TW - Mentions of sexual abuse. Sensitive topics.

NOVA
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07/06/2002 - 2pm
Phoenix, Arizona
Redhawk Base
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I sit down slowly, the metal chair cold beneath me, the room silent except for the hum of fluorescent lights and my heartbeat, frantic and uneven. 

I stare at the phone as if it's a grenade, ready to explode in my hands. My fingers tremble slightly as I dial Dad's number, each digit a small act of courage, a breathless prayer.

"Hello?" His voice is warm, familiar, grounding.

"Hey, Dad. It's me."

"Novella?" Dad gasps, a note of surprise in his tone. I can practically see the relief spread across his face from here. "Novella, where on God's green earth have you been? It's been a whole month."

My chest tightens, guilt pooling low in my stomach. "You know how it is, Dad. Work's intense. FBI stuff-" My voice nearly cracks on the half-lie.

He chuckles softly, warmth threading through the line, easing some of my tension. "I can imagine, sweetheart. You always did push yourself. Sometimes I think I made you too much like me."

"Yeah," I breathe, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. "How've you been?"

"Well," he starts, excitement filtering through, "I finally got that new prosthetic leg."

I can't help the grin that curves my lips. "Really? That's great, Dad. Still going by 'Iron-Man'?"

He laughs fully now, rich and deep. "You bet. Debbie's youngest won't let it go. Think the nickname might be permanent at this point."

We both fall quiet for a heartbeat too long. I know my father. He always pauses when there's something he doesn't quite want to say.

"Dad? Everything okay?"

Silence stretches out, pulling taut like wire. "Actually, honey," he says finally, softly, "there's something else. Something I've been needing to tell you."

A chill runs through me, gripping my bones, squeezing my heart. "Okay," I say, voice careful, fragile. "What is it?"

"It's about your Mom."

The room narrows around me. Blood rushes loudly in my ears. My heart skitters unevenly. "Dad? What is it?" My voice is barely above a whisper.

He clears his throat, his own emotions suddenly thickening his voice. "They found her wedding ring, Nov."

My vision blurs. I grip the edge of the table until my knuckles turn white, my breath stuttering. The room feels unstable, shifting like I've stepped onto cracked ice.

"Her - what? Her ring?" I choke out. "How? Where?"

"Back at the old farmhouse," he continues, voice soft, cautious. "The new owners were digging around the vegetable patch, found it buried in the soil. They recognized the engraving. Sent it right to me. It's hers, Novie. No doubt."

My mouth opens and closes silently, words evaporating before they can form. It's been seventeen years. Seventeen agonizing, impossible years without a clue, without an answer. Now, suddenly, this?

"Dad," I say slowly, my voice shaking, fragile. "What the hell does this mean?"

He sighs deeply, the sound carrying the weight of decades. "I think it means we finally have an answer, honey. After all these years, it means she's alive. She made a choice, Novella. She... left."

Anger flares, hot and swift, scorching through the numb disbelief. "She wouldn't do that. She wouldn't just disappear. Leave us like that. Dad, come on-"

He exhales quietly, clearly choosing his words with care. "We never truly know what someone's capable of, Novie. Even someone we love. 'Kills me to say, but it's the truth."

I swallow the lump burning in my throat. "Are you okay?"

He pauses again, the silence speaking volumes. "I'm managing. Closure is complicated. But at least now we know. I can finally stop wondering. Maybe you can too."

Closure. What a hollow word.

"Yeah," I whisper, even as everything inside me rebels against accepting it. "Sure, Dad."

"I love you, Novella," he says gently, sincerity thickening his words. A kids voice suddenly becomes apparent in the background. "I've gotta go, honey." 

"Wait - I love you too, Dad—"

The line clicks, abruptly cutting me off. I pull the phone back, staring at it like it betrayed me. He's already moved on. I'm still drowning in the news, and he's dropping one of Jenny's kids off at school. Like it's nothing.

Or he's just pushing everything down so it doesn't consume him. 

Suddenly, my fury ignites. I punch in his number again, desperately, irrationally needing him to pick up. It rings endlessly, echoing in the empty room, mocking me until it clicks over to voicemail.

