FicWad

Jack puts Jason to bed and sits up by the fire drinking whiskey after whiskey, knowing that it is the end of his very short relationship with Lynn. He feels so stupid to have let himself say what he did. Shane sits with him for a time, trying to be sympathetic. Jack asks Shane to forgive him for brooding over his own small plight. Shane does not mind. He would rather not think of his own displacement anyhow. Shane, though not prone to excessive alcohol consumption like his brothers, drinks when he is around Jack, especially if Jack is in a dark mood, as he is now. Shane does not have the tolerance for alcohol that his brothers have, and he grows weary. He ensures that Jack will be all right and goes upstairs to bed. He is halfway up the stairs when there is a faint knocking at the door. Jack motions that Shane may go on, and answers the door himself. Standing in the calm darkness on his doorstep is Lynn wearing her simple wool dress. Jack bids her enter.

"Why're ye wearin' that?"

"Easier to ride in. I came to talk, Jack."

"Ye don' love me after all?" he asks, leading her into the drawing room and falling onto the sofa drunkenly.

She can see his pain through the veil of intoxication, and it kills her to think that she is the cause of it. "No, Jack. I love you more than ever."

"Hard to say, ye barely know me." He beckons her to sit next to him on the sofa.

"I shouldn't've come. You didn't want me to see this side of you. Not yet, at least."

"I jus' saw me brothers nearly die. Shane shows up on me doorstep near frozen to death. The next night, the twins get the shite beat out've 'em. I don't like these odds. I'm not stupid, Lynn." Jack stands, his back to Lynn, staring into the fireplace. "I know what comes next. The war will start soon."

"Jack, I don't want to speak about the war. I want to speak about us."

"I'm real sorry for what I said. I should never o' said it to ye."

"Jack, what you said is what I wanted to hear. I think you're the handsomest...most handsome...man I've ever seen."

"I'd be an arse if I didn't beg to differ, an' I do beg to differ."

Lynn puts her finger to Jack's lips and says, "I love you, Jack. From the moment I laid eyes on you, I've known that I want to be with you. Can I stay the night?"

"Aye..."

"With you?"

"I'd love it, but a warnin' to ye. If I seem dead, jus' wake me up."

"I thought you were going to say you snored or something like that."

"No. It occurs to me that ye've never seen the whole house."

"That would be charming."

Jack shows Lynn around and stops outside of his own room. He asks her to wait in the hall. He nervously drinks a shot from the crystal decanter on the low dresser and lights the numerous green-flamed candles placed about the room in small candelabra on tables and the tall candelabrum standing on the floor. He removes his uniform and puts on his one pair of green silk pajamas. He walks barefoot across the thick carpet to let Lynn inside. When he opens the door, he finds her in a white, silk, ankle-length nightgown with her knee-length ginger curls cascading around her. He takes her by the hand and leads her in. She is somewhat surprised at how lavish Jack's bedroom is compared to her expectations, knowing that Jack decorated the room himself. In the green light of the room, Lynn's eyes sparkle brilliantly. Jack offers her a drink. Though the fireplace is not lit, they sit in the two green, velvet-upholstered armchairs drinking together and whispering sweet nothings. Lynn gets up slowly and sits on Jack's lap. His hair falls around his shoulders, and Lynn twirls it around her fingers as he holds her tightly with his left arm while absentmindedly drinking whiskey with his right hand. Just having Lynn there is infinitely comforting to Jack. He does not like being alone in the house, and, much as he loves his brother, he would much rather have a girl cuddled up next to him, despite his familial loyalties. Lynn falls asleep in his arms, and he puts down his whiskey and extinguishes the candles before placing her on the bed and crawling in next to her. He lies awake for a while before drifting into a sound sleep with Lynn pressed up against him.

For the first time in over a year, Lynn is not haunted by the memory of her late husband. She knows he would never approve of her and Jack, but she knows that Jack would defend her. Her husband is dead, but all this time he has been haunting her memories as if he would harm her even from the grave. Jack, for all his sins, will never raise a hand in anger to her or force himself on her. This thought comforts Lynn more than Jack could ever know. She is infinitely grateful for the fact that he would protect her from anything. Even Jack feels safer with Lynn next to him.

