Bloodshot Blue Stare

[Jack Trove]

It may have been the Summer, but Jack felt like crap.
"Darling? Darling, are you sure you don't want soup? Miranda makes lovely soup- nice, creamy, thick tomato soup. Oh, it'll be so very, very good for you, darling-"
Groaning, Jack slid further beneath the cool, damp covers of his bed. He was sweating like hell. Strands of sticky, stinking hair glistening like decaying worms across his forehead- yet somehow, Jack couldn't seem to stop shaking.
Stop it. Stop shaking, for f*ck's sake.
"- oh, pet, would medicine help your throat? Or what about aspirin, my pet, for your pounding head-"
His throat had almost completely closed over, so that Jack was finding it nearly impossible to reply. And this muteness was the direct cause of that poor pounding head of his. He had no way to tell the stupid woman otherwise known as his mother to f*ck off and leave him alone.
"- I know, sweetheart, I know it's tough. But don't worry; the doctor's going to come and- oh! Oh, sweetheart, you're burning up! Miranda, fetch a cloth-"
No, no, no, no- not another stupid, sopping, freezing facecloth. If another one of those things was slopped over his face, he would do his utter best to scream fit to bust, even if it did mean losing his voice forever.
"- dear, say something!"
Jack croaked. "F*ck... off."
His mother's pale lips parted in shock. "Jack...?"
"F*ck off and die you sodding-"
"Jack!"
"You heard him, Mrs Trove." A calming hand reached around his mother's shoulders, and a pair of brown eyes sought out Jack's bloodshot blue stare. "He's tired out from all this fussing. He doesn't mean it, m'am."
Miranda was a recent, and rather under-paid addition to the Trove household. She was non-magic; a girl of around 22 years who had come to fill the post of housekeeper now that the old Mrs Taylor Jack had once terrorized as a kid had retired. Miranda was tall, black and... well, effing gorgeous. She had this amazing... sort of... calming effect on Jack's mother, and had already engaged her friendship and trust. Also, she was from Texas, something which was a bit of a revelation to Jack.
Before Miranda, Texas had began and ended with Jude.
'Course, Miranda and Jack hadn't quite hit it off on the best of terms. Jack had gotten off the train, bent over and vomited all over her shoes. Then, he managed to repeat his mistake all over her lap on the limo ride home. In fact, Jack was given the general impression that his mother was the only Trove Miranda cared for, what with his father's casual indifference to her, and Mal's tendency to give her the old eyeball several hundred times a day.
It was too bad, really, since Miranda was hot. She had fantastic curves; a real contrast to Olivia and Sophie's slim frames- yet like them, Miranda had that exotic quality Jack was beginning to realise he lapped up like a self-indulgent little dog. So, as it turned out, he was pretty shallow, when you thought about it.
One look from her, and Jack Trove was on his knees.
He coughed, trying his best to unclog his swollen throat. "Sorry... Mum."
Miranda's brown eyes crinkled approvingly as she turned her attention to Mrs Trove. "Now, m'am, I reckon y'all had best leave your boy alone for a bit. He's tired out from this sickness, and needs his rest."
His mother paused, letting Miranda's gentle words sink in... then, slowly, and faintly, smiled and nodded. "Yes, Miranda, dear."
Miranda kindly- but firmly- ushered Mrs Trove out of the sick room, before turning on Jack, who felt his spirit drop from its knees to facedown on the floor. Those eyes were already warm, but as Miranda's temper, flames leaped within them.
"Well, sir? Y'all happy?"
Jack struggled to sit up. "Hell, that's not fair."
"Your mother is doing her goddam best to keep you comfortable! Y'all could at least humour her, and act like you're grateful!"
Each globule of spittle that flew from her mouth was like dew... dew drops, loosed from the petals of a flower by the wind.
"Sir? Sir- ain't y'all listening?"
Christ, it was nice when she called him, 'sir'.
"Jack?"
"Miranda?" He barely heard his dreamy reply.
She groaned. "Gawd. He's delirious!"
"Mmhmm." Jack was inclined to agree with anything Miranda said, even if he didn't think it was true. After all, who's to say the winged rugby ball singing, 'Humpty Dumpty,' behind her head wasn't exactly real?
Hmm... Well, Kira, at least, would understand what he was going through.
Miranda was shaking her head and tutting- a sound Jack would now forever associate with unicorns. "Well, sir, I hope for your sake you're more civil upon your recovery, 'cause y'all can't get much worse than this!"
