FicWad

“Dear Dad,

“I start school in a week. Mum says to send me letters at school and that you know the address. John said, ‘hi’ I think. Mum hopes you enjoyed the brandy. I miss you. I think John misses you too, but I can’t tell. I hope you can come home soon. I hope you don’t get hurt. Mum does too and John too, except he can’t talk yet.

“Love,

“Jason.”

“Dear Jason,

“Best of luck in school. Your mother would ask me what kind of father I would be if I did not tell you to behave. I ask myself after what I have done what kind of father I would be if I did tell you to behave. In order to please both sides, I will tell you what I consider to be my best advice. Do not pick a fight, and do not antagonize. If someone hits you first, feel free to beat him senseless. Do not hit girls ever. It is never all right. I will never yell at you for drinking, but I do not want you to lose yourself. When John is old enough to be in school with you, I want you to look after him. Never let anyone hurt him. Never let anyone insult your family. Your family means you, me, your mother, and John. That is the only time I will allow you to hit first. I am sure you will do fine with your studies, and I promise that I will come to visit you as soon as I can. Kerrigan wishes you luck as well.

“All my love,

“Dad.”

Jack reads the letter that his son sent him and replies. It was obviously written by Maire, but it is in his son’s voice, though Maire did what she could to take the lilt out of it. Jason is just learning to write, so his spelling, grammar, and handwriting are terrible. Jack is glad that Maire took dictation. After the initial attack, the Werewolves retreated into their own territory to regroup. Jack’s foot, though bandaged, is nearly healed from the bullet graze left by Julius. The only thing on which Jack and Julius agree, other than the fact that Julius has a broken nose and two black eyes because of Jack, is that they should not fight an offensive campaign. All five of the Senatorial Generals agree to the idea of a defensive campaign. For nearly a week, no battle has taken place. Then a lone assassin comes into the cottage where Kerrigan and Jack are staying. He is a half-Werewolf, half-Vampire, so he slipped through the Vampire Army’s defenses. He shoots the sleeping Jack at close range while, from what he can tell, Kerrigan is nowhere to be seen. She had been awake and had heard him coming, so she climbed up the bookshelf onto the ceiling rafters. Silently, she climbs from rafter to rafter until she is directly above the assassin when she suddenly swings her legs down and kicks him in the head, knocking him to the ground. She jumps down, pulling her dagger out of the back of her corset as she does so, lands on him and calmly slits his throat, carefully so as not to get blood on her white bloomers and corset, which is all that she is wearing. She then pulls the sheath out of her corset, wipes and sheathes the dagger, and turns her focus to Jack who is coughing and sputtering. She shouts across the street. Many neighbors light candles to see what is the matter. Many already had done so when they heard shots.

Most of rural District Thirteen is exclusively or almost exclusively Irish, but the urban areas are different places entirely. Crosspoint is one of the most ancient cities in Hell. Its citizens are not wealthier than the rest of the district’s citizens. The city simply has more old things and more mixed culture than the rest of the district. It is a wild city that lays isolated, surrounded by wilderness. The name of Crosspoint does not derive from its proximity to the border, for the city is older than the political borders. Instead, it derives from the fact that four roads lead into the city and, in the city center, form a crossroads. The city grew around that point. The people here have a distinct heritage and language mixture from the rest of the district. They can understand both Werewolves and Vampires alike here. Jack is very well liked in the rest of the district. Though he still enjoys one of the highest approval ratings among the Senators, he is least popular here, which is to say, his approval rating is just over sixty percent.

Var and Tem run across the street. Julius rolls over in bed. He owes Jack no loyalty. Kerrigan throws on an apron and rips the tattered remains of Jack’s wife beater off to reveal five entry wounds. The sixth bullet went into the bed next to him. She can feel the presence of her son.

“Keep fighting, Jack. I know you have it in you. Do not die on me! Not now!”

“Let him go, Kerrigan,” says Var.

“It’s his time,” says Tem.

“No! I will not believe that! Breathe, damn you!”

