was the look of "I'll never forgive myself for this."
"I'm afraid I have some bad news," she said, trying to keep her voice strong and steady.
Dylan let his hand drop to the table. "Told you," he said to the rest of the group.
He had given up trying right around last week. Dylan was no idiot, he could sense when things were about to change. And his mindsight had taken him into some pretty tense meetings lately. He should have been the leader that his team needed and remained strong, but as soon as they were called into this conference room, he warned them that they were probably sending them home. Nobody else wanted to believe him.
Summer blinked away her confusion. "So, it's true?" She said before Marsha even had a chance to explain. "They're sending us back?"
The two younger kids immediately got up in arms, and Marha had to hold her hands up just to quiet them down.
"It has nothing to do with any of you," she urged, hoping that they do not take this defeat to heart. "You all did the very best that you could, and I am so proud of how far you've come." She looked around the room at the four pairs of sad eyes. "I want you to remember that no matter what happens, we will always be a family."
Cindy seemed confused, and she brushed the conversation off as something that she didn't quite understand. Going home was a good thing, wasn't it? She would get to see her mother and her stepdad again, she would get to go back to her old school, her cat, her friends. She didn't yet put two and two together that she was also losing everyone she met here.
"How can they do this?" Tucker asked. "How can they bring us here, change our whole lives, and then just expect us to walk away like it never happened?"
Marsha's lips twitched. "Dr. Grant has been over everything," she explained. "We just don't have what we need in order to be a team here without..." she trailed off, realizing that it would be the first time in weeks that she had dared to speak Jack's name.
Up until now, she was doing her best to pretend that he never existed. Sure, she would help talk to the children about him like a good therapist would, but she would also completely disassociate from herself in order to do so. Almost like she would black out and then come to when she was certain that the subject of Jack Shepard was off the table.
She cleared her throat. "Without Mr. Shepard."
Even the children could see that she was suffering. While their first juvenile reaction was to take their anger out on somebody that they could reach, they knew that she was not the appropriate person. All she had ever done was support them, make them feel special, loved. She made them a family; it wasn't her fault that family was now being torn apart.
"So, that's it?" Dylan asked, trying not to look at Summer because he knew it would break him. "We're just gone?"
Marsha took in a stabilizing breath and nodded. "They've booked you flights for tomorrow morning," she explained, before a beeping came at her pager signalling that she was needed elsewhere. "I'll meet you before your departure," she promised, turning to the door. "And by the way," she turned around at the last minute. "The lounge will be unlocked all night," she said, giving them a knowing look. "And curfew only applies to our wards, which you are no longer."
It wasn't meant to be biting; it was an olive branch. A tip that they were no longer under government control, so there was no need to follow the rules. They would want as much time together as possible before tomorrow morning, and she was giving them the lounge. She knew that she would want to be there too soaking in as much love as she could, but her heart was aching just thinking about it.
With that, she left the room just as quietly as she had entered it.
As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, Marsha felt two tears escape down her cheeks. One from each eye. She quickly wiped them away, shook her head, kept her chin up high, and marched off to wherever her next task awaited.
There is a certain point amidst so much loss that a person just doesn't come back from. Losing the children was that point for Marsha Holloway. After everything, while her heart was already broken, she lost the children that she had come to think of as her own. That was the worst thing that had ever happened to her. She had always been a mother, just missing the children. Then, after being told she would never get to be that mother, the kids came along. She'd gotten everything she always wanted, everything she was told she would never get, and now she was losing it. And a grieving mother's pain is unmatched.
She could not do a single thing about it as the unbreakable fell apart. Tumbled to dust and smoke as a castle crumbled. The castle that had once been her home. It's funny what the decision of one selfish man can do to a family. She supposed that wasn't exactly a new concept.
Marsha felt the loss of them before the kids even packed up. And even though it killed her, she tried to be a part of it all. Movie night in the lounge as though it wasn't their last one. Helping them pack, seeing them off to bed. It broke her heart, but she knew that she would regret it if she didn't get the most out of them while she still could.
But she went back to her quarters that night and realized that it had been quite some time since she'd felt so empty. She felt it when her parents died, and her siblings didn't come home. When Robbie died and she had to go back to their apartment. When Lillie died and left their suite all to Marsha's own loneliness. And she felt it now.
Her life hadn't faced such an upheaval in years. There had been a time when she was used to going with the wind, running away when things got hard, moving around like a nomad. But she had been so at home at Area 52 for the last decade. Losing the children felt like a blow to her very soul.
She even compared herself to Jack, when she realized that she had such an itch to run. As soon as those kids were gone, to pack her bags and run for the hills. To leave te hard memories behind and start fresh somewhere with no ghosts. She hadn't felt that urge since she was in her twenties.
And if that was what she chose, she couldn't blame herself. She was owed whatever decision she wanted, at this point. Because when it mattered, she was the one who had stayed. She stayed and fought until the bitter end, which was more than could be said for some people. She stayed, she put herself through hell, and she lost it all. Now, she got to do whatever she needed to do in order to pick up the pieces of her broken life. She was off the hook.
Saturday, June 17th, 2006 – 8:30am
In the morning, Dylan was the first to say goodbye, He was exhausted from staying up all night making plans with Summer. The sudden adjustment to long distance was going to be a shock to their young relationship, but they were too in love to consider anything else. They would save up and book flights to see each other on long weekends, and they would spend every holiday together.
It sounded good, but as of now, that meant they wouldn't see each other until Thanksgiving, which felt like a lifetime away.
By the time he met Marsha - who also looked like she hadn't slept - he was worn out, disheartened, and practically in mourning.
"Marsha," he began, giving a shake of his head. "I don't even know what to say."
He knew that he was the first of four to say goodbye, and he also knew that this had to be hurting her just as badly as it was him. What did you say to somebody who showed up in your life and made you realize that having a mother wasn't so bad. When she was sober and competent and loving.
He watched her try her level best to remain warm and strong as he shrugged his arms out. He had made his peace with his team last night, he had left Summer tearfully a few minutes ago, he'd even shaken Dr. Grant's hand this morning. Marsha was the last person he had to say goodbye to.
As Marsha gazed into his hollow-looking eyes, it hurt her to see that overnight, whatever youthfulness had been in those eyes had vanished. Been replaced by the solemn sense of maturity that came with growing up. That was what she had hoped to avoid. If she had it her way, she would keep those kids young forever. Give them the childhood that they'd never get back home.
She opened her arms and Dylan practically melted into her warm touch. He had been waiting years to hug his mother. He hated his mother, she had abandoned them, left him like it was nothing, he hated her for years. And for about the same length of time that he hated her, he had wanted to hug her. And right now, he was hugging his mother.
Marsha did her best not to shudder when the boy held on just a little bit too tight, in desperate need of warm, loving arms. If it hurt this bad with Dylan, then she was in for a very unpleasant day. Even worse than she had expected. This might be the hardest thing that she would ever have to live through.
Dylan let go, but did not want to. His attachment to Marsha had snuck up on him. In the early days, she was just the overeager, optimistic trainer who treated him like he was a kid. He didn't appreciate that until he realized why it rubbed him the wrong way. He was a kid. He'd just never been treated like one, when he really should have been. After he realized that, it didn't bother him anymore. And he came to respect the way that she did things out of the goodness of her heart.
She was so different from what he had known. So consistently reliable, even when he instinctively doubted her. She had never once let them down. She showed up, she took the burdens that he shouldn't need to carry, she protected his childhood, and he felt the weight off his shoulders to the point where it had actually changed his personality. He felt like a kid again, but a kid who was growing into a man because someone was teaching him how to be one. Someone believed in him, and that made all the difference.
She was the only person who never blamed him when he used to disappear just to get out of practice. She'd never said a word about it other than to try and talk through why he felt the desire to escape. She understood why he did it, and she helped him learn how to get over his fears and exist in whatever moment came his way. It's why he wasn't disappearing right now.
Fighting off tears in her eyes, the best that Marsha could do was offer him a sweet, nurturing smile. "I'm so proud of everything that you've done here, Dylan," she said truthfully, trying not to let her voice crack. "You made a wonderful leader."
Dylan swallowed. "Thank you," he mumbled, shouldering his bag. "For everything."
"I'm sorry that it had to end this way," she said solemnly. "You all deserved far better."
Dylan shook his head. "Jack's an idiot for leaving," he said, his true feelings coming out.
Marsha did not know how to respond to that one, so she didn't.
He gave her a look that both meant measures and insinuated that he wanted to say more, but Marsha only gave him a reassuring nod.
"You're going to miss your flight," she reminded him.
And with that, Dylan was off.
When it was Tucker's turn, he did his best to act older than he was. The boy wanted to cry, anybody could see that. But Marsha was going to let him do whatever he needed to do to make this moment easier for him. She wouldn't push, she wouldn't resist, she would just let him be who he is.
"Thanks for the books, Miss Holloway." he said, referencing the armful of novels that she had given him to shove into his suitcase.
The two of them had bonded over a mutual love of reading, despite Tucker not being an avid academic. He loved a good book. Marsha was happy to send him off with some of her favourites, as if it was a way for him to take a piece of her and her love with him when he left.
"You're more than welcome, Tucker," she responded as they walked side by side down the hallway. "I hope you enjoy them."
Tucker nodded, doing his best to take a page out of Jack's book and keep his emotions level. Control them before they controlled him. But it was hard. Marsha had been the most crucial part of his experience here. He made her feel seen and heard, even when he didn't even want to listen to himself. He came from a school where he had no friends and was bullied constantly for being different, and instantly found a kindred spirit in the woman who had suffered the same as a child.
She thought hiss powers were cool, she wanted to see what he could do with them, and it made him feel like less of a freak. And whenever he had trouble controlling them, she was the first one in the room to talk him down and help him get a handle on things. She never diminished his feelings, in fact, she usually used facts and knowledge to explain why he was feeling the way that he was, and it helped him immensely.
She was singlehandedly responsible for the way in which he found his confidence and started to grow as a person and a hero. She looked at him like he was smart, capable, and deserving of love and praise. It was the most affection he'd received in years. He loved Marsha, he only wished that he did not have to say goodbye to her now.
Tucker was at that age where hugs from parents were out of the question, and Marsha might as well have been his mother. Not only that, but if he hugged her now, he probably would cry and embarrass himself. Not that she would ever hold it against him.
Knowing this, Marsha gave him a small smile instead. "Tucker," she began tentatively, "I hope you always remember that with or without your powers, you are capable of amazing things," she said. "Differences are what make people special. Anybody who disagrees doesn't deserve a place in your life."
He nodded, retaining those last words of wisdom, and took them to heart as he stepped into the elevator.
Summer tried to be strong. Marsha could see it in the way that her tears filled her eyes but never fell. Her and Summer may have seemed like night and day on paper, but they weren't so different. In fact, Summer was like a carbon copy of Marsha back when she was in school. Outcasted, teased, a little bit alternative. Marsha knew exactly how it felt to walk in Summer's shoes, and that had bonded them instantly.
While Summer was happy growing up where and how she did, neither of her parents ever understood her, especially not her mother. Marsha could take one look at her and understand how she felt and why, because she had lived it too. Beyond that, they shared interests, hobbies, and a sense of humour. For Summer - a girl who had only ever wanted to be understood by her parents - that was like striking gold.
To lose something that valuable was going to take time for her to recover from and she knew it. Summer tried not to feel the pain that was currently radiating off of Marsha, because it wouldn't help things, but when she looked at her, she saw a rainbow being drowned out by dark storm clouds, stifling the light.
"I really can't believe it's all over," Summer said, a bitter disappointment in her young voice. "It felt like..." she trailed off, searching for the words, "...like it was all just beginning."
"I know," Marsha said under her breath, doing her level best to remain positive. "Not everything works out the way that we want it to," she began. "I guess we just have to trust that it all happens for a reason."
Even Summer knew that her heart wasn't in that claim. No, there was no ulterior positivity to Jack leaving the program and successfully ripping it to shreds. That was not for the better. But she was right in the sense that they had been brought here for a reason, they had met one another for a reason, and they had to hold on to everything they had here, even through the distance.
Marsha turned to her. "I certainly wish things could be different."
Summer shook her head. She was terrified for a multitude of different reasons. Leaving her friends, leaving Marsha, leaving a program designed to celebrate all the ways in which she was outcasted back home. Leaving Dylan. The boy that she loved. Trusting that trying to navigate a long-distance relationship after only being together for a month at the young ages that they were wasn't going to ruin things before they could even get serious.
Terrified because up until now, Summer had relied heavily on Marsha's guidance. Who would she be without it?
The nights spent talking about her deepest feelings, discussing how she was starting to feel about Dylan, about how the team felt like family. Reading trashy magazines, talking about fashion, borrowing clothes. It was like getting a cool older sister and a mother all in one, even if Marsha herself would scoff at the term "cool." It was like finding a mother in the very best of friends, and it was going to hurt like hell to lose that.
"I just..." Summer began rather helplessly, "...I wish I could contact you somehow."
Even a phone call every now and then would be enough for her. Just to hold on to this relationship by any means necessary.
Marsha tried to keep her heart from breaking. The no contact order was not her idea, but deemed necessary for the liability and confidentiality's sakes. They had no choice in the matter. Reaching out would be the security of the base and everyone in it at risk.
"I'm sorry, Summer," she shook her head. "I'd change it all if I could."
"I know," the girl nodded, feeling her stifled heartbreak before her and Marsha shared a solidifying hug.
They pulled away, but held on to one another's forearms. "I have loved every second with you," Marsha said, fighting off tears. "You are going to do such incredible things."
The words not said were stifling. I only wish I could be there to see it.
"Thank you for believing in me," Summer spoke in a cracking voice. "You have no idea how much that's meant to us."
Cindy was the most difficult to see off. In fact, the scene would replay in Marsha's head for the rest of her life, plaguing her with the sickening feeling of losing a child.
Still too young to fully grasp what was going on, much like she didn't understand the severity of the meeting last night, Cindy didn't have a care in the world as she skipped off towards the elevator.
After a few tantrums and choice words, Cindy could adapt to anything. And she certainly had adapted to life at Area 52. Almost instantly, she started to see Marsha and even Jack as parental figures, whether one was reluctant or not.
The girl seemed to be under the impression that this was only goodbye for now. That she’d be back at Area 52 next week, back in training. Marsha had watched Cindy wait the last month and a half for Jack to return. Always expecting him to just come sauntering in like he’d never left. Marsha could relate to those childish delusions.
Hand in hand, the pair walked down the hallway until they reached the elevator doors. A pair of security guards with pity in their eyes were waiting.
“These nice gentlemen are going to make sure that you get to the airport safely, alright?” Marsha crouched down to Cindy’s eyelevel.
The girl nodded. “How will I know when it’s time to come back?” She said, revealing her innocence and misunderstanding.
Marsha’s face flashed with pain. What good was she here? After all her promises to protect these children turned up empty?
“Will you and Dr. Grant come get me again?”