As Jack watched Miranda leave- the rugby ball cartwheeling after her- he considered her words, and came to the conclusion she'd meant to compliment him, since she obviously hadn't decided if he was all bad or not yet.
Once alone in the room, Jack stretched back and found his body relaxing immediately. Perhaps it was just the smell of his own sick all over him, but Jack was beginning to feel more than a little lonely without Orchid Hill buzzing around him. It may've been his official Orchid Hill holiday, but there was something depressing about the fact there were no Carers fussing around him. They could've made him better within a day... and if not... well, he could've had Olivia all over him; all sweet, and concerned... stroking the slick hair off his face, and comforting him with kisses. Oh, oh- and maybe Will would've visited him. She could've sat down and chatted to him, and given him that cutesie little of hers.
And maybe word would've gotten out about how ill he was around the school, and the team would've come to lift his spirits. And so would his mates- Lee, and Jude, and maybe Madeleine would offer him a promotion upon the realisation that Training was a miserable failure without him, and maybe...
Maybe Sophie would've come.
She definitely would've come.
Yeah... yeah, he could see it now! Jack would lie, stricken and still on his bed, whilst Olivia sat beside him, her hand cold in his. Then... a chink of light would enter the Wing as the door opened; a rise and fall of voices would echo in and out as it closed. His eyes would be be very slightly closed, but already, despite his sickness, he could smell her- sense her. He knew that wonderful French fragrance that clung in coils around her neck and dripped through her hair. Those footsteps were graceful and light- the footsteps of one whose toes barely skimmed the ground.
Then... her voice... her breath beside his ear...
"Oh, Jack," her warm fingers replaced Olivia's as they interlocked with his. And, "oh, Jack," she'd say, "I'm sorry, Jack. It was Mal, Jack, I know that now. Oh, Jack, forgive me."
"No," his voice would be weak- but the determination of it unmistakable. "I'm sorry. I lied. I used you- but God, you've no idea how much I've missed you."
Her lips, warm and wet, would have pressed against his forehead...
"I missed you too, Jack."
"I missed you, Sophie."
BANG.
The door was thrown open, shocking Jack out of the comfort of his dreams. But it wasn't the beautiful Sophie standing in the door frame...
"Hey, Little Brother!"
Jack felt himself retch, but couldn't tell whether or not he'd done it on purpose.
Mal strode cheerfully across the room; apparently delighted with the state Jack was in. "Awk, gee, Jack. You look bad."
"I wonder why."
"Excellent!" Mal clapped his hands together. "So sickness hasn't stripped away your sense of humour yet!"
"Could anything?"
Mal cackled. "That's the spirit! Now, then, tell me... was that a nightmare I heard you having?"
Jack, despite his pallor, reddened. "No."
Mal tilted his head to the side, adopting a sneer. "Sophie- oh, I've missed you, Sophie- oh, I'm sorry, Sophie-"
Jack's fists curled beneath the covers. "Shut up."
"Aw," Mal happily leaned over, patting Jack's head, "poor widdle kid. Whatsa' matter? Girlfriend know what's good for her, and dump you?"
Jack didn't even bother replying. The heavy folds of skin that were his eyelids were sinking, and the strength of his clenched fists had faded as quickly as it had came. He couldn't feel any more pathetic than he did now- stretched out, limp, weak and moaning. Ill- in front of Mal. There couldn't have been a more painful way to strip him bare of any dignity he had left.
"Hey, Jack." Mal's knuckles rapped Jack's forehead. "C'mon now! Don't be sad- sure, she was fi-iiit- but she'd a real mouth on her. Use 'em and lose 'em, bro- fast. Hasn't Dad taught you anything?"
Jack's lip curled. "Dad knows nothing about women."
"Reckon so?" Mal chuckled. "Aye! S'pose that's why he married Mum!"
Jack, despite all of his disappointment and disregard of her, suddenly felt himself sitting up straight, infused with rage. "Don't you dare talk about my mother like that."
"Oho." An evil glint entered Mal's eyes. "Or what?"
"Or... I'll... I'll getcha'."
"Don't you think we're a little past the playground threats, Jacky?"
"I will," he bit back, with more determination than he felt. "I'll getcha', and boy, then you'll see. You'll be sorry!"
"Poor kid really is delirious," Mal shook his head, but did not press the topic. "Okay, Jack, look... we didn't depart o the best of terms back in... oof... February?"
Jack snorted.
"You never replied to any of my letters."
Specifically, he'd took one look at who they were from, and burned them on the spot.
