Chapter Ten (Father Figure)

Missy was humming under her breath as she came into the office, Wicked Game had been on the radio again, causing her to pause and glare at it with narrowed eyes but now she couldn't get it out of her head. She had a cup of coffee for Jax in her hands and pushed the door open with her hip, her eyes lighting a little as she saw him standing at the desk, papers spread out in front of him as he went over the invoices and order forms before she sent them off or filed them for him. It was a pretty efficient system, really and she was happy with how she had things arranged, she could find anything that needed checked easily enough. Just before she said anything she saw the expression on his face – curious, his brow lifted as he turned slightly toward her and held up one of the papers. Missy tipped her head at the questioning look on his face, her dark brows drawing together slightly. "What's up, Boss?"

He held the paper more toward her, finger tapping a set of scrawled initials. "Who's 'JFA'?"

Missy blinked and then felt a hot rush of color come to her cheeks. Oh, that. She couldn't help the little curl to her lips as she hesitated before answering, then she shrugged before saying... "That's easy... it's me. Jax's fallen angel. I was doing so many of those that I just started...don't worry though. I can fix that."

Jax chuckled, deep and amused before he set the paper down and took the coffee cup from her hands, adding it to the clutter on the desk before he stepped in close, those big hands spanning her waist easily as he looked down at her, taking in her expression and that red on her cheeks. "Nah. Leave it."





I could spend all day admiring every inch of her body while she tells me a story. I'd listen to anything she had to say. I'm so damn lucky.

Tonight you can pick one, and I'll tell you about it. Anything you want, Boss.

He'd chosen the one on the right side of her neck, the skull and the daffodils. The other side had a jaguar in cherry blossoms, and she considered telling him both stories even as she sat with her back against the headboard, one of the pillows providing a little cushion with Jackson's head in her lap. Missy's eyes were half closed as her fingers caressed his hair, the tips of her nails sliding over his scalp gentle and slow. "It's a sort of ...mirror, Jax." Her voice low, tones soft. "On the one side life, the other side death...but you asked about the flowers more than the bones, I think?"

"I did." He murmured, eyes closed as the fingers of his right hand slid down the ring finger of his left, feeling the indentation that was still there where his wedding ring used to be.

Her eyes opened a little more, as she thought about it and leaned a little forward, the ends of her hair tickling over his skin. "All of us..." that little catch on us, she couldn't help. "I mean the kids that grew up on base. We kind of had a leg up on regular kids when it came to knowing what death really meant. Even in peacetime, most of us knew someone that lost their dad or brother or... you know. It's a whole lot more impactful on a kid than just having to explain why the goldfish went belly up."

Her fingers moved, then stilled. "So life is sort of a crap shoot, and we learn it early... but you know it becomes this sort of bigger thing. Do you remember me telling you about my Uncle? The one that isn't allowed around the kids without supervision? It wasn't because of why most people guess, but he was a violent and vile son of a bitch, Boss. He was like the Full Metal Jacket drill sergeant on steroids, and worse when he was drunk." Missy paused, her fingers curling in his hair but not pulling it, almost like she was just seeking a random bit of comfort.

Missy relaxed her hands and started stroking his hair again, closing her eyes. "We were little then, because this was the big event that made sure he'd never have the chance to try something like this again, you know? He wouldn't even have been watching us but my grandmother had a stroke, I think? Something. The rest of the family was making the rounds to visit and they thought that the kids would be too much for the hospital to deal with. Most of the night was pretty tame, he sat in a lawn chair and drank mostly and we all played tag in the yard. Then he asked one of my cousins if he knew how to shoot a gun... of course he didn't, he was fucking four."

She took a deeper breath. "So he went inside, came back out with a case with his rifle, a few pistols that I'm pretty sure now he wasn't supposed to have on base. I can remember he was so drunk we could smell the booze on him, and he was sunburnt where his skin hadn't been covered. He seemed so big, like a mountain... like we knew something bad was going to happen, but what were we supposed to do? We were a bunch of little kids, and he was supposed to be watching us."

Missy paused for a much longer break, shifting so she could look at Jax's face, then moving even more so she could steal a kiss. Almost as if she were gaining strength, or peace from it. Missy was a little breathless when it broke, and took the time to just look into his eyes. They amazed her, how they were so intense and how the colors changed according to how he felt. "So he decided to teach us how to shoot, and if my Dad hadn't come home...? He was setting up to do a William Tell, Jax. Going to have... going to have one of us hold up the plate he was shooting at. Jesus fuck, what makes someone that messed up?" She took in a few shallow breaths, she was pretty sure that he'd know by how she'd paused just which of the kids he'd wanted to hold that plate.