Trying to maintain her composure for the little girl’s sake, Marsha swallowed away her emotions. Even if this was the worst moment of her life to date, it didn’t have to be Cindy’s.
“Well, Cindy,” she began cautiously, fixing the girl’s cardigan, “I don’t think you will be coming back,” Marsha explained. “We’ve taught you everything that we can. Now it’s time for you to go back home to your family and live your life.”
Cindy’s face turned sour as her brows lowered. She didn’t like her life at home. Not the way that she liked her life at Area 52 with Jack and with Marsha and with her teammates. Her family.
“But…” Cindy sputtered, “…but I don’t want to leave.” She shook her head. “I want to stay here with you.”
Now, what remained of Marsha’s heart fell and shattered on the floor beneath her. Into a million unfixable little pieces. Some of it disintegrated into ash and dust. Her body could remember sitting in the back of a social worker’s car after her life had been ripped apart. It could remember lying on the ground of a trailer park in a puddle of her own blood as her heart came to a stop.
Her body remembered being trapped in a wedding dress when she got the news that she’d never have a use for it. When she watched colleagues bleed out in front of her. When she ran as fast as she could with a knife wound in her side, trying to reach safety, only to sink to the pavement and give up when her legs could take her no further.
Those were low moments. In fact, she didn’t think that anything could possibly get lower than some of those moments. But this? Cindy’s little hands grasping hers, her wide eyes filled with sudden fear and disappointment, begging to stay. This was rock bottom.
Marsha blinked, trying to keep her voice level.
Every morning since Cindy arrived here, Marsha stopped by before training so that she could help her get ready for the day. Doing her hair, helping her into whatever outfit or costume she felt like wearing, ensuring that her teeth were brushed.
She held her hand when they walked down the hallway, she helped her with her homework whenever it was needed, Cindy sat on her lap in the lounge. Cindy was just another one of the children that Marsha was always meant to have. And now her youngest child was being torn away from her, too. Gone with the other three.
“Oh, Cindy,” she whispered harrowingly, determined not to let her voice break. “I wish you could stay here, too. More than anything,” she squeezed her hands. “But…” she shook her head, “…but I’m afraid that these are the rules that we have to follow.”
Cindy swallowed and nodded bravely, finally understanding what was going on.
Marsha shook her head. “I want you to remember that you are so special, Cindy,” she touched the girl’s cheek. “That you are smart, and you are strong, you are kind, and you deserve all the love in the world.”
The two shared a warm, terribly sad hug, and when Cindy was engulfed in the hug, Marsha could finally wipe her face clean of tears so that the girl never saw the pain on her face. When they released each other and both stood up straight, prepared for the next part of their farewell, the hallway felt ten degrees colder.
Cindy nodded up at the woman. “You do too, Miss Holloway,” she said.
Marsha had given up on her dream of having children years ago. Despite her better efforts, the world had other plans for her. Then she met those four and didn’t even hesitate to take them in under her maternal wing. They warmed to her the way that four children would warm to their mother, and the rest was history.
Finally, she understood how the world worked in strange ways. How fate would do its part. No, she couldn’t have her own biological children, but she could start her own family in the strangest of ways. She could wind up with children, and she did. Until now. Because Jack walked out and took her kids with him.
And for that, she would never forgive him.
~
After Jack left, Marsha had been silently heartbroken. Faking a smile while grieving for all the potential that he had instilled within her only to take away.
Others knew she was in pain, but only her friends knew that he had broken her heart. Not because she ever said anything, but because they watched her lose her colour. Her spark. But Marsha could handle heartbreak. In fact, she was well-versed in the art of it by now. She knew grief for people both living and dead. What she did not know, was the loss of a child. Let alone four at once.
She had been blue because of Jack. She became grey when the children left. Grey and full of a dull aching kind of anger. Not scorching red, not white hot, just grey. The sad kind.
Because she had put everything she had into that project, and she had given all her love to those kids. And to Jack, if she was being honest with herself. She did what she did best and loved to the death of whatever it was that she loved. The kids and Jack were alive and well out there, but her ties to them had died. Their relationship gone and buried.
And as good as it had been, she was sick and tired of being a mother to people that weren’t hers to mother. And if she hadn’t been so stupid and free with her heart, she wouldn’t have done it. She didn’t even have a mother past the age of sixteen, yet Marsha mothered anyone who came into her life that needed it. She was a mother to her siblings despite being younger than most of them, a mother to her wayward friend, hell, she had even mothered Jack. In fact, she’d mothered most men in her life. And of course, the children. Perhaps for the first time in her life, it was time to mother herself.
And while her friends had been knowing in the fact that Jack had broken her heart, they watched her practically fade from existence when the project was fully dismantled. She went through the motions of a workday, she showed up on time and did her best wherever she went, but she hardly spoke. She started working later and refusing to show up to activities with her friends. She ate alone, she locked her office door, and she disappeared.
Occasionally, people caught glimpses of her in the hallway going from place to place. But never to the Training Centre. That entire sector of Area 52 became quickly abandoned. Most stuck around to clean up or claim office space, but Marsha treated it as though it was radioactive. When people actually saw her pass by, she felt like more of a ghost. A trapped, restless spirit who didn’t know where to go.
Almost a month passed before anyone said anything to her face.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006 – 8:45pm
Marsha had been absent from Saturday night staff room parties for months now. She came around the first couple weeks after Jack left, but soon became too busy for a break as she did her best to keep the program together for the kids.
Now, the children were gone, and she was left without many of her previous obligations. Her friends assumed that meant she’d come back. But no, she stayed as far away as possible. And at first, they didn’t talk about it. Marsha’s absence became an elephant in the room that nobody mentioned, because if they got going, they would also have to talk about Jack’s absence. Nobody wanted to do that.
But eventually, as they all settled into the new ways around Area 52, her name got passed around. Mainly grumbled from Jason Becker wondering where the hell she was. Nobody knew what to say. They all knew the answer, but nobody had the heart to say it aloud.
She was fading away. And likely looking for a way out of all of this.
Denise wanted to catch her before she just up and left without a trace. So, tonight, Denise posted herself up in the staff room by the office sector and just waited. Eventually, Marsha did come by for a quick cup of tea, and lingered in the doorway when she noticed Denise almost as though she wanted to turn right around and come back later.
But she knew that was rude, not to mention revealing, so Marsha’s lips twitched into something that almost looked like the whisper of a reassuring smile, and went to the back of the room to brew her tea.
“Marsha,” Denise’s voice rang out in the silent room after a few minutes.
A sigh came from back at the kitchenette. Marsha knew that Denise would want to talk, but she did not have the capacity for this conversation tonight. Maybe not ever. She wanted to have a caffeinated tea and throw it back in her office so that she could continue working through the night and not thinking about how utterly empty she now felt inside.
Denise waited until Marsha turned herself around to look at her before continuing.
“Are you alright?”
She wasn’t asking about tonight or anything acute. This was a general question. One that had not had a chance to be asked since the fifth of May. Months ago, when it all fell apart. When Marsha first started avoiding them.
Now, Marsha had been a bad liar as long as she’d been trying to lie, so she knew that it was no use. Her and Denise were close in the way that two women who are the same age, have similar personalities, and work together are. They wouldn’t call themselves best friends, but they were likely one another’s closest confidants around here.
But Denise had a life. She had a husband who lived and worked in Las Vegas. Denise spent Sundays and Mondays back home with him while they anticipated the arrival of their baby, which was now a week overdue. She had a life outside of Area 52, and over the years, Marsha had slowly but surely made sure that she herself didn’t. Still, they were the closest thing that the other person had to a best friend around here.
No, Marsha did not want to talk about it. Yes, the psychiatrist in her knew that she should. She didn’t want to reveal the truth. And the truth was that she felt as though she currently belonged in a psych ward. She shook her head and tried to keep her voice level so as not to reveal the extent of her grief-induced insanity.
“Yeah,” she said in a casual voice that came out rather hoarse due to the fact that she had been working too hard lately. “Of course, I’m okay.”
Denise didn’t want to force anything, but she was worried. She knew how she would feel if she was going through what Marsha was, and she knew that she also wouldn’t be doing well at all. As long as she had known her, Marsha had been a woman full of life and colour. Positivity and almost toxic optimism, hope. Even when men came and went that put her through hell and drained her of energy, she remained bright and positive. Now, she was an empty shell.
Denise’s chair scuffed the floor as she turned herself to face Marsha at the back of the room. “You keep to yourself, you don’t sleep, don’t talk to anyone,” she shook her head and watched Marsha tense, “you’ve been working yourself to the bone.” Denise gave her a concerned look. “Would you just come over here and talk to me?”
There was no getting out of this. If she flaked and ran off now, that would only confirm Denise’s suspicions that something was seriously wrong with her. All Marsha could do was swallow dryly and cautiously take a seat beside her friend.
She only hoped that this conversation would not reopen too many of the wounds that she was currently attempting to lick.
Denise’s eyebrows pulled together as she spoke. “Sweetie, I’m so sorry about the kids,” she said in a whispered voice.
Marsha realized now that she hadn’t even had a conversation with Denise since then. Nearly a month ago. She took a deep breath just to prevent herself from tearing up.
“I can’t even imagine what that feels like,” she continued, keeping her voice low just in case someone else entered the room. “Do…” she tilted her head, “…do you want to talk about it?”
Yes, she did. No, she didn’t. She had to. It was going to consume her if she didn’t at least say something.
Marsha stared down at her hands, trying to gather herself. She didn’t mean to worry anybody, but she was indeed on the verge of disappearing. Figuratively and literally. That project had been her life’s work, everything she wanted since she was a weird little girl with no friends and powers that either made her a freak or demonic. Then, she met the man that seemed to speak to her heart in a way that nobody else ever had. She met four children and instantly made them her own. Everything she wanted since she was a weird adult woman with few friends and no real family.
Now, she had none of it. No dream. No hope. Nothing left here for her. And even though she had recently become the kind of person who stayed put ever since coming to Area 52 and seemingly finding her place in the world, she had once been a running just like Jack. And the wind had so obviously changed. It was soon time to go with it.
At least she could leave without guilt. Because when the time really called for it, when things got had, she had been the one who stayed.
“I just wish there was more I could have done,” she revealed honestly, trying not to wear her sleeve too obviously on her sleeve. “I wish that there was something Dr. Grant or I could have done to keep the program together. To keep them here. Even without…” Marsha’s voice trailed off.
She couldn’t even say his name. Marsha hardly ever let herself think about the man who destroyed it all, she hardly thought that she could speak his name. Four simple letters or not.
“Without Jack,” Denise nodded in understanding.
Marsha’s eyes lifted and met Denise’s face with a strange look. Almost like the name had surprised her. Become so foreign that hearing it sounded like remembering a lost language that she used to speak. Denise had been unprepared to see such pain in those eyes.
“You did everything that you possibly could,” Denise reminded her. “He never should have left. He knew what would happen,” she added for good measure.
Marsha looked away, back down to her hands. She gave a small nod of understanding.
“We all miss him,” Denise said, and it sounded as though she was trying to relate to Marsha by telling her that the rest of the friends missed him too.
It was that unspoken but insinuated too that got Marsha’s back up.
“I hate him for what he did,” she said strongly, peering deeply into Denise’s dark eyes. “I do not miss him. How could I possibly miss a person like that?”
She sounded so honest, but Denise knew that it was just surface anger talking. Yes, Marsha likely missed him more than she knew how to put into words. But she was also disappointed with who he turned out to be. Terribly angry at all the ways in which his selfish decisions had affected her.
“I just…” the words were coming now, even if they were laced with anger, “I just really thought that I’d…” she shook her head firmly, “…that we had finally gotten through to him. Really through."
Denise knew what her friend meant. Everyone who had anything to do with Special Projects watched how Jack had gone from a closed off, bitter, apathetic man to somebody actually willing to lead a team again. That had been all thanks to Marsha and the kids.
“I can’t believe I was that stupid.”
Not stupid, just love stuck perhaps. Willing to see the best in yet another man destined to let her down.
“You’re anything but stupid, Marsha,” Denise insisted warmly. “You were hopeful. We all thought he was here to stay.”
Marsha took in a deep breath and nodded. She still felt stupid.
“Did–” Denise began before cutting herself off, not wanting to push too hard. “You really liked him, didn’t you?” She said, modifying her language.
Marsha’s eyes widened at the question, but there was not an ounce of surprise on her face. There was no answer to Denise’s question. At the same time, there were about a dozen answers to it. But after everything turned sour and after the months spent apart, Marsha no longer knew the truth.
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out at first. “I don’t know,” she finally said in a hoarse whisper. “I thought I did.”
Letting out a remorseful sigh, Denise shook her head. “Have you heard from him?” She asked tentatively, out of genuine curiosity. “Since he left?”
Marsha shook her head and could have let out a bitter scoff. In no circumstances would Jack ever reach out to her of all people. Even he knew better than that.
“No,” she said. “Has anyone?” Marsha asked, suddenly curious. She wouldn’t be surprised if Grant or maybe Jason was keeping tabs.
Denise shook her head. “Not that I know of.”
A heavy silence passed between the two women as Denise shifted in her seat, uncomfortable as the baby pressed up against her internal organs.
“At least he’s out there getting everything he wanted,” she nodded at her solemn friend.
Marsha looked up. “To be alone?”
Denise nodded. “And I can guarantee you that by now, he’s realized that it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
Denise Miller couldn’t have been more right.
300 long miles away from the Area 52 military base, Jack Shepard was sober for the first time in months.
He had put himself on a bender when he got back. Drinking long into the nights, buying drugs at bars, meeting various women and taking them home only to forget their names by morning. And he convinced himself that he had been happy. Happier being rowdy and reckless without a care in the world than he ever had been with something to lose.
But this evening, the drugs and the alcohol and the sex wore off. And he realized that he was left with a large gaping hole that only other people could fill. Real people. Not one-night stands, not fair-weather friends. Real friends. The people that weathered storms and stood by him through thick and thin. People who relied on him. People who saw him for who he really was.
It was far harder to forget four kids who were still out there than it would have been if they were dead. If they were unreachable, Jack would have probably drunk himself to death. It wouldn’t have mattered. But they were still out there, and he could still get back to them one day. Something deep down inside of him suggested that he might just do that.
But he had to start small. He cleaned up his house and shaved his face. He closed his eyes and saw four familiar faces laughing and joking around. He stared at himself in the mirror and tried his hardest to revive the voice that once existed in the back of his head. Even if she was just going to call him names and spew hateful words at him, he would give anything to hear it. But her voice never returned.
What did he do when he felt this way the first time? When he lost it all and was drowning in an ocean of guilt? He had enlisted.
Before Jack could even question if it was the right thing to do or not, he had signed up for another Navy tour. It would be the first time in many years, he was out of practice, he was going to have to work on his posture, but he could fall back in line. He could do it all over again. Perhaps a little rank was just what he needed.
Similarly, Marsha walked away from her conversation with Denise feeling strangely sober. Not that she had taken to relying on any unhealthy vices over the months, but she had stuck her head pretty firmly in the sand.
