TW- mentions of sexual abuse

NOVA
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07/06/2002 - 11am
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Backhanding Leo across the face probably wasn't my finest moment. 

I knew it the second my palm connected with his cheek. But when I heard the word 'Mom' come out of his big, obnoxious mouth, my hand moved on instinct. Pure, unfiltered rage. The kind you don't stop to think about.

I've definitely got some unresolved anger issues.

The silence afterward was deafening. Nobody's spoken to me apart from Tara. 

Leo's sulking, shooting daggers with his eyes every time I so much as shift in my seat. The Hercules vibrates beneath us as we climb altitude. I lean my head back, pretending I don't feel the thick tension stretching across the cabin like barbed wire.

I know North's going to hear about it. Hell, the whole organisation probably will. But right now, I don't care. I'd slap Leo again if it meant shutting him up before he said her name.

Thank God for Tara. We clicked fast. Close in age, similar views. She glances over, sunlight catching her dark skin as she raises an eyebrow. 

"So," she says, amused, "what did Leo say to earn a slap that loud? I didn't hear the words, just the contact."

I grimace. "He was about to say something about my mom. I just, well, lost my shit."

Tara leans forward slightly. "Your mom?"

I let out a breath. "My lack of one. She disappeared when I was a kid. Literally vanished. No note, no goodbye. Nothing."

Tara stares at me like I've just said the most obscene comment known to man. She blinks. "Vanished? Like... how is that even possible?"

"I've been asking myself that for seventeen years," I say, fingers curling around the edge of my bandage. I pull at it absentmindedly.

I see her face, suddenly, without warning. My mom.

Laughing at the stove, dancing in the kitchen with dad, music playing off some scratchy radio. She always smelled like orange blossom and warm sugar. Always kissed my forehead before school. 

And afterward? She'd wait at the gate, holding out a hand, smiling. She'd take me and Nic to Spring Hill town center for a 'sweet treat.'

'A sweet treat for the sweetest kids.' She would always say. Nicholas was anything but a sweet kid. Me on the other hand, I was quite a sweetheart back then.

Fuck, I'm choking up. I've been on a no-cry streak for the past 10 years, probably because I barely talk about her. I feel so emotional today for no reason as I blink back my tears urgently. Tara gives me a thoughtful half-smile.

She rests a hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry. That must've been horrible."

I nod, jaw tight. "Yeah... thanks. I'm just gonna try and get some sleep."

She doesn't question it. I close my eyes, not to sleep, but to be left alone. I don't need more questions.

My mind drifts. Always does when I'm pretending to rest.

Where is Nic now?

He hated my mom. Even though she raised him when his own mother couldn't. 

Annise was mentally unstable, gone before I was even born. They say she had postpartum psychosis. Tried to drown Nic in a bathtub. My dad never let him anywhere back near her.

Then he met my mom. Fell in love, I guess. Left Annise behind. 

I used to think Nic resented mom for the chores. For the vegetables. I guess he hated her for a whole lot more. 

And me? I was collateral damage.

I was six the first time he brought one of them home. Older boys. Men. I didn't know who they were. He said they were just his friends.

—

"This is normal, okay Novie? You don't have to tell Dad. If you tell Dad, I'll be really disappointed. You don't want me to be disappointed, do you Novella?"  He says soothingly, holding down one of my wrists. I shake my head, I just want to make him happy.

He's my big brother, of course I want to make him happy and proud.

"No, I won't tell Daddy." I reply innocently, one of his friends unbuckling their belt. Why is he doing that? It isn't bedtime.

"Good girl. Just be quiet, okay Novie?" Nicky strokes a hand across my hair.
—

"It hurts. It's really hurting. Stop. Nicky, please make him stop it." I cry, batting my arms up.

Why is it hurting? Nicky doesn't want to hurt me, does he? I'm his little sister.

"Shut up, Novella. I mean it. Be fucking quiet." He snaps, and I'm instantly gripping my lip between my teeth, doing as he says.
—

Thank God I jolt awake just as the plane touches down back in Phoenix. I can feel the beads of sweat rolling down the sides of my temple. I didn't plan on falling asleep, and I'm fucking sorry that I did.