“It’s no use, Kerrigan.”

She knows that the single easiest way to heal his wounds would be to let him drink her blood, but that is too dangerous with the bullets inside him. She pulls out a bottle of whiskey and pours some down her dagger then pours more across his chest and her hands. She grabs a pair of tweezers out of her bag and cleans them similarly. She then cuts Jack’s chest open. It is full of blood, and his heart is hardly beating. One of his lungs cannot inflate at all. She starts looking for the little ball of lead there. She quickly finds it and moves on. One of the entry wounds is in his throat where she is afraid to cut. She feels for it with her thin fingers and finds it easily, though she is sure he sustained major damage to his vocal chords, she can tell that the major artery was missed. She is not afraid to cut through muscle and even break bones, for she knows that just a little blood will close everything, but she is terrified of cutting off his air supply in the interim. The third bullet missed the organs completely. She cannot see the last two other than their entry wounds to his liver. His heart stops. Blood will not bring him back from death, and Death is standing in the doorway behind Tem wearing his nicest wool suit and cloak. Kerrigan starts massaging Jack's heart and shouting profanities that her son did not realize she knew in all manner of languages switching from English to Latin to French to Demon to Banshee to Irish to Vampire in a matter of seconds. Jack's heart responds and she fishes the last two bullets out with record speed. She orders Death to heat the fire poker while he is just standing there and asks Tem and Var to hold an arm apiece. She takes the poker from Death when the tip is white-hot, though the top, which is still black, will start to burn her hand within a minute. Naturally, Jack wakes up in pain and tries to break their grip, but in his weakened state, he cannot. She uses the tip of the poker to cauterize the internal wounds before finding a needle and thread, dousing them in alcohol, and sewing his chest shut. He passes out in pain before she is done. She delicately stitches his throat, hoping that he will be able to speak again, before slashing her arm above the wrist and ensuring her blood falls into his mouth.

Jack’s eyes flutter awake just as Death disappears through the doorway. Kerrigan starts to sob. She realizes that she is still sitting on top of him and climbs off. She then realizes that her left arm is still bleeding and bandages it neatly but quickly. She then asks Var and Tem to hold Jack while she washes off the blood and whiskey with a wet towel and to put him on her bed when she is finished. When they are finished, they return to their cottage with Julius, who is already soundly sleeping when they return. Jack begins to hack and cough as his body repairs itself. Kerrigan pulls a chair over from the kitchenette and sits by his side, tears in her eyes. She knows he could still die. She is no fool. He was only lucky this time.

Jack feels an immense pain burning in his chest. He looks down and sees that it is on fire. He looks around frantically for water but finds only alcohol. If there were beer or wine he might be able to put it out, but hard liquor will only make it burn more. He feels the edges of his vision go dark again. He feels his heart stop. He wants to scream but he cannot. He can only gurgle. His throat hurts worse than anything he has ever felt. Everything goes black. The next thing he knows he feels more pain and jolts awake, but his arms are held down. He blacks out again until he sees Kerrigan crying. He is sure he is dead. At least he has told Jason what he wanted to tell him. He misses Lynn. He wishes she were here to say goodbye. He feels something cool on his body and a feeling of being lifted. Wherever he is, it is dry and soft. He cannot move his head. After almost an hour, he squeezes his hand.

The small twitch causes Kerrigan, who is sitting in her perfectly clean bloomers and corset, the bloody apron lying on the other bed soaked with blood and whiskey, to leap out of her chair and hug Jack tightly to her. A colonel in the green uniform of Jack’s ranks knocks on the door. She throws on a dressing gown and answers the door.

“Ma’am, Senatorial General Shepherd alright?”

“He is in critical condition but alive. How did you know to come here?”

“The men on patrol heard the shots. Is the man on the floor the assailant?”

“Yes.”

“May I take him with me?”

“Of course you may. Colonel, could you set about getting a new mattress and an apron for me, those are rather destroyed, and could you please find out why this happened.”

“It is a war. Things like this—”

“I mean how an assassin got this far.”