What had she done when she felt this way the first time? When she lost it all and was being swept away in a river of grief? She ran away.
She left South Carolina and very rarely looked back. When Robbie died, she left Stanford until she was ready to face their apartment. When Lillie died, she left California for a life at Area 52. What now? Now that Area 52 could no longer be called home?
She didn’t feel like going back to the West Coast. It was mid-summer, and it would be altogether too beautiful for how she was feeling. She couldn’t go back to Beverly Hills and try to bask in the golden sun, to roam the beautiful beaches, to sail her boat around the harbour. She used to do all that, and had been looking forward to taking time off in the summer to do just that, but not anymore.
And although Marsha knew that the lab at Stanford was waiting for her as an alumni whenever she wanted to return, she couldn’t bring herself to face the heat of California. Which is why she made a phone call out East.
Here’s where her compartmentalization came in handy.
Step one was to find a new job. That was done as soon as she spoke with the head of Human Resources at Columbia University in Manhattan. Marsha’s resume spoke for herself. They wouldn’t deny somebody of her caliber. Within the week, she had an offer to come on board as an experimental researcher of psychology in the lab, and had also agreed to give weekly lectures at the university.
Step two was to tender her resignation. Dr. Grant tried to talk her out of it, and Jason accused her of running away, but her other friends bit their tongue in understanding. Especially Denise, who was officially out on maternity leave and did not have the time to say much of anything to Marsha.
Step three was to pack up what remained of her life. Her apartment in Beverly Hills was going to continue to sit empty, even as she made monthly mortgage payments. She couldn’t give it up, but she also couldn’t return to it.
Even at Area 52 over the last decade, she hadn’t really settled in much. Her closet was the biggest endeavour. But it didn’t take long to have everything packed away and on a plane to New York City.
Her sister still lived in Manhattan, and Marsha had visited the city before. It was safe in the sense that it was fresh, and it was new, and it couldn’t produce any bad memories for her. Not to mention the fact that it was rainy. Grey, cloudy, dark. It provided some beautiful summer days, but they were not hot, and they were far and few between. It felt right.
Step four, she signed a lease on an Upper East Side apartment and made arrangements to have her things delivered. Now, she had two Chevy Malibus of different vintages to her name, and left the classic car at home in California, but also paid to have her 2001 vehicle flown over to New York so that she wouldn’t have to drive all the way up there.
Step five, she left Area 52 as soon as possible.
At the beginning of August, with a suitcase dragging behind her, she made her way through the bleak hallways for the very last time. It felt numbing to leave her room behind, to realize that she couldn’t remember the last time she had been in the Training Centre or the staff room out by the lab that her and her friends had made so many memories in.
She waited for the elevator and was forced to stare at the picture on the wall. Blown up and framed in gold. The intense, heroic face of Captain Zoom. His signature was on the plaque beneath it. As though he had founded this place. As though he was some kind of a god.
Ironically enough, Marsha used to love that picture. She thought he was a hero. A god. She thought it was only suitable that they honour his legacy with a photograph. Now, it made her feel nothing but bitterness.
Because she didn’t see Captain Zoom. She saw Jack. Even if he looked regal and handsome and the picture of heroism, it was still just Jack. Suited for the spotlight, she happened to think, even if he had claimed that he did not want to be known.
It used to be a grainy old picture of him from back in the eighties when he was the commander. They had replaced it with a headshot taken right after the defeat of Concussion, when they were all feeling on top of the world. And boy, did it show.
Now, this picture reminded her only of all that could have been. All that never was. It reminded her of just how much power he had. That if he had only stayed, it would all be different. It was as simple as that.
But no. The hero didn’t stay, he ran away. It was her who had stayed. The woman who had no headshot in the hallway. The nobody. The desperate scientist who had tried to hold it all together but just wasn’t good enough without the hero by her side.
And while Captain Zoom’s name would live on – in this facility and the world – hers would only grow old and stale. Hers would live and die within the walls of this facility. Her story with the Zenith Team was finished, and it left a sour taste in her mouth.
The elevator finally dinged, and Marsha had to resist the urge to smash the glass protecting the picture as she marched through the open doors. When they closed behind her, she said goodbye to Area 52 for good.
Tomorrow morning, he will have stayed the week, at General Larraby’s request.
Life was different for him now that he had his powers back. Now that he had saved his brother from a lifetime of suffering in a parallel universe. Now that he had four children who he rather loved. Maybe not yet like a father, but like an involved uncle. There were other things that he had, but he would rather not acknowledge that.
Every day had been the same. He woke up, he left his room at just the right time to walk Marsha Holloway to breakfast, they parted ways after some light teasing and she had a tea to take with her, and Jack spent the rest of the morning in his office doing up training drills and schedules for the week.
He had lunch with whoever was around – usually his friends – and bided his time afterwards in the research lab with Dr. Grant brainstorming new experiments and research, keeping up with his crazy inventions tailored to his team. Sometimes, Marsha was there too. When the kids got back from school, it was time for training. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday were set aside for his physical training. On Tuesday, they spent their time with Marsha going over some psychophysiological training. And Thursday, of course, was simulation day.
Then it was time for dinner and whatever the kids had planned for them in the lounge. Sometimes it was a movie, sometimes it was a board game, sometimes it was cards, baking, crafts, whatever they had up their sleeve. Him and Marsha came around for it and typically hung out as long as the kids wanted them to. Afterwards, if their friends weren’t up to no good, it was time to say goodnight.
Today was no different.
The corridors of Area 52 were usually quiet but alive with life at this time in the morning. Everyone was waking up but relatively antisocial until the coffee started flowing. Jack turned a corner and sure enough, Marsha was just coming out of her room for the day.
With her hair tied up and her glasses slipping slightly down her nose as she looked down, locking her door, Jack watched her eyes brighten when she saw him.
“Miss Holloway,” he teased, walking up to her with his hands in his pockets and a smile on his otherwise gruff face. “Running late?”
Her face fell as she glanced down at her watch. “I am not,” she shook her head.
Jack cracked a sideways grin. “Made you look.”
Marsha let out a breath and swatted him on the shoulder before they began their trek down to the cafeteria. She didn’t usually eat breakfast, but Jack liked to indulge in something a little bit more substantial than just caffeine. Marsha needed a morning tea with enough sugar to kickstart her day.
He held the door subtly when they got to the cafeteria, teasing her in some way or another as Marsha laughed in spite of herself. That laugh was a sound that Jack had come to depend on. And the two of them never said much, but this morning ritual – walk, flirt, breakfast – had become the heartbeat of Jack’s new life whether he’d admit that or not.
12:45pm
During the lunch hour, the cafeteria was far louder. People were halfway through their days, everyone had something new to report, and people were desperate for a little food and camaraderie before they had to clock back in.
At a familiar table in the corner sat some familiar faces. IT director Colin Chang was messing around with a tablet beside his old friend Sergeant Jason Becker who was doing his best to sneak a cigarette under the table. Head of biology Denise Miller was trying to stomach a cup of yogurt – her heavily pregnant state was not allowing her to enjoy many foods lately, and Marsha was working on a smoothie while listening to whatever story was being told this time.
Jack dropped himself into the empty seat beside her, draping a nonchalant arm across the back of her chair that everyone knew by now not to mention.
“What, you can’t leave the work behind for half an hour?” Jack teased towards Colin, who was hunched over his tablet.
Colin looked up sharply, but for some reason, his ire was not directed at Jack. Instead, he was staring daggers beside him.
“Oh, don’t ask,” Denise winced.
“Maybe I could if somebody at this table wasn’t chronically accident prone,” Colin hissed through gritted teeth.
Jack raised his eyebrows and cast a sidelong glance to his right. Marsha looked relatively remorseful, but also as though she was sick and tired of the teasing.
“What’d you do this time?” He quipped.
Crossing her arms, Marsha kept her head up. “Accidents do happen, you know,” she deflected.
Jason began to chuckle, but Jack only shook his head. "That didn't answer my question."
She had tripped over a power cord in the psychology lab earlier today and accidentally unplugged the tablet that she had been syncing with a bunch of unsaved coded data. Then, she had gone running to Colin begging that he fix it as if he was some kind of magician. The man grumbled, but he was doing his best.
2:20pm
Snapping his fingers, Jack pointed at Dr. Grant from the casual position in the chair that he had been occupying. “Adjustable resistance bands,” he said, having a eureka moment.
Him and Dr. Grant had been down in the research lab bouncing ideas off of one another for the last fifteen minutes. Grant was tall and steadfast, switching between taking notes on a computer and scribbling them down on his clipboard, and Jack lounged in a nearby chair with his legs out.
“Have them adapt mid-use,” Jack continued, “something that pushes back harder the stronger the kid gets.”
Dr. Grant furrowed his brow and nodded, turning to the nearby whiteboard where he began to sketch a prototype, mumbling something about a biofeedback loop.
5:30pm
The shuttle returned to Area 52 every school day at 4pm sharp, unless one of the kids was hanging back due to extracurriculars. They were given twenty minutes to drop their stuff off, having a snack, change, and haul themselves down to the Training Centre.
While Jack would typically lead them through warm-ups, sparring sessions, agility drills, and endurance training, tonight they ran a simulation instead. The combat simulator had been adjusted for Phase Two. The paintballs were launched at higher speeds, from different turrets, and were meant to simulate real gunfire. The kids were given shields and weapons to work with, and were told to complete cooperation tasks before they could push the button that ended the simulation.
This was Jack’s territory, but Marsha always made the time for simulations. She liked to observe and take notes that would help add to next week’s training. She had already been upstairs in the observation chamber for the first ten minutes, while Jack was down on the floor explaining the drill and tossing out advice.
With a thumbs up from the commander himself, the technician Dick fired up the simulation and the kids got going as Jack trudged up the stairs. He saw a familiar figure sitting at the desk beside the intercom machine, scribbling something on her clipboard.
As Jack walked by, he placed a hand briefly on her shoulder, causing Marsha to glance backwards to find nobody as he had continued walking and was no on the other side of her, staring intensely down at the kids below with his arms crossed and his brow pensive.
Technically, Marsha should have been down there in training herself. She had revealed powers of her own, thus making her an official member of the Zenith Team. But it was agreed upon that she was not going to be a front member of that team. She was not paged out to calls unless it was absolutely necessary, as she had too big of a job here at Area 52 to do much training.
Instead, she was a sideline member. Behind the scenes. She trained the team, and she was called out for backup as needed. With an entire department to head, psychological trials to run, training to lead, and in-house patients to meet with, it simply wasn’t feasible to throw her into training of her own.
And while Jack would have loved to tease her as he ran drills just to taunt her, he was glad to have her standing behind the scenes with him. His time had passed – it was a new era. The kids were the heroes, even if he was the captain. Him and Marsha stood firm side by side on the sidelines as the new age dawned.
7:15pm
After dinner, the team found themselves in the lounge, as per usual.
At first, they thought that Marsha might not join them. She had been so late that she missed the ice cream sundaes. But she had a patient session run late this afternoon and paperwork to finish up on. She arrived just in time for the cutthroat game of Monopoly that they all settled in for.
Dylan and Summer were cuddled up on the loveseat – inseparable since they became an official item. Jack was hunched forwards on the sofa with little Cindy beside him, squinting at the cards that she pulled. Tucker was on the floor on one side of the coffee table, with Marsha mimicking his position mermaid-style on the other side. She was settled in with Jack directly behind her. Occasionally, he leaned forwards and rested his forearm on her shoulder, whispering something into her ear about how he could see her cards. When he really let himself relax, he would absentmindedly play with her hair.
Marsha did not know what this new dynamic was. They didn’t fight anymore. They bantered, they teased, they flirted. They were touchy. A hand on her lower back, hers brushing against his arm as they laughed. He held doors for her, visited her office as he pleased, hell, he even sent her the occasional email.
Things had changed between them, that much was obvious. Jack was open to things that previously, he would have run from. But he had not turned his whole life on his head. He was healthier, he was easier to be around, he wasn’t quite so laden with guilt, but he was still the same man that he had been back in Long Beach. Commitment was not his style. Not with somebody like her.
So, Marsha did not dare bring it up. She was happy in this little mediocre place of peace that they had found together. Desperately in love with him even though they were technically just coworkers. Just friends, but he kept her far closer than that. Even if this was purgatory, she was happy to be stuck here with him.
It would never really work, between them. Even she had to know that. They may have gotten along fine in these quiet, peaceful moments, but what about when real change came? What about when Jack realized that he didn’t want to play by Larraby’s rules anymore? What about when it came time to make a decision?
When it came down to it, loyalties had to be set aside. At her core, Marsha was still a woman who had spent her entire career upholding and climbing the broken system that she now existed within. Groomed into believing that the world at Area 52 is good and fair. Yet to experience enough suspicion to realize that she might just be on the wrong side of it all. And Jack? Well, he was the man that she loved, destined to bring an end to that entire structure.
It would never work. Not while Jack was still determined to believe that he was utterly unlovable, and Marsha loved him as easily as breathing in the air around her. It would never work.
And when he walked her back to her quarters every night, they would linger in the hopelessness of it all. The inability to step across that line and find true happiness. They would stop outside of her door. She would take her time with her keys. Jack would feel this innate desire to do whatever it took to keep her out there in that hallway, but never seemed to be able to say the words that would do the trick.
Every night, they would bid one another farewell with a small, knowing, disappointed smile. He would wait to hear the door click shut before he turned around and walked away. And when he left, he did so slowly. As though he was hoping that she would open it again.
Typically, Jack would retire for the evening, but he had caught wind of something today that hadn’t sat well with him. It was just a casual mention on Jason’s part, but Jack was now granted the knowledge that big changes were coming to Area 52. Larraby was bringing in quite the squad now that they were planning to house a Zenith Team indefinitely.
Luckily, Dr. Grant was still in one of the small staff rooms near the living quarters, working on a cup of decaf. Jack hovered at the far end of the room, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. For the first time since last week, he looked like a man carved from tension. Jaw tight, eyes pinned to the floor. Something haunting about him.
Dr. Grant was too preoccupied. The kids were too hopeful. Marsha was too damn happy to notice it. But there was something restless in the way that he shifted his weight. As if his body had finally caught wind of his mind’s temptation to run.
Jack had been happy, but he hadn’t been peaceful. There was a tugging in the back of his mind. A lingering whisper that reminded him of his circumstances here. Of the conversation that he had with Larraby last week. The demands that couldn’t be met. The safety concerns. And now this, the upgrades that had nothing to do with his team.
“I saw the requisition,” Jack muttered. “Extra security detail.”
Dr. Grant didn’t look up. “It’s routine,” he shrugged. “Every six months.”
Unconvinced, Jack lowered his voice. “Since when does a routine detail list live ammo and drone surveillance?” He recrossed his arms. “Signed off by Larraby, I might add.”
Giving up, Grant let out a heavy sigh and looked up.
“What are they preparing for this time?” Jack asked harshly.
