There was a metallic scent hanging in the air, a leaden, bitter
smell. The violence and noise had mostly ended by then, the meeting room
now deadly silent as they both stood amid the wreckage. The Asian man
looked stunned, an expression oddly out of place on his normally cool
and refined face, his fine silk robes splattered with blood.
"You saved my life," the Shogun finally managed to get out.
Jack stood there casually, her gun already back in it's holster
and blood splattering her dress pants and shirt. Her head was cocked to
the side as if she was listening for something, then she waved him to be
silent. She strode across the room to one of the many fallen tables and
swiftly kicked it aside, revealing a blonde haired man crouching there
in fear.
"Well, well," Jack said to him with an almost conversational
tone of voice, "if it isn't the new leader of the Aryan Front. Did you
really think that you're people were going to be able to pull something
like this off, Stevie?"
"We weren't going to allow this deal to go through," Stephen
snarled at her, his eyes wide with shock and fear and a bit of blood
splattered on his cheek, "at any cost!" All around them the bodies of
the fallen lay, both assassins and political leaders.
"You did stop the deal," Jack nodded to him slightly in
agreement, "but in the process you cleared most of the powers out of
Chinatown." She looked towards the Shogun and added, "His way is clear
now, thanks to you."
"So what do we do now, Jack?" the Shogun looked towards her
cautiously, almost unconsciously following the younger woman's lead
"Isn't it obvious?" Jack asked him, pulling her pistol back out
from it's holster and pointing it right between Stephen's fearful eyes.
"You can't...." Stephen squeaked out.
"People have to understand the consequences of crossing me,"
Jack explained to him pleasantly with an expression as cold as death,
"or of targeting a client of mine."
The acrid smell of urine hit the air as Stephen pissed himself
in pure terror. "You don't need to do this," he plead desperately, "I'll
do whatever you want."
"This is the only thing I need from you. Sorry Stevie," Jack
shrugged as she pulled the trigger, "it's nothing personal."
With a choked off cry Jack sat up in her bed, her sweat soaking
her shirt as she panted softly. Her sandy brown hair was standing up in
clumps and her blue eyes were dimmed with tiredness in the shadows of
night. She looked down at her dark red T-shirt and visibly shuddered,
remembering how the blood splattered on her back then.
With a sigh she got up out of her bed, walking over to look out
the window at Hastings street at night. Across the way lights glowed in
some of the buildings, the occasional people wandering the roads below
her or flying above them. A roughly furred figure exchanged a pouch of
some illegal substance for cash while up the road a bit a young woman
leaned up against a lamppost tiredly, her clothes and stance declaring
her a prostitute.
"It hasn't changed at all," Jack groaned out, "and have I?"
Jack stepped back into the darkness and sat down on the edge of
the bed, running a hand tiredly through her hair. The assassination
attempt had made her reputation, in more way than one. A rumor had
started that she really was the one to kill the other leaders along with
the murderers, one that she didn't even choose to deny.
Jack smiled, a very unpleasant expression. Of course the Shogun
had told the leaders of the city what had really happened, but among the
ordinary people the story spread like wildfire. Jack, people knew, was
ruthless and dangerous, not someone to ever cross. Wearing her various
hats as negotiator, investigator and bodyguard that sort of thing had
been very useful.
The smile disappeared as Jack reached for a glass of water,
taking a drink. Part of why she had left Vancouver had been because of
what she felt herself becoming, the role that she played turning into
the reality. To do what she had to do she adopted the role of the bitch
from Hell, perfectly cold and ruthless in dealing with her job. But
putting away the role became harder and harder, the protective armor she
fashioned becoming impossible to remove.
"Do I really want to do something like that again?" Jack
whispered to herself, huddling there in the near darkness.
At a soft sound the young woman froze, then carefully set the
glass down on the stand beside her bed. Jack heard the noise from the
hallway once again and slipped from the bed, silently moving to where
her clothes were draped over a chair. She slid her gun from the holster
then moved to the door as the handle was turned from the outside.
"Jack, I...." the voice said as she stepped inside only to
freeze as the black haired woman saw Jack standing there, pistol ready,
"eep!"
Jack raised the gun with a disgusted look, "Heather."
"Do you always say hello to guests that way?" Heather asked,
looking at Jack warily from where she stood in the doorway.
"No," Jack scowled at her as she slid the gun back into it's
holster, "only the stupid ones. Are you trying to get yourself shot?"
"I saw you in the window," Heather said, walking inside and
looking at Jack with a slight smile, "thought you might want some
company."
"Couldn't sleep," Jack shrugged casually.
"You've been having those dreams again, I guess?" Heather asked
as she sat down on the end of the bed, smoothing out her black dress.
Jack made a face, "I never should have told you about those."
"You can be a hard woman when you need to Jack," Heather said to
her gently, "but that doesn't mean you don't still feel the pain." She
paused to carefully look Jack over and smirked before saying, "Nice
view, by the way."
Jack looked down and blushed, realizing that other than the
sweatshirt she was just wearing panties. "Shit," she grabbed her jeans
and pulled them on.
Heather chuckled softly, watching with enjoyment as Jack
clumsily dressed. "I don't remember you being this shy before," she
remarked.
"It's been a few years," Jack answered dryly.
"That's true," Heather said softly.
Jack finished doing up her buttons then turned back to Heather,
who was studying her thoughtfully. "What?" she asked.
"Do you ever regret leaving town the way you did?" Heather asked
Jack seriously. There was a slightly bitter twist to her lips as she
added, "I thought we were better friends than that, but you left without
a word of explanation."
Jack turned away to the window, for a moment it almost looked
like she wasn't going to answer. "If I had told you why I was leaving,"
she finally said to Heather quietly, "I know you'd have tried to talk me
out of it."
Heather got up from the bed to walk to Jack's side, putting her
hand on Jack's shoulder and squeezing it firmly. "I know," she said, "I
saw what was happening to you."
Jack turned back to look at her in honest surprise, meeting
those deep brown eyes. Heather was a beautiful woman, her body
generously filling out the dress that she wore. More important was the
gentleness in her eyes, the compassion that she showed so easily.
"I just wish you had asked," Heather looked down from Jack's
gaze, "I would have come with you if you had given me the chance."
"I..I...." Jack stammered.
"You didn't know," Heather shook her head.
"No," Jack admitted with a faint blush, the woman suddenly
looking much younger than her thirty some years on the Earth.
Heather took a step forward and rested her head on Jack's
shoulder, still looking downwards. "You're so clueless about these
things," she murmured to her, "it's a miracle that you don't trip over
all of the girls panting after you."
"What girls?" Jack blinked.
"Clueless," Heather softly repeated. She stepped back to look up
at Jack, and a few tears glistened at the corners of her eyes.
"Are you all right?" Jack asked.
Heather walked to the bedroom door then turned to look at her
with a smile. "Get some sleep, Jack," she ordered softly, "I'll see you
in the morning."
With that the door swung shut behind Heather with a quiet click,
leaving Jack standing there in the middle of a dark room. "Women," Jack
sighed as she walked to sit down on the edge of her bed, "I'll never
understand them."
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