Since people are still interested in my fics over here and FFN has fixed a couple (but not near all) of the issues it's been having, I'll start posting my stories here again. This is really against my better judgment and if they screw up so that dashes disappear or the ads somehow get more annoying, then I'm not coming back. It's bad enough they still don't allow tildies for no apparent reason.

I'm posting this in chapter one of all my stories so everyone knows where I can be found. See my profile for the link to my homepage.

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He tried.

Will sat cross-legged on his bed -- his bed, not a prison cot -- with a beer in one hand and an old movie poster laid out in front of him.

Jack Hammer.

I thought you were my friend.

He stared at the familiar face on the poster, younger than the Jack he knew. It made sense, now that Will knew what Dee did to him. The stress of constantly wondering if she was going to let the hounds of the media loose on him... Will knew what that was like. He was always worried that if he wasn't good enough then she'd let them know what he looked like under the mask.

Didn't matter now. The Steel Samurai was gone.

You know how much I love this job. I told you so many times how much it means to me to see those kids happy.

So many lunches. So many breaks spent collapsed next to each other. So many trips to that deli he liked. The bar Jack liked. Will's living room. They would talk about the show and Will's future... never Jack's. Will could see that now, looking back, but at the time he never noticed how much Jack shied away from the topic. He didn't have a future.

Will shook his head.

No, I shouldn't feel sorry for him! He was fine with taking everything away from me, and even though Mr. Wright found the truth I still lost the Steel Samurai.

He glared at the poster that used to hang on his wall. He drained the rest of the beer and glared at Jack's smiling face. He glared, and he tried to hate the man who framed him for murder.

He tried.

At length, perhaps an hour, he got up. He dropped the empty beer can in the recycling bin and moved the poster from his bed to the table. Then he rummaged around in the fridge until he found the bottle of hard liquor that he kept there in case Jack stopped by and wanted a drink. Jack didn't like beer, didn't like the smell or the taste. Whiskey was his choice of poison.

Jack Daniels for Jack Hammer... cue laugh track.

That cynical thought was almost as bitter as the whiskey that burned his throat. His eyes started watering, but not because of the hard alcohol. He forced himself to take a few more swigs, enough to get him stone drunk and get him there fast. He screwed the cap back on and set the bottle on the bedside table. Since his tolerance was for beer and there was a good fourth of the bottle left, he was going to spend the rest of the night wasted.

His cheeks warmed as the whiskey really started to hit him. The tears that welled before started falling.

I tried to hate you, Jack...

He fell on his side and clutched a pillow to his chest.

But I can't. Even though I know what happened I still can't believe it. I can't believe you'd hurt me like that... not you, Jack. Not you.

He opened his eyes and made out the blurry shape of one of the old posters he hadn't taken down. He loved Jack's movies. He loved Jack.

He sobbed.