Chapter Text
Aria becomes worried when Jamison begins to forget things. It’s small at first, forgetting where he put things down, what time it is. But then he begins to…. Disconnect from himself entirely, amber eyes staring in the distance, body hunching over, fingers nervously twiddling whilst his subconscious is miles away. She became worried when she found Mako staring at the small lithe old man as he cackled, rubbing his hands over his face and stomping his feet, her son looking utterly confused at the sight.
She begins to think maybe accepting him in so eagerly may have been a mistake.
Jamison is… different, he changed somewhere between when she hired him and now. She thinks maybe he needs a break, some time away from work, maybe time to socialize. So, she invites him over for dinner, much to the protest of her son.
In fact they were bickering about it now, Aria making her way down the deep dark brown wood of the stairs that lead up to Mako’s room, into the quaint living room, with a wooden table that looked hand carved, a few feet in front of a large pale tan couch, in front of both of those a TV stand with a small flat screen, a game console or two underneath, and a radio system. She looks over her shoulder, sharp thick eyebrows lowered as she scowls at her much larger son “He’s been through a lot Mako! Deserves some hospitality! Besides, Something seems to be bothering him.” she makes her way to the kitchen, a few feet to the right of the stairs, the kitchen has checker pattern pink and white floor tiles, the walls covered in herb wallpaper,there are dark wooden cupboards along the wall, an oven shoved between them, close to a sink, and no dishwasher in sight. The front door is located in the kitchen, a few feet off from the white fridge, and in the center is a large dining table, already with place-mats set, Aria heads to the oven and checks on the lasagna she’d set cooking.
She hears her son stomping around behind her, not yet ready to drop the argument it seems, she bends back up, getting up on her tiptoes to stir some stew she had cooking, brows still low set.
“Why’s it our problem t’ deal with ‘im!? He’s just some old crazy dude we met a few months ago-”
“He’s a human being and coworker! It’s quite normal to have meals with coworkers!” she snapped, turning to point the stirring spoon at her son, before putting it back in the pot, moving to set the table, handing her son the plates as she took the silverware. He angrily begins to place them down carelessly, scowling “He’s a fockin creep! Laughs at nothin’, sounds like a crazy shit-”
“Mako Rutledge if another swear slips past your lips so help me!” She snaps, slamming her hand full and silverware on the table, pointing one of her thick fingers at him “You’re twenty five for god’s sake! You’re not some sixteen year old punk any more! When is this going to stop!? When are you just going to move on!” she snaps, flailing her arms, her wrinkled face going a bit red, “I do nothing but support you! I let you bring your-....your criminal friends over! I don’t even ask you to clean up when you make a mess of the house! So for ONCE can’t you have a little RESPECT for your MOTHER!” she huffs, chest heaving a bit, she could feel tears in the corners of her eyes. Her son looks stunned by the outburst, his thick pierced brows arched upwards and his thick lips puckered from the tension on his face, and his green eyes flicker over her, and he opens his mouth to try and find the words, barley getting out a gentle, slightly hurt sounding “Ma-” before there a sporadic knock at the door, causing both of them to jump. She sighs softly, handing her son the leftover silverware, giving a soft muttered, “We’ll talk this over later.”
Mako feels his gut wrench when his mother puts on that smile so easily, like she hadn’t been screaming on the brink of tears moments ago, but he keeps his face blank as she greets there guest.
“Jamison, dear, I’m glad you came! Dinner will be done soon, come, take a seat in the living room.” She gently takes his thin wrist, taking the forty eight year old to there living room, motioning for him to sit on the couch, which he does and quickly puts his hands under his legs as they begin to bounce with unbridled energy. She gives him a warm smile, going off to get a requested drink for him, Mako still standing in the kitchen, not sure what to do with himself. Aria gently lays one of her small hands on his elbow, and he looks down at her, and she smiles at him softly, full of motherly love, though that pang of pain is still there, softly muttering “Could you finish setting the table baby?” and he nods a bit, averting his eyes but leaning down none the less when she gives his short sleeve a slight tug before pecking him on the cheek, wrapping her free arm around his neck in a slight hug. She pulls herself away after a moment before heading back to the living room with Jamison’s drink.
Mako watches her go and sighs, beginning to finish setting up the table. He’s alone, and there for left to his thoughts, and he thinks of that look on his mother’s face, he think about how much he sees it, when they’re home alone, all that love, and yet all that pain. Because of him. He clenched his fists and huffed, before gently uncurling one of his giant fingers, nudging the silverware into place, or at least trying to. But it’s clunky, and he nudges it to far, and he lowers his brows in frustration.
He can’t remember why, anymore, he was lead to join the Junker’s… he vaguely remembers feeling weak, and that they made him feel strong, made him feel like, somehow, they could give him the power to protect his mother, prevent what happened to his father happening to her. He thinks if he gets strong enough, dangerous enough, he could protect her from anything, and right now he needs to protect her from Jamison, because as long as Jamison is around his mother the Junkers will be close by, and they’ve been dangling her safety in front of him for months and he had to do something.
