FIC: Dearly (Departed)
Title: Dearly (Departed)
Author: blue_fjords
Characters: Agent Johnson/Alice Carter
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Word length: ~1,500
Summary: About a week after CoE, Agent Johnson goes to see Alice Carter.
A/N: Originally posted for 51stcenturyfox and cruentum’s Comment Porn Battle V. This is the cleaned-up version - thanks to amand_r for the beta (and the title)!
“Ms. Carter?” She raised her fist and knocked again. “Ms. Carter, I’d like to do this inside.”
The house remained silent, and Johnson hitched her shoulders irritably and took a quick glance behind her. She waited for a father pushing a pram to round the corner, then she kicked in the door. She closed it solicitously behind her and strode down the hall to the kitchen. The signature tap-tap-tap of her boot heels announced her presence throughout the house, in counterpoint to the loud bang at the door.
She stopped at the kitchen, and leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, one finger tapping the elbow of the opposite arm. Alice didn’t even look up.
Johnson surveyed the room, half in moving boxes, half the home of a young boy. Alice sat hunched at the kitchen table, littered with the detritus of a spree at Thresher’s. Johnson wrinkled her nose - alcohol fumes and rot. The trash hadn’t been taken out for about a week, she guessed, nor had a window been opened. She could see the back garden through the glass - there were still a few of Steven’s toys scattered out there.
She yanked the opposite chair out from the table and sat, flak jacket rubbing loudly against the chairback. Her hand immediately went to her firearm, one reassuring tap, completely subconsciously. She cleared her throat and launched into her rehearsed speech; a few platitudes, sticking out awkwardly amongst dry words that shouldered no real blame. Alice cut her off.
“Why the fuck are you here?” Her voice carried absolutely no sting, nor any other emotion.
Johnson didn’t even blink, continuing on as if nothing had been said. “Once the official declaration has been formulated in Parliament, I will bring you -”
“I don’t want your fucking money.”
Johnson shrugged. “Then donate it to a charity. Set up a Steven Carter Foundation. Give him a lasting legacy, and yourself something to do with the rest of your life.”
Alice stared at her. The moment stretched out, heavy with the weight of that very legacy. Alice finally looked away, rose to her feet and crossed over to the fridge. She pulled out a beer, popped it open with her fist and the kitchen counter, and took a long draught. Johnson eyed the bottles of whiskey on the table and repressed a sigh.
“I’m not going to head the ‘Your Snot-Nosed Kids Are Only Here Because of My Murdered Son’ Foundation,” Alice muttered finally.
Johnson quirked an eyebrow. “Right, then. The Prime Minister’s office would like to make suitable funeral arrangements -”
“The Prime Minister can go fuck himself,” Alice said conversationally. She took another pull on her beer. “That’s rich; him thinking to look after me. Hasn’t he resigned yet?”
Johnson bared her teeth in a smile. “I am not privy to the workings of the Prime Minister’s office.”
“You just do what you’re told.”
And that, that was beginning to sting.
Johnson stood up. “There’s a plot set aside for him. I’ll drive you there. Come with me.” She didn’t look behind her as she left the kitchen, and after a moment, Alice’s shuffling feet followed her down the hall, accompanied by the clink of bottles. A week ago, she wouldn’t have been surprised to have her orders followed. She rolled her shoulders. A lot could happen in a week.
Johnson drove them in a cold silence through the streets of Cardiff before finally pulling over to the side of the road. The cemetery spread out in front of them.
Alice swallowed and looked away. “This is Newport.”
“It’s a perfectly respectable cemetery.”
“I’m not burying - ,” she stuttered on the word and waved her hand in front of her face, as if pushing it aside, “-my son doesn’t belong in Newport. You can practically see the M4 from here.”
“Good accessibility,” Johnson murmured.
“It stinks here,” Alice declared. Her hand shook as she raised her bottle again. It clinked against her teeth. Johnson watched her drink, taking in the errant hairs around her upper lip, the crinkles around her eyes, the large pores of her face. She was beautiful regardless, though she was beginning to sweat and smell of a week-long bender. “Why’d we come here?”