Tara is gazing over at me as I discreetly catch my breath.

"You alright? You look really ill, Nova." She asks me thoughtfully, a concerned expression on her face.

"Yeah, I'm fine. My leg is just hurting, that's all." I reply, my voice completely unsuspecting.

I'm a hell of a good liar, I think.

"Oh, yeah. You should get some more painkillers when we're back at base." She nods a few times, helping me stand up.

I feel so bad for Marcus, poor guy has to fly a plane and then drive us back to base right afterwards. His days are as bad as ours.

—

REDHAWK BASE

North folds his arms, staring us both down like we're two rookies who just pissed in his coffee.

"Shields," he grinds out, "you want to explain why your fucking co-captain has a handprint-shaped bruise on his goddamn face?"

I shift awkwardly under the weight of his stare, heat blooming in my cheeks. "Didn't mean to hit him that hard," I mumble.

Beside me, Leo scoffs like a petulant teenager. "You nearly knocked my goddamn lights out," he mutters, rubbing at his jaw dramatically.

Oh, for fuck's sake.

My fingers twitch. He's lucky I don't do it again.

North's glare snaps from Leo back to me. "Look," he says, tone clipped with irritation, "you just came off a successful op. You, Shields, with a fucking metal shard yanked out of your thigh like a medieval torture scene. And you," he jabs a finger toward Leo, "somehow didn't manage to ruin the entire mission with your attitude. Congratulations."

He pauses, running a tired hand down his face.

"But laying hands on each other isn't part of the goddamn co-captain package," he growls, voice like gravel. "We've got enough shit to deal with without the pair of you going full domestic in my hallways. You got that, Shields?"

I nod, ashamed. "Yes, sir."

He glares at Leo. "And you. Whatever smartass thing you said to deserve it, bite your tongue next time. You're not fucking twelve."

"Yes, sir," Leo mutters begrudgingly, throwing me a sideways glare that promises this isn't over.

North pinches the bridge of his nose. "I can't believe I'm doing this shit with two fully trained, field-tested adults. You're dismissed. Both of you. And if I hear about another one of your goddamn spats, I swear to God, I'll raise hell. Now fuck off." 

Leo's gone with a nod before North even finishes the threat, striding out of the office with enough tension in his shoulders to crack concrete. Jackass. I'm slower, my leg dragging slightly as I follow.

I don't say anything to him. I don't look at him. I don't even breathe in his direction.

Not worth the spark right now.

As I limp down the hall, I hear footsteps behind me, and Jed falls into step beside me, hands stuffed in his pockets.

"Need a hand?" he offers, easygoing as ever.

I shake my head, managing a small smile. "Nah. I need to get used to walking on it again. Can't milk the sympathy card forever."

"Fair," he says, with a quiet laugh. "Still. You sure earned a few points. You did good out there, Nova."

"Just doing my job," I shrug.

"You're tougher than you look," Jed grins. "No offence."

"None taken. I've heard worse."

We walk in step for a moment. He glances at my thigh. "Honestly, I don't know how you didn't pass out sooner. That thing Elijah pulled out of you looked like something straight out of a junkyard. I'd have begged someone to club me unconscious."

I snort. "Trust me, if there was a hammer nearby, I would've handed it to you myself."

He chuckles. "You blacked out anyway, right?"

"Eventually. Pain just sort of took me under." I sigh. "Worst I've ever felt. And I've felt a lot."

Jed nods. "I believe it. Pretty sure we all flinched just hearing Elijah yank that thing out of you."

"Yeah. Highlight of my week," I mutter dryly. I rest a hand on my cabin door, grateful to finally be back.

Jed lingers. "North didn't chew you out too badly, did he?"

I roll my eyes. "Could've been worse. I expected a formal reprimand or to get benched. But he just gave us the usual disappointed dad speech."

"Still. For what it's worth? I get it," he says, voice softer now. "Someone crosses a line like that, especially when it's about family, you react. We all would've."

