Jack of Harts

I am Kathleen Reynolds’ number one fan. I couldn’t tell you how many times we’ve gotten together since War’s End. She has a nose for trouble, and we’ve hit it more times than I can count with a whole box of crayons. She’s a perfect battle buddy, and I trust her at my back any time the bullets fly. We’ve gotten into situations way too tight for our own good again and again and again. I’ve patched up her sucking chest wounds, and she’s held my leg in place while it healed. We’ve held each other together when everything else was falling apart. And sometimes we didn’t make it out the other side. We have died together, and we will again with smiles on our faces. I know because I’ve seen the footage. I would happily live or die with her, and that has taken us through situations nobody should expect to survive. Even people like us.

Lots of people have publicly speculated about the nature of my and Kathleen Reynolds’ relationship during The War. And later as well. They are not veiled at all. Now part of it I understand. There’s the personality I project, and the one she inhabits like a second skin, and we really do get along like a house on fire. And fighting a War together tends to break down a lot of barriers. There’s no such thing as a private bedroom when you’re out fighting on some God-forsaken rock. You shut your eyes wherever you find a flat piece of ground or a good tree, and you wake up a few hours later. Sometimes someone’s laying up against you for warmth, or for shelter, or whatever. Yeah. We slept together. A lot. But she was the perfect wingman when I faced my deepest fears and told Julie and Alex what they meant to me. She bled to save them that day. She loves those girls and would never do anything to hurt them. I guess that’s another reason I love her.