Psychopathy andYou
Author: emocezi
Title: Psychopathy and You
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 992
Disclaimer: I do not own The Losers nor do I make a profit from this work of fiction.
A/N: I've been thinking about writing this for a while, and just finally got some free time to poke at my keyboard. ~♥♥♥
Everyone looked at Roque, watched him, wondered about his apparent glee at the violent acts he committed. They called him names behind his back: psycho, freak, baby-killer. No one knew if that last one was true or not. The only thing that mattered about everyone looking at Roque, was it kept eyes off of Jensen.
He’d never been to see a shrink, had been too smart for that. He’d learned from a young age not to show anything he shouldn’t, to mimic his older sister’s emotions in certain situations and her actions in others. She was his role model for what a normal human being should be, what a good son should be, a good younger brother.
He told everyone what they wanted to hear, showed them what they wanted to see. He was a mirror, reflecting what needed to be shown and hiding all the rest. No one had ever suspected a thing.
It was a bit ironic really. He worked with men who’d been trained to hear an ant crawling across the floor two buildings away, who lived and breathed the job, always looking for the lie. And there was always a lie, no matter who was talking. And no one saw it, no one even guessed at what was lurking underneath the glasses and the smile.
Jake Jensen had never been to a psychiatrist, had never been psycho-analyzed or used as some interns research paper. He’d diagnosed himself when he’d learned how to string letters together at the age of four and a half. Spent an entire weekend in the psychology section of the local library.
Others called him gifted, called him a genius and praised him for his quick thinking and Superior intellect. But Jensen knew what he was, and genius didn’t come close. It was referred to as a personality disorder, characterized by an inability to form human attachment and an abnormal lack of empathy.
High Functioning Sociopath.
To Jensen, even from a young age, everyone was a tool to be used or discarded. His parents cared for him, gave him food and shelter. His sister taught him life lessons, showed him how to behave and interact socially. She was the one who had chastised him for staring, unblinking for minutes at a time.
Without his sister, he would have been discovered early. There were no bonds of love, loyalty or affection that kept Jensen returning to his sister. Her house was always open to him, and it saved him from spending money on an apartment he would never have time to live in. An unwelcome side effect was watching his niece.
Everyone loved her, thought she was smart, adorable, cute as a button. Jensen wondered how she’d kept herself alive this long. She barely seemed able to walk and breath at the same time. She seemed stupid to him, dull and boring. Always wanting to play idiotic games with ever changing rules that offered no challenge but guaranteed she would win every time. There was nothing the least bit unique or special about his niece that he hadn’t seen in a hundred thousand other children. To be honest he’d seen smarter, more interesting children living in the slums of Beirut. But he’d never actively liked children, even the ones related to him by blood.
Even the army psychiatrists hadn’t spotted it, simply seeing what Jensen projected. A young, hard working American boy, willing to fight and die for his country. He made friends in boot camp, if only because it was expected of him. He watched the weak get culled from the herd and felt nothing when his closest friend dropped out. If there was any emotion reserved for Brandon Meyers, it was disgust at how easily he let himself be beaten.
He’d served in various platoons and units before getting drafted onto Frank Clay’s team. Jensen knew from meeting them that they considered each other closer then brothers. For the time being he was the odd man out, and there was still chatter about how his last team had died, gunned down to the last man while he walked away without a scratch.
Everyone he worked with was a tool. And the last team, had been completely worthless. They refused to listen to his instructions, scoffing and calling him a know-it-all. They’d given him a code-red to try and shut him up, make him seem more normal and toned down, like a Special Operator should be. Instead they’d all signed their death warrants.
But Pooch liked him, refused to listen to anything bad, refused to believe that Jensen and his baby face could harm anyone not pointing a gun at him. Clay didn’t even give him a second glance, and even Roque seemed to think he was as harmless as a bag of wet kittens.
Cougar watched him, and for once in his life Jensen started to wonder if someone was on to him. Instead it turned out Cougar was interested in his body and had no care for what secrets the noisy hacker kept hidden.
Jensen had a sex drive, it wasn’t overly high, but it was there. Most of the time he considered sex to be a worthless time waster, disgusting and unclean with all the bodily fluids that got spread around. But with Cougar he indulged himself, allowed the Spaniard to show him how to use his body for something other then a weapon.
Love was an emotion he had never experienced, and there was never a sudden growth of his heart, never a sudden flurry ofsomething he’d never known. There were no singing birds, no magical declarations of emotion. To Cougar it was a simple release of stress, a way to take the edge off with someone he trusted.
And if he was ever asked, Jensen would tell you, the very best thing about being on the Losers.
