Jack froze outside his front door, staring at the letter there. Without looking, he pressed a finger across the keyboard of his mobile workstation tablet, posting his latest blog entry onto the network before setting down the tablet, slowly, on the ground. His eyes watched the windows and half-open door, narrowing slowly, suspicion and a twinge of fear running through him. He reached out with one hand to the letter, taped to the door, while his other hand unslung the pistol he carried in a shoulder holster underneath his jacket. He opened the letter with his teeth, spitting out the edge of the envelope and pulling out the enclosed photo. It was a picture, half-developed, of Devon, inside his house, standing with his refrigerator door open, holding a beer and grinning at the camera. Jack suppressed a smirk, and dropped the picture and envelope, putting both hands on his gun and shouldering open his front door. Jack swept through the entryway and living room, and froze outside the hallway connecting the kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom. A quiet sound emanated from the kitchen.
Munch munch munch
The unmistakable sound of tortilla chips. Probably being dipped in the salsa he’d made a few days ago. Damn it, he’d been saving that. Jack grit his teeth and swung around the corner, his pistol sweeping the kitchen and stopping, aimed squarely at the back of somebody that, honestly, he never thought he’d see again. Alone, too. That made things... easier. Jack lowered his gun. “Nice of you to drop by, hermana.”
Devon tilted her head around, bits of chopped vegetables and spices adorning the edges of her mouth, and looked back at her gracious host. Calm and casual as always. She was actually looking a bit more her age, though. A few gray hairs here and there. It had grown out, too, about to her shoulders. A bit tired, too, but obviously well fed. She scooped the last little bit of salsa with a tortilla chip and popped it into her mouth.
CRUNCH munch munch munch
“You might wanna make s’more salsa. We’re all out.”
Jack holstered his gun after giving Devon a long look. He shook his head, looking her up and down slowly. “You’re looking healthy, Devon. Healthier than I’ve ever seen you, really. What’s your secret?”
Jack slid into the chair next to Devon and leaned over, grabbing a chip himself after a second and biting down on it, chewing slowly and trying to take in everything about Devon. Her clothes, her face. Anything could give him a clue to where she’d been and what she’d been up to.
She took another chip and pushed the bag closer to her hermano, figuring that the man of the house might as well have some of his own chips. She answered simply, “Breathin’.”
At first, that sort of response would seem sarcastic, coming from Devon. The way that she said it, though, with that sort of blank-faced, deadpan look, it can be hard to tell how much she’s joking.
She turned to look at him, that same calm, thoughtful look on her face. “Looks like you’ve got it made, hermano. Nice house, plenty of cash, doin’ that whole do-gooder thing you like t’do...”
She looked... remarkably well, actually, considering that she left the island with nothing but the skin on her back. Perhaps an old, healing cut or two on her legs, but otherwise, good. The insides of her palms look a little odd, though. Like new, healing burn scars. Light, but still there. Her clothes were a tiny bit dirty, but knowing her, it’s probably more out of laziness than anything else. Light cargo shorts, gray t-shirt. Light, easy to travel in. And considering the letters, she’d done a lot of travelling.
“Kinda interestin’, though. Every time I sent you a pic t’let you know I was doin’ aight, you went and sent some of th’pack after me. Weird way t’show y’care, but hey, I got th’message.”
Jack leaned back in his chair, taking Devon’s appearance in quietly, his face impassive and calm. He frowned, though, when Devon called him a ‘do-gooder’. He shifted in his chair, slightly, and sighed. “I’m not quite the good guy I’d like to think I am. Not anymore. Things were more black-and-white on the Island. Out here, it’s not so cut-and-dry.”
Jack stood up out of the chair and walked to the fridge, opening it and grabbing a stoppered jug full of amber liquid and setting it out on the counter. Closing the fridge, he walked to a cupboard and grabbed two tall glasses, and set them out between his seat and Devon. He placed the jug there as well, and sat again, unstoppering the jug and pouring two glasses of the liquid. He picked up his glass with a quiet sigh, looking at it, and then back to Devon. “Local brew. It’s all right. About as good as anything you could find on the Island, anyway.”
He took a small sip of the beer, and looked at Devon, speaking again. “I’ll be straight with you, Devon. I was worried about you being off the island. When I left that place, I was... well. I still am stronger, faster, tougher than I ever was out here, even at my prime in the Army. I kept all that strength, even off the Island. And I know you did, too.”