"I never saw my Dad that pissed before or since. He walked up on my Uncle and he disarmed him with one hand and punched him right in the face with the other. Mom had to pull him off, and the MP's came and arrested both of them. Dad got off with a warning, after he gave the details." She trailed off, humming a little under her breath before continuing. "But the daffodils, I chose them because I could remember standing there, shaking in my sneakers and I couldn't look at him, or the other kids, not like they could help anyway, and I focused on Mom's flowerbed. Those first flowers in bloom, and they had just barely started closing for the night. The skull reminds me how death is in surprising places, and that we should savor life." She sighed, moving back so he could rest his head in her lap again. "They hurt, you know... on the sides of my neck, like a motherfucker. But the pain helped me remember why it was important. Flowers, and bones."





How about tonight you pick one and I'll tell you the story.

After the pictures he'd posted on the timeline, he'd expected her to choose the obvious: the stylized tribal sun or even the words Search & Destroy. She'd taken the bait, sure, but when she'd asked him to explain the bars on the back of his neck instead, he'd been surprised. The shoe was on the other foot, so to speak and tonight he lay on his back in bed, her head resting against his chest. Breathing in slowly, he ran his fingers through her hair.

"It's not much of a story, really. Fair lot of mine are more reminders, like signposts than any sort of memorials. This one, it's actually the second one I got, but it's the first one anybody knew about. First year of college. Old enough to get ink done without consent in a good place, I guess, but we were in Miami for spring break and there was this sketchy as fuck dude laying down the ink on whatever lily white trust fund idiots he could find. Had a room in the hotel set up for it and everything... just hilariously ghetto when I look back on it now but at the time..." his voice was pitched low, as though he was worried about being overheard even though they were alone. "It was badass and I still had money flowing like water so I figured why not?"

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes. "My jaw was still a million shades of fucked then, never really healed right after the last day of school in June – spent that summer with it wired shut – second time in two years. Went to the ER out of town that time, lied and told them I was on the travel team. Said it happened during a lacrosse game. Drama wasn't really permitted, you know? I know, it doesn't really seem like it's relevant, but I'm giving you the history because this one is a signpost. It's..." his hand stilled for a second and he stared up at the ceiling.

"Okay, so Miami. Sketchy as fuck tattoo guy and I spent that whole damn summer and September through March getting lean and mean with a single song on repeat the whole time. Not the greatest recording, most of their stuff was pretty raw, pretty rough around the edges but just so much like they were speaking my language – it's the Black Flag logo. You know that, right? Nothing fancy. Not a botched up hipster barcode or anything. Just the symbol for a band because I didn't want to put the lyrics on me. Too much like showing my hand if dear ol' Dad saw it, you know? That seed was already there in the back of my head, already digging its roots in deep."

He sighed, his tone almost singsong as he quoted the lyrics, "it's 'we are tired of your abuse... try to stop us, it's no use' – from Rise Above. Really just the first line. That exhaustion was always there and for the longest time I let it tear me up, gut me until I was empty inside but every time I threw that record on, I was energized because those guys, they got me. They had this intimate knowledge of all the pain and fear and desperation I kept locked inside. That guy with the halfway broken voice screaming into the microphone was me, if I had the balls to actually find my goddamned voice then. So those four little bars were the first little act, Missy." His accent was creeping back and he didn't really seem aware of it. "Hair was long enough then, past my shoulders so it wasn't like anyone noticed it for months but I knew it was there and I could feel it like the first layer of armor." He snorted in derision, "my stories aren't as good as yours."

She lifted her head, lips parted as though she was about to say something even though her eyes were wide. Instead he rested a finger against them, shaking his head. "The better question would be why I let some of them fade than what they represented when I put them there twenty years ago." His free hand stole to the back of his neck, to the raised bumps of scar tissue across the symbol – the jagged tears from a hangman's noose made of barbed wire. His eyes were midnight black as they bored into hers and then he replaced his finger with his mouth, kissing her hungrily before pulling back to whisper the last words against her hair. "I don't need those signs now to find my way back – don't wanna go there ever again..."