Shrugging, Grant could understand where Jack was coming from. “Shouldn’t this place get a security upgrade?” He tried. “Especially with four kids running around?”
Jack shook his head. “I highly doubt the security is to protect them,” he muttered. “Just the opposite, am I right?”
Grant sighed again. “That’s above my pay grade,” he said honestly.
The place. It was trying to make soldiers out of children. It had turned them into assets, no matter who else tried to keep them human. And now they were scared of them. So, they were bringing in backup just to ensure that everyone minded their manners and stayed in line. Most of all him, he had to assume.
Taking in a breath, Jack walked over to the side of the room where a framed photograph of the original team hung on the wall. Grainy and weathered. Out of place in this new era. Jack’s heart still tightened upon seeing those faces from beyond the grave, but he no longer felt like their voices were screaming at him.
After what felt like forever, he finally spoke. “You ever wonder what we could’ve done if this place hadn’t chewed us up?”
“All the time,” Grant replied honestly.
Jack nodded. He didn’t need to hear anything else from Grant tonight. All his suspicions were true, and all his instincts were telling him to get the hell out of here before this place could catch fire. It was his team, but those kids would never really be his to protect. Not unless he had the power to override Larraby and the rest of the military goons here at the facility. And he couldn’t do that without rank.
It would be different if Jack hadn’t retired from the navy. If he was still a decorated captain with a rank of his own. Then, his word might mean a bit more. He might have a leg to stand on. But he didn’t. He was a mechanic.
And as he stared at that picture, Jack suffered a quiet kind of heartbreak that came from living too long in the truth. He knew then and there that it didn’t matter if he was having fun here, nor did it matter if he was happy. It didn’t matter if he cared about the kids, if he enjoyed having his old friends back, if he was falling in love with somebody good for him. None if it mattered.
He had to go.
He had to go before he wound up standing in another empty staff room looking at a picture of dead kids that he couldn’t save. Before he had to ask himself yet again what he could have done differently. Him leaving wouldn’t stop the military from exploiting four children, but it would at least stop him from being the one who couldn’t stop that from happening. He could get out now before his heart was broken in five different places that this time, couldn’t be repaired.
He had to go.
So, he broke curfew and went off in search of the kids. They deserved an explanation. A goodbye. And as luck would have it, they were too tired to fight back.
Jack explained that he couldn’t be here. That he had done his job and that they were ready to be a team without him, as planned. That the powers at be didn’t jive with him and it would be safer for everybody if he took off back to his little life in Long Beach. He was excited to watch them from afar and see just how great they could become. He promised to visit, and he lied.
And that was that. The last time he planned on ever seeing those four young faces. Tomorrow morning, they would be off at school, and he would shoulder a bag and get the hell out of here.
Friday, May 5th, 2006 – 8:15am
He wasn’t doing anything wrong.
That particular sentence was bouncing around his head this morning, sharing space with another phrase that he was doing his best to drill into himself.
It's just how you feel. It's not what you want.
Maybe between the two mantras, he could start to feel better about what he was about to do.
Blindsided at his workplace twenty years after the tragedy that stole four innocent lives - five if you count the fact that Jack all but stopped living too - and shot by a tranquilizer. Marched back to the place that haunted his worst nightmares with a gun at his back and threatened with jail time if he did not comply. Those were the conditions. He had to remind himself of that.
Nothing about that particular situation screamed, "I want to be here!" In fact, it might as well have been a hostage situation. And Jack Shepard was no friend to Stockholm Syndrome. He was aware that his shackles had come off and that the cage door was open. It had been for an entire work week now, actually.
It's almost like he just didn't want to alert anyone else to the fact that he knew he was free to go. Like if he made too sudden of a break for it, they might swoop in and stop him again. All he ever wanted was to finally be free from this place, and with his greatest dream on the line, things had to go just right. The proper paperwork, talking to the right people, making the terms and conditions clear and unbreachable. Then he could walk out of here a free man.
Would it feel shitty to leave the children while they're just getting started? Absolutely. Would he miss them and plenty of other people here that he had either gotten to know for the first time or rekindled familiar friendships with? There was no doubt in his mind. But none of that mattered. Because the pain of walking away would be overshadowed by all that he was saving. He was leaving while the kids were still breathing. Before tragedy could strike and ruin his life all over again. His brother was alive, his team was successful, he was free to go. Severing the ties now was the best wait to avoid any future pain.
And as for his friends, he had left them behind before. Maybe he would keep in touch. That was a lie to make himself feel like a better person. The only one of his friends whose phone number he had was Marsha, and it's only because he got it from the staff directory in case of an emergency. He wouldn't call any of the others, and they wouldn't call him. Keeping in touch with Marsha was a happy thought, but a pipe dream. Jack knew she wouldn't want anything to do with him after what he was about to do.
But he wasn't doing anything wrong. He had accomplished what he was here to do. He didn't break any laws, he trained the children to fight Concussion, and he even saved his long-lost brother in the process. That was all he had been here for on paper. Morally, maybe he wasn't making the right call, but that was far less of his concern. In terms of black and white, he was not doing anything wrong.
All week - actually, for the better part of the last month - he had been fighting off a certain feeling that lingered in his bones, reignited by this new era of the Zenith Program. Something was tugging at him. And he knew what it was. The desire to stay. To have something to live for again, to save the world, to distribute his knowledge onto the next generation. To stay and build a life here. A real life. And that was the most dangerous feeling Jack had ever experienced.
He knew that, and he clocked it all along. Hence why he now reminded himself that it was just a feeling. He had felt many things over the course of his life that he never let himself act upon, because it wasn't what he wanted. It was no different now. Sure, he had certain feelings that made him feel like he should stick around and make something of himself right here at Area 52, but what he wanted – what he had always wanted – was to have nothing to do with this program ever again. He wanted to leave once and for all, on his own terms. And what he wanted was far more important than whatever he was feeling.
He had reconciled it in his head. Jack had been nothing but clear in terms of his intentions. Even after he came around to the idea of working with the kids and training them properly, even after he let himself like them, he was careful never to admit that maybe this place wasn't so bad. That he might consider sticking around once his contract was up and it was all over. He never indicated that he was even considering such a thing. If anyone took his change of heart to mean that he was now willing to throw away his life and his plans to remain here at the place that had destroyed everything he ever loved, they were kidding themselves, and it wasn't his fault.
How could he just sit back and attempt to forget that he had spent the last two decades trying never to even think about this place and all that it had taken from him? How could he spend so much energy running from his past only to roll over when it finally caught up to him? Surely, he had been so adamant for a good reason.
This was the problem with letting people in. He cursed himself for letting it happen despite knowing the consequences. Wasn't that why he didn't want to train the children? Because he did not want to care about them. But, lo and behold, certain people around here had weaseled their way under his skin at the first crack in his armour. That was the only reason that it was going to be tough to walk away from this. But that was also the reason that he had to. In all honesty, there were certain names and faces that Jack was doing his level best to keep out of his head. Even in his subconscious, they might convince him to stay.
Who did he think he was? Training these kids and encouraging them to become a family as if he knew anything about that word? As if he had not spent the better part of his life avoiding genuine human connection, love, and responsibility in no particular order. It was a complete joke that he had been brought in to lead them to greatness. And he couldn't keep up the act forever. Yet another reason why it was better for him to cut bait and take off now before he found himself in too deep. That's when he wound up hurting people.
Larraby had told him to stay the week, so he did. Unsure what he was going to do, Jack knew that he wanted to leave - or at least, he should have wanted to - but he had developed certain feelings for certain people around here. He realized that it was nice to feel something other than guilt and apathy. He wanted to be a part of something good, he wanted people to believe in him, and he wanted to believe in something in return. But he was swimming with sharks, and still bleeding from the gaping wound that had never healed properly back in 1986. He couldn't stay.
Still, he had gone back and forth about a thousand and one times in his head. Stay and suffer the consequences? Enjoy the bliss but risk losing it all and feeling more pain than ever before? Or leave and have it sting for a bit but retreat back to the safety of having nobody and nothing to lose? There were benefits to both, but Jack knew there was no point in brainstorming. He had made his mind up before he ever sent foot back in this place.
As good as things might have seemed with Dr. Grant back on his side, Marsha in his corner, and a promising group of kids, Jack knew that it was only a matter of time before Larraby pulled his tail out from between his legs and started to abuse his power again. It was already happening. Just like the old general and lieutenant did back in the golden days. The abuse of power that killed his team had every opportunity to do the same to his new team.
The only way that it would ever work would be if Jack managed to get the kids out of here and start something that was all his own. And that would take money, planning, organization, commitment, and a hell of a lot of responsibility. He had none of those things. Half a million dollars didn't get nearly far enough, and comic book royalties were only bringing in so much. Save for that fresh new deposit, Jack's bank account looked a lot like any blue-collar business owner's on the sleepy side of the city did.
He knew what had to happen. He would have to go public with his team and start bringing in some real funds with red carpet events, interview exclusives, and magazine articles. Maybe even press tours and Q and A panels. Now that would have them raking in the dough, and it might allow him to purchase some place and a team of employees independent from the government.
But he couldn't see himself committing to such a pursuit. He would get lazy and comfortable and refuse to take the responsibility for it, so it would never happen. That was why this team was better off without him, and therefore he shouldn't feel guilty for leaving them behind.
Call him what you like, but at least Jack was a man who thought of everything. And for a moment, he let himself think about what it would be like if he stayed. If he told the kids that he had only been joking and then pretended everything was fine and that he was the big hero that they all thought he was. If he stayed right here just to live in the little moments of happiness forever. It sounded almost nice, but it was all a lie.
Because he hadn't changed. He was not responsible or selfless or valiant. Sure, he was a hero who tended to do the right thing in the end, but that was all it took to sell comic books. He was also a selfish, arrogant man with a dirty mind and no sense of responsibility. The apathy, the sarcasm, the dry sense of humour, the nihilism – they were all qualities that made him who he was. Caring for four children didn't change that. It did not take those qualities away from him. They would likely be with him forever. And eventually, everyone here would see through the lie. Straight through to the bitterness inside.
Because he was a crappy actor and an even worse liar, though he'd never admit it. He might have had a stellar poker face in some situations, but it would crack if the right person looked hard enough. He could stand here and lie to everyone day in and day out. That wasn't fair to the kids who were too young to understand the truth, and he didn't even want to bother trying to lie to his co-trainer, who always seemed to see right through him anyways.
He just couldn't handle living in a world where he let himself love people and make plans for the future only to know that at any point in time, it could all come crashing down around him. He would never know peace if he condemned himself to such a life. So, he refused to do it.
And in the end, Jack told himself that he had done what he came here to do. First and foremost, he did what Larraby brought him here to do. Mission successful. Now, he was going to do what he came to - leave. With no strings attached. To walk through those big secret doors, breathe in the dusty Death Valley air and finally taste true freedom.
He wasn’t doing anything wrong.
He told himself that he was going to leave the team in Dylan's capable hands. The boy was always meant to take over as commander once Jack was ready to fully retire. Dylan could lead them, Marsha could continue training and advocating, Dr. Gant would be at their beck and call. Larraby would shove them into the spotlight, and they would all become disgustingly rich and overwhelmingly famous. And all the while, Jack would stay out of it. Back in Long Beach keeping to himself, far away from the prying eyes and the trappings of fame and the risk of having so much to lose.
He could watch it all from the staticky television in the break room of his shop and say things like "I knew them when." None of the other guys at the garage would believe him, but it wouldn't matter.
And when they were struck down in their prime by undefeatable forces or when Marsha wasn't enough to keep Larraby's greed at bay and he pumped them full of radiation, Jack would not have to deal with the fallout. By then, his heart would have forgotten what it was like to ever have any of them.
If he was smart, he would have reflected on that notion. Asked himself if over the years, he had forgotten what it was like to feel his brother's hand on his shoulder. To laugh with Henry or hear Rebecca's laugh. To take his love, Alex, into his arms. No, he hadn't forgotten. He couldn't quite feel it when he thought about it – it felt more like something that had occurred in a dream – but he hadn't forgotten. Maybe if Jack had considered that, he might have made a different choice.
Last night had been hard, saying goodbye, though it did not look it. Catching the children with only a few minutes left before their mandated bedtime meant that there was no time to argue. They all knew that. It was either argue, or say goodbye, no room for both. It also gave them no opportunity to run off and tell someone. If either Grant or Holloway caught wind of what he was planning to do, they would have hunted him down and tried to perform some kind of intervention that might just work.
Jack walked away knowing that he had made the right decision. He liked those kids, he called them a family, he would do just about anything for them, but he didn't love them. Not the way that a father might love their children. He would if he spent any more time around them. That's how he knew he was making the right call.
Take off before the goodbye had to be tearful. Before Dylan and Summer's relationship went up in flames and he had to navigate the aftermath, before Tucker became a teenager and started whining about going to parties and rebelling, before Cindy got any taller and it made Jack want to stop time and keep her a little girl forever. He wasn't cut out for fatherhood, so he had to get the hell out of here before he became one against his will.
It would have been a lot easier if he hadn’t seen Marsha after it all. She was across the hallway stuck in conversation with Lieutenant George Mathers, a yappy little man hardly taller than she was who always had something to say. Nice enough and always polite, just like Masha. Which is why she so often stood there silently and let him talk her ear off. She caught Jack's eye from across the hall, and he only hoped that she was too far away to see everything on his face.
He didn't linger long enough to wait for George to be finished. He couldn't. It was funny for him to think that just hours ago, his hands were tangled up in her hair as he played with the curls over her shoulder.
The goal was to keep his distance, to avoid her, to likely never see her again. He couldn't have that fight with her, because he wasn't sure that he would win. But much like he had made his peace with the children, he was quite positive that leaving her now was the right call.
Before they could blur the lines between colleagues and partners. Between friends and something more. Hell, who was he kidding? The lines were already blurry, that's what he liked about her. They only ever pretended to draw lines in the first place. She was a beautiful distraction, a lovely person to talk to, and likely the warmest soul that he had ever encountered. And that posed one very large problem for him. Stick around any longer and he would fall in love with her.
The fact that he had never even been remotely interested in somebody like her before told him one thing – the love would be real. The kind that makes even the most philandering of men cast aside their womanizing ways and settle down. Throw it all away for the rest of his life. He already felt the whisperings of it. A deep, meaningful connection. Nobody had ever made him feel the way that she did.
So, it was better to get out now before he fell in love. Before she could fall in love – or more in love, perhaps – and he had to break her heart. Before the inevitable fighting, the hard feelings, the weeds of sex, and the commitment issues could take him out at the knees. Before he fell so deeply in love and spent the rest of his life worrying that he was going to lose it all.
It’s only how you feel, it isn’t what you want.
Jack had no way of knowing it when he woke up, but it was a miserable day outside. He would learn that in a few hours. While outside in the middle of the Death Valley dessert, it was typically hot and sunny without a cloud in the sky, today it was storming. Cracks of lightning and booming thunder couldn’t be heard in the facility, but it made for a sky as dark as night, and plenty of treacherous winds.