Jack smirked, looking Devon in the eye, “And, well, seeing you here makes me feel a little better, but... let’s face it, you’ve never been a do-gooder like me. You’re not a pussy. You get what you want, and out here, off the Island, there are very, very few people that could stop you.”
Jack leaned forward slightly in his chair as he spoke, “On top of that, you’ve been sending letters to a high-security military installation without passing through the front gate or going through the post, you’ve evaded my operatives at every turn... which didn’t surprise me. But what did surprise me was how fast you moved. So, cards on the table, sister. I’d love to think you came here for a visit, but you’ve been up to something, and you either want to get me in on it, or you need my help for something. So, what’s the game?”
Devon looked up at Jack, listening carefully and patiently as she crossed her legs and leaned back in her... seat. She seemed to prefer the floor for the moment. “Well, you know as well as I do how dangerous it’d be t’put all th’cards on th’table, so I’m jus’ gonna show a few at a time.”
Jack nodded. “Fair enough.”
She paused for a moment, considering what to say, and how to say it. Finally, she speaks, looking not quite at him, and not quite away from him. Sort of... a few inches to his right. “Daniel Ross Gilman. ‘s that name ring a bell anywhere?”
Jack considered a moment, before shaking his head. “Nothing, no. What, you owe this guy money? Do I need to break his kneecaps before he breaks yours?”
Jack gave Devon a small wink. “Pardon the invasion of privacy, but I pulled your ‘official’ file. In the interest of national security, of course.”
Devon’s brow twitched slightly, and the faintest of frowns formed on her face. “No, actually, I don’ think I will pardon it.”
She sighs, shaking her head a little bit. “...But not much I can do ‘bout it now ‘sides beat your head in, and that pro’lly won’ help me any.”
She paused for a moment again. It seemed that she’s having a bit of difficulty trying to say something. Finally, she came out with it. “Legally, he’s... my parent. Listed as dead for fourteen years. I don’ buy it. ‘s not his real name. Dunno his real one, never told me. Never asked. Never thought I’d need to.”
She picked up another chip, eating a little more slowly now. She took a moment to just look it over, at all the old, cooked spots, at the little changes in texture, as if it was the most interesting thing in the world right now. “He’s in hidin’. He’s always been in hidin’. Thing is, he’s really fuckin’ good at it. I might be stronger than most people on th’planet, but that doesn’t seem t’help as much as I’d like sometimes.”
Jack looked surprised. It was plain on his face. He took a long drag on his glass of beer before putting it aside. “Well, now, don’t I look like an asshole.”
He slid off his chair and joined Devon on the floor, grumbling to himself quietly as he did so, before continuing. “I’m not sure how much I can help, Dev, but... well, for you, and for something like that... I’ll do whatever I can. You’ve got my word on that. But... I need you to level with me, if possible. How’ve you been getting around? And how do you have money? That’ll at least set my mind at rest. I’ve been wondering, y’ know?”
Jack held up a hand, before Devon could continue. “But, before you explain, give me a moment.”
Jack stood up and checked his watch, and then moved to the front door of his house. To most people, as the door opened, it would sound silent, quiet as the evening outside was. But Devon and Props weren’t ‘some people’. The night was loud with the sound of rubber soles and suppressed steps, silent movement and the brush of clothes on skin, and the ever-so-slight sound of metal triggers being tensed by nervous fingers.
Jack called out into the night, “Olly-olly ox-en-free, boys. False alarm. Lieutenant, report.”
A voice called out from the darkness of the front yard. “Major Hemmings, what is your situation?”
Jack responded with a chuckle. “My situation is that I’ve become a nervous nancy in my old age, gentleman. Many apologies, but after the slew of base security issues, I thought it’d be better safe than sorry. I left my door unlocked and the cat must have gotten out.”
Somewhere in that conversation must have been a code phrase, because the Lieutenant’s voice sounded far more relaxed when he replied. “Affirmative, sir. And, all clear out here, anyway. No signs of an intruder.”
Jack allowed a little Major-Jack-Hemmings to creep into his voice as he said, “You were twenty seconds late, Lieutenant. If this had been a real emergency...”
Jack let that sentence end itself, and the Lientenant replied, “Loud and clear, sir. We’ll run a few drills, harder and faster.”