“He needs to be buried somewhere.”
Alice began to laugh, the hysterical half-sobs filling the SUV. “How stupid do you think I am, Agent Johnson? What are you even an agent of? No don’t answer that,” she stumbled over the words as Johnson opened her mouth, “your agency’s defunct, out of favor, ties cut with its mercenary guards. Killers like you.” She twisted in her seat to look at the other woman. “They haven’t even told you - they’re not giving me back my son! I don’t have a body to bury!”
Johnson froze, mind quickly reviewing her final orders and drawing the same conclusion as Alice. She scowled. “Then why come with me,” she said flatly.
Alice snorted. “We’re at a cemetery. You have a gun.” She took another sip from her bottle. It was Chardonnay, not beer anymore. “I’m a loose end. Tie me up, Agent Johnson. That’s what you do, after all.”
“You’re a drunk, and a fool,” she replied coldly.
Alice lashed out, breaking the bottle against the window. The last dregs of the wine spilled out onto the seat, and the smell wrestled with the stench of Alice’s sweat for dominance of the SUV. “It is not foolish,” her voice wavered, grew stronger, faded again, “for a mother to want to be with her child. Do it. Don’t make me beg; you owe me. You fucking owe me.”
Alice’s face was covered in tears, and Johnson hesitated to touch her. “I’m not going to do that.”
“Why not? Why not, when I want you to?” Johnson could barely make out her words.
"I don’t want to kill you, Alice.” Somewhere in this SUV there was a cloth or something for the poor woman’s face. Alice was a splotchy red, and snot was mixing in with the tears and drunkard’s sweat. Johnson climbed into the backseat and rifled through the kit, emerging with a clean cotton towel. “Come here, Alice.”
Alice gave a resigned little shrug, gripped one of her unbroken bottles (a Chianti, almost full), and fell ungracefully into the backseat. Johnson gripped one of her shoulders as she wiped at her face. Alice’s lips parted at the touch, her neck arching forward into what Johnson could see was a purely involuntary reaction to human contact. She wondered if Alice had been touched at all in the past week. She drew the towel down the other woman’s neck and Alice started, eyes opening.
Johnson felt a surprising wave of pity at the need in her eyes. “Come here,” she said again, and pulled Alice flush against her own chest. Pity crippled her desire, and she closed her eyes to avoid the pain in the vehicle as she thumbed open Alice’s trousers. Alice was barely wet as Johnson worked a finger in, two. Alice choked back more tears, and Johnson grimaced against her neck. There was no way she was going to get off and she was already regretting trying to help Alice. She dug in deeper, and Alice cried out. She let out a stuttering “uh uh uh” as she finally grew wetter. Johnson rubbed her thumb against Alice’s clit and felt the other woman come. The pungent scent mixed with the smell of the wine would have, under normal circumstances, done wonders for Johnson, but she merely lifted Alice away from her and looked into the front seat.
“Well.” Alice caught her breath and started again. “That was an … interesting … form of apology.”
“Do you expect me to apologize for doing what was necessary?” Johnson asked in her usual clipped tone, flared nostrils the only sign of irritability.
“Necessary? Necessary? God, you sound like him!” She turned on her side, cradling her bottle of Chianti, and stared unseeing out the window. It had started to rain, turning the cemetery into a blur of green and grey. “You admire him, don’t you?”
Johnson leaned back against the seat and crossed her arms. “Yes.”
“Then you should go throw your lot in with him. I don’t want you around here.”
Johnson said nothing, and finally Alice glanced over at her. “Oh that’s just perfect.” The derision in her voice grew and grew, until it formed a third person, wedged tight between them. Johnson ignored it, and stared straight ahead. “He’s left, hasn’t he? Gone and left another pregnant woman to clean up his shit.” Alice raised the bottle once more. “He never changes, does he?” she murmured against the glass lip.
Johnson sighed, the air traveling from the bottom of her feet, up through her body and expelled into the already close atmosphere. Stale. “He -”
“No.” Alice cut her off with a note of finality. “No. He’s not to be mentioned to me ever again. I refuse.” She looked Johnson in the eye. “Is that understood, Agent?”
