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“Alright, Johnny. Spill.”
Johnny tore his eyes away from his PDD to blink at the over-full glass of hokk that was suddenly thrust under his nose. It threatened to spill and he yelped, fumbling the device as he hurriedly moved it out of the line of fire.
“Woah, Dutch!” Somehow, he managed to plop the PDD safely onto his workbench with one hand while he rescued the proffered drink with the other, and he didn’t hesitate to take a hearty swig in the name of protecting his electronics.
The liquid burned as it made its way down his throat and he took a moment to enjoy the familiar sensation. Then he smacked his lips together in satisfaction, collapsed backwards onto the nearby couch, and cocked his head to raise a questioning gaze at his partner. “What’s the occasion?”
Dutch smirked rather than answering, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes and her face was lined with worry.
Johnny’s heart sank.
“Let me guess,” he groaned, shoulders slumping. “There are Hullen on our six, the kid has run off, or Delle Seyah has gone full bitch again.”
“No, no, and probably,” Dutch quipped, throwing herself down onto the couch next to Johnny and nudging his shoulder playfully. “Although she’s been playing surprisingly nice lately. What exactly did you three get up to in that elevator? I’m surprised no one came out missing a limb.”
“What happened in the elevator, stays in the elevator.”
Dutch laughed briefly before taking a drink from her own glass, Johnny following suit. She savoured the taste, swilling it gently in her mouth before swallowing, then sighed. Her expression was once again serious and she shifted her weight, bringing one leg up to the couch and twisting so that she was sitting sideways, facing him head-on.
Johnny winced. He knew that pose. It was the position that Dutch took when she wanted to have a heart-to-heart, and she was very good at getting what she wanted.
Screw him for wanting to mope a bit, huh?
“Come on, Jaqobis,” Dutch coaxed. She must have noticed his expression – eh, who was he kidding? Of course, she’d noticed – this was Dutch. She knew him better than he knew himself, he’d never been able to keep anything from her.
Plus, you know. She seemed to have an innate ability to read complete strangers without speaking a word. It was a side effect of that whole trained-from-birth-to-be-an-assassin-thing.
Trained-from-creation-in-a-pool-of-alien-goo-thing? Johnny crinkled his nose. It might be more accurate, but it didn’t exactly roll off the tongue.
Dutch was waiting for a response, patient as ever, and Johnny forced himself to focus before his thoughts could disappear down that particular rabbit hole. She hadn’t hunted him down to talk about Aneela.
He dropped his gaze to his glass and ran his thumb along the edge, trying to figure out the right way to phrase it.
“Have you ever felt like you’ve known someone inside out, only to realise you had it wrong the whole time?” he asked, finally.
For a moment, there was silence. He could feel Dutch’s gaze boring into his skull, and after a minute he glanced up to see her staring at him with raised eyebrows.
“You mean like finding out the man who forced you to become a child assassin was actually one of the good guys?” she clarified. “Or like finding out the psycho murderess who’s been trying to kill you is actually your sister-mother-clone and potential ally?”
Johnny blinked. “Uh…neither,” he decided. “Man, our lives are weird.”
“Tell me about it.” Dutch saluted him with her drink, then drained the remainder in one large gulp.
"Don’t worry, I brought more,” she assured him. She produced a half-empty bottle from the nearby table, refilled her glass and then scoffed as she topped up Johnny’s barely-touched one. “Keep up, old man.”
Johnny rolled his eyes. “Yes ma’am.” He followed her example and downed it in one, the warm liquid burning his throat. Tears sprung to his eyes, but he made sure to meet her gaze as he plastered a winning smile on his face, holding the empty glass out to her. “More, please.”
Dutch smirked as she topped him up, then placed the bottle gently the floor. She relaxed into the cushions, facing him square on once more and let her eyes travel over him, taking in every detail of his face, the rough stubble on his cheeks, the slight tension of his shoulders.
Once, Johnny would have squirmed under that intent stare. Now, though, he just sighed and took a moment to shift into a more comfortable position, until he found himself mirroring her posture. He paused to collect his thoughts before trying again.
“Going back to Telen…it sucked. More than I thought it would.”
Dutch’s eyes warmed with sympathy and she nodded, understanding.
“Being back in that godsdamned cabin, seeing Dad…it made me feel like I was twelve years old again, hiding in a closet while he crashed into furniture, yelling and slurring and smacking his belt against the walls, just waiting for me to show myself so he could whip me across the face with it.”
