Jack was wearing Max's shirt because she had forgotten to do her own laundry and she had been running late and she had accidentally grabbed it and so what if she liked the smell on it? It smelt of Layabout, of kids, and pets, and vicious flowers, and of runaway teenagers, and of home. Besides, they were married now and she that meant his possessions were hers and she would wear his shirt if she couldn't find one of her own.
She just had to make sure he didn't find out about this. She would have a hard time making such a confident claim that it meant nothing. No he could not know. Nor ciuld Gabby. Nor Charlie. Nor Sunny.
Merlin. She should have just done her laundry.
Business had brought her to Diagon that morning, and with that settled, she was enjoying her lunch. It was not often that she had a chance to just... stop. Stop and breathe and eat without having to shovel her food down her throat as though it would run away before she could eat. It was a nice feeling, and being surrounded by the wizarding community was pleasant too. She knew that the people around her were trying to do the best they could and it pleased her to feel at harmony with them.
So, she was initially in the mood for company.
Until she was proved wrong.
"Mmm, the Leaky Club. It's a good sandwich."
She turned to greet whoever it was that had struck up conversation with her. She turned and found herself face to face with her dead cousin.
It had to be Elliot. It looked just life him.
He looked just like him. The same shade of black hair. The same skin tone. Those electric blue eyes, adopted from the male Dyllans. Perhaps, if she had been a little more willing to see the difference, more aware of Elliot's memory, she would have noticed that his freckles were in different places, missing the mole on his neck, looked more healthy and aware than her cousin ever had. But Jack could not see this. She could only see a ghost come back to haunt her. To remind her that, yet again, she had lost one of the few allies she had managed to keep on her side.
Elliot had not been a cousin, but a friend. When Riley was busy, with school or with becoming a clone of their mother, it had been Elliot to save her from her loneliness. He would take her exploring, take her to the river to wade in the water, to the park, to get ice cream. He would even deliver her to his father's home when Jack needed a place to stay, and he was not on speaking terms with Chip Martin. But he had done it for her. And she had not been there for him. He had died, alone, defenseless, in the streets. It had broken her heart, but it had filled her with shame. It was, to date, one of her biggest regrets.
And now here he was to... what? Remind her? Seek revenge. The apparition's smile flickered, an eyebrow raising. "Hel-
loo?" Teeth flashed. "Sandwich modesty, I see. No, I get it, I-"
Jack was not thinking. She just acted.
She suddenly propelled herself off of her stool, reaching for the man. He reached for his wand but she had seized his collar tightly and she rammed him through the bar, slamming him against the nearest wall. "Who are you?" she demanded. He gritted his teeth and his hands grabbed her elbows. He tried to slam her around, but she kept the momentum going and they crashed against the bar, sending patrons running.
They were an even match. She tried to sweep his legs, he tried to pin her arms. He tried to clamp her down against the bar, she tried to twist his arm around his back. Every move was defended until finally she had him pinned down against the bar and he had her feet between his own, her wrists trapped in his hands. He could not escape from under her elbows, and she could not move without toppling over.
"Who are you?!" she repeated again.
"Not whoever you're looking for!" he snapped back.
The bartender stepped forward. "Look, you two-"
"You look just like my cousin," Jack began, panting heavily from the fight.
"Well then your cousin is an unfortunate fellow-"
"MY COUSIN IS DEAD."
The man was silenced by the statement, staring at her with defiance though obviously rattled for her sake. "Look. I'm sorry, but I don't know anything about this-"
She ripped an arm free and pulled out her wand, waving it. He released her, but she kept him pinned as she slipped the photograph beneath his nose. It could have been a mirror and the man finally seemed to be impressed by her situation. He stared at the moving picture for a long time, breathing deeply as he tried to catch his breath. Finally, he breathed out a sigh. "Look, lady, I'm sorry but I don't know what to tell you."
"Tell me why you look like Elliot?"
"I'm sorry but how do you suggest I do that?!"
"Jack." She continued to stare at the man. "Ms. Dyllan... M-Ms Dyllan-Morrison." Finally Jack whipped around to face the bartender.
"What?!"
"Wait." She turned back to look at the man, who was wetting his lips, the gears turning in his head. "You're Jack Dyllan?"
Jack's eyes narrowed and her grip on him tightened. "Yes. Why?"
The man blinked, breathing haggard breaths. He closed his eyes. "I think I can explain why I look like this Elliot guy."
- - -
Things had begun to settled down. A round of rums had been ordered (oddly enough, it had been this stranger to suggest her favorite drink) and bruises and scratches had been tended to. The bartender kept a wary eye on the pair of brawlers but liked both too much to risk losing them as customers by throwing them out. So he let them be on the condition that any other wrestling matches would be taken outside.
Drinks delivered, elbows and necks sufficiently rubbed, and the two took long drinks before getting down to business. "First thing's first," the man said, offering a hand. "Kipling Parsons."
Jack glanced at the hand. "I want to hear your explanation."
He dropped the hand and ran the other over his face and through his hair. "Fine." He reached down and pulled up a small satchel. He opened it and began looking through the papers within it. After a moment, a file was withdrawn and slid in front of her. She stared hard at the file for a moment, as though it were going to dance or burst into flames.
"What is this?" she said, a bit dully.
"An explanation," Kip said, one knuckled massaging beneath his eyebrow while the other hand waved vaguely.
She sighed and opened the file, irritated with the many hoops she seemed would be coming her way. The hoops, however, did not make her jump, but instead made her fall. Her stomach made its way down into the soles of her feet as she looked at a picture of her very own father. Her heartbeat quickened, not understanding but knowing that something strange was happening. She flipped the picture over to reveal an article - it was Riley's birth announcement. The next was her own. The one after was a map - showing her original childhood home in Scotland, and the one she had moved to when she turned six. There was a printed page on her father's company. She kept turning, heart pounding, uncertain as to what this explained.
And finally, she got to an envelope. It was sealed, a red mark across the front saying that the address has been invalid. It had been addressed to her father, but she noticed that the sender had misspelled her street name... It had been returned unopened. Her eyes drifted to the name of the sender. Luciana Parsons. The same surname as the man next to her.
She glanced to Kipling and he grimaced. "The next one is a doozy. She didn't give me this copy, the real copy, until recently, and she wasn't happy to do it either."
Jack turned the page and found a birth certificate.
KIPLING BENNETT PARSONS. Mother : LUCIANA PARSONS. Beneath that, a signature.
Father : GREGORY PARSONS. There was no signature.
"Apparently," Kip said, "he doesn't know. I haven't even met him yet. The, uh, investigator who did all of this though... He had one of my hairs. And he managed to meet... Greg. And you might want to turn the page."
She turned it again, to the very last document within the file. The emblem of Mungo's shined up at her. Her eyes scanned the document, taking in words such as 'Kipling Parsons', 'Gregory Dyllan,' 'DNA sample,' and 'match'. She lifted her eyes to the man next to her once more.
"You're my brother?" Jack said.
Kipling shrugged. "Well, half." For a moment, they stared at each other. And then Kip offered a hand out. "How about that handshake, then?"
Jack blinked rapidly, swallowing. She looked down at her own hands, hands that shared half the DNA of this stranger. She reached out and took his hand, squeezing it. Their hands went slack but did not release each other as their eyes met. And suddenly, Jack found herself hugging this stranger, because she was less alone than before.
by 