I look at him properly. Jed's not like the others. He's got this natural steadiness to him. Unshakable in a storm. Not soft. Just solid.

I nod slowly. "I shouldn't have hit him. Doesn't matter what he said. That was a low blow from me."

"Hey," Jed smiles, "Leo's not exactly a saint himself. I've known him for years. Great in the field, pain in the ass everywhere else. Don't beat yourself up too much."

That actually draws a laugh from me, a real one. "I appreciate that."

"If you need anything, I'm just down the hall. And for the record, I make killer nettle tea, in case you're tired of base-grade coffee."

I smirk. "Noted. Thanks, Jed."

He nods and turns away, whistling lowly to himself as he walks off.

I step inside my cabin, shutting the door behind me with a satisfying click.

Finally. Quiet.

I lean against the wall and close my eyes. My thigh's throbbing, my head's heavy, and my emotions are still tangled up in the memory of that slap, North's voice, the past.

But for the first time in hours, I let my shoulders drop.

Back at base.

For now, that's enough.

—

A sharp knock rattles my door.

I freeze mid-step out of the shower, water dripping down my spine. My towel clings to me like it's holding on for dear life. "One minute!" I call, already limping toward my lacklustre dresser with an armful of clothes.

The knock wasn't friendly. It was precise. Controlled. Which meant one person.

Leo fucking Hendrix.

Of course.

I yank on a pair of loose shorts with a wince, the fabric scraping too tight over the gauze on my thigh. The sting makes me suck in a breath through my teeth, but I hobble to the door anyway and pull it open.

I regret it instantly.

Leo dominates the doorway, broad and imposing, dressed down in a black tee, a faint bruise still etched into his cheek like a medal of war. Our war.

He doesn't smirk. Doesn't scowl. Just looks at me with this unreadable expression.

"Can I come in?" he asks.

That's new.

I hesitate, glancing back into my dimly lit room. Rumpled bed, gear scattered from my half-hearted unpacking, a bottle of water half-drunk on the side. Nothing threatening. But letting Leo into my space feels like letting him into my head, and I already feel too exposed.

Still, I step aside.

"I suppose so," I mutter.

He walks in like the room belongs to him and shuts the door behind him with a quiet click. I perch on the edge of my bed, back ramrod straight, already regretting this.

"What do you want?" I ask flatly.

He drags the old stool from my desk and plants himself in front of me, elbows on knees. His tone, when he finally speaks, isn't harsh. Just low. Controlled. Almost... hesitant.

"I want an answer," he says. "Why'd you hit me?"

I scoff. "Because you were being a complete asshole and I'd reached my limit-"

"No," he cuts in gently. "Not that. Why'd you hit me when I mentioned your mom?"

I freeze.

He clocks the way I look away, just for a second too long.

"I'm sorry I hit you," I mumble, hoping to pivot out of this conversation. "It was low. Even for you, that is."

His gaze doesn't budge. "I don't care that you hit me," he says, voice even. "I care why it mattered enough for you to hit me."

Leo Hendrix? This can't possibly be an apology. 

"I said it's fine." My voice is quiet, clipped. I nod to the door. "You can go now."

But he doesn't leave. Bitch. He walks right past me and picks up the framed photo on my bedside table. That photo. The only one I have.

"That your family?" he asks, flipping it toward the light.

"Yeah," I say, tight-lipped.

He eyes it closely. "You look happy. Real happy."

"That's what photos are for," I mutter, bristling. "They lie."

He smirks faintly. "Poetic."

I grit my teeth. "Poetic like the way I'm about to kick you in the balls if you don't leave."

He ignores that. Of course he does. Instead, he squints at the image again. "Who's this? Half out of frame like he didn't want to be there."

"Nicholas," I bite out, snatching the photo from his hands and setting it face down. "My half-brother."

Leo raises an eyebrow. "The nutjob?"

"You got it."

He's still standing. Still not leaving. "Tell me," he says.

I blink. "Excuse me?"

"Tell me what happened."