“Johnny…”
Dutch’s voice was a strange mixture of gentle concern and violent fury, and it made Johnny smile. Because that was Dutch in a nutshell: two opposing frequencies mashed into one person, but instead of cancelling each other out they just reverberated, building on each other, creating an unstoppable force of nature that would protect and destroy in equal measure.
“If you want me to go back there and kick his arse, just say the word,” she promised, an edge to her voice that spoke volumes. “Or if you prefer, I can hold him down while you rearrange his face. Your choice.”
Johnny smiled, shaking his head. “Tempting, but I’ll pass. He’s a pathetic old man who’s going to die alone and miserable at the ass-end of the J. I think that’s punishment enough.”
“Agree to disagree.”
Snorting, Johnny swigged another mouthful of hokk then sank into the couch again, letting his head rest against the back cushions.
“I wasn’t talking about Dad, anyway,” he said. Sober once more, he waited until Dutch was settled back on the couch as well, resting her head on her arm, her face barely a foot away from his own, and held her gaze as he spoke, hesitant. “I’ve spent a long time being mad at D’av.”
Dutch’s eyes widened in astonishment.
Any other time, Johnny would have been proud of himself for being able to surprise the assassin. Now, though, he barely registered the expression, too caught up in his own mind to notice.
“I know it’s stupid, given what we’ve been through. I know he’s more than made up for it. But I’ve never really been able to get rid of that little voice at the back of my mind, constantly reminding me that he left.
“He left me there, Dutch.” Johnny’s voice was small, almost child-like, as his mind drifted back to that day. “He packed his bags and joined the army and I didn’t see him again for eight years. I spent a long time stuck in that shit-hole all by myself, looking after Mum and taking beatings from Dad. Despite everything, I’ve never truly been able to forgive him for that.”
He paused, wetting his suddenly-dry tongue, and somehow found the courage to continue.
“But, now, he tells me that it was all a lie. That he was trying to protect me, and in return our piece of shit father forced him to leave.”
Dutch raised an eyebrow, but her lips were pressed together in understanding and there was a knowing glint in her eye.
She didn’t look at all surprised.
Johnny tilted his head, his hurt immediately replaced by annoyance, and squinted at her suspiciously.
She saw his expression and promptly shoved him. “Stop it,” she whined. “I hate it when you do that. It makes me feel like I’m a broken bit of code and you’re trying to find the bug.”
Johnny ignored her, narrowing his eyes even further.
“Why are you not surprised?” he demanded. “Did D’av already tell you about this? Because, honestly, you guys really need to work on your flirting material. Or – ew.” A thought occurred to him and he flinched, disgusted. “Please tell me you didn’t discuss this post-coitally. I’m going to be sick.”
Dutch shoved him again, hard enough that he nearly fell off the couch, then rolled her eyes at his flailing limbs.
“You’re ridiculous,” she declared, instead of apologising. “But, no. Believe it or not, we don’t talk about you when we’re doing…that.”
“Oh, thank the trees.”
“But also - no, I can’t say I’m that surprised. Should I be?”
“Yes,” Johnny insisted. This time, it was him that was whining, and he considered throwing in a pout before deciding that was probably overkill. “I’m just saying – it would be nice to surprise you now and then. You’d probably appreciate your birthday gifts a lot more if you didn’t break into my room and open them before the date.”
“That’s just good sense,” Dutch said, waving a hand dismissively. “Gifts are a perfect method to transmit poison. Or trackers. And gods know you never bother to check for them.”
She switched back to her serious voice fast enough to give Johnny whiplash.
“I’m not surprised because this is D’avin we’re talking about. I don’t let just anyone join my team, you know. I’ve never seen him abandon anyone who needs his help – why would he leave his baby brother behind if he had a choice?”
She had a point, but then again: “You didn’t know him them,” Johnny argued. “People change.”
“True, but I also know you.” There was no hesitation in Dutch’s voice, nothing but confidence in her teammates, and Johnny made a note to remind her of that later. Gods, she had come so far from that wild, paranoid princess ready to shoot anyone who looked at her sideways. “Remember when you picked up that Level Five warrant to try to save him?”
“It rings a bell.”
“I tried to convince you not to trust him, remember? You insisted that he was ‘good people’, but someone wanted him dead and it had been eight years since you last saw him. I told you that he must have changed, and you know what you said? He hasn’t. You didn’t hesitate, because you knew exactly the sort of person he was, and you were absolutely right.”