He stands alone on a battlefield. The frozen ground is stained red with the blood of so many men. He wanders among the rows of bodies stacked on top of each other. The flies have not come, and the bodies have yet to rot. The freezing cold has taken care of them. The only smells are those of the crisp winter air, dead bodies, and gunpowder. He stands there in his pea coat and plaid scarf feeling nothing. He looks among the rows of bodies for friends, acquaintances, and possible survivors. The men are young, some of them only truly boys. No apprentice would join the army, nor would any boy wealthy enough to go to secondary school. These boys were the children of beggars, thieves, and farmers, and there are orphans among their ranks as well. Diamond dust hangs in the air.

Jack cannot feel the bitter wind, but he shivers when he sees a boy not even old enough to shave lying dead at his feet. Among the fallen dead are some men that he knows have been dead for fifty years or more. He sees men from the little gang that became its own unit. There were the McNamaras and the Vaughans, two of the Kings, "No Name" Cullen, Cass O'Brien, Sean Bailey, and Father Deaglan, a priest who became a soldier in Hell. Also among the fallen dead are Ahern Flannigan, father of one of Jack's generals, and Francis Crane, Michael's long-dead younger brother. Out of twenty-five men, only ten survived. The other fifteen, though they have been dead and buried over fifty years, lie on this battlefield as though they died that morning. Snow blows around him, but it is too cold to fall. Blood has frozen around the men's wounds because it is too cold for it to drip. There are severed arms and legs all over the battlefield wearing uniforms of all the colors of the Vampire Army.

After what seems like an age, Jack comes across a seemingly unhurt body. He turns it over gingerly and sees that it is Kerrigan. He brushes her short black-and-white hair out of her eyes and sees that they are staring gently up at him. She is dead. The arrow in her heart ensures that there is no question of how or if she died, but Jack looks to where she lay and realizes that she must not have been looking at the man who killed her when she died. There is no fear in her eyes. He must have been standing next to her when she fell. She was looking at him. He should leave the bodies for teams who will come to recover them in the morning, but he takes her in his arms like a child. She weighs seemingly nothing.

He brings her back to her tent. Despite the fact that it is obviously a standard-issue tent, it is opulent. There are black velvet drapes hung like tapestries inside. He passes between two to get inside. The bed is no cot, but a small four-poster with a lace canopy and velvet curtains. Instead of a trunk, she has an armoire. There is a small bookcase next to her desk. All of the furniture, though lavish, is miniature. He lays her on her bed and removes her uniform gently, as if she might break if touched too hard, and carefully hangs it in the closet. Even under her uniform, she wore her corset. Jack finds a blood-red ball gown in her closet and puts it on her as if he were dressing a doll. He brushes her hair neatly into place and paints her makeup on carefully, ensuring that his unsteady hand does not somehow muss it, as if it would never come off otherwise.

He helps himself to the wine in her tent and stays awake with her through the night. He swears he sees tears falling down her cheeks by morning. He stumbles out into the cold sunlight of day, knowing it will never be warm again, and calls to the first man he sees. The man turns around and he is missing an eye. Other men turn and they are missing arms, legs, eyes, jaws, noses, heads, and entire faces. He looks for a single whole man to help him, and cannot find one. He looks down and sees that the flesh on his hands is rapidly melting away. His clothing grows tattered, and he tries to feel his face. He cannot. He is no longer able to breathe, and he puts his hand through his ribs to his heart which stops beating. He falls down on his knees and collapses totally. His vision grows black, and everything sounds like it is underwater.

He feels the same sensation of being torn from his body, and through the fuzz he hears a distant screaming. It rushes toward him. Lynn is kneeling by his side on the bed crying and screaming, and Shane is shaking him by the shoulders, fighting back tears, which is most unusual for Shane, the toughest of the four brothers. Jason is standing leaning against the door with his long, ginger hair falling about his shoulders and his big, blue eyes staring up at his father's bed. He looks like a miniature Jack.

"He'll be fine," Shane says. Jack cannot speak.

"I'd rather hear it from him," she sobs. Jack cannot lift his hands.

"Trust me, Lynn, he's been like this since he got to Hell and, to a lesser extent, since before he died."

"But if he dies again, he'll be in Nevermore. I won't get to see him again."

"I can understand your attachment. Everyone who knows Jack is somewhat attached. That's the kind of man he is. Ye mustn't fret. He ain't goin' nowhere."

"Either way, he's mine now."

"So, 'tain't me business to pry, but did ye sleep wi' me brother?"

"No. I fell asleep."