"Dammit," I hiss, slamming the phone back onto the table, my hands shaking, my vision clouded with unshed tears.

I shove out of the room, brushing roughly past Rhys who's waiting outside. "All yours," I snap, ignoring his startled look as I push forward, needing distance, space, air. Anything to escape the crushing weight of truths I'd been running from for nearly two decades.

My breath comes sharp, jagged as I push open the doors, stepping into sunlight that blinds me.

Closure, Dad said. Closure feels like a fresh wound.

I swallow the grief and rage, pushing it deep. Not now. Not yet.

But tonight - tonight I'll face it the best way I can think of, drowning every single emotion in that bottle of Jack Daniels under my bed, until I can't feel a goddamn thing.

—

As soon as I'm inside my cabin at 5pm, I've got my hand hooked beneath my bed, desperately seeking out the familiar coolness of my hidden bottle of Jack Daniels. 

My fingers wrap around the neck, and I wrench it free, unscrewing the cap and tipping it back, the fiery liquid burning a scorching path down my throat.

Hours blur into minutes until my vision is hazy, my emotions a chaotic whirlwind. Rage coils tightly in my chest, winding tighter with each breath, each sip. I pace around my room, a caged animal, fury coursing through me like venom.

She left us, she abandoned us for a new life. The thought claws at my sanity, driving me further over the edge.

My eye catches sight of my family picture on my bed-stand as I grab ahold of it, lashing it against the wall for some sort of anger relief. It slams to the floor with a loud smash; glass shattering all over the ground. Glass shards. Broken glass, the remnants a completely broken family.

"Shields?" A voice calls from outside my door.

Fuck. No. Not now.

"Not here." I slur, gripping the edge of my dresser, swaying slightly.

"I heard that noise."

"I dropped my drink," I slur, definitely not convincingly.

"I doubt one of the goddamn paper cups we use at base would have made that kind of noise. Stop lying and open this fucking door."

"Leo. Just fuck. Off. " I bite out.

"Open this damn door or I'm breaking it down."

Oh my God. I shove the bottle of JD underneath my bed-stand and stumble over to the door, opening it an inch.

Groaning, I stumble forward and crack open the door. Before I can protest, he pushes past, forcing me back and nearly sending me onto my ass. His gaze rakes over my disheveled state, his expression darkening.

"Where is it." Leo demands, voice sharp as a blade.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I murmur, looking away from him in my best efforts to sound as sober as possible.

He steps closer, gripping my chin roughly without warning, forcing my head up. 

His fingers are firm and unyielding against my skin. "You're wasted," he growls softly, eyes narrowing as he leans close, his breath brushing against my cheek. "I can smell it on you."

"I'm not, I'm fine." I wave him off, probably completely unconvincing once again.

He sucks in a sharp, impatient breath. "Show me where that fucking alcohol is or I'm getting North."

Oh no.

Not that it would matter since this is my free time, but I doubt that seeing me, one of the Captains, absolutely wasted wouldn't be particularly appealing for my reputation.

"Under the bed-stand." I admit quietly, without any hesitation this time. 

Leo releases my chin and shoves me aside, stalking over to retrieve the half-empty bottle. "Jesus, Nova," he seethes, eyes blazing with fury. "You drank half the damn bottle? Are you trying to fucking kill yourself?"

I take a sharp breath in and squeeze my eyes shut momentarily, crossing my arms to scratch my elbows awkwardly. "My bad."

He glares at me, absolutely raging.

"Care to explain this damn mental breakdown and why your family photograph has felt the wrath?" He hisses.

"Um, no. I don't really care to explain anything to you." My nose twitches in irritation.

He grimaces and shakes his head, aggressively placing the bottle onto my bed stand. "Okay, I'm not asking nicely, Nova. Tell me. Right. Now."

"Oh, for fucks sake." I lose my shit. "Because you were right! Turns out my Mom actually did just ditch us all them years ago." It spills up immediately and accidentally. Leo's expression twists from furious to shocked.