“Perfectly, Alice.”
Alice looked away again, and closed her eyes. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”
Johnson drove them back, silent but for the rain pattering on the SUV and the windshield wipers attempting to push it all away. She tucked Alice into bed before leaving, the strangely maternal gesture sitting awkwardly on her shoulders. She would not see Alice Carter again, she knew.
Author: blue_fjords
Characters: Agent Johnson/Alice Carter
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Word length: ~1,500
Summary: About a week after CoE, Agent Johnson goes to see Alice Carter.
A/N: Originally posted for 51stcenturyfox and cruentum’s Comment Porn Battle V. This is the cleaned-up version - thanks to amand_r for the beta (and the title)!
“Ms. Carter?” She raised her fist and knocked again. “Ms. Carter, I’d like to do this inside.”
The house remained silent, and Johnson hitched her shoulders irritably and took a quick glance behind her. She waited for a father pushing a pram to round the corner, then she kicked in the door. She closed it solicitously behind her and strode down the hall to the kitchen. The signature tap-tap-tap of her boot heels announced her presence throughout the house, in counterpoint to the loud bang at the door.
She stopped at the kitchen, and leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, one finger tapping the elbow of the opposite arm. Alice didn’t even look up.
Johnson surveyed the room, half in moving boxes, half the home of a young boy. Alice sat hunched at the kitchen table, littered with the detritus of a spree at Thresher’s. Johnson wrinkled her nose - alcohol fumes and rot. The trash hadn’t been taken out for about a week, she guessed, nor had a window been opened. She could see the back garden through the glass - there were still a few of Steven’s toys scattered out there.
She yanked the opposite chair out from the table and sat, flak jacket rubbing loudly against the chairback. Her hand immediately went to her firearm, one reassuring tap, completely subconsciously. She cleared her throat and launched into her rehearsed speech; a few platitudes, sticking out awkwardly amongst dry words that shouldered no real blame. Alice cut her off.
“Why the fuck are you here?” Her voice carried absolutely no sting, nor any other emotion.
Johnson didn’t even blink, continuing on as if nothing had been said. “Once the official declaration has been formulated in Parliament, I will bring you -”
“I don’t want your fucking money.”
Johnson shrugged. “Then donate it to a charity. Set up a Steven Carter Foundation. Give him a lasting legacy, and yourself something to do with the rest of your life.”
Alice stared at her. The moment stretched out, heavy with the weight of that very legacy. Alice finally looked away, rose to her feet and crossed over to the fridge. She pulled out a beer, popped it open with her fist and the kitchen counter, and took a long draught. Johnson eyed the bottles of whiskey on the table and repressed a sigh.
“I’m not going to head the ‘Your Snot-Nosed Kids Are Only Here Because of My Murdered Son’ Foundation,” Alice muttered finally.
Johnson quirked an eyebrow. “Right, then. The Prime Minister’s office would like to make suitable funeral arrangements -”
“The Prime Minister can go fuck himself,” Alice said conversationally. She took another pull on her beer. “That’s rich; him thinking to look after me. Hasn’t he resigned yet?”
Johnson bared her teeth in a smile. “I am not privy to the workings of the Prime Minister’s office.”
“You just do what you’re told.”
And that, that was beginning to sting.
Johnson stood up. “There’s a plot set aside for him. I’ll drive you there. Come with me.” She didn’t look behind her as she left the kitchen, and after a moment, Alice’s shuffling feet followed her down the hall, accompanied by the clink of bottles. A week ago, she wouldn’t have been surprised to have her orders followed. She rolled her shoulders. A lot could happen in a week.
Johnson drove them in a cold silence through the streets of Cardiff before finally pulling over to the side of the road. The cemetery spread out in front of them.
Alice swallowed and looked away. “This is Newport.”
“It’s a perfectly respectable cemetery.”
“I’m not burying - ,” she stuttered on the word and waved her hand in front of her face, as if pushing it aside, “-my son doesn’t belong in Newport. You can practically see the M4 from here.”