He clenched his fists, jaw tightening. He was going to get rid of that old twat if it was the last thing he did, he wasn’t going to let his mother get taken from him too. He was dragged from his thoughts when his mother re entered the kitchen, smiling softly at him again, pulling his own awkward quirk of the lips in return, and he stepped over to help her fill up plates, hoisting her up so she could serve the stew into bowls, before setting her down, clearing a space for her to put the heat rack and lasagna tray.
Once done his mother gave him a gentle tug back down again to give him a proper hug, which he returned, just barely touching her, afraid he might hurt her, and she whispered softly, words only for him to hear, “I love you, my tama.” she gave him another gentle kiss, he tilted his head a bit so she could kiss his temple. She gave his broad shoulders a gentle pat before letting go, Mako stretching back up to his full height.
Soon after dinner was served, and Mako as at his respective spot, silent as he ate, watchful eyes on Jamison. He twitched a lot, fingers dancing across the table between bites, his amber eyes flickering every which way he could manage, whilst his mother was as calm and collected as she could be. She took a gentle sip from her tea cup, before placing it back down, turning to face there guest, smiling gently.
“So Jamison, I hope I’m not prying, but recently I’ve noticed… some changes, and I’m worried… is everything alright dear?”
“Alright?” he giggles, squirms his whole body, the sound sends Mako’s hair standing on end, hand clenching around the fork he has a hold of, he can feel it give under the pressure, “I’m more than alright sheila! I’m perfect! Never been better!” he titters, resting his face on his curled fingers, a shiver running down his lithe form. Aria looks a little unsettled but nods slowly, glancing him over, “Well, it’s just that you’ve been… forgetful lately, you seem a little distracted, maybe a little on edge?”
Another giggle, and he shrugs “Oh, I suppose a bit, but really nothing I can’t deal with!” he bares his teeth in a crazed grin, eyes quick to land on Mako, the threat he once gave to the older man ringing in his ears. His throat feels dry, but he resists the urge to swallow, keeps his face straight as he shovels a forkful of his meal into his mouth. Mako looks in those amber eyes and he can see the difference, but a week ago Jamison’s eyes were light, maybe his pupils a bit big, but that’s to be expected when he’s being pumped full of drugs, but here, now, they’re notably smaller, pupils and irises contracted, the light doesn’t seem to reach them the same, and his left eyes seems even more off kilter than before. Mako stares intensely, dread pooling deep in his gut as he begins to realize what’s happening.
Aria goes to speak again when the phone rings, and she excuses herself before stepping away, neither of the two men looking away from her. Jamie leans forwards, lowering his voice, which can go surprisingly deep, muttering softly, “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, punk. None of you and your little shit Junker friends stand a chance against the one and only Junkra-”
Mako doesn’t want to hear any more, and he swings his huge fist wide, striking Jamison in the skull, surprisingly he doesn’t go down instantly like most other men would, instead he screeches, dragging himself onto the table and lunging at Mako, clawing at him as Mako topples backwards in his chair. The large grunts turning to crush him under his weight, but he moves with surprising speed with someone as old as him getting on Mako’s back, though he can hear the cracking of a knee joint, before he feels liths, strong arms, wrap around his neck as the shit begins to cackle.
He can hear his mother scream as he sits up, large hands on the arms around his throat, constricting his throat and making his delicate lungs ache, he slams his back into the nearest surface, hears a pained hiss, but the arms dig deeper, and he slams again, gasping for air, unable to see from the wash of his own black hair over his face. He slams a third time, and the older man lets go, Mako hears glass breaking and he stumbles, spinning around but only collapsing again, clawing at his pocket for his inhaler, beginning to panic, only adding onto the struggle to breath, as he realizes he has no idea is his mother is okay, were she is. He brings the inhaler up to his face, and he hears feet rush towards him, and his mother is in his vision, the panic washes away and she cups his face gently, staring at him with concern, he pulls her down on top of himself, holding her in a hug he desperately needs.
--
Okay, maybe things didn’t go as planned, maybe he ran his mouth and jumped the gun, but planning was overrated. Winging it was way more fun. Jamie kept running to his truck, a few shards of glass still embedded in his shirt, and cheeks, from throwing himself out the window. He stumbles into his truck, turning the lights on and rushing off. He didn’t have time to prepare, wouldn’t have time to go back home, and he was going to have to find somewhere to stay, somewhere out of site, close but not too close to the junkyard. Police were going to be looking for him, without a doubt.
He cackled to himself as he sped of, towards the slums, it felt good to have to stop pretending to be someone he wasn't. It felt good knowing he could do whatever he wanted, blow up whatever he wanted. He sped off, not sure where he was going, but confident he would get where he needed to be.
That night the city ran cold with the familiar cackle followed by chilling sirens.