"An' I did nothin' to her, ye bollicks," says Jack.

"Jack! You're all right!" exclaims Lynn.

"O' course I'm all right. Would I be anythin' else? If I could move, I'd've thrown Shane half across the room, an' I'd be huggin' ye now."

"Will you be all right?"

"Aye. I just hope I can drink 'afore I get the D.T.s again."

"You poor thing," Lynn says stroking his hair. Jack catches her hand and kisses it. Shane walks out of the room, herding Jason into the bathtub quickly and closing the door. "You look ill."

"Ill? Nay. Hungover? Aye. I'd one too many whiskies last night."

"I've a cure for that."

"Really? I do too. Sedatives, spirits, and sleep."

"Oh, come now, Jack. Try this."

"Try what?"

"Your favorite: strawberries and cream."

"On a hangover? I'll throw up."

"Trust me. I'll be right back."

Jack lays in the darkness for what feels like an age. He still cannot move his limbs. He hates nightmares, especially the ones that render him immobile. He hates to be vulnerable. Lynn returns after having fed the animals, lays a silver tray on the dresser, and walks over to Jack. She props him up on bed pillows and kisses his forehead. She brings over the bowl of strawberries and the bowl of cream and sits next to him feeding them to him as if he were an infant or an invalid. He is exhausted, as if he had not slept at all. Jack hears Shane climb into the shower. After a short time, he begins to feel better: at least he can move his arms, even though his legs are still shaky. Lynn brings him his tea and a glass straw, but he grabs it and drinks it quickly. He cannot stand, but he grabs her and pulls her into his arms. She tries to act surprised, but Jack is able to see through her act.

"Come 'ere."

"I am here."

"Ah, now, y'are."

"What're you gonna do about it?"

"You."

Around noon, Lynn comes downstairs to make lunch for Shane and Jason. She takes Jack's lunch upstairs, and, upon her return, finds him staring out the window smoking a cigar. She carefully sets the tray down and curls up under a blanket on the bed. He did not hear her come in. After about ten minutes, she walks over and drapes her hands around his neck, pulling him out of his reverie.

"Whatcha thinkin' about?"

"Not what ye think I'm thinking about. I'm worried is all. I wish I could win the war wi' out losin' any o' me soldiers. To bring someone back, ye have to have someone powerful enough to do it, a consenting family member, an' money. The army can't do it unless it's a doctor losin' a patient in surgery. Wagin' a war is like playin' poker. Ye don't know what your enemy really has, an' ye don't know just what he'll do, but ye do know he's smilin' an' it means ye're screwed."

"General, I've brought your lunch. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Don't call me General. I don't like bein' called that, 'specially by people I love."

"Sorry, sir."

"No 'sirs' either." Lynn takes Jack's cigar from his hand. "Careful, that shite'll kill ye. I'd know." She takes a drag anyhow. "Give it back."

"You'll have to catch me," Lynn says running around the bedroom, Jack's cigar in hand. Jack trips after her, and she giggles. Finally, after much stumbling, Jack manages to trip into her and pin her to the bed. He takes his cigar back and puts it in his mouth without letting her go. "You caught me," Lynn squeaks.

"Aye, an' jus' where did ye think ye was goin'?"

They both leave the room around quarter past three, Lynn wearing her plain wool dress and Jack's old pea coat, which has cigar burns, patches, and blood and whiskey stains on it, and Jack wearing an old pair of suit pants and a turtleneck, both of which are in similar states of disrepair to the coat. Jack calls Shane and Jason to come outside after he has chopped firewood and sharpened his axe blade to his satisfaction. He tucks the axe into his belt, and they walk into the woods. Jack does not look where he is walking. Instead, he looks up into the tree limbs for yellow flowers. He knows that even the snowfall will not have killed the mistletoe. He finds an oak tree deep in the forest with a small amount of mistletoe on it and climbs the tree with a knife in his mouth and his axe tucked into his belt. He climbs first up the trunk, then from branch to branch, and then along a branch that looks as though it might not support him, with such skill that it seems as if he were somehow a part of the tree itself.