Ironically enough, that was precisely how Jack had woken up feeling inside. But he couldn’t acknowledge that now. So instead, he brushed his teeth, he showered, he put on some clothes that weren’t military, and he packed his few belongings into a bag that he slung over his shoulder and clicked his pager so that Dr. Grant would meet him in one of the free conference rooms as soon as possible. He wanted this done quickly and quietly.
The kids were off at school, everyone else was busy clocking in for the day, he had made his peace with it all. As soon as he got those papers signed, there would be nothing left standing in his way.
A clever lie, he was telling himself. Nothing standing in his way. He had a few obstacles still that he was going out of his way to ignore. But one was far more inexcusable than the others.
Jack realized that something felt off as he walked to the conference room and was quickly reminded of that very obstacle when he realized that it was the first time all week that he hadn’t met Marsha at her door and walked her to breakfast.
Shit, he thought to himself with a wince. She would know that something was up. Especially after he didn’t stick around and bug her when they made eye contact in the hallway last night. Jack just hoped that she didn’t track him down before he could get the hell out of here.
Because she had a few tricks up her sleeve that might just take him down. He wondered if it would be like some kind of bad movie. She would fall at his feet and beg him to stay by proclaiming her undying love for him at the eleventh hour like a headshot in the dark. He imagined a single tear falling down her cheek, the light shining just right, illuminating her eyes and casting hypnotic shadows. He was just glad that the real world did not operate that way.
Even he knew that she wouldn’t reduce herself to such a caricature of a Jane Austen plot. But she could still stand in his way by doing one simple thing. Something that she had done time and time again. By calling his bluff.
As he walked briskly to the conference room, Jack told himself that the feeling in the pit of his stomach was excitement rather than dread. Anticipation for finally getting to sever his ties with Area 52 and get out of here for good. He even forced a cheeky grin onto his face.
Larraby and Grant met him in the conference room. The general seemed grumpy and eager to get this over with, but Grant was far more resigned. There was a mountain of paperwork and by the end of the fifteen-minute meeting, Jack’s wrist hurt from signing his name over and over again, but all necessary documents were signed.
He assigned whatever jurisdiction he once had over the team to Marsha Holloway, and ensured that Grant’s name was in there too. He signed NDAs and contract releases. He took his name off the project entirely, as if it had never been attached to it at all. And every signature felt like an extra weight off his shoulders. Like slowly cracking a window open in a stuffy room.
It felt so good that he could hardly even hear that obnoxious voice in the back of his mind. The one that called him a coward and a lying traitor. In fact, he recognized that voice. It wasn’t his. It was female and familiar, though weeks ago it would have sounded like a stranger.
Larraby left without a parting word as soon as the deal was sealed, leaving the two old friends in a heavy silence. Quickly, Jack rose from his seat, trying not to make a big deal out of anything. The longer he was delayed, the higher the risk of running into that voice in his head in person.
Following suit, the older man stood with a sigh, shaking his head as he peered at Jack with a watchful eye.
“So, there’s nothing, hey?” Grant asked solemnly.
Instantly, Jack narrowed his eyes, aggravation rising within him.
“Nothing what?” He said quickly.
“Nothing that’s going to change your mind,” Grant began, and Jack looked away with a grimace following his words. “Nothing that’s going to keep you here?”
A clench of his jaw prepared Jack for this conversation.
“Papers are signed, Grant.”
A moment of silence lingered between the two friends. Grant had never been one for Hail Marys, but he had to try.
“Would you stay if she asked you to?”
The two men’s eyes snapped together in cold accusation on both parts as soon as the words left Grant’s mouth. If this was the end, Jack would have to be prepared to hear the words that he never wanted to. His face twisted sourly, and here came that poker face.
“Who?” Jack knew full well who Grant was referring to, and almost regretted egging him on at all rather than turning himself around and walking out the door before either of them could say any more on the topic.
Technically, he had every right to do so, he was a free man. Officially.
“You know who,” Grant continued, softer now as if to demand that Jack cut the bullshit and face reality.
“Grant, I’ve got to get out of this place,” Jack’s face remained stony as he completely bypassed the question posed of him, but the tone of his voice told Grant that he was being genuine. “The plan was always for me to leave once everything was all sorted out.” He tried to keep his hands busy by rolling up the sleeves of the button-down flannel he was wearing. “I’m not sticking around for anything, makes no difference who’s asking.”
Grant nearly chuckled, he’d forgotten that Jack had two decades of practice in the art of apathy saved up for this very moment.
“You’re really willing to leave them all behind here to finish what you started?”
Jack did not like the accusation in the old man’s voice. He hadn’t asked for any of this, the only thing that the children were about to suffer were the consequences that Area 52 and their insipid Zenith Program had set them up for.
“Isn’t that kind of the whole point of your little project? Bring me back, do some training, and have them take my place?” Jack began, his voice hardening as he spoke. “I wanted to be done with this place twenty years ago, it’s about damn time I’m finally given some real freedom, don’t you think?”
Lowering his brow in thought, Grant wondered if anyone had even thought to ask Jack to stay, yet. The kids surely didn’t know how to keep him here, Larraby would rather die before asking Jack to stay for the sake of his military base, and Marsha’s pride was likely preventing her from the same thing. Perhaps Jack didn’t realize that staying was even an option.
“You know you could stay, though,” Grant began, “if you wanted to. Even after the papers have been signed.”
Jack looked up and narrowed his eyes. “Are you not hearing me?” He scoffed, “I can’t wait to never have to think about this place or anything that happened here ever again.”
Grant took in a deep breath and looked around the room for a silver lining. “Well, I suppose you can always come back and visit,” he landed on.
“No, once I go, I’m gone,” Jack stated firmly, standing up straighter. “I’ve said it before but this time I really mean it. Once I walk out those doors, it’ll be the last time.”
“Really?” Grant couldn’t understand his insistent desire to rid himself of anything related to this facility. The facility that gave him both his start and a second chance.
“Really.”
“What about the kids?”
Jack rolled his eyes. He had no more obligation to those kids than their schoolteachers did. “I’m not their father,” he began, raising an eyebrow. “I did what you wanted, I trained them, I got them all ready to go, they’re good. You’ve seen what they can do. They don’t need me anymore, I’m good to go.”
Grant peered at him, wondering how the carefree young man that he once knew had managed to turn himself to stone. “They’re good because if you, Jack,” Grant reminded him. “Without your training, who’s to say how good they are.”
Jack didn’t want to hear any of it. Lord knows he had already thought of it all. Grant sounded like his mother in this moment, and it made him want to groan.
“Listen,” he said, shouldering his bag, “we had some good times here, why can’t we leave it at that?” Jack began. “As fun as it might’ve been, none of it’s ever gonna be good enough to keep me around,” he shrugged out the end of his sentence before time came to a complete stop.
The voice in his head had finally shut up. That only ever meant one of two things. That he was making the right call, or that he was about to get a glimpse of the live show. Sure enough, he heard the sound of a familiar laugh coming from out in the hallway. It rang out through the muffled silence like a bell chiming in a silent night. Both men arched an eyebrow in the direction of the door.
And she was right there standing sideways in the window, talking to some security official that was obviously cracking jokes this morning.
Grant – having now been able to put a face and a name to the laugh that had broke the silence – accepted this and turned back to Jack, intending to pick up where they had left off in their conversation. But the same could not be said for the younger man. He was still distracted.
Jack stared out at the woman that felt so familiar to him despite only knowing her for a few weeks. So familiar that she had become the voice in his head. He softened upon seeing that smile and the cute little way that her nose wrinkled when she did so. He’d miss that smile.
Damn, he cursed in his mind. This whole process would have been made a lot easier if she hadn’t looked quite so beautiful today. She had her hair down and was wearing it in curls, the few front pieces pinned back behind her head. No glasses, a darker shade of lipstick than usual, a pretty lavender blouse. It was almost like she knew what was meant to happen today, and she was already trying to make his job as difficult as humanly possible.
Finally tearing his eyes away from her long enough to catch an insinuating look coming from Dr. Grant, Jack stifled a sigh and braced himself yet again. Busted, he thought. He hadn’t meant for his stare to be quite so incriminating, but he’d always had a problem with subtlety wherever she was involved. Something he certainly would not miss once he finally bid this confining facility farewell for the last time.
“None of it, hey?” The scientist cocked his head in sarcastic understanding.
Even Grant knew that when the time really came, his old friend might have a very difficult time saying goodbye to the woman just yards away from them both. Perhaps her and Jack were always meant to be two people so close, and yet so far.
Jack opened his mouth to argue, but not a single word came out. Instead, he looked back out the window and stared her down once more. It looked like her conversation was nearly finished and that meant he was about to have to do the hardest thing he might ever have to do. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for that. Hence why the whole plan this morning had been to successfully carry out an Irish goodbye and live the rest of his days regretting it. Goddammit if fate was not a cruel master.
Knowing that there was nothing more he could do, Grant was well aware that he was about to pass the torch and the responsibility over to Marsha, who was far more capable. With a heavy sigh, he placed a warm but disappointed hand on Jack’s shoulder with a nod of acceptance.
And it was during this nonverbal farewell that neither heard the door open. Two and two was put together very quickly. Jack not showing up at her door, his strange behaviour last night in the hallway, Larraby brushing past her just a few minutes ago as if she had personally offended him, and now this particular scene. A goodbye if ever she had seen one.
She knew that Jack had been paid out last weekend, and had been keeping a cautious eye on him ever since. But she swore she would have noticed it if he showed any signs of leaving. She should have noticed it. Instead, she let herself be so stupidly happy. And alas, here came the consequences.
Marsha stood in the entrance, holding the door as her heart nearly fell right out of her chest.
“It was good to have you back,” Grant muttered before looking up in half-surprise to see Marsha standing a couple feet into the room, with a fire burning behind her eyes.
It didn’t take but a few seconds for Dr. Grant to remove himself from what was bound to be a tense situation before it could become dire. And between the two of them, rooms could easily be lit on fire. Where Jack was a pooling puddle of slimy gasoline, Marsha was always lighting matches. And where Jack was a trail of tempting gunpowder, she was a one-off spark.
Jack gritted his teeth and shoved his hands into his pockets, hardly bothering to change his position and posture. If he thought that a conversation regarding his departure with Dr. Grant was something he did not want to do, standing his ground while Marsha dressed him down was infinitely worse. She was not as good at hiding the pain behind her eyes.
Even so, Jack tried to pretend he wasn’t slightly excited to get one last fight in before he left. Perhaps leaving on bad terms with her would make his next move ten times easier, he nearly welcomed it. This was the opportunity to become the bad guy. Jack happened to think that would make it easier on the both of them. She could hate him, and he could hate her for expressing it. That was far better than parting ways longing for each other.
She was always expecting so much better from him. To see him here with a bag over his shoulder and his casual clothes on, clearly on the verge of departure, changed everything. It blew the stakes right through the roof. Forced Marsha to go from zero to one hundred in a matter of seconds.
Her mind was working a mile a minute as she watched Jack shift towards her from across the room. She should have taken the rumours more seriously. She should have seen this coming and prepared some kind of a speech, or showed up this morning more debate ready. At the very least, she could have come to terms with the fact that he was leaving and worked towards being okay with that so that they could part ways on good terms without a fight.
But she was blindsided this morning. And she stood precisely where she did not want to be – severely unprepared. Given the circumstances, god only knew what might come out of her mouth.
Those that knew her called Marsha Hurricane Holloway for good reason. On the surface, it was because of her accident-prone ways that always seemed to bring a sense of physical chaos wherever she went. But more personally, it was the only way to describe what went on inside of her.
Whenever she felt something big, it was as if there was a strong hurricane raging inside her heart and soul. Given the storm inside, it was almost surprising to see that her hair hadn’t picked up in the wind.
And that was where the two of them differed greatly. Where Jack never really let himself feel much of anything, Marsha managed to feel just about everything, all at once.
There was no hiding what he was up to, it was as clear as day. Even somebody as oblivious as Marsha Holloway had to see that he currently had one foot out the door. The crushed determination on her face told him that yes, she understood what was happening. And the look in her eyes told him that she was prepared to enter the fight of her life. He was almost afraid.
Putting it all together, Marsha realized that he was obviously hoping to leave without running into her. What a coward. Despite his cool demeaner – acting as though he had planned for this – Marsha could see the look in his eyes. Like a deer in the headlights. Her being here in the room was unplanned and it was now forcing his hand.
When his family came to take Connor home, Susan and Georgia had made a stop in Long Beach so that they could drive Jack’s truck over. Right now, he wanted to get to the parkade where he knew that his trusty old Ford was waiting for him, like the noble steed on which he was going to make his grand escape.
He could handle the accusations. The hatred, the anger, the fighting. And Jack was just hoping that was all he was going to get out of her this morning. What he couldn’t handle was hurt. Pain. Sadness. And right now, he found himself at a complete loss, not knowing what to expect. For if he saw a flicker of hurt cross Marsha’s tragic face, it might just have him melting into a puddle that would never be drained from the floors of Area 52. The place that he so desperately wanted to be rid of. Her hurt would keep him here forever, against his will.
She had a scary amount of power over him, and she didn’t even know it. Hardly anything could have Jack throwing his entire plan away, but she had something. Something like gold. Or perhaps Kryptonite was a better word for it. A Hail Mary of her own, an ace up her sleeve. A grand finale.
That was why Jack didn’t want to be trapped in this room with her, nor even see her before he left. Because she had the one thing that would keep him here. The three little words. And if she chose to use those words against him during his escape plan, it would take him out at the knees. He’d stay forever.
This was the deadliest battle between life and death that he would ever have to fight, and Marsha didn’t even realize that they were at war.
There was no time for false pretenses. He was leaving and she knew it. Why bother dancing around any of it?
Deciding to fate it all head on, Jack squared his body to her and braced himself for the fight. Knowing her, this battle would probably draw some blood and maybe even burn a bridge or two. She was just so good at fighting. He had to wonder where she had learned it.
Marsha herself was rather surprised in this moment that Jack was not actively trying to flee her very presence. Knowing him, he should be pushing past her out of the room, demanding that if she wanted to fight, she’d better keep up. Instead, he stood there with his hands on his hips, staring her down, almost as though he was challenging her. Craving a blood bath.
She wanted to curl up in a ball and cry already, knowing the inevitable outcome and hurt beyond belief that they had gotten to this point, but Marsha would be damned before she backed down from this particular fight. The fight of her life. Nothing before ever mattered as much.
So, she put the very last of her courage into a deep breath as fury began to practically seep from her pores. Jack took note of the sudden flush on her cheeks and the flash of anger in her eyes and knew that he was in trouble this time. He might have been prepared to bring the thunder, but she was going to strike him with lightning.
She dropped her arms to the side and both metaphorical gloves fell off her hands as she did so. “So, that’s it?” She demanded, wasting no time. “You’re leaving?”
