LC4 Entry 3: The Mark
Title: The Mark
Themes and/or Prompt/s Captured
Rating: G
Word count: 2700
Characters/Pairings: Arthur, Gwen, A/G
Spoilers/Warnings: Guns and talk of guns
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters based on the TV show Merlin
Summary: Arthur would literally risk life and limb for his Guinevere
Author’s notes: I hope the artist doesn't mind that this is a Modern AU. Thanks.
Fic inspired by this artwork: http://i1081.photobucket.com/albums/j343/ag_fics/2012%20Challenge%20Banners/longchallenge4promptbanner2.png
It took her and Merlin hours to conceive and hours more to put every little detail into place until it was clean, perfect. The plan was simple, brilliant and foolproof: orchestrate a brazen, but ultimately foiled, surprise attack; get caught; get the intel; and get out.
Simple. Brilliant. And foolproof.
“Arthur, what the hell are you doing here?”
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Gwen struggled to regain a comfortable seat. The van shimmied and jerked as it plowed down the bumpy road seemingly in search of the slightest pimple and divot. Being blindfolded with her wrists cuffed behind her back didn’t help her equilibrium either.
It was hot inside the van and doubly hot underneath the burlap sack. Scratchy too. She hoped her make-up wouldn’t run. She’d need to look her best.
The plan was simple. Merlin would trigger the detonator at the precise moment she was to punch the stolen code into the combination lock.
“Bloody hell,” Rich Man shouted, pulling his gun from the holster hidden inside his dinner jacket.
It’s his trademark. A Walther PPK.
The tiniest sliver of a smile curled Gwen’s lips. Rich Man, her mark for this assignment, actually fancied himself to be James Bond, down to his bespoke suits and the double-o-seven standard issue sidearm.
She said nothing and tried to look alarmed.
“Get in here now, you idiots,” he hollered. They came rushing in, three of them also dressed for the occasion, falling over the one ahead of him, aiming their gun sights at her chest.
“Please,” she begged with her arms raised in the air.
Her acting job worked fine. Rich Man glared at her then instructed his men to lower their guns. The bodyguards searched her. She had nothing much to hide tonight. Her dress made sure of that, but the mission called for no guns, no communication devices and there would be only one way in the end.
Gwen watched as Rich Man took the box from his safe. A minute later, they ushered her out of the door and tossed her in the back of their van. Now, she sat (in her 2,000 quid dress) waiting for phase two. She savored the memorable tinge of shock she witnessed on Rich Man’s face as he enter his study and delighted at the prospects of seeing it at least one more time tonight.
Rich Man pulled her close, her feet just landing on the ground. “You’re going to regret ever trying to play me from some lovesick little schoolboy,” he said to her ear.
Gwen mused, wanting to smile. He truly was that lovesick little schoolboy that she played so expertly for a fool. Unexpectedly, the burlap sack came off. The cool night air was a relief against her face and she could almost kiss him for it. He removed the gag next. Now she could smile and did.
Scowling, Rich Man asked, “So do you have anything to say for yourself before we go inside?”
There was a hint of a plea in his voice and she realized he was still willing to give her a chance at reconciling. This might be another advantage. She must have gotten her claws in deep with this one, she thought.
Gwen’s head fell to one side. Blinking and breathing in a lung full of the pristine air, she remarked, “The stars are beautiful tonight.” And they were. All one hundred billion of them it seemed, from where she was standing.
“Come on,” he grumbled.
Gwen went willingly, blinking at the faces of every one of Rich Man’s men, at the 20-foot walls surrounding the five-story building, at the seven guards stationed at the front gate dressed in black, three armed with 9mm UMP9 assault rifles and four with M4A1’s affixed with grenade launchers and thermal imagining scopes.
She hoped Merlin was getting all of these digital images.
Like an escaped inmate returning to prison, they unwittingly marched her into the heart of their compound. Gwen counted two-hundred and nineteen steps from the outside of the gates to the six-inch thick steel door at the entrance. In a flat run she could cut that number down to about hundred and ninety five strides, give or take; but she had other plans this evening - and there was also the matter of her suede and crystal Valentino heels to consider.
There were thirty more guards on the inside, all with automatic weapons. It was a good bet that there were a handful more lurking out of sight. No matter, she thought. All she needed to do was get to the roof. Merlin could handle the rest if anything went wrong. Curious, she thought. No cameras, anywhere.
Finally, they brought her to the double doors, twice as thick as the one in front, equipped with retinal and thumb scanners and behind them was her escape.