Lynn fears that he will fall a hundred feet to his death, but he takes his axe from his belt and makes several skillful cuts while holding onto the tree limb with his knees, feet, and left hand. The bundle of mistletoe falls to the ground and Jack tosses his knife into the center of it, jumping down after it and landing in a snow bank. Lynn runs over to him screaming, but he stands up, shakes it off and carries the mistletoe back to the house where he will make bundles of it and burn the pieces he does not need. He sits at the kitchen table with his knife, the mistletoe, and a ball of twine. He cuts the mistletoe apart and braids it together in little bunches, knotting the stems tightly and looping them back over into themselves. His sister had taught him how to make them when she was only four years old. He cannot believe that a girl Jason's age could have made such ornaments now that he has a four-year-old of his own. Jason sits there watching him for a time, but it does not hold his interest for very long, so he makes up a game by chasing Jack's ball of twine around the kitchen. This bodes well until Jack needs the twine. He has finished ten bundles of mistletoe and now needs to tie them off.

"Give it here, Jason."

"Ye'll have to catch me."

"Jason, stop it!" Jack scolds rather loudly. Jason freezes and looks up in terror, dropping the twine and letting out a small shout. Jack stands up and takes a step toward Jason, who backs away. Jack picks up the twine and says, "'Tis all right, Jason. I only needed the twine." He moves closer to his son, who backs up into the liquor cabinet knocking a bottle of whiskey from its shelf to the floor. He begins to cry, and Jack sweeps the boy into his arms. Jason screams something awful. Jack cannot help but remember that Maire is half-Banshee, and that he must get it from her. Lynn comes in and takes Jason from Jack's arms. He is immediately quieted.

"What did you do to him, poor thing?" she asks.

"Nothing. I told him to stop, and he freaked out."

"How'd the whiskey get on the floor."

"He backed into the cabinet."

"Jason, is this true?"

"Aye, Miss Lynn."

"All right, now apologize to your father and go see your uncle Shane for a while."

"Sorry, da'."

"'Sall right, son."

Jack pickes up the pieces of glass and discards them before having a quick belt of whiskey and returning to the twine. Lynn sits watching him wrap the twine through the center of the braid and around in both directions, pulling it impossibly tight with his teeth and tying it off. The twine only serves to hold the ends together. The stems are looped. Jack walks outside and shovels the snow off a fire pit behind his kitchen where he burns the mistletoe that he did not use. He then sets about putting the mistletoe throughout his house. He hangs the bundles over the bar, over his bed, on the front door frame, in the doorway to the drawing room, in the doorway to the dining room, over the staircase, and by the entrances to the rooms where his siblings will be staying over Yule.

He then goes back out into the woods, Lynn by his side, and hacks a few branches off of a Scots pine. Lynn helps him carry them back to the house where he sets to work forcing them into wreaths, cutting his hands numerous times with his knife, almost severing one of his fingers. Jack ties the stems together tightly with twine, again pulling it tightly with his teeth, making Lynn flinch all the while. He then grabs a hammer and nails out of the barn and hangs one of the small wreaths on each bedroom door, one over the dining room fireplace, one over the drawing room fireplace, into which he tucks white roses kept alive by little bulbs of water not visible from the front, and hangs the largest wreaths on the front doors. He finds Jason and Shane in the library, Shane enjoying some historical text that Kerrigan undoubtedly gave to Jack years earlier and Jason hard at work copying his lessons into his ledger. Finding them occupied, Jack retreats to the bar unsure of what else to do.

Lynn follows him about ten minutes later wearing her nicest gown, which has numerous layers of emerald green velvet gathered down the back and a small train with an emerald lace hem. The top is emerald silk and is subtly embroidered with emerald knotwork. The sleeves are small, sheer, emerald lace. She is wearing high emerald gloves, and her knee-length ginger hair is ornately tucked up into a series of knots, curls, and braids. She knocks softly on the door.

"Jack? May I come in."

"Aye, ye needn't ask permission."

"Jack, I'm worried about you."

"I drink too much?"

"No, not that. No. I'm worried about the fact that you more or less died in your sleep last night. I think you need someone here with you, and, well, quite frankly, I've been staying at the school since my divorce, and, even with the other women there, I'm still terrified of my ex-husband, even though he's dead. Last night was the first time I wasn't afraid that he might come after me. I don't own much. Just my clothing, what's left of it, and all of my cosmetics are already here. May I stay?"

"O' course. I didn't know how to ask ye meself. I'll write the twins. They'll be comin' in three days. They can fetch your things."

"I'll just ask. I'm at the school as we speak. I'll stop by and ask. Thank you, Jack."

"No, thankee, Lynn. Ye'll be the one what saves me."