Jack smiled out into the dark. He knew they all could see him. They were equipped with night vision gear, of course. “Attaboy, Lieutenant Jameson. Return to base and report in to the duty officer.”
Jack turned and closed the door, not bothering to wait for a reply, and walked back into the Kitchen, a pained expression on his face. “Sorry about that, Devon. I’ve gotten a bit jumpy. We’ve had a few security issues at the base... stuff I can’t really talk about. We’re lucky I remembered I’d pressed my panic button, though.”
For some reason, Devon seems to find the bit about security issues to be a tad amusing, though she hides her smirk fairly well.
Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out a small remote-like device with a smooth surface. He switched open the front of the device, revealing a small button recessed into the device. He tossed it on the counter and sighed.
Devon leaned forward, folding her hands in her lap as she considered for a second. Oddly enough, this pause was considerably less than when she had to talk about her “parent”. ...Or not oddly enough, considering how awkward she could be with the subject of family. “Well... truthfully, I started out basically on my own for a few days. Figured I wouldn’t be quite this lucky, but... turns out, someone found me. They were lookin’ for me. Expectin’ me. And... turns out, I’m not th’only one lookin’ for... ‘Daniel’.”
It’s an odd way that she says the name, like she’s not used to it. She probably gave him some other nicknames, or something like that.
“Apparently,” she states with just the slightest bit of distain, “he’d gotten himself an honest-t’god ladyfriend while I was gone. Thing is, he disappeared on her, too. …’s not like it was with me, though. From th’way she talked ‘bout it...”
She takes a deep breath for a moment. “...Well. Let’s just say tha’ he could be in really deep shit.”
Jack frowned, thinking carefully. “Who else is looking for... Daniel? And how did they find you? I mean, you could have come ashore after you left the island... anywhere, really. And so few people have access to island feeds, unless the Network aired your daring cannon-assisted escape... that’s worrying.”
Jack exhaled slowly, looking up at the counter and grabbing Devon’s glass of beer and offering it to her before speaking again. “So, you’ve been searching around for your... father, with these people that have been helping you.”
Jack frowned. “Are you sure you’re safe, Devon? I don’t mean to say you can’t take care of yourself, but I worry. You know me. Mother hen.”
Devon took the glass and... oh. Wow. Huh. Guess that QQQ spirit stayed with her. She placed the now-empty glass on the ground beside her and told him straight-up, “Pro’lly in serious danger. But hey, that’s how I roll, y’know?”
She tilted the empty glass back and forth idly. “‘sides. I’ll be fine. I said I’d come back. So I’m gonna. ...But I gotta take care o’business out here, first. Make sure I don’ leave with any regrets this time.”
Jack scowled at Devon openly. Well, that’s more like what he expected, anyway. “So, what can I do to help you be... safer? And, what do you need from me to help you find your father? I have access to basically every post-EMP record archived, including civilian records. I can include Daniel Gilman in your current ‘open’ file, requisition them for records and cross-referencing, and get you any information I find.”
Jack allowed his scowl to drop. “Of course, if anyone found out where you got that information from, I’d be screwed, so let’s keep this between us. If you have to, tell your father’s... friends... that you broke in somewhere and got onto an unsecured govement workstation. If you need it, I can be an... ace in the hole for you. If you get into some real shit... I have the resources to pick you up anywhere in the world. And I mean anywhere, within a few hours for worldwide, or as little as thirty minutes in the States.”
Devon winced slightly at the word father. It’s hard enough for her to call anyone a parent, let alone get any more specific than that, but... she’d let it go. Not worth arguing over. “...Yeah. I’m gonna need all post-EMP documents on Daniel Ross Gilman... and also, Robert Matthew Weaver. …’parently, it was his name about a year ago, before he disappeared again.”
There’s a pause for a few moments. “...’n... for th’record... try t’keep this really down-low. He... didn’t always do the right thing. But he’s a good man. Y’have my word on that. An’ I’d rather he not get into any more trouble if I can help it.”
Jack nodded, “I’ll take it very seriously. Not that anyone would question me. I am the boss, after all. I can do pretty much whatever I want when it comes to people from the Island.”
Jack’s eyes widened slightly for a moment, and he looked to Devon slowly, from her scarred hands to her eyes. “... Okay, this is going to sound strange, but... since you left... have you... tried using Improbability?”