“I shall; however, you should know that the bullets were meant for you. They did not know he was staying here. He was sent to kill you first, then the men.”

“Thank you. You are dismissed.”

The colonel leaves, and Kerrigan sobs over Jack’s nearly lifeless body until he raises a hand with great effort and touches her face. She sits on the bed next to him. Kerrigan drafts four letters though she is hardly conscious herself.

“Dear Ms. Shepherd,

“It is with great sorrow that I inform you that your brother has been shot five times in the chest and throat. He has been put back together, but he may never fully recover. Now more than ever, your brother needs your expert skills at healing. As soon as he is strong enough to travel, weather permitting, he will be sent back to stay at home until you so deem him better. In said time, he cannot be chopping firewood or lifting. If his condition worsens, as it very well could, I may send a messenger by train to fetch you. I can make no promises. I am neither a healer nor a doctor. I am simply a friend with enough experience saving her husband and sons from their stupid choices to save your brother from an unfortunate accident. Even now, I stand vigil over him.

“Yours Truly,

“K. Sheehan”

“Dear Lynn/Liraevilia,

“It is my horrible burden to tell you that your husband has been shot five times in the chest and throat. He may never recover fully. I am dreadfully sorry. I have done what I can. It is up to fate to determine the rest. Depending on his recovery and the weather, he may soon come to stay with you. If not, I request that you stay where you are until we can be sure that the area is safe. I will write you until he can and will pass on anything he says that is intended for you. You are both very dear friends to me, and I hope for everyone’s sake that he recovers. His condition at the moment is dire and the outlook for a full recovery grave. Do not become too optimistic. I am terribly sorry.

“Your Loving Sister,

“K. Sheehan/E. Kavanagh/Miltaedovinatulina”

“Dear Maire,

“It is my sorrowful duty to write you to tell you that your ex-husband Jack is laying next to me injured. The father of your sons suffered five bullet wounds to the chest and throat and may never recover fully if he even survives. I shall next pen a letter to Jason to take the burden of telling him off of you. Jack’s condition is dire, but I beg you not to bring the children here to visit him. It is far too dangerous. He may be returning home if his condition improves.

“Sincerely,

“K. Sheehan/E. Kavanagh”

“Dear Jason,

“I am very sorry to have to write this to you. I will keep my words within what I know to be your reading ability so you do not have to ask a teacher to read this to you. Your father was shot five times in his chest and throat and may die. I feel you are old enough to know the truth even though you may not understand it. Your father is very badly hurt and may soon return home for a while. If he returns home, you will be able to visit him, but he cannot play with you. You cannot come here to visit him. It is too dangerous. I am sorry. I have done all that I can for him. It is up to fate whether he lives or dies, though we all hope he pulls through. If he recovers, there is a chance he will be injured forever. You may have to be careful with him. Again, I am very sorry. I am sure he would be very glad to have another letter from you. I will write what he says in response back to you for him. I promise. Please concentrate on your studies, not your father. Let me worry about him.

“Molann an obair an fear,

“K. Sheehan”

Kerrigan returns her attention to Jack who is lying with his eyes open either dead or watching her carefully. She cannot tell which until he blinks. She walks over and lies next to him. She gently tucks an errant lock of his orange hair behind his ear and kisses him on the forehead. He smiles. She is too tired to sing a lullaby. She wants to know if he can speak at all or if he may never speak again. She waits patiently. He takes her hand in his and squeezes it again, this time harder than before. He opens his mouth to speak several times, but no sound comes out. Kerrigan grows worried. Finally Jack manages what sounds like, “ank...oo." His voice is breathy and hoarse on top of its normal lilted bass grumble, but Kerrigan understands. She smiles and sobs at the same time. The next day, Var, Tem, and Julius take a position at the front line. They decide it best for Kerrigan to watch over Jack and, ultimately, accompany him home. Kerrigan does not leave Jack’s side. She is as faithful to him as Lynn would be if she were there, though, despite his severe injuries, she allows him to drink both to ease the pain, for they have nothing else to do so nearby, and because the alternative would be to allow him to go through withdrawal including dangerous heart palpitations while recovering from multiple bullet wounds, which she deems ill-advised.