Her voice was frighteningly level, and Jack’s blood ran cold as a result. He was familiar with the look in her eyes but not this tone of her voice. He knew that when fury turned to calm, there would be hell to pay. She was regulating herself before snapping.
He sighed heavily and clenched his eyes shut for a moment, holding up a hand as if to physically stop the words from falling from her lips. As if she was inconveniencing him with her care for the situation. He’d had a headache all night and all morning, he hadn’t gotten his coffee, and he was running late. And now, she was about to get on his very last nerve.
“Could we not do this, Holloway?”
Jack was beginning to grow very angry at the universe for putting her here in this room at the wrong time.
“I don’t have the energy for you right now.”
It was harsh and he knew it, but Jack had steeled himself the moment that he realized she’d entered the room. He knew that she was going to try to dig her way under his skin and warp his sense of reality, twisting around what he really wanted. She’d always been good at that. Making him question everything he ever thought he knew.
The choice of her last name had been quite intentional. Jack had already begun to use the distancing language as a means to truly convince himself that they were nothing more than professional acquaintances, and therefore she shouldn’t pose any kind of threat to his resolve. The psychologist within her clocked the language and wondered such a thing, but Marsha certainly did not have time to dissect it. She crossed her arms, blinking her eyes calmly as her anger simmered.
It was the perfect opportunity to take advantage of her sudden silence and walk right around her out the door. To be gone from this hellscape while her tongue was bitten, awaiting an answer. But he just couldn’t help himself. Jack wanted to see this out. Call it a sick sense of morbid curiosity.
He joined her in the silence, ensuring to keep a couple yards of distance between them. She was far more dangerous close up. Then, he cast his arms out tiresomely, as if asking her to hit him with something.
“I don’t know how much energy explaining yourself requires,” she snapped, but her face remained impressively void of the dozens of different emotions that she was currently experiencing.
If there was one thing that Marsha Holloway had perfected, it was the art of compartmentalization.
From across the room, Jack shook his head and shrugged with a look of impatience on his weathered face. He should have known that leaving would not come without consequences, nothing came easy around here.
He supposed that this might be his last and final test, the one that would have him asking whether or not his freedom was really worth it. How badly did he want to cut loose from this place? He was about to find out.
“How surprised can you really be?” He tested the waters, biting back with venom saved away for when things really turned poisonous between them, as he was certain they would. “I’ve been pretty damn transparent about my intentions this whole time.”
Jack had to look at this encounter as a blessing in disguise. To go out in a blaze of glory, to part ways after spilling blood and having it turn bad, remembering one another only as villains and nothing more, it would ultimately make things easier in the aftermath. There would be nothing left here for either of them, nothing that could leave them pining or uncertain. No unfinished business.
Marsha narrowed her eyes and took one threatening step closer to him but still managed to maintain an icy distance. “Just because it’s not surprising doesn’t mean that I’m not disappointed.”
Jack had perfected the art of deflection and dodging real issues, and now he was being put to the ultimate test. He knew full well that Marsha was referring to how his actions were going to affect the team. The kids. But he was going to do his best to dissuade her from having this fight.
"You'll get over me," he deadpanned, rolling his eyes and brushing past her on the way out the door.
Marsha blinked in surprise and irritation. Jack flight or flight had clearly given in, and now he was on his way out before she even realized he was on the move. It was the feeling of him brushing past her shoulder that brought her to her senses.
She turned around just in time to see the door slam shut behind him. No way in hell did either of them think that she was going to let him leave it at that and walk away. She knew that he expected her to follow him, but let herself wonder for a moment what would happen if she didn't. She knew him and she liked to think that she knew how his mind work. She had reason to believe that after a minute or two, he would come bursting back through the doors demanding to know why she wasn't fighting.
But she had no time for experiments this morning. Not when her own fight or flight had also kicked into high gear. And while Jack was the self-proclaimed runner, she was the fighter. She stopped running a long time ago.
Shaking her head, she balled up her fists and followed him out the door, trailing him down the hall. Jack was quick on his feet, but if he really wanted to be rid of her, god knows he could have been. Marsha took that as yet another sign that he secretly wanted to have this fight. He wanted her to change his mind.
"This has nothing to do with me, Jack, and you know it," her accusatory voice was over his shoulder now, and Jack let out a sigh when he realized that he had been caught up to.
Giving in, he nearly groaned as he straightened his shoulders and turned around to face her. Thankfully, he hadn't seen any of that dreaded hurt cross her face yet. Plenty of anger and a good dose of rage, but no real pain.
So, they were doing this then. They were having the fight that he had been hoping to avoid. Jack gritted his teeth and steeled himself. Based on the look in both of their eyes, it became clear very quickly that neither one cared that they were about to cause a scene right there in the hallway. It was not the first time, but it might very well be the last.
He did her the favour of reading between the lines. "Those kids will be fine," he insisted as though it was ridiculous to suggest otherwise. "They were okay with it last night. They know there's no point in trying to change my mind now."
Jack turned around and picked up the face, leading them down the hallway and around a few corners as he spoke. Marsha trailed behind like a dog that had been kicked but just wouldn't run away.
She arched a brow upon noticing that he was doing his best to explain himself without saying much of anything at all. Marsha was about to bulldoze through his happy state of denial.
"You're their leader," she stated with a steel tone, hot on his heels. "You can't just up and walk away from them before you've even begun."
Jack's face twisted sourly. They had begun, alright. They began, they accomplished, they finished. It was a full circle story if ever he'd seen one.
A sneer rose to his lips as he thought to himself, watch me. Stopping in his tracks, Marsha was surprised by the sudden cessation of his footsteps and nearly crashed right into his back. She had the good sense to take one step backwards before Jack turned around slowly and reeled on her.
Neither had been paying much attention to their surroundings, but this particular hallway felt vaguely familiar. If either of them had a moment to calibrate themselves, they might have realized that they were standing right outside of Marsha's personal quarters. Suppose it was as fitting a location as any for their last fight.
Jack stared at her for half a second, hoping that she knew what she was doing. What she was getting herself into. She had better be damn ready for the explosion that was to follow. The blaze of glory. To have everything that she dished out thrown right back at her.
Her argument had been a weak one and they both knew that. Jack was entitled to the decision that he had made. But on that same train of thought, she was entitled to fight him every step of the way. Though, his was a professional entitlement while hers was entirely personal. They had both earned this fight in different ways.
As dangerous as it was to their surroundings, Jack was just plain pissed off now. Angry that his plans had been foiled, angry that he was standing hre bickering with her when he should have been hitting the open road, angry that this was the last time he might ever get to see that fire in her blue eyes.
"Last time I checked," he snapped, leaning down to meet her eyes in a tactic of condescension, "I wasn't obligated to stick around. I did my time here. Twice, if I remember correctly."
There was a pause that came after that statement. Jack watched as something registered within his sparring partner and his entire body tensed when he saw the look on her face tiptoeing precariously towards that hurt that he really did not want to have to see today. It had stung, he could see that much, but it didn't particularly hurt yet. Lucky for him.
The problem for Marsha in this moment was that she knew that he was lashing out and trying to wound her in order to make leaving easier. She knew that he was pushing her away using whatever mans necessary. But she did not know whether or not that meant there was any truth to his statements. In fact, his words were probably riddled with truth. Hence the way that they stung like a slap in the face.
She nodded once, as if letting his words sink in whether she believed them or not. "That's really all this ever was for you?" Marsha pried, her eyes boring into him, demanding the truth. "An obligation?"
Jack could hardly believe his ears. "Uh, yeah?" He exclaimed like it should have been incredibly obvious.
Hadn't he been saying that this whole time? Hadn't he made it clear that if the gun was not at his back - and a federal prison sentence calling his name - he would have been out of here before anyone could even realize he had taken off.
Jack was reminded yet again that Marsha Holloway lives in a world of her own. High up in the clouds, where everyone does whatever she wants and always makes the right decision for other people. Fantasyland. He was about to reach up through those clouds, grab her by the ankles, and yank her back down to the real world with the rest of them.
"You lot held me here against my will," he reminded her, staring coldly. "I did my job, I got paid, I get my freedom back. That was the deal," he was gesturing with one hand now, talking down to her like she was beneath him.
To Marsha's credit, she tried her hardest not to let him get under her skin. She kept her chin up and her eyes hard even as he belittled her.
Jack stood straight. "It's really not that difficult to understand," he said flippantly, just to wound her, "even you should be able to wrap your head around it."
Now, Marsha was offended. She knew that she was an intelligent woman, there was never any doubt about that. Jack knew it as well as anyone else. But she also knew that he thought her to be naive. Oblivious, clueless, hopeless. And now, it was those particular qualities that he was referencing against her.
Marsha had been facing people who ridiculed her and refused to take her seriously her entire career. That came hand-in-hand with being a woman in any workforce. In the world, really. She knew that Jack wasn't saying any of It to be genuinely demeaning, but instead as a means to attack her personally. To prove to her that he was just as bad as everyone said he was, to make this just a little bit easier. He was being his own fall guy.
As she went quiet again, jack had to wonder if he was still grateful not to find any hurt on her face. No, she was vengeful now, plain and simple.
Marsha's face went unreadable. "Real freedom means having nothing to lose," she said firmly, echoing his own words from the first day they'd met.
Curse that near-photographic memory of hers. She might remember every word and moment that ever passed between her and Jack well enough to use his own words against him whenever possible, but she would also be hexed by the curse of memory. If he succeeded and walked away now, she would be stuck back here in these precious three weeks in March forever. Trapped.
"What?"
"You said that to me once," she reminded him coldly. "That having nothing to lose was what you wanted more than anything else."
Jack remembered now. After an excruciatingly long day, they'd had their first real spat in one of the staff rooms. Their relationship had been a whirlwind even on that first day. From seeing her outside in the green dress and convincing himself that he hadn't fallen in love at first sight, to being reintroduced at Area 52 and realizing that she was likely the most irritating person he'd ever met. Meeting the children together, bickering in the hallway, attending an evening meeting. Then, of course, running into each other close to midnight, dropping the gloves, and having it out.
He had indeed told her that he craved freedom, and defined it as having nothing to lose. He still believed that. And he still wanted that. Even if she had disagreed with his description.
"Do you really think that if you walk out of here now and try to forget about it all, you'll really have nothing left to lose?" She asked rhetorically, turning the tables and acting as though she was the one who could see reality while he lived in delusion.
Jack stood his ground. Marsha was positively reeling on him now, and she had even taken a rather threatening step in his direction which he did not cower away from.
She gestured purposefully behind herself as if to indicated the general direction of the children, who were long gone to school by now. "They'll still exist, Jack," she reminded him sharply. "You will be stuck living with the memory of everything that you had here, and everything that you lost. And this time, it won't be anyone's fault but your own."
He felt a flash of anger strike his heart then. Because she was absolutely right. He may have carried the guilt and the shame of losing his team, but she had actually helped him realize that it had never been his fault. That he had never been to blame. But he was indeed choosing to lose this one. They weren't being taken from him, they weren't being slaughtered, he was simply walking away. It would be entirely his fault.
Marsha clocked his fury, but did not give him the chance to retaliate.
"And good luck avoiding them when the press is about to have them plastered over every billboard in America," she reminded him of their future plans to go public with the team. "You can pretend all you want, Jack - god knows it's what you're good at - but you'll still care. That doesn't just go away," she continued, overtly angry at this point. "As long as you have a working memory, you'll never get true freedom again."
She wasn't quite hitting below the belt, but she wasn't taking it easy on him either. She had successfully taken away the one thing that she knew he wanted more than anything else in the world. Tarnished it. Stained it. Made it less valuable than he previously thought it was. And he wouldn't forgive her for it.
Her unleashed fury had sparked something within Jack. Something that recently, only she had been able to ignite. And once that spark caught, it tended to blaze like a wildfire. Making him feel so undeniably alive. His mind filtered through various defense mechanisms before he landed on his favourite.
Jack knew that it was unfair. She was owed this fight, and he was doing the wrong thing. He knew that, he just didn't care. And quite frankly, he had never really had anything he loved that he didn't kick just for the sake of seeing if it would come back. And this particular creature? Well he could never seem to kick her far enough.
He didn't really want to remember her that way. Like a beaten dog, whimpering with its tail between its legs. He didn't want to remember her wounded and docile. But it was far better than being plagued with the memory of her smile. The sound of her laughter. The way that her nose wrinkled when she stifled a grin. Better than remembering the smell of her perfume, the way that her hands felt, a kiss upon his cheek. It was better to remember her unpleasantly
He rolled his eyes tiresomely. "I think you've overestimating my feelings, here," he sighed.
No, Marsha was not going to let him make her feel like she was crazy for thinking that he had changed. That the kids had changed him. That he had opened his heart and grown for the better. She knew that this was going to haunt him, and she wasn't about to bite her tongue now.
However, there was something that rang true about her. Give her an inch and she'll take the whole mile. Show the faintest trace of an emotion and she'll call it a breakthrough. Because that's just what she had always done. She saw the best and clung to it until her knuckles turned white and her palms bled. She never let go of anything. Yet, everything that had ever left her was scarred by claw marks.
She shook her head, refusing to accept any of it. "You can pretend to be some unfeeling robot all you want," she crossed her arms stubbornly, "but we both know that's not realistic." She lowered her voice to a more controlled, factual level just so that he did not accuse her of hysterics.
Clenching his teeth, Jack already knew that he couldn't exactly hide anything from someone who already saw right through him. But he could damn well deny it until the cows came home.
This battle was nothing new. In fact, their arguments tended to follow the same formula every time. Sharp comments and bitter words would kick them off, before hostility launched them into a battle of stubbornness. They were too evenly matched, so Marsha typically resorted to getting factual, while Jack got personal. They would build up and crescendo into an explosion where true feelings and tension abound, often something was said that could not be taken back. They would realize that they were being inappropriate and one of them - usually Marsha - would lower their voice and grow soft.
That was the part that Jack hated the most. When she softened and revealed that she was only ever fighting because she cared. That was the part that made him feel simultaneously all warm inside, and like a piece of shit. The part that reminded him that he was a disaster and a villain and didn't deserve to know this woman, let alone be on the receiving end of her arguments.
He only hoped that they didn't get to that point today, for it might just break him.
With this in mind, Jack knew that he could not relent now. "And you're even more naive than I thought you were if you think for a second that I'm just going to up and leave my entire life behind just to stay here in this hellhole."
"What life?" She counterattacked before the sentence had even left his mouth. "You had no life before you showed up here!"
"You don't know the first thing about me!" They were blatantly shouting now. "What the hell do you know about my life outside of this place?"
Marsha's face soured. They had only really known each other for a few weeks, but that was all it took. She was perceptive and he was an open book. She knew far more about him than he would like to admit.
"I'm not playing this game with you, Jack," she shook her head, crossing her arms tighter. "You know that this is the wrong thing to do."
Anger flashed across his face and in an instant, his volume was back up. "They'll be just fine without me!" He insisted harshly. "You saw them, they're field ready. That was my job, and I did it. You don't need me here!"