I gape at him. "You don't get to just demand that kind of shit, Leo. You're not entitled to know."

He lifts his hands, mock surrender. "I know. I just want to understand."

His voice drops a fraction. Sincere. Quiet.

Fuck. He's not going to let this go.

I sigh, long and tired. "Fine. Sit down. But you're banned from making any of your usual snide remarks."

"Scout's honour," he says, settling back onto the stool.

I lean against the headboard, arms crossed over my stomach, grounding myself.

"My childhood was good. Up to a point. We lived in an old farmhouse my grandparents left us. My mom, dad, me, and Nicholas, my half-brother. My dad left Nic's mom for mine. Nic never forgave him. Or her. Or me."

Leo stays quiet, watching.

"His mom killed herself a few years later. Nic was broken, but I think that was biological. He'd been too young to even remember his own mom. But my parents tried with him, regardless. My mom especially."

"Anyway," I say, clearing my throat like it'll steady the tremble, "when I was seven, Nicholas just left. Packed up one day and never came back. He was already getting mixed in with bad crowds. Gangs. Dealers. The kind of people that make your skin crawl. My parents tried to pull him back in, but he didn't want saving."

Leo doesn't interrupt. Doesn't move. Just watches, quiet and unreadable.

I fiddle with a loose thread on my shorts, eyes fixed on it as though it's the only thing keeping me grounded.

"And then," I say softly, "a year later, my mom vanished."

I glance up for half a second. Leo's jaw is tight, but he doesn't say a word.

"She said she was going to the store to grab some groceries. Just another normal day. I remember the way she kissed my forehead and said she'd be right back. I waited all afternoon. Then all night. Then a week. Then a year."

My voice starts to shake.

"No body. No note. No explanation. Nothing. Just gone. Like she evaporated."

I swallow, throat raw. "She was kind. One of those impossibly warm people. She always made things feel okay. And after she disappeared, my dad, he wasn't the same. He was still my dad, but I saw the way he would break down. He got it into his head that something would happen to me too. So he trained me. Like military drills, hand-to-hand, survival tactics he'd learnt. Wanted me to be a ghost. Hard to touch. Hard to hurt."

I take a long breath, shoulders aching with the weight of it all.

"That's how I ended up in this field," I add. "Fleetwood just, well, made sense."

Leo still hasn't spoken. I can't even look at him anymore. The shame is building too fast.

"My mom used to keep this jar on the kitchen windowsill. A big glass one. Every time one of us did something kind, like shared or helped or forgave, she'd drop a dollar in. Called it the 'Kindness Jar'."

I laugh weakly. "Nicholas said it was dumb. I loved it. On Saturdays, we'd use the money to get a 'kindness reward.' She'd take us into town, and I'd get to pick out a Barbie. Then we'd go to this little place called Sweet Pickins. I always ordered an Oreo milkshake, and she'd get this nasty green tea thing."

I'm rambling. I know I'm rambling. And I can't stop.

"She always wore this blue cardigan. Always smelled like vanilla and laundry detergent. She was, God, she was good. She didn't deserve to just disappear. I didn't deserve to be left without an answer."

And that's when it happens.

I feel it before I even realise it, my cheeks burning, my chest tightening, the air getting harder to pull in.

Tears.

Fucking tears.

My throat locks. A sob slips out without warning. Then another. And another.

I haven't cried like this in ten years. And now I'm falling apart in front of the last person on Earth I ever wanted to see me break.

Leo fucking Hendrix.

"Sorry," I whisper, dragging the heel of my palm across my eyes like it'll fix something. "Shit. I'm sorry, I don't even know what the fuck I'm—"

I stop when I sense movement.

Out of the corner of my eye, Leo stands and crosses the room in two strides. He sits next to me without a word, his weight dipping the mattress. Close but not touching. His presence feels heavier than his silence.

"Nova," he murmurs, voice lower than I've ever heard it. "Don't apologise."

I shake my head, still trying to wipe the tears away like they're evidence.

"I mean it," he says, softer now. "Come here."

And I hate myself for it. But I do as he says.