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thecottoncandylamb · 11 months ago

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Reunions (Or Lamb is terrible at titles)

Here it is. The first of the many, many one shots that I wrote because I'm mentally ill and just want Jones and the Foundation to be in love.

It had been almost 3 years since they had seen each other, and Jones’ world couldn’t be more different. After altering time, the former IO agent had found himself on a new version of the Island, filled to the brim with unfamiliar faces and voices. This time, it carried the name “Helios”, and like every other Island before it, it was in a war for its life. Filled with Loopers and factions, citizens and militaristic groups, it felt the same as every place he had been before. He couldn’t recognize anyone here, nor did anyone recognize him. His only companion here was Peely who got sucked through time with him. Almost immediately upon arrival, the banana was snatched away by the Society, one of the large factions that ruled Helios, when their leader, Valeria, realized Jones could have helpful information related to some box she was looking for.

Since then, Jones has been absolutely *done*. Hope, the leader of the local renegade group known as the “Underground” had been nice enough to let him stay in the abandoned subway she used as a Headquarters, but her kindness and good nature did little to soothe his frazzled nerves, and, like most things, came at a price. Help her defeat the Society while she lent him resources to find Peely. Tit for tat, or so they say, and he was more than willing to return the favor, but Jones was *tired*. He was sick of saving everyone, time and time again just for it to go straight back to shit. He wanted a break, wanted just to have the chance to *actually* enjoy the small moments of peace his actions brought to the island and its inhabitants. A bitter part of him guessed that an eternity of fighting was his punishment for the sins of his past, and he didn’t even bother to stuff that nasty thought away, he just let himself wallow and fester in it.

Standing in front of his corkboard, which Hope so lovingly dubbed his “conspiracy board”, he glares up at the pictures of the Society Leader’s faces, each pinned up near the rough blueprints of their appropriate bases. The group had caught on to his investigation and started moving the banana between their bases. Letting out a frustrated groan, Jones shoves his fingers under his sunglasses to rub his tired eyes. Deciding to turn in for the night, he shrugs out of his coat and starts making his way toward the pale blue couch he had claimed as his own. Tugging his sweater over his head, he crawls onto the cushion, uses his scarf to cover his eyes, and tries to force himself to relax. Under the mocking glares from the Society members, he turns his back to the board and tries to force himself into a fitful sleep.

Meanwhile, the Foundation was surprised by how different the Island had become in his absence. New settlements had formed, the land itself had changed, and the home of the Zero Point had a new name; Helios. The leader of the 7 walked slowly down a beaten-up road, the night sky stretching above him. A small building to his right held the smallest trace of a heat signature, an indication that someone had been here recently. Pressing a button on the side of his helmet, he scanned the building, and it seemed to have a passage to the sewers below the streets. Making a mental note to check the schematics of the Island later, he almost leaves the run-down little building behind before *something* stops him. Like a little voice in his ear, something pushed him to investigate further.

Slowly pushing the door open, he barely acknowledges the loud creak it makes. Let it serve as a warning, he thinks before stepping to look down into the steep drop. A heavy cable hangs from a support beam above him, nearly reaching the floor below. Curling a gloved hand around the cable, the large man lets gravity pull him towards the ground, that annoying little voice in the back of his head urging him to “go go go”. Something was down here, and he wouldn’t stop until he found it.

A faint signal, like a fluttering pulse, was slowly growing visible to the sensitive scanners in his visor. Taking steady steps, the usually collected man could feel his heart rate accelerate in anticipation. This energy was familiar to him, he’d recognize it anywhere. He’d followed it countless times before, and in this new place filled with unfamiliar faces and voices, he’d be the first to admit that he was excited to see a friendly face. After all of these years, Jones’ bright face was exactly what he needed to feel *normal* again.

Finally, the signature narrows in, becoming stronger and brighter the further down he descends down a large flight of stairs. Soon, the Foundation entered a large, dilapidated subway station where rubble blocked off most of the entrances and covered large portions of the floor. The ceiling is covered in a plethora of colors, the stained glass painting a rainbow beneath it as dim lights twinkle above it. The room was a cluttered mess: weapons, targets, and old pizza boxes are scattered on tables and the floor, and a heavy rug beneath one of the tables. A large board, covered in pictures and maps stands to his left, reminding him of the early days of manning the 7, when their organization was little more than a small renegade group in his basement. He can’t help but smile at the memory. In the back of the room, almost directly across from the stairs he used to enter the room, there was a pale blue couch with a dark blanket tossed over the back of it. Its back faced him, and he quietly wondered how long the person on the other side had been there.