Marsha shook her head yet again. From an outsider's perspective, they both appeared to be in denial. Maybe they were.
"Them being able to survive without you doesn't mean that they'd be better off for it," she reminded him, hissing through her teeth as she spoke but refusing to match his volume. "Contrary to what you might think, there is more to this world than just surviving!"
"Oh, save me the all you need is love speech, Holloway," he rolled his eyes aggressively, "I'm not buying it."
He tried to walk away from her then, but she was too quick. She got ahead of him before he could even take a second step.
"They may be vaguely trained for combat, but they're just kids, Jack," she was pleading with him now. "They've only been out on the field a handful of times, and it's no secret that they still rely on your guidance when they're out there." Jack looked away. "They aren't ready to be a team without a leader," she insisted, placing her hands firmly on her hips. "Without somebody who fights for them."
Jack lowered his eyes slowly to look at her, wondering if she realized what she'd just said. Unwittingly, Marsha had just served herself up on a silver platter. She'd handed him his next argument. Jack allowed a facetious smirk to grace his face as he reached out and took the upper hand like it was the easiest thing in the world.
"So, why don't you do it?" He pointed an accusatory finger in Marsha's direction, sending her flinching backwards slightly.
When it came to a person who fought for the kids, that had always been her. Hell, she was doing it right now. She certainly didn't need him to do it when she had it covered so thoroughly.
"If you're so goddamn keen on staying here and playing house, you lead them," he jutted his finger towards her once more before dropping his hand. "You've got the powers, you've already been training them, god knows you fight for them, you're a more qualified candidate for the job than I ever was. You do it."
It wasn't a compliment. It was a transferring of responsibility. One that she had not asked for. He never really asked for it either, but he had agreed to captain that team decades ago. Promises didn't get written of just because they were made a long time ago.
Sure, on paper, Marsha would made a decent leader. She knew the kids' psychological profiles and personalities inside and out, and she did indeed have powers, but that was all. She didn't know the first thing about field combat. Hence why they had all come to the agreement that she would not be a frontline member of the team at all. It was Jack who had the real hands-on experience.
With a roll of her eyes, Marsha folded her arms across her chest. "We both know that's not true," she muttered under her breath because the response really wasn't necessary.
When it came to leading the Zenith Team, there was no one more qualified than Captain Zoom.
Jack grew aggravated as he leaned forward again. "You don't need me!" He hissed, regaining traction. "Why are you so intent on keeping me here when even Larraby didn't give a shit that I was leaving? He knows it's not going to make a difference!"
"So now Larraby's opinion on what the children need is more important to you than mine?" She scoffed at the notion.
"I don't need either of your opinions," Jack shouted, shaking his head, "I've got my own!"
"You've never had a real opinion on this, Jack!" Marsha bit back. "You've only ever been looking out for yourself and looking for the easy way out!"
"How many times do I have to say this?" Jack held up his hands as he spoke. "They do not need me!"
"Well, maybe you need us!" Marsha said, but suddenly felt as though she shouldn't have. Like she had revealed too much.
Jack shut himself up and gave her a darkly incriminating look. There was that thing hanging over their heads. It had been ever since they really started to get to know each other, but it was low-hanging today. So close that all they'd have to do is reach out and touch it. Three little words. Marsha's last resort. The one that they both knew she wouldn't use even if she had no other choice.
"What?" He demanded, and Jack felt something stir within him.
A sense of anticipation. Oh, hell, he thought to himself with a notable wince. He wanted her to say it. He wanted her to condemn him to that life where he stayed here for her, even if it would put him through hell. He was excited by the fact that they were dancing around something so dangerously tangible.
"Then," Marsha corrected herself, squeezing her eyes shut like she was mentally chastising. "Maybe you need them."
Jack eyed her. She wasn't someone who would shy away from the fact that she cared about him and therefore wanted what was best for him as well as the team. To hear her so blatantly correct her original statement and remove herself from it spoke measures. She was doing her very best to keep this about the kids for as long as possible. Jack nearly smirked when he started to realize that when it came to affairs of the heart, she might be just as stubborn as he was. Unwilling to admit that she wanted him to stay for personal reasons.
He looked away from her in aggravation. "You don't know the first thing about what I need," he muttered.
Marsha ignored him. "Maybe they would be okay without you, maybe they would survive, but..." she paused and her tone wavered.
No, Jack hardened his eyes as he looked at her. Don't do it.
He knew what came next. A tender moment that he couldn't ignore. It always came with that tone. And right now, he couldn't afford it.
Marsha swallowed, a certain kind of fear rising up inside of her as she realized that she was standing on the precipice of losing it all.
"I just think that..." she lifted her eyes to meet his before lowering them after obviously feeling to vulnerable, "...when you were training them, and you really started to get involved...when you put your heart into it..." she looked back up, and Jack felt himself wince at the look in her pretty eyes. "It was like..." she blinked, "...I don't know, like you came alive."
Marsha's eyebrows pulled together on her forehead. Jack absolutely hated when she did this. It really did make him feel like the bad guy. Because she was being genuine. She was never fighting him, she was constantly fighting for him, because she cared. And all he ever did was resent her for it.
Jack wished they could go back to screaming at each other. Maybe he could get them there. But Marsha was not done yet. She shook her head slightly and continued, never wavering.
"Like..." she spoke softly, physically restraining herself from reaching out and touching him, "...like you finally had something meaningful to give you a sense of purpose again." She watched as his mouth opened to interject, but she winced and shook her head. "And I know," she began, "I know that you never wanted that, I know you were actively trying to avoid that," she spoke quickly so that he could not interrupt, "but I think you needed it," she stated.
Jack stared forward. He had a million and one arguments to make, but not a single one of them fell from his lips. Marsha took that as a good enough sign as any that she should continue.
"Having something to lose isn't always such a bad thing," she insisted desperately, the urgency of her voice making Jack feel as though he was suffocating. "It can also give you something to live for."
Days ago, a stunt like this might have just worked on him. Actually, a little over a week ago, it had worked on him. It had worked so well that Jack had foolishly allowed himself to be happy where he was. Luckily, he had since steeled himself back into the person that he was safer being. Cold, calloused, bitter. Alone.
Thankfully, he was alert this morning. Typically, Marsha did her best work on him in rooms with dim lighting late at night when his inhibitions were lowered. Today, he was seeing clearly. No drugs or alcohol in his system yet, no long day wearing him down, no children warming his heart. Just him and her in the battle for their lives.
And Jack truly did resent her. Because she had gotten close. Far too close. Closer than anyone had maybe all his life, in far less time. Like it was what she had ben put on this very earth to do - unnerve him. Boy, had it worked. But no more. But she was still too close, in this very moment, he realized. Emotionally, always, but physically too. He stood in her silence for a few seconds before standing up straighter.
So, let stood In her silence for a few seconds, giving her an unreadably cold look, and let her build up a fear towards his response. Yes, they were standing too close, and yes at this point, when either one of them realized it, they would typically sent backing off. But previously, those moments had been ripe with sexual tension and misplaced longing. Right now, it was simply menacing. A threat was better felt close up and personal.
With a sneer, Jack tilted his head downwards before he spoke, so that she could see every trace of resentment in his eyes. "What did I tell you about saying out of my head, Marsha?" He asked rhetorically in a dark, unforgiving voice.
Now, Marsha saw the threat for what it was. It was a matter of "don't get too close or I'll force you to regret it." Well, maybe she already regretted it. She could help but realize that he chose now to drop the formalities and address her by her first name. That was just plain cruel. He was admitting that things were personal between them, just in time to throw it all back in her face and take off.
"Your shrink bullshit isn't going to work on me," he finished with a shake of his head.
Funnily enough, Marsha hadn't really been looking at this through the lens of a psychologist. No, she had simply been fighting for what she knew to be true. Leave it to him to be defensive about something that wasn't even happening.
The proximity that neither were shying away from today had created enough tension to power a small building. Thankfully, the yelling had come to a much-needed stop. There were night shifters nearby still sleeping. Now, their voices were lowered just enough to sneer menacing threats back and forth to one another, reduced to something akin to ruthless enemies rather than closest allies.
It was such a stark contrast to the way that they had been all week. Gone were the bitter fights, because Jack started pulling his weight. Believe it or not, he actually became happier and felt less of a desire to attack everyone around here for simply existing. Sure, they still bickered over techniques and differences in their approaches and personalities, but nothing like the screaming matches that they used to get into. Like this one.
In fact, they had become relatively tender with one another. Even in this moment, Marsha could remember the softness of his hand on her lower back, the warm smiles he would give her from across the table, the way that he liked to play with her hair when he thought nobody else was looking. Now, she was staring at a man with blackness in his eyes, who looked like he wouldn't care if she lived or died.
Marsha bit her tongue momentarily, taking his threats in stride. But she wasn't finished with him yet. Not while the stakes were so high.
"Working with this team meant something to you," she insisted strongly, "I'm not going to let you stand there and pretend that it didn't.
Instant denial flashed across Jack's face. In his head was that same denial, plus all the ways in which he could plead it.
"You may think that I'm naive," Marsha's voice had lowered now, and there was something incredibly important about her tone, "but at least I'm not so oblivious that I can't see what's right in front of me."
Jack let out the scoff before he could encourage himself otherwise. He knew how she meant it. That he loved the children and needed to be here with them, he just wasn't willing to accept that. Sure, it might even be true. But he found far more than trace evidence as to why her statement was so ironic.
"That's pretty rich, coming from you," he retaliated coldly, begging her to read between the lines.
Marsha blinked, wondering what he meant by that. Instantly, she felt a shift in their conversation, but couldn't place where. Almost as though they were now getting more personal than before, like Jack was referencing something that they both struggled to speak about. But she couldn't be sure. Oblivious might have been an understatement.
"What's that supposed to mean?" She demanded, wondering how he was going to turn her argument right back around on her.
Here was a man who loved four children and could have a beautiful life here with them being the hero that he was born to be, and he was pretending that he didn't enjoy any of it. That was what she had been talking about. He was oblivious to just how happy being back here was making him. How much he needed having something to live for again.
But it felt as though he had a sword hanging over her head. And he was about to seven the rope that kept it from piercing right through her.
Jack gave her a facetious chuckle under his breath, despite not finding any humour in this situation. He wasn't surprised that she was still playing the fool. If there was one thing that he had come to learn about Marsha Holloway throughout his time here, it was that she was really good at seeing everyone else's problems and projections, but her own existed in a blind spot. And he had more than half a mind to believe that she was being intentionally oblivious to them.
It didn't take a psychologist to see that she had hang ups and baggage of her own that she was not dealing with in perfect ways, it just took someone paying enough attention. He might shut himself off and push everyone away. He might refuse to process his grief and rely on systems of blame and bitterness. But she compartmentalized. Just about everything.
And whatever she didn't have a compartment for, she ignored. The reasons why Jack might not be so over the moon to be back here against his will. The abuse of power happening just over her head. The flirtations that he had been launching at her since they met. The way that anyone could have seen and predicted Jack's eventual departure from Area 52. Either she was filing it all away in a little box that remained locked, chained up, and untouchable in the back of her mind, or she was ignoring it entirely. Blowing right past all the warning signs just so that she could act surprised when it all crashed and burned.
But there was more to his statement than just that. Considering what he knew about her childhood, the accusations that he was about to make were highly unfair, but undeniably true.
"You tell me," he began, slowly moving around her like a vulture circling its next meal. "I think even Little Miss Sunshine has some ulterior motives of her own."
She did not appreciate the nickname, the insinuation, or the way that he was circling her. Her heart did begin to flutter anxiously once she realized that she was being accused of something and she didn't know what.
Trying to remain strong, she shook her head and crossed her arms. "I don't know what you're talking about," she sighed, unwilling to budge.
At this point, she wasn't sure if she wanted to know what Jack was getting at.
And as for him? He could hear the winning bells begin to chime as soon as he realized that he had successfully made her nervous.
"How long, exactly, have you been working on this project?" He asked coldly, despite already knowing the answer. "Reinstating the team was, what? Almost a decade in the making?" He tilted his head, pretending to wait for an answer that he knew would never come. 'A decade of your hard work, from what I've heard. This stopped being Grant's project as soon as you got here. Because this was never his dream, it's yours," he stated firmly.
Marsha felt twisted up inside. Every word he was saying was true, but they weren't bad things. They weren't incriminating. Yet, he was using them against her as if they were.
Her lips pullet together tightly but she didn't dare interrupt him while he was in the middle of making an accusation. The only thing that would guarantee is that the next one would be twice as harsh.
"I don't think this has anything to do with what's best for the kids, or for me," he was just plain lying now, "I think the only reason you're freaking out right now is because I'm threatening to pull the rug out from beneath the perfect little test environment that you've spent your entire career building."
The worst part of it all was how true it could have been. Because Marsha had dedicated so much of her career to this, becuase she was now being so pushy, because she had been so desperate for it to work. But it wasn't true. Even if she had nothing to do with it, she would want what was best for Jack and those four children. And she knew that he knew that.
Accusations aside, Marsha lingered in the silence just long enough to let it strengthen her.
"That has nothing to do with any of this, Jack," she said strongly, "don't act like you don't know that." Her voice was relatively unforgiving now, and Jack recognized the fact that they had crossed over a line. A point of no return.
He wasn't finished yet, though. He had more up your sleeve.
"No, you're right," he nodded, though his voice seemed tricky, "maybe it's not about your work," he said. Marsha felt as though a trap had just been sprung, and she couldn't see it yet. "It's more personal than that, right?"
Marsha swallowed, but did not speak. Because she could sense what was coming next, and such a large part of it was spot on.
Jack had a seam-ripper in his hands and was prepared to start tearing. He knew it wouldn't feel good, he knew that it was going to hurt her, and he knew that it would only heave him with blood on his hands, but he was willing to stoop to just about any level in this moment.
"How much of a family did you have before those kids came along?"
He regretted it the second that the words left his mouth. Not because it wasn't true, but because it was. Because he knew precisely how and where he could hurt her, and he had just done so willingly and without any prompting.
There it was. The hurt. All over Marsha's face as she tried to come to terms with what he had just said to her. Damn, Jack thought to himself as her pain became his. He had inflicted it knowingly, but he still felt it like a shot to the chest.
Marsha was not very open about her past. Select few knew that she was an orphan, nobody knew the rest of it. The abuse, the hospitals, the recovery groups. Dr. Grant and other close friends knew about her late fiance's passing, and the future that his death had stolen from her. Not a soul knew that she had tried to have children but couldn't. Nobody knew that she could hardly bring herself to visit her siblings because as much as she loved her nieces and nephews, seeing them only made her long for children of her own to love and raise.
There was no way that Jack could have known that she had spent her entire life off in search of a family. He couldn't have known that she had come so close on multiple occasions only for death to rip it all to pieces. Unless, of course, he could see right through her.
She felt the same kind of panic and disappointment that always rose up within her whenever Marsha was reminded that no matter how far she went, she could never outrun her past.