Rich Man bent slightly at the waist allowing the machine to flash a stripe of red light over his right eye. His right eye and left thumb and in unison, she noted. She might be in need of them later.
He walked behind her, nudging her into the room with a stiff arm and five extremely tense fingers pinching into her bare shoulder. Depositing her into a stuffed chair, he rounded his enormous desk and sat the box beside a tacky clown face clock reminding her of his spectacularly awful taste.
He took his chair and interlaced his fingers, except for the two pointers which he tapped against his lips.
“So, I suppose you have been seducing me since we met just so you could get her hands inside my box,” he said with a smirk.
She wanted to laugh. Everything about him was comical, down to his tawdry sense of humor and the grin he proudly displayed.
“You’ve figured me out,” she said, wry. Besides Arthur, Gwen had never met a more arrogant man, but at least Arthur’s bravado was charming. “However,” she started before Rich Man could speak again, “it wasn’t as if I didn’t enjoy it.”
Predictively, he relaxed, assured he had the upper hand in the situation. His shoulders drooped and his eyes softened. He leaned forward and placed his gun on the desk, pushing it to the far edge, but leaving it conveniently within her reach.
Could he be any more stupid? she thought.
Perhaps, he believed her lie…or, perhaps, he had no idea who she really was and what she was capable of. Either way, she slid the pick from her bracelet and went to work unlocking the handcuffs.
“I’m going to pour myself a drink. Would you like one?”
She smiled beguilingly and shook her head.
“No, of course not, because your hands are behind your back.
Rich Man laughed at his own lame jock. She allowed him the moment.
The trick with handcuffs was to go slow and muffle any sounds they might make. In this case, the cushiony chair and her body canceled out the noise. She’d picked dozens of handcuffs while in training, every kind, never failing once to break them open on the first go.
Tonight was no exception.
When Rich Man danced out of his chair, supremely confident, Gwen pounced, catlike - quiet and deft.
“You know. I thought there might have been something more than deception there. You seemed so keening. No woman could fake that,” he rambled on, turning just in time to find her pointing his signature weapon at him.
His jaw dropped and he stood, frozen in place with his glass in his hand, midway to his mouth.
“Keening?” she said, squinting. “That might be a bit of an overstatement.”
Flicking her wrist, she directed him to sit. Rich Man moved quickly, discarding his drink by his precious box and his carnival circus timepiece.
Gwen stood in front of him, the PPK trained at a deathly arc. Her eyes locked on his nervous stare, she snapped one of the cuffs around his wrist then snapped the other to the metal arm of his chair. Pressing a foot into the cushioned gap between his knees, she sent the chair reeling backwards. It banged loudly, but in this room the clatter died against the stone wall.
Taking an elegant step towards the desk, Gwen planted a hand around the box and scooped it up.
“This last couple of hours have been a pleasure. The bits before…,” she said, “…painfully dull.”
Affronted, Rich Man snarled. “You can’t get out of here. My men will catch you the instant you open that door.”
“But I don’t intend on leaving through the door. It’s a clear night.” She shrugged. “Perfect for a flight.”
His face darkened.
What happened next stunned her more than him, however. The room shook as if a monster had rammed into its side. Strangely, that seemed a more comforting thought than the idea of a large magnitude earthquake striking their location mere seconds before her triumphant departure.
Whatever it was, she had to go, and like yesterday.
With his gun and the box in hand, she made for a side door where the stairs should lead up to the roof and to Rich Man’s private helicopter, paying little mind to his hollering and chiding behind her.
The building schematics that she and Merlin stumbled onto purely by accident were spot on. Two flights up and she’d be gone long before they even knew what happened.
As she turned to go up the last set of concrete steps, the roof door snapped open and a rush of warm smoke and dust swirled inside stopping her in her tracks and blanketing her from head to sparkly feet.
Oh shit, she thought, coughing as the air cleared to reveal three men, two carrying high-powered rifles and the slumping form of a golden-haired blond man between them.
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“Arthur, what the hell are you doing here?”
“I had to try and rescue you,” he pronounced sounding prickly, and also like a man who rightful knew what he said made no sense as he was saying it.
They were like a pair of sausages, twined together and left alone inside a little side chamber by Rich Man’s office. She was handcuffed once more, but this time with Arthur sitting at her back, holding her up.
“Everything was under control. It was all going according to the plan,” she said. Gwen kicked off her heels.
“To plan? What plan?”
“The plan that Merlin and I worked up to get inside Rich Man’s compound. To find out exactly what his capabilities were and to get out using his own helicopter.”