Everyone looked at Roque.
Title: Psychopathy and You
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 992
Disclaimer: I do not own The Losers nor do I make a profit from this work of fiction.
A/N: I've been thinking about writing this for a while, and just finally got some free time to poke at my keyboard. ~♥♥♥
Everyone looked at Roque, watched him, wondered about his apparent glee at the violent acts he committed. They called him names behind his back: psycho, freak, baby-killer. No one knew if that last one was true or not. The only thing that mattered about everyone looking at Roque, was it kept eyes off of Jensen.
He’d never been to see a shrink, had been too smart for that. He’d learned from a young age not to show anything he shouldn’t, to mimic his older sister’s emotions in certain situations and her actions in others. She was his role model for what a normal human being should be, what a good son should be, a good younger brother.
He told everyone what they wanted to hear, showed them what they wanted to see. He was a mirror, reflecting what needed to be shown and hiding all the rest. No one had ever suspected a thing.
It was a bit ironic really. He worked with men who’d been trained to hear an ant crawling across the floor two buildings away, who lived and breathed the job, always looking for the lie. And there was always a lie, no matter who was talking. And no one saw it, no one even guessed at what was lurking underneath the glasses and the smile.
Jake Jensen had never been to a psychiatrist, had never been psycho-analyzed or used as some interns research paper. He’d diagnosed himself when he’d learned how to string letters together at the age of four and a half. Spent an entire weekend in the psychology section of the local library.
Others called him gifted, called him a genius and praised him for his quick thinking and Superior intellect. But Jensen knew what he was, and genius didn’t come close. It was referred to as a personality disorder, characterized by an inability to form human attachment and an abnormal lack of empathy.
High Functioning Sociopath.
To Jensen, even from a young age, everyone was a tool to be used or discarded. His parents cared for him, gave him food and shelter. His sister taught him life lessons, showed him how to behave and interact socially. She was the one who had chastised him for staring, unblinking for minutes at a time.
Without his sister, he would have been discovered early. There were no bonds of love, loyalty or affection that kept Jensen returning to his sister. Her house was always open to him, and it saved him from spending money on an apartment he would never have time to live in. An unwelcome side effect was watching his niece.
Everyone loved her, thought she was smart, adorable, cute as a button. Jensen wondered how she’d kept herself alive this long. She barely seemed able to walk and breath at the same time. She seemed stupid to him, dull and boring. Always wanting to play idiotic games with ever changing rules that offered no challenge but guaranteed she would win every time. There was nothing the least bit unique or special about his niece that he hadn’t seen in a hundred thousand other children. To be honest he’d seen smarter, more interesting children living in the slums of Beirut. But he’d never actively liked children, even the ones related to him by blood.
Even the army psychiatrists hadn’t spotted it, simply seeing what Jensen projected. A young, hard working American boy, willing to fight and die for his country. He made friends in boot camp, if only because it was expected of him. He watched the weak get culled from the herd and felt nothing when his closest friend dropped out. If there was any emotion reserved for Brandon Meyers, it was disgust at how easily he let himself be beaten.
He’d served in various platoons and units before getting drafted onto Frank Clay’s team. Jensen knew from meeting them that they considered each other closer then brothers. For the time being he was the odd man out, and there was still chatter about how his last team had died, gunned down to the last man while he walked away without a scratch.
Everyone he worked with was a tool. And the last team, had been completely worthless. They refused to listen to his instructions, scoffing and calling him a know-it-all. They’d given him a code-red to try and shut him up, make him seem more normal and toned down, like a Special Operator should be. Instead they’d all signed their death warrants.
But Pooch liked him, refused to listen to anything bad, refused to believe that Jensen and his baby face could harm anyone not pointing a gun at him. Clay didn’t even give him a second glance, and even Roque seemed to think he was as harmless as a bag of wet kittens.
Cougar watched him, and for once in his life Jensen started to wonder if someone was on to him. Instead it turned out Cougar was interested in his body and had no care for what secrets the noisy hacker kept hidden.
Jensen had a sex drive, it wasn’t overly high, but it was there. Most of the time he considered sex to be a worthless time waster, disgusting and unclean with all the bodily fluids that got spread around. But with Cougar he indulged himself, allowed the Spaniard to show him how to use his body for something other then a weapon.
Love was an emotion he had never experienced, and there was never a sudden growth of his heart, never a sudden flurry ofsomething he’d never known. There were no singing birds, no magical declarations of emotion. To Cougar it was a simple release of stress, a way to take the edge off with someone he trusted.
And if he was ever asked, Jensen would tell you, the very best thing about being on the Losers.
Everyone looked at Roque.