The energy signal was all over the room, mixing and mingling with several others, each pacing around the room, back and forth between each object, and he followed it almost eagerly. Rolling his eyes at the frequent circles that were made in front of the board, the energy belonging to Jones didn’t surprise him in the slightest, he watched as eventually, the energy stopped by the couch. Taking strides, he hates the eager warmth in his chest at the thought of seeing Jones again. Worried that the man might be sleeping, the large man carefully leaned over the back of the couch and finally released the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding.

Laying curled on the cushions was Jones, the exact person he had been looking for, he realized. The man looked awful: his eyes were heavy with dark bags, his sunshine hair was oily and messy, pressed up at awkward angles from the way his head was shoved under the scarf that was slowly tangling with his neck and arms. His face was covered in dark stubble, another clear sign that he wasn’t taking care of himself. Taking a moment to simply enjoy looking at the man, he felt an angry ball form in the pit of his stomach.

In their time together, he had seen more than his fair share of the former agent in various stages of undress, so seeing Jones topless was nothing *new* to him. He had almost every inch of this man’s torso memorized (he would never admit to this) and today, Jones looked like a whole new man. Numerous scars, some fairly new, littered the man’s pale skin, making a map of pain and torment the hero should never have gone through. Tightly gripping the back of the couch, his focus on the visible burns on his skin, nasty and dark, in the shape of someone’s hands, some of the prints are curled around Jones’ neck, others pressed against his chest and side. They looked like brands, and he had to stop himself from jerking the sleeping man up and demanding to know who or what had dared to lay their hands on him.

The Foundation was immediately ripped back into reality by the click of a pistol and the barrel of a gun being pressed to the back of his helmet.

“You have 3 fucking seconds to convince me not to blow your brains out.” A woman’s voice, harsh and angry, comes from behind him.

Ignoring her, he lifts the blanket off of the back of the couch, draping it over Jones’ sleeping form.

“Don’t fucking touch him.” She hisses pushing the pistol forward again to make her threat known.

“Trust me, that little thing won’t even make a dent in my armor.” He growls, standing up to turn towards the woman. She was short, but compared to him, who wasn’t? Her blue hair was pinned up to the back of her head, her eyes a dark blue, glaring up at him from over her dark sunglasses.

“Try me. I think you’ll find that in my hands, this gun is more than enough.” She warns, not even flinching at the much larger, armored man looming over her, “Now get the fuck away from him. He has too much on his plate to deal with some freaky peeping tom bothering him.”

If his visor had been down, she would have seen both of his brows raise high at the way she addressed him, “Lower your gun, girl. I’m no threat to Agent Jones. I’m an old friend.” he huffs out, almost embarrassed at being called out for watching the sleeping man.

“Agent Jones?” The blue-haired woman only raises her gun higher, an angry scowl on her painted lips, “The only friend of his that addresses him like that around here is Peely. Did the Society send you? If so, you’re not making it out of here alive.” with little hesitation she pulls the trigger.

Right as she shoots, his arm shoots out, pushing the gun upward and yanking the petite woman into a chokehold. Rainbow glass rained down around them as the sound of the gun firing echoed around the subway station. The sound is obviously loud enough to startle Jones wake. Ever the dutiful agent, he has a gun in his hands aimed at the two of them before he even emerges from the other side of the couch. The Foundation keeps his grip on the woman as she claws his armor, making the blonde panic.

“Woah woah! Hey put her down!” Leaping over the back of the couch, Jones drops his gun, raising his hands palm up and stepping into the armored man’s line of sight. “Hey, hey it’s okay. Hope is a friend.”

“Your *friend* tried to shoot me.” The Foundation grumbles but complies, dropping the woman, Hope, onto the floor.

Jones tries to ignore the butterflies that erupt in his stomach at the other man’s deep, rumbling voice. How long had it been since he’d heard someone this familiar and comforting, even if said person was angry and trying to choke one of his closest friends?