“How was it that I knew nothing about the plan? And I couldn’t get a hold of either of you.”
“That’s because it was covert, Arthur. Did you expect me to leave you a note on the fridge telling you all about it. Sweetheart, don’t wait up for me. I’ll be breaking into of highly militarized installation tonight. And there’s roast in the oven.”
“Guinevere,” he said. His tone was more strident. “We agreed that you were not to do anymore covert operations.”
“We didn’t agree to anything of the sort. You demanded it.”
“You can’t put our baby at risk.”
“Risk? What risk? The only risk was you showing up when you weren’t suppose to.” He didn’t respond and she felt immediately guilty. “Arthur, I didn’t mean that,” she said.
A beat past and then he said, “I worry about you, Gwen.”
“So you blew up half the countryside on a one man suicide mission to save me?”
“Well, it wasn’t entirely one-manned,” he stuttered. “I had help, but yes,” he added firmly. “And for the baby too.”
She could’ve cried.
“I’d do anything for you, Guinevere. For both of you.”
She did cry then - just a few tears.
“So you were serious about marrying me?”
“I’ve never wanted anything else. Since the first moment I saw you in that red dress.”
Gwen snorted. “That was a hideous red dress.” She recalled that particular detail from their first assignment together.
“I wasn’t looking at the dress,” Arthur said.
They didn’t like each other from the start. He was cocky. She thought for sure he misliked him. But then there was the kiss that should never have been and the rest…well. Gwen sighed. Falling further into the comfort of Arthur’s broad back, she asked, “Can you forgive me for being rude? And for not telling you earlier?”
“We’re spies. We’re given a job. You couldn’t tell me. And besides I should’ve trusted you,” he answered.
That was nice to hear, though she needed to clarify a bit. “I wasn’t talking about the mission. I meant for not telling you yes the moment you asked me to marry you.”
She’d only told him yes this morning. She wanted him to know, just in case anything went off tonight. Arthur gave her hands a reassuring squeeze.
Their prison room fell silent for a time, then she told him, “I love you. You know that?”
“I know.”
“And it was very brave of you to come after me.”
“Parachuting in here was the easy part. Watch how brave I am when I get us out.”
She could hear his mind working at a new way to escape. He was brilliant at that. “Are you going to blow some more things up?”
“I’m still deciding.”
“Well, I don’t think the PM will be very pleased to wake up to this report.”
“No, I suppose he won’t. But when he hears the happy new about the wedding and that he’s finally going to be a grandfather, I suspect he won’t care much.”
She giggled. “Come on,” she said. “Help me with my shoe. I’ve got another set of lock picks hidden in it.”
“Ah, that’s good because the guard forgot to check my ankle for my gun. We should be home in time for a late dinner.”
“Italian?” she asked.
“I was thinking Indian.”
“Oh, the baby will like that.”
“Will he now?”
“Arthur, she could be a girl.”
The lock at her wrist clinked.
“Well that might be awkward seeing as her name will be Neville.”
“Arthur, boy or girl we are not naming the baby Neville.”
They were out of the handcuffs and both on their feet, Gwen putting on her shoes while Arthur had an ear to the door listening for noise on the other side.
“We can discuss baby names in the helicopter,” he whispered.
“Oh, you didn’t manage to blow it up?”
“No,” he said ignoring her teasing and waving her over to where he was standing.
She watched as he quietly cocked his gun. Looking him in the eyes, she said, “I’ll toss you out of the helicopter if you dare suggest the name Neville again.”
“Fine.” He chuckled briefly then his stiffened and checked the time on his watch. His looked at her again and said, “I had my heart set on Hugo anyway.”
Arthur flashed a cheeky grin and cupped the back of her bare neck. Tracing his thumb across her jaw and down her neck, he leaned in with his eyes closed and captured her lips with his.
Gwen’s heart raced, her chest pressed into Arthur’s as he wrapped his other arm around her waist and dipped her slightly. She discarded her training, allowing herself to forget for a moment that they were hostages. Gwen breathed in his scent and tangled her fingers in hair, gave in to his tongue’s request and parted her lips.
When he broke away, his face was flushed and she could feel hers tingling. Gazing into her eyes with all the will of his determination, he asked, “Are you ready?” And instinctively she knew he wasn’t just asking her about now. He wasn’t just asking her about facing down whatever threat waited for them outside the tiny room. She knew he meant forever and for any danger that might lay ahead for them and for the improbableness of two spies falling in love and finding a way to trust one another.
Certain, she smiled up at him and answered, “Ready.”
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