"The hell do you mean?"

"I mean exactly what I said! They found her fucking wedding ring! She obviously tossed it right off of her finger, and tossed herself right 'outta the family whilst she was at it."

Leo is silent.

"Go on," I bark out a self-deprecating laugh, lashing my hand forward and in his direction. "Tell me I deserved it. Tell me again how I'm a waste of space here."

"Nova." My name is all he whispers to begin with, his jaw hanging ajar. "You didn't deserve that."

I say nothing. I'm not sad, and I'm not going to cry. But if it was possible, steam would be blowing out of my ears like I'm a goddamn train.

I also feel really, really fucking nauseous all of a sudden. My hands are clammy, and I wipe a bead of sweat rolling down from my hairline.

"Shit." I murmur, pinching the bridge of my nose and fucking willing the nausea to vanish. I guess I've got nobody to blame but myself for drowning my goddamn sorrows with whiskey.

Leo's gaze sharpens as he quickly steps forward, gripping my waist firmly. His touch is uncomfortably warm and possessive as he half-drags me into the washroom. "You're going to throw up," he says sharply, pushing me towards the toilet.

I barely make it, my stomach heaving violently as Leo's hand roughly gathers my hair, keeping it from my face as I slam to my knees. Humiliation burns hot, mixing with nausea as tears prick my eyes.

"Look away." I manage to hiss before heaving again. I don't know if he's looking away or not since my head is shoved right into the toilet bowl. I fucking hope he is.

I've may as well have just taken a shovel out back and dug my own grave.

"You're a damn mess," He mumbles.

"Takes one to know one, right?" I snip in-between retching, clutching the edge of the porcelain like it's a lifeline.

"I can't exactly blame you, I think if I found out that my missing Mom of seventeen and a-something years just simply ditched me, I'd be pretty fucked off. Especially if my brother ditched before that."

I nod, head scraping against the edges of the seat as after what seems like an eternity, the vomiting stops. I roll away from the toilet bowl and onto my back.

"Nicholas leaving was a blessing, not a tragedy." I let out a half assed laugh. "No more assault after he'd fucked off-" 

My mouth slams shut. 

"What?"

"Nothing." I bark, backtracking immediately. I can't see his reaction since I've got my eyes squeezed shut.

He hooks his arms underneath my shoulders and drags me to my feet, filling up my toothbrush holder with water before sitting me against the washbasin.

"Look at me, Nova."

I swear maintaining eye-contact when you're wasted is a challenge in itself. My hazy eyes eventually pull up and meet his intense gaze as he shoves the makeshift cup into my hand. I sip at it like it's my last delicate drop.

"What did you just say?" He speaks in a completely serious tone of voice. One that leaves no room for lies.

"I said we used to argue, there was no more arguments after he--" 

"That isn't what you fucking said. You said there was no more assault after he'd gone."

"Then why did you ask if you heard me the first time?" I quirk an eyebrow.

"Nicholas? Your own brother? He--" He demands. I want to get down and off this washbasin, into my bed and never speak to anyone again. Leo's humongous fucking frame is blocking my wishes, unfortunately.

I've dug my grave by opening my goddamn mouth, now I've got to lie in it. We're left in silence for a good few seconds as I'm deciding wether or not to be honest.

Maybe admitting it to somebody won't hurt. 

"--He raped me." I finish for him, hating how weak my voice sounds. "He let his friends have their way with me, too. I didn't understand what it was until I got older."

Leo looks like he's going to be sick. "Your brother should've been the one to protect you."

"Probably," I offer him a sad smile. "Only he probably would've liked to see me dead if he could've gotten away with it. He hated me." 

Leo's jaw tightens. "You were his baby-fucking-sister, Nova." 

That stabs something deep in my chest. Hearing it come out of somebody else's mouth? That hurts. 

"How old were you?" He demands. "When he was doing this shit." 

"I wasn't old enough to understand," I say softly. "Five. When it started. It got worse as time went on." 

"Jesus fucking Christ." I don't think he can decide where to look. Like he's scared if he looks at me for too long, he might find some more dark truths. 