Unfortunately, after about a week, when Jack is just about well enough to travel, the city of Crosspoint becomes the battleground. Early in the morning, they hear the sound of many swords clashing, cannons firing, and pistols shooting. Jack has been sitting for two days now and cannot yet walk. When Eamon Malone, the famous fighter, knocks on their door and tells them to retreat and leave anything that can be replaced, Jack stands so quickly he very nearly collapses in pain. He clutches the side of his bed, where he has been lying since a new mattress was procured some days ago. The room spins from the pain and the alcoholic stupor in which Jack has remained since he began to heal. His voice is still hoarse, but it holds strong.

“No retreat.”

“We’re not retreating, sir. We’re suggesting you do. They’ve pushed our line back to the city limits.”

“In one mornin‘? What in the Divil is wrong wi’ ye?”

“Nothing I know of, sir.”

“I think I’ll be sendin’ ye home to live wi’ your brother.”

“I’ve no brother.”

“Bull. I’ve met him. I’ll be sendin’ ye to live wi’ your brother if ye don’ hold that line ‘till I get there.”

“Till ye get—”

“Aye. Malone, saddle me horse an’ hand me me sword an’ pistol. I’m goin'.”

“You’ll get yourself killed.”

“’S an obligation. I don’ leave ye when times get rough, an’ ye don’ desert me. ‘S how it works.”

“Jack, listen to me. ‘Tis awful out there. Ye’re drunker now than I’ve seen ye in years, an’ ye’re injured.”

Jack’s hoarse voice somehow switches to his normal bass growl for a short moment as he says, “I’ll be after goin’, an’ ye’ll not be stoppin’ me, Malone.”

Eamon leaves, handing Jack’s pistol and sword to him and saddling his horse. Kerrigan is putting on her uniform while waiting for the teapot to whistle. Her dress uniform is a black coat with many silver medals from the end of the revolution, though there is not a single soldier as decorated as Jack in the entire Vampire Army. She wears a simple black skirt. Jack fights his way into his dress uniform pants and riding boots. He fights his nightshirt off and puts on his wife beater and a simple cotton shirt, to the collar of which he pins his stars. He then puts on his green dress jacket with its many medals and ribbons. He can barely stand, but he straps on his sword belt and pockets his pistol. Kerrigan offers him a cup of tea, which he takes but puts aside while he swallows seven or eight aspirin with half a bottle of whiskey. He then delicately sips honey-sweetened mint and chamomile tea sitting on his bed opposite Kerrigan on hers. Not a word passes between them, but each knows what the other is thinking, for they are thinking the same thing. Each means to wish the other the best of luck. Jack ties himself into his saddle, puts on his dress uniform hat, and rides off while Kerrigan is saddling Pyro.

In battle, Jack is another man completely. He does not feel the pain of his injuries. Instead, he kills more of the enemy troops than anyone else, and the mere sight of him ahead of the charge rallies the army in green forward. They claim the land that was lost before nightfall, but the casualties are heavy. Jack is not hit again, but he collapses at dusk. Spectre carries his unconscious rider around the battlefield and into the city until he finds Kerrigan. When she sees the state of Jack, she jumps off of Pyro, grabs Spectre by the reins, and leads them back to the cottage. She puts them in the makeshift barn behind the little house and carefully unties Jack, laying him in the straw. She fetches cold water from inside and puts it on his forehead with a rag. Eventually he wakes up.

“Are you all right?”

“Fine, an’ a lovely battle ‘twas, too. Beat the shite out’ve ‘em we did.”

“You are a fool. You are a very lucky fool but a fool nonetheless.”

“I know. ‘Twas brilliant. I’d like to see Malone shout at me for that victory.”

“I have no doubt you will. The cost was high. Let us get you inside.”

“Aye an’ a drop o’ the pure’d do me good ‘swell.”