"I missed you... I guess."
Liar.
The disbelief obviously showed on Jack's face, 'cause when Mal next spoke, all the cockiness seemed to erase itself from his voice. Mal was oddly... well... was he pleading?
"You don't have to make this so hard for yourself, you know. You don't have to make this so hard for us. Jack, you and me... we inherit a fortune- one split directly between us. Dad wants us to use our shares and work together- can't you see that?"
"Sure," Jack snorted, "we're his investments."
"Think... if you leave the bank, you take half of it with you. We'll fall into debt- bankruptcy- and lose everything Dad's worked so hard for."
"If he's so desperate to keep this ruddy bank network going after he's gone, why not leave it all to you, his loyal little clone?"
Mal's mouth twitched. "He... he doesn't trust me."
Jack's eyes widened slightly. For a couple of seconds, Mal's face blurred before him; before Jack caught his wrist, and squeezed. The shock of pain steadied him. His throat, though it ached, could not stop him from projecting his next words-
"Not Daddy's golden boy after all, then- are you?"
Another twitch. "That's not it. He says I've... done well."
"What am I- back-up?"
"Ye- no. No. You don't get it."
"Tell me then," Jack frowned, "c'mon, Mal- why's Daddy's golden boy been deemed unworthy to run things on his own?"
Mal was obviously making a supreme effort to find his tongue. Finally, Mal's lips parted, and the elusive pink escapee flew forward.
"My reputation would ruin us."
Jack raised an eyebrow. Clearly, this could get interesting. "Go on."
"I... they call me... a hypocrite, see." Mal cleared his throat. "They all know how adamant I was not to join the Trove network. They say I sold out for money and girls and..."
"Didn't you?"
Mal pressed his lips together. "No, Jack. I didn't."
Jack snorted. "Right."
"They call me... coward. Maybe I am; I dunno. They... there was alcohol, Jack, and women... everywhere. They helped. I could have whatever I wanted- but they called me a drunk, an addict, a user and abuser- a sinner, Jack. They call me a sinner."
"And you are."
"Temptation... everywhere." Mal's pupils shrank. "Others fell at my knees- so I embraced them... in business and in bed. I ruined myself because I was weak. I like being weak. It makes it all... so easy." He gulped. "It happened so fast. I was enjoying myself- I was sure of it- and then at Christmas... I saw... you."
Jack stiffened slightly under his brother's bloodshot, blue stare. That was one of the first changes he'd noticed about Mal, wasn't it? That raw, red look to them that just hadn't been there before.
"You." Mal's lip curled suddenly. "Unchanged; unswayed- same kid you always were. But I wasn't the same- I'm not the same." Suddenly, Mal jumped up, and Jack jumped with him.
When had Mal sat down?
"Nah. I've changed for the better. I know what matters now... I've got all I want. I'm happy. I'm safe."
Oh.
Oh, right.
Just... it was stupid... but just for a couple of seconds there Jack had felt his heart skip just that little faster. Hope- rising hot with his blood- had leaped like a flame within him- but the with sudden return of what was now Mal's trademark sneer, that flame was extinguished in an instant.
"I'm safe," Mal repeated, apparently satisfied with this. "Yeah... and they can't touch me. It's just what people say, Little Brother, y'know?"
"If you say so." Jack's reply seeped resentment.
"They're ruining me, and according to Dad, I'm too far gone to even bother stopping now." Mal snorted. "B*stards. But see, Little Brother, that's the beauty of you! You can save us, 'cause no-one knows you. Don't worry- you can still have everything I've got- just be smarter than I was about it. Be discrete; and make fast work of it. Get your kicks at Orchid while you can."
Jack shot Mal a filthy look, then, slowly rolled onto his side. No wonder Mal was so edgy about the missing money. His back-up could've been labeled a thief. No wonder he was always so keen to talk about the women and the money. He was trying to entice Jack into a world where he obviously needed him.
Yeah. Mal had changed a hell of a lot from when Jack first knew him.
He just wished he could understand why...
"I'll take that as a dismissal," Mal spat bitterly, and Jack heard the chair scrape roughly across the floor as Mal pushed it out of his way. "You just think about this, Little Brother- you think about how you'd be destroying the business and the family if you didn't join us. You think about how you'd tear apart everything we've ever had. You think, Little Brother. I went into this business for us. I wanted you to be safe."
The door was slammed, and Jack was left to his own devices.
Yet, still, he couldn't shake the feeling that somehow, he wasn't going to be allowed to sleep this sickness off.