"Didn't your Dad do anything to stop it?" He asks, leaning forward slightly. I grab a cloth hanging on the side of the washbasin, wiping it across my mouth.

As intolerable as I find Leo, I don't particularly want him staring at any fucking sick that might be on my face.

"He didn't know. Nobody did, until now." I admit frustratedly with a slur, although my drunkenness is wearing off slightly after my vomiting session.

"I'm seriously the first person you've told about this?" He asks, voice laced with shock of the whole situation. "Nova, I-"

"Don't think you're special. You caught me at a rare vulnerability." I hiss, interrupting him.

"This has made me feel anything but special, Nova. Knowing I'm seriously the only person you've told in what, twenty years?" He says quietly.

"Something like that." I roll my shoulders. He lets out a long sigh, the bathroom left in a deafening silence.

"Do you want to talk about it?" His hushed voice breaks through the quietness.

"No. I don't even know why I told you, to be honest. Think I'm just having a midlife crisis." I actually laugh.

"Well, I'd hope that twenty-five isn't the middle of your life." He says quietly.

How do I keep ending up in these fucking emotional moments with him? Am I really that unhinged?

"I don't know anything about your life," I shrug, changing the subject.

"You never asked," he replies, stepping away from the sink and finally letting me have my personal space back.

"Well, I'm asking now." I say quickly, but with curiosity.

"Alright, there's not really a whole lot to it. Grew up in Nebraska. Middle of two brothers, eldest is five years older, youngest was four years younger. Family was stable. I was set to go to military camp in Queensland. Younger brother died when he was twelve, terrorist related massacre at the Tillmans Mall."

He speaks swiftly and urgently as though his words are on a ticking time bomb. I can barely keep up with what he's saying since I'm still pretty drunk, although I pick up on one thing.

Tillmans Mall massacre. I saw that on the news when I was fourteen. Killed fifteen people, youngest was twelve. I hadn't heard about anything like that happening before (apart from my Dad's Vietnam stories), so I remember it perfectly.

—
"Jeez, kiddo. I don't know how I feel about you going to mall's anymore." He sighs, shaking his head as we sit in our living area, eyes glued to the TV.

"It's fine, Dad. You've taught me all the skills I need to know, I bet I could take down that bad guy in no time." I say confidently, a young boys picture flashing up.

"Youngest victim was 12 year old Jaques Hendrix, who's family has described him as 'the little light of their lives,'" the news anchor announces, a zoomed in picture of the young boys face appearing behind him on a screen.

"My God, that poor family. I can't imagine something like that happening to you." Dad mumbles.

"Isn't that the whole reason you taught me how to handle myself?" I question, peeling my eyes away from the TV and looking up at him. He nods and scruffs the top of my hair before switching the channel.

"Yeah, kiddo. That's exactly why."
—

"Jaques." I suddenly speak. I don't even know if Leo has been talking the whole time. His head whips around to face me.

"How did-?"

"He was all over the news. I remember watching the report with my Dad." I say softly, noticing Leo's jaw clench as he glances away from me.

"Yeah, I guess he was all over the news." He whispers, voice a sharp contrast to the look on his face.

I stare at him for a few seconds. Seeing a different side to the man who is so fucking awful to me at times. A vulnerable side. The way he tips his head to the ceiling and blinks a few times, as though willing some tears to roll back into his eyes.

I hesitate for a moment, and then I reach my hand to my side and skim it on his corded forearm, just brushing the wing of his hawk tattoo. I wait for him to whack it away, but he surprisingly doesn't.

So I rest it down completely. "Leo, I'm so sorry," I whisper, in a hope to be somewhat reassuring. "That's awful."

His gaze whips back towards me, as though he can't believe I have the capability to be sympathetic. I get nothing but a grunt in response. I guess that's just Leo.

"So that's why you went into this line of work? As some way of vengeance?" I ask curiously, to which he nods ever so slightly.

I don't really know what to say right now since I'm still pretty damn drunk. I just speak the first thing that comes to mind.

"I guess we've all got to be at least a little bit fucked up for this line of work."