“Well, to the average person you’re pretty intimidating, Big Guy.” The nickname rolls off of his tongue easily, and for a moment it feels like the years rolled away as he tries to soothe the other man.

Kneeling to help Hope up, he rubs the back of his head. “Sorry about that. Hope, this is the Foundation, he’s a friend from back home. Foundation, this is Hope, she’s leading the good fight here on Helios.”

Glaring up at him, Hope rubs her neck, not liking this mysterious “friend” one bit, but Jones hasn’t let her down yet, so she bites her tongue and offers her hand in greeting. “I guess it’s good to meet you. Jones has been a big help, so any friend of his is a friend of the Underground.”

Grunting softly under his breath, the Foundation begrudgingly takes her hand giving it a firm shake, “Likewise. You have a good ally here. I hope you’re taking good care of him.” the warning is subtle, but he can tell by the look in her eyes that she understood it loud and clear; if anything happened to Jones she would be the first to face the consequences.

Taking a small breath, Jones was glad to see the two get along, his eyes unable to look away from the Foundation. God, he looked good. Well, as good as a guy in armor could look. Suddenly aware of his own rugged appearance, he moves over to the couch, tugging his sweater up and pulling it on over his head. He didn’t know how long the other man was staying and he wanted to make sure he could get a few moments just to enjoy his old friend’s company. A gloved hand catches his shoulder, causing him to flinch at the sudden contact, but the hand remains steady, holding him in place. In a way, he expected to freak him out, but the comfort was undeniable.

“Jones. What happened while I was away?” The Foundation *knew* Jones, and knew when the man wasn’t acting right, “What happened to you?”

Hope, in that moment, felt like she was intruding on a truly intimate moment. Jones let his head hang down while the larger man slowly circles his fingers around his wrist. Slowly, the blonde reaches up and before he can do anything, he’s pulled into a tight hug. He didn’t even care that his face was smushed against the hard plating of the bigger man’s armor, his hands immediately finding purchase on the back of his old friend’s shoulders.

“I’m so fucking tired…” the former agent hated how much his voice shook, how each word wanted to tumble out with a thousand more. How long had it been since he was the weak one?

“I know Jones. I’m so sorry for leaving like that. I should have come back sooner.” Letting his visor lift off of his face, he gives into temptation, burying his face into the blonde’s dirty hair.

The shorter man tried to fight the quivering of his shoulders, but what could he really hide from the man holding him? A large hand rubbed small circles into his back, pulling a tired sigh from his lips as he slowly relaxed in the comforting embrace. The Foundation holds him like he’s scared he’ll disappear, and Jones thinks that maybe he has been for a long time, but in this moment he felt more real than he had in years.

“You need rest, Jones. Lay back down. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Jones is too tired to argue, the comfort of the familiar scent and voice of someone who *remembered* lulled him into a cozy warmth he thought he lost ages ago.

“You promise?” Too tired to be embarrassed by how pathetic he sounds, the blonde lets The Foundation guide him back to the couch.

“Of course, Jones. Even Geno himself couldn’t make me leave this time.” Tugging his cape off of his shoulder, he slowly bunches and rolls it up into a makeshift pillow, letting Jones rest his head on it while the large man drapes the blanket up over him.

He stays leaning over the back of the couch for a long while, watching and petting the blonde man’s hair until his blue eyes slowly drift shut. Hope watches in silence for a long while, not wanting to interrupt this soft moment that her friend never gets to have. Once she’s sure Jones is asleep, the Underground leader clears her throat to get the big man’s attention.

“I’m…look I’m sorry. I just know a lot of people want to hurt him. I didn’t want to take any chances on the Society getting their hands on him again.” Rubbing the back of her neck she sighs, “Hell, when I first met him I had to rescue him from one of their torture rooms..” she jumps as the Foundation nearly crushes the back of the couch.

“I’m here now. And you were just trying to protect him. So, thank you, Hope. He’s more important than you know.” and the people who dared to hurt him would know his wrath.

#fortnite jonesy #fortnite jones #fortnite the foundation #foundajones #jonesdation #jones x the foundation #your honor they're in love #hurt and comfort #hope fortnie #this will have like #2 or three more that are connected to it #but i have more drafted you'll see #uwu #lamb writes #my writing

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