For a moment, Devon seemed... a little bit tense. “...You’re right,” she responded in a low voice. “That does sound strange.”
She doesn’t even bother hiding her hands. “Have you?” she countered.
Jack nodded, smiling to himself, “A hundred thousand times. Every day, I used to try. It’s... stupid, though. I take injections of an anti-improbability serum we developed every three months.”
Jack swallows hard. Devon won’t have heard this. “... I’m... well, I’m allergic to Improbability.”
He paused, trying to organize how to say everything. “When they took me off the island, they injected me with a prototype anti-improbability serum. It... probably should have killed me, or shouldn’t have worked. But it worked... too well. If I’m exposed to improbability for a long period, my body... starts trying to fight the improbability. Like a virus, only it’s attacking itself. I have an exposure cap of about three days to low-level improbability, like... well, like some of the things I work around. But that’d be constant exposure, and the base is well shielded. But if I went back to the island... I’d have about six hours before my body started trying to kill itself. And that time decreases around Jokers and other highly-improbable things.”
Devon had been listening this entire time, a hint of surprise on her face, and... perhaps a hint of nervousness...? “...Well, then. ‘s a good thing I’m human, then. Otherwise, you’d pro’lly be in deep shit here, wouldn’t ya?”
There’s a ghost of a smile on her face. It seemed real, but... less certain, somehow.
Jack kept a poker face. “Funny thing, because... well, with... some of the things I work with... the improbability level is very different than, say, an on-island joker. Something about being away from the Drive, the techs tell me. So, if, for some reason, I was... unintentionally exposed to something, say, a joker of your ability levels, on the island? Pretty much deadly after about four or five hours. Off the island, though? I could stand next to you for about three days before things started going wrong. And I mean you’d have to stand next to me for three days. Luckily, the doses of anti-improbability nullify most of any sort of chance-encounter stuff that I might run into. Understand?”
Jack gave Devon a knowing look. “And, if you were considering trying to use Improbability off the island, which we know is impossible, then you should try to keep that on the down-low as well. No need to be starting any panics or anything, hm?”
Devon just kept looking at Jack, that slightly disturbed expression still on her face. “...You... you sayin’ you don’ think it worked.”
A pause. “...You’re sayin’ you don’ think I coulda made somethin’ in ten years by myself that th’military’s been tryin’ t’do right for longer. ‘s that right?” She’s... starting to look a little aggravated.
Jack frowned. “... No. I mean that, if, say, for some absurd reason, you started manifesting improbable abilities while off the Island, despite the fact that you drained all your improbability before leaving the Island and the fact that you are off the Island, where Improbability doesn’t happen, you don’t have to worry about accidentally killing me by standing too close or something. That’s all.”
Jack turned, pouring himself some more beer from the jug, and offered Devon some more as well. “You need anything else, sister? Or can we put the business aside and visit for a bit?“
She just looked at Jack. You know the kind. The kind of look where it feels like they’re trying to turn you inside-out so that they can see all your little organs. Eventually, though, she decides to just let it go for now. She’s travelled a long way, and it was hard enough sneaking into this place undetected. Devon just shook her head and closed her eyes, frowning. “...Yeah, I’m kinda sick of business right now. Let’s jus’ get to th’visitin’ part.”
Jack grinned. That’s what he’d been wanting to hear. He stood up and stretched. “You eaten yet, hermana? I still can make a mean meal. Don’t have quite the selection of the ‘ol Improbable Fridge back home, but I make do.”
Devon arched her back a bit, stretching before starting to stand up as well. “‘sides th’salsa, chips, an’ a cheap fast-food salad this mornin’, not much. Whatever y’feel like makin’. ‘s long as it’s food an’ not improbable, I’m good.”
Jack snickered, “I don’t think we have to worry about Improbable food here.”
Jack returned to the fridge and peeked inside, taking stock quietly for a moment before reaching in and pulling out some leftover chicken in a bag. Reaching up onto the stove, he turned a knob, and lit the gas range after a moment of fumbling with the matches. He set a pan on the stove and dropped in a blob of butter from a tureen on the counter, and then dropped in the chicken.
Jack looked serene as he cooked, just like he always did. He added some spices, a bit of chili powder and garlic, and began sautéing the diced chicken, adding a little flare to the otherwise boring fowl. After it was heated to his satisfaction, he took the pan off the stove and reached into cupboard, retrieving tortillas. Another trip to the fridge for some leftover shredded cheese, and a lime, and within minutes Props set some chicken tacos before Devon with a grin. “Enjoy.”