"That's what I thought," Jack said, and he could feel something die within him when he realized that he had crossed the line into supervillain territory. Lashing out at the only person who had never done anything but believe in him. "Well, congratulations," he continued coldly, taking out his grievances on her. "You've finally got some semblance of something that you can almost call a family."
Marsha's face twisted as he spoke. Anger, betrayal, confusion, hurt. She knew that he was lashing out. That he was trying to go up in flames so that he didn't have to remember her the way that she really was, so that it was easier to chalk his entire time at Area 52 up to a nightmare. But it still hurt.
"I can tell you right now," he continued," me walking away isn't going to ruin that."
That's where he was wrong and he knew it. Yes, she found a family in the team. In four children that she made her own. But it was more than that, because he was there too. He was her partner, part of the family. Besides, he could see the way that she had always looked at him. Like he was the greatest thing since sliced bread. He was fully aware of her feelings for him. And it's not like he ever did much to dissuade them from deepening.
Besides, him walking away would ruin it all. They couldn't do this without him, and if they had no program to work with, there would be no reason to keep the children here. It would only be a matter of time before she lost all of them. Before they lost each other.
And she could have told him right then and there that he was wrong. That it wasn't just the children who made her feel like she finally had a family. That he was the reason she had felt things previously foreign to her. She could have told him that she didn't want him to leave because she was falling in love with him, and she could have sworn that she could see a future together.
The fluorescent light flickered above her head and for a moment, time stood still. Jack recognized the flickering and realized that they were just outside of her room. Where so many arguments had taken place, but none quite as important as this one. He stood there staring at her for far too long, trying his best to commit her face to memory, because this was likely the very last time that he would ever see it. She had a Wikipedia page and was all over the scientific portion of the internet, but he knew he'd never bring himself to type her name into any search bars.
He shook himself from his trance right before the shouting started.
"You know what, Jack?" Marsha's face flashed with fury as she buried the hurt and stood up for herself, straightening her shoulders. "I hope you do go," she said, shaking her head.
Jack opened his mouth to fight back, grateful that the fire had returned to their argument so that he did not feel quite so bad, but she had yet to let him get a word in edgewise.
"Go live your miserable, bitter, empty life and forget all about everything that you had here," she continued.
Jack fought of a grin. This was what he'd wanted from her this morning. He wanted her furious and full of rage, begging him to leave his sight and never look back. He could work with that.
"But I was right," she said coldly, her tone lowering, "you'll never be able to see what's right in front of you."
And just like that, Jack's pleasure gave way to something else. That same agonizingly thrilling excitement that he tried to mask with dread. The Hail Mary hadn't just disappeared because he decided to stary striking below the belt. Jack was about to find out just what she was willing to use against him. How far she was willing to go to keep him here. And he couldn't wait.
The words tasted sweet on her tongue but were laced with a poison that made her stomach hurt. Marsha couldn't say it. If Jack wanted to play into it and spell it out for them, that was one thing. But she couldn't build their life on an ultimatum. She couldn't reveal her feelings just because she knew it would change things. She couldn't condemn them to that fate.
When she stared up into his eyes, Marsha realized that she had already said everything she needed to and more. She fought, he pushed back. He struck her with impressively low blows that successfully hurt her. She blew up and revealed that she no longer wanted anything to do with him. There was nowhere else they could go from here. Not without beating a dead horse, that is.
So, she gave him a cold look before she turned herself around. In vain, she tried to walk away from it all. From him and from this fight. It was quite handy that her room was so close by, for she would certainly need to take a couple minutes to compose herself after all this was over. But, she never even managed to lay a hand on the doorknob before his voice stopped her.
He shouldn't have said anything. Neither expected him to. He already knew what she meant, he shouldn't have wanted to press the topic any further. He should have bowed his head in shame, accepted the fact that he was too cowardly to do anything about the feelings that obviously existed between them, and kept his mouth shut so that he would never have to.
But something shifted within him. Because he did want to know. And in fact, he did want to do something about them. He likely never would, but he sure as hell wanted to. In fact, he couldn't even hear the little voice in his head saying, "it's only how you feel, it isn't what you want." But he sure as hell could still hear the one calling him a lying traitor.
The cold voice came from behind her. "What are you talking about?" Jack demanded.
Marsha looked up, wondering if she had heard him correctly. Did he really want her to go on? Did he really want to know? It wasn't a matter of knowing, she reminded herself. It was only ever a matter of hearing the truth out loud.
There was something in his tone that prompted her to turn around slowly and try to make sense of it all. Urgent but not panicked. Like he had fought against asking for clarification but might regret it for the rest of his life if he didn't. Like he had been so close to being relieved that the argument was over only to insist that it continue with all the facts laid out on the table.
Seeing the strong, unwavering look in his eyes left Marsha as the one who faltered. Here was her big moment. The chance to finally say the words that she had been yearning to for some time now. The opportunity to spill her guts and condemn him to an eternity of regret, one way or the other. And she couldn't do it. She was not that cruel.
Even if he was practically begging her to.
"Nothing, Jack," she shook her head, still mad. "Clearly nothing that would matter to you so please, just..." she looked up from across the hall and held up a hand, "...just go."
Now - like a dog with a bone - there was no way in hell that Jack was going to drop it. He needed all the fact before he took off, and he needed them verbalized. He could have a gut feeling, he could logically know the truth, but he would never fully accept it unless he heard it said aloud.
A trance-like state fell upon them as the crossroads presented itself. They stood yards away from each other, an icy distance that made this minefield easier to navigate. Jack held her gaze and dejectedly dropped his arms down to his sides in an expression that told her he was out of ammo and she wasn't.
But Marsha was not the kind of person who continued to fire against an unarmed opponent. If the roles were reversed, they both knew that he would just continue shooting and shooting. Even if she was unarmed, even if she was wounded, and even if she was waving a white flag. Now, Jack was only two of those things, but she had already laid her weapons down. And for once in her life, Marsha Holloway refused to be the fool.
Jack knew what was going on. How many times had they been arguing late at night when suddenly the tension would strike them out of nowhere and they'd be breathing in one another's faces, staring down at their lips, resisting the urge to lean in and close the gap? How many hours had he spent flirting and teasing her? How many times had he said something that alluded to the fact that they had something? Especially on that particular Monday night when she had shown up in his quarters after hours. There could be no denying their blossoming romance after that.
He knew what she was talking about and he knew full well what might keep him here. She was not about to be baiting into saying it first only for him to rub it in her face as he walked away.
Still, it felt quite revealing to speak about this in broad daylight rather than in the middle of the night behind closed doors.
They stood there frozen. Marsha seconds away from turning back around and disappearing into her room, Jack looking utterly defeated as his hands hung down by his sides.
"Just say it, Marsha," he said lowly, his voice sending a shiver up her spine even from afar.
Her heart was squeezing inside her chest. He wanted her to say it. He wasn't asking from ground zero, he was asking with a full deck of cards in his hand save for the one that made everything else make sense. Only he knew exactly which card he was missing, and he knew that she currently held it.
Marsha's left hand was fiddling with the small charm on her necklace just for the sake of holding on to something. Her eyes were wide and uncertain as she stared back at him, giving away just about everything that she was feeling.
Jack's language had been both intentional and revealing. "Just say it." Suggesting that he already knew what "it" was, he just needed to hear it from her.
"I'm no good at guessing," Jack added roughly.
It would be pointless to say it now. It would do nothing but hurt them both. They had spent weeks building something together on a basis of unwavering faith, push and pull, and some well-earned trust. Now, that structure had come tumbling down in a matter of minutes. As soon as she saw him with that bag on his shoulder, it all fell apart. They couldn't very well stand here and try to build something out of the rubble. Not when it was nothing more than ash at their feet.
They held one another's gaze until Marsha's face cracked. Up until now, Jack hadn't even realized that she'd been wearing a mask.
"Why?" She exclaimed as a desperate plea more than any kind of offensive assault. "So that you can remind me again that nothing hear means anything to you?"
And just like that, she had said it. No, she never used the Hail Mary. She never uttered the words. But she had said it right then and there. Jack was no fool either, he heard every word that she did not say. What about me? What about us? That was what she was demanding. Did that mean nothing, too?
And the answer to that, of course, was god no. No, it had meant everything. And that was precisely why he had to walk away now. Because he had let somebody mean everything to him before, and it only ever ended in pain and grief. That somebody is still lying six feet under the ground. A flash of Alex's closed casket graced his mind in that moment in spite of himself. She had been torn apart so badly that they didn't dare open the casket to family members. Nobody would want to remember her that way.
And it was that casket that remained in the back of his mind as this conversation with Marsha went on.
Jack could hardly breathe. Thanks to her outburst, he realized it all. This wasn't about the kids right now. It wasn't about this place or the program or anyone else here. It wasn't about anyone's career or their goals. It wasn't even just about him. This was about them. For the first time since meeting one another, this moment had nothing to do with anything other than the two of them and what was going on between them.
With the words that she had not said, Marsha had posed a question to him. He might be an idiot, but he was still a man who knew when a woman was in love with him. When that woman was asking if he felt the same way about her. And as he stared at her wordlessly, Jack realized that he already knew the answer. In fact, he felt that answer in his very bones, as if he had been born with it already built into him and he just hadn't come across it until now.
How could he not love her? She had stopped him in his tracks and demanded that he quit walking in the same circle. She directed him onto a new course after becoming numb and dizzy for two decades. She chiseled until his defenses cracked and crumbled, and she caught him when he fell. She had clawed her way rather viciously under his skin and even made room for old friends and four children. She saved him from himself when he was at his most hopeless.
And he hated himself for knowing all that and still choosing to walk away. Now he knew he had to. It wasn't fair to either of them. Loving him was a death wish, and he couldn't lose her. He could leave her, but he couldn't lose her. He wouldn't survive it.
For all of Marsha's oblivion, she did notice the way that his breath caught in his throat. The way that his mouth moved as if to form a sentence that later died in his subconscious, because no words ever came out. And as she watched him throw away whatever it was that he was about to say, Marsha wondered if she might always be stuck right there in that moment. Out in the hallway waiting for his answer. Waiting for the words that would never come. Wondering what hew as going to say.
To his own surprise, Jack moved towards her. A few tentative steps so as not to frighten her.
"Marsha-" he began in earnest.
She realized that he was closer now, and held her hands up before her chest, wordlessly asking him to stay away from her. "No, dont," she demanded.
In all truthfulness, Jack did not know what he intended on saying to her once he got close enough. He had been counting on his instincts taking over. He might've just kissed her right there in the hallway and then really have to explain himself. That likely would have been the wrong call, but boy did he want to it.
The emotion on Marsha's face had been swallowed up and replaced with anger. "You're you and I'm me," she said flippantly, as though it was a simple fact. "I know how this ends, Jack. I've always known that."
He heard what she was getting at loud and clear. He was the bigshot, the playboy, the hero, and she was nobody that he would be interested in. Nobody worth his time. Quite frankly, he resented the insinuation that he would be so shallow.
"I think you should leave," she confirmed with a nod, her voice turning back to stone. "You're right, it's all you ever wanted," she raised her head, ignoring the fact that he had indeed taken another step closer to her. "And if that hasn't changed then there's no place for you here." Another step. "In fact, I want you to go."
Another step. Now, he was right in front of her. So close that by the time she was speaking her last word, she had to crane her neck upwards just to meet his eyes.
And that might have been the exact moment when it all changed for Jack. As she was staring daggers up at him, insisting that she wanted him to leave this place and never look back. That they were better off without him. Suddenly, it wasn't just how he felt. He wanted to stay. Out of the sheer force of spite alone.
The anger in her eyes, the hatred on her face, the fire. It fuelled him. He wanted to be back, just to haunt her. Just to see if she would still be there burning for him.
It was that fire within her that had made him feel alive for the first time in decades. Sure, he wanted to run from the flames as they were now, but he knew deep down that he might not be able to breathe without it. A strange part of him told himself that he would be back. Just to piss her off.
His tone regained its cocky, offensive tone. "You want me to go?" He demanded, obviously trying to stoke the flames of their dying fight.
Jack stared at her firmly. She could take that stance all she wanted, but she had damn well better be prepared to die on that hill. He took another half step forward just to see if she would back down, but she only straightened her back as she looked upwards defiantly.
"I do," Marsha nodded strongly, but she had always been a lousy liar. "I want you to leave and take your bitter resentments with you."
Jack understood her desire to be cruel. To part ways on bad terms. That had been his very intention. But it was his game, and he wasn't about to let her beat him at it. He leaned slowly towards her and dropped his voice.
"Out of everything you want right now," he said in a voice rough like gravel, so close that his breath was tickling her lips in anticipation. "That's really what you're going with?" Those last words came out as nothing above a low whisper.
Marsha couldn't stop her knees from weakening and her eyes from clouding over with lust, but knew what he was up to. She had dug up the topic only to leave it out in the hot sun. Now, he was kicking it.
They had not touched, and that was their only saving grace. The only reason why they could still claim this was an innocent conversation between two processionals. A workplace disagreement. But now Jack loomed over her daring her to name the real reason that she did not want him to leave, and held his lips barely an inch from hers as he did so. His hands very well may have been all over her, it would have had the same effect.
Marsha felt her lips twitch with something that could only be anticipation, and her heart pounded inside her chest. He was taking her for a fool again, and playing her as one. And like the stupid woman that she had always been, she'd fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. With a dry swallow, Marsha shook her head slowly but remained where she was, peering up at him like it was the last time she'd ever see him, which it probably was.
"That's all you're willing to give me," she whispered, pain on her face as though it physically hurt her to speak those words.
In a way, it did. She knew that heartbreak manifested in physical symptoms, and she had felt enough grief to know that to be true. Right now, she was certainly aching.
With her words came a kind of coldness that Jack had not been prepared to feel. Reality was back, and it was crueler than he remembered. She hadn't moved. Her forehead was still brushing against his ever so faintly, still leaning in, their lips were still inches apart, the ball was still in his court. If he wanted to prove her wrong, all he would have to do is lean in. But he never did.
Instead, Jack gritted his teeth and fixed his posture, immediately feeling the withdrawal of their near-embrace.
Marsha knew that the fight was over. And even if he may seem like the winner, she knew that they both lost. But she had to be strong now and let him walk away before they destroyed one another. She could not afford to be ruined by yet another man.
And in turn, he stepped backwards and took her in one last time. The smell of her perfume still clinging to his clothes, the warmth of her body. The delicate slope of her nose, the splashing of faint freckles across her cheeks. The long dark hair, the electric blue eyes. He took a picture in his mind and then he turned around.
It took every piece of resolve that he had left in him not to turn around. To keep his legs moving in the right direction. To freedom.
But Marsha stood and watched every step that he took away from her. Both eliciting the picture of pure stoicism.
He turned the corner and was gone. And even as Jack shook the thoughts from his head and found hope and excitement in the open road to freedom, he thought of her. How could he not? He didn't want to, but he did. He wondered if she would ever know just how close he came to giving it all up for her. If only she would have asked him to.