Johnny stilled, quiet, the words resonating with the puzzle he had been trying to solve and suddenly…
There it was. The words sank into his soul, and the pieces fell into place.
For days, he had been in turmoil, trying to reconcile the D’avin he knew with the D’avin he remembered. More than that, he had been wrestling with a wave of shame that had threatened to overwhelm him.
Because D’av had for so long been an open wound that wouldn’t heal. After he left, it wasn’t long before even the mention of his name filled him with rage, with hate. Even now, he couldn’t help but throw it in D’av’s face whenever he pissed him off – “Remember the time you abandoned me on Telen?” – and he would feel a swell of petty satisfaction as D’avin’s expression instantly slammed shut, his arguments suddenly inconsequential in the face of his greatest sin.
But, now…it was all a lie. He had hated D’avin for something his brother couldn’t control, and the guilt had been churning his stomach for days, only briefly abating when it turned to frustration that D’avin hadn’t bothered to correct him sooner, had deliberately let him hold the choice-that-wasn’t-a-choice over his head for so long – and why had he done that again? It obviously bothered him; why hadn’t he explained the situation earlier?
“Johnny?”
He had been quiet for too long and Dutch looked concerned, her dark eyes sweeping his face for clues to his inner monologue.
Johnny released a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, then smiled, the first real smile he had been able to muster since leaving his barren homeworld.
“I hadn’t thought about that day,” he said, finally. “I’ve been sitting here wallowing in guilt, hating myself for hating D’av, but now that I think about it…I’m not sure that I ever really hated him after all.
“If I hated him, I wouldn’t have dived in to help him, right? When I saw his face on that warrant, I didn’t care that he’d left. Maybe I wanted to hate him, but when the chips were down I just wanted to save him. I wanted my brother back.”
“Of course you didn’t hate him,” Dutch agreed, promptly. Then she rolled her eyes at him, the same way she did whenever he suggested a particularly dumb plan of attack. “Damn, Johnny, is that what this is about? I don’t think you’re capable of hating anybody.”
“Except Delle Seyah."
“Well, naturally. That’s just her special talent.”
Johnny couldn’t hold back a snort of laughter, and a few seconds later Dutch giggled as well, leaning forward and resting her head in the crook of his neck, her hair tickling his chin.
The weight was easing with every passing second, and Johnny smiled warmly down at her, noting the flush that was creeping up her cheeks. “You’re drunk,” he commented, lifting a hand to lightly flick her forehead.
She caught his finger millimetres from her skin, intercepting his flick with practiced ease, then extended her neck to shoot a devilish grin in his direction. “Not that drunk.”
“Are you ever?” Johnny huffed dramatically, prompting another giggle from the assassin, then eased his finger out of her grip and relaxed back into the couch, resting his cheek against her hair.
For a moment, they were silent. Her warmth soaked into his side, the only sound in the room the familiar hum of Lucy’s engine, quiet and comforting beneath the floor. The guilt faded, his conflict melting further every second, and he felt lighter than he had done all day.
Then, Johnny groaned.
“What?” Dutch asked. She didn’t move, but her voice was heavy with worry and Johnny felt her arm tense beside him.
“I just realised. Not only am I going to have to apologise to D’avin – because, yeah, I have probably used the abandonment card a few too many times – but I’ve now lost my trump card. We’re going to be listening to his crappy music for years.”
Dutch snorted, relaxing back into his side. “Yeah, I don’t think so,” she disagreed. “For one thing, it’s my ship. He can take his artsy crap and shove it. And for another...”
She turned, waiting until Johnny looked at her questioningly, before grinning mischievously.
“For another, just use the time that he stabbed you in the back. Trump card for life, Jaqobis.”
Johnny blinked at her, surprised.
“That…is a very good point.”
Johnny grinned, Dutch laughed, and despite the ridiculousness of the moment he couldn’t help but absorb every detail, letting his senses take it all in and revelling at the weight that had lifted off his shoulders.
Because he would have to apologise to D’avin when he saw him next, and the conversation would no doubt be awkward enough to make Lucy uncomfortable. And he knew that there would be arguments and injuries in their futures, a trail of bruises both physical and emotional littering their paths.
But, in that moment, he knew with complete certainty that they would make it through. After all, they were D’avin and Johnny.
Nothing could change that.