After a while of watching her hermano cook with a faintly focused expression on her face, she began to dig into her meal with gusto. She’d been smelling it as it cooked, practically drooling as she finally put the first bite into her mouth. “Oh gauh,” she exclaimed with her mouth full, the biggest grin forming on her face. “Phahgeh amahagh!” She’d been eating well, yes, but not this well. Worth the trip.
Props grinned at his sister, “I still got it, huh?”
Devon just closed her eyes and nodded, taking a moment to chew up a little more and swallow before answering, “Hell, pro’lly worth gettin’ off th’island jus’ for this,” she told him, before adding off-handedly, “Just. Y’know. Don’ let it get to your head or anythin’.”
Props snorted, “Nah, no way. Not like you can make my ego any worse anyway. On the island I was regular ‘ol Props, the medic. Here? I outrun all my men, out bench the strongest, and I can outfight most of the kids on the assault teams. My ego’s about as bad as it’s ever been, sister. I could use a little criticism, honestly.”
Props finished his own tacos, sitting down next to his sister and taking a bite. He chewed slowly, enjoying his cooking, and glanced at Devon, “So, how’s the home front? You and Devin doin’ all right? I don’t catch you very much on-camera.”
Devon’s cheerful mood seemed to dampen quite a bit at the query, and her bright smile disappeared as she chewed on her current bite. After swallowing (with a hint of difficulty), she responded evenly, “Haven’ seen ‘im.” She fills her mouth with another bite of delicious chicken taco to try and get rid of the sour taste forming in her mouth.
Props grimaced to himself and took another bite of the tacos. Smooth one. “You gettin’ along with Ko okay? And I see Rose sometimes, too. I thought she was dead, but... well, maybe I was mistaken. She doing okay?”
She shrugged faintly, doing that sort-of-looking-at-him-but-really-looking-a-few-inches-to-the-right thing again. “Ko’s... Ko. Roz or... Monkey, or... whatever. She’s still dead. You pro’lly saw the alternate-dimension her.” ...Which reminded her of her own alternate-dimension self... “Look, could we... y’know. Not talk ‘bout th’island? I sorta left that place for a reason, y’know.”
Props nodded once. “Yeah... yeah, sorry. Just... I don’t get to be one-on-one with people from the Island very often. It’s... yeah. I missed you, Devon. I’m glad you stopped by, business or not.”
He smiled at his sister, “If you’re gonna be off the island for a while, drop by again sometime... maybe bring your... Daniel. Being him along, when you find him. We’ll have a little family reunion.”
She gave him a little one-sided shrug with a “Maybe.” Might as well be a “yes” to her.
Props glanced out towards the living room, and gestured to her. “C’mere. I want to show you something.”
Standing, Props walked down the hall to the living room. It was a cozy affair, a couch and a small coffee table, with a heating stove on one wall, and a television set on a stand. One wall was dominated by pictures, though. All sorts of snap-shots of different people, some in groups, some just single shots. A whole section appeared to be sort of mug-shots, and another one appeared to be more ‘official’ photos, color, face-on, usually people in uniforms. Props stood in front of the wall, looking at it carefully, before pointing to the whole affair. “I’ve been using my spare time to track down people that have family on the island. I’ve done my best. Some people are tough to track down. The island changes people, you know? But... well. I was hoping, maybe, you might be able to clear up something. A little mystery.”
Props pointed to a picture in the middle. It was a shot of Devon, from the Island, all wings and fire and fury. In a word, an epic picture. Beneath it was a empty spot, large enough to fit two photos. “... I was hoping you could help me find... your friends. The two from the story. You only used nicknames... but I was hoping, since you’re here... you could tell me a little more.”
Devon just gazed at the picture of herself for a few moments, barely seeming to be listening to what Jack was saying. After a few moments, the last part of it seemed to register, and briefly, her face twisted in confusion. “...Story? What story’re you-- oh.” Her expression went completely blank. “...You mean... th’one I told Fel.” There was a brief pause before she answered.
“...Forget about it.”
She turned towards the other photos, idly looking through them as she continued. “Your job is hard enough as it is. There’s no need to make it harder by over-analyzing fairytales.”
- Continued in Part 2 -
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