Jack spends the evening in bed. Kerrigan makes him a simple stew for dinner which he has with whiskey. He keeps flipping between exuberance and depression all night. One minute, he is exclaiming how well the battle went, and the next, he is lamenting over the number of men who did not survive the battle he has just praised. For all his military experience, Jack cannot deal with the thought of young men dying on his watch, let alone under his command. If he could, he would save every last one, and if he could, he would be the one to tell all the families that their sons died. Around midnight, pain engulfs all of Jack’s other thoughts. Again, Kerrigan insists on staying up, tired as she is, to watch over him. Around five in the morning, Kerrigan hears the sound of a carriage approaching. It stops in front of the house. She hears a distinct rapping on the door, so she lights a candle and answers it. In front of her stand Shannon and Lynn.

“We got your letters and packed. Lamentably, we could not convince Maire to let us take Jason out of school,” says Shannon.

“You should not be here at all. He was shot in that bed.”

“We figured it was important.”

“Well, do not wake him. Would you like some tea?”

“That would be lovely,” Lynn says.

“Mm. We’ve been traveling all day and night. Shane is outside with the horses,” says Shannon offhandedly.

“Are you honestly that foolish? You brought a Werewolf to a war zone where the enemy are Werewolves?”

“We’d no other driver.”

“Did he drive day and night?”

“Aye. Neither of us knows how to work the stupid thing.”

“Who is caring for the house?”

“Michael Crane.”

“This has gone from bad news to terrible news. I just hope he is happy to see you both.”

The water, which Kerrigan pumped from the old-fashioned sink into a pot rather than a kettle so the whistle would not wake Jack, begins to boil. She puts a teabag in each of five cups in case Jack should want one. She puts his hand, which fell out of the bed, back up for him and goes out to the stable where Shane is attempting to tie up the horses with frozen hands to fetch firewood. After tying and feeding the horses for him, she lights a fire in the kitchen fireplace where Shane warms his hands. Jack soon awakens to the smell of Kerrigan fixing breakfast. The pain hits him full-force the second he regains consciousness. Lynn begins to cry when she sees her husband in pain. Jack begins to scream like nothing any of them have heard before, except for Kerrigan.

“For mercy’s sake is there anything either of you can do?” asks Lynn.

“There is nothing left that I can do. He is the idiot who went into battle while recovering from five bullet wounds. Due to the physical toll of his injuries and the battle, he may never recover. I told you that. I only let him drink because if I did not, he would certainly go through withdrawal, and I very much doubt that his heart could survive the strain of withdrawal on top of the recovery. I gave him blood. It closed the external wounds. From what I can tell, it is working on the internal ones as well. There is always opium, but I do not think it is advisable at this time.”

“I agree. There is nothing more that can be done except magic. I could heal him. He may never fully recover, as Kerrigan said, but ‘tis worth a try.”

“Do it.”

“It holds the risk of killing him.”

“Do it.”

Lynn holds Jack’s hand while Shannon says a spell. Within moments, Jack is laying quietly as if nothing had happened. Lynn is still in tears. She thanks Jack’s sister between sobs. Kerrigan tells the story of how Jack tied himself into the saddle and went into battle while he should have been sick in bed. She mentions that she is putting him in for yet another medal, which she says is for heroic stupidity. Jack, now sitting up in bed, though discouraged from walking by his sister, insists that Kerrigan deserves a medal for staying up with him and for saving his life. She insists that it was nothing and pours herself, Lynn, Shane, and Jack a glass of whiskey each. Shannon refuses, it not being a holiday. She and Shane decide to stay with Jack until Imbolc and summon the twins to the battlefield. Kerrigan insists that it is a monumentally bad idea, but they will not be talked out of their plans and she finally gives up and waits for the moment when they end up admitting she is correct. Jack’s brother and sister find lodgings nearby, but Lynn insists on staying with her husband. Kerrigan pulls her aside and insists that it cannot be a routine happening. Lynn assures her that it will not be routine, and, come nightfall, peace settles over the city of Crosspoint.