“Good accessibility,” Johnson murmured.
“It stinks here,” Alice declared. Her hand shook as she raised her bottle again. It clinked against her teeth. Johnson watched her drink, taking in the errant hairs around her upper lip, the crinkles around her eyes, the large pores of her face. She was beautiful regardless, though she was beginning to sweat and smell of a week-long bender. “Why’d we come here?”
“He needs to be buried somewhere.”
Alice began to laugh, the hysterical half-sobs filling the SUV. “How stupid do you think I am, Agent Johnson? What are you even an agent of? No don’t answer that,” she stumbled over the words as Johnson opened her mouth, “your agency’s defunct, out of favor, ties cut with its mercenary guards. Killers like you.” She twisted in her seat to look at the other woman. “They haven’t even told you - they’re not giving me back my son! I don’t have a body to bury!”
Johnson froze, mind quickly reviewing her final orders and drawing the same conclusion as Alice. She scowled. “Then why come with me,” she said flatly.
Alice snorted. “We’re at a cemetery. You have a gun.” She took another sip from her bottle. It was Chardonnay, not beer anymore. “I’m a loose end. Tie me up, Agent Johnson. That’s what you do, after all.”
“You’re a drunk, and a fool,” she replied coldly.
Alice lashed out, breaking the bottle against the window. The last dregs of the wine spilled out onto the seat, and the smell wrestled with the stench of Alice’s sweat for dominance of the SUV. “It is not foolish,” her voice wavered, grew stronger, faded again, “for a mother to want to be with her child. Do it. Don’t make me beg; you owe me. You fucking owe me.”
Alice’s face was covered in tears, and Johnson hesitated to touch her. “I’m not going to do that.”
“Why not? Why not, when I want you to?” Johnson could barely make out her words.
"I don’t want to kill you, Alice.” Somewhere in this SUV there was a cloth or something for the poor woman’s face. Alice was a splotchy red, and snot was mixing in with the tears and drunkard’s sweat. Johnson climbed into the backseat and rifled through the kit, emerging with a clean cotton towel. “Come here, Alice.”
Alice gave a resigned little shrug, gripped one of her unbroken bottles (a Chianti, almost full), and fell ungracefully into the backseat. Johnson gripped one of her shoulders as she wiped at her face. Alice’s lips parted at the touch, her neck arching forward into what Johnson could see was a purely involuntary reaction to human contact. She wondered if Alice had been touched at all in the past week. She drew the towel down the other woman’s neck and Alice started, eyes opening.
Johnson felt a surprising wave of pity at the need in her eyes. “Come here,” she said again, and pulled Alice flush against her own chest. Pity crippled her desire, and she closed her eyes to avoid the pain in the vehicle as she thumbed open Alice’s trousers. Alice was barely wet as Johnson worked a finger in, two. Alice choked back more tears, and Johnson grimaced against her neck. There was no way she was going to get off and she was already regretting trying to help Alice. She dug in deeper, and Alice cried out. She let out a stuttering “uh uh uh” as she finally grew wetter. Johnson rubbed her thumb against Alice’s clit and felt the other woman come. The pungent scent mixed with the smell of the wine would have, under normal circumstances, done wonders for Johnson, but she merely lifted Alice away from her and looked into the front seat.
“Well.” Alice caught her breath and started again. “That was an … interesting … form of apology.”
“Do you expect me to apologize for doing what was necessary?” Johnson asked in her usual clipped tone, flared nostrils the only sign of irritability.
“Necessary? Necessary? God, you sound like him!” She turned on her side, cradling her bottle of Chianti, and stared unseeing out the window. It had started to rain, turning the cemetery into a blur of green and grey. “You admire him, don’t you?”
Johnson leaned back against the seat and crossed her arms. “Yes.”
“Then you should go throw your lot in with him. I don’t want you around here.”
Johnson said nothing, and finally Alice glanced over at her. “Oh that’s just perfect.” The derision in her voice grew and grew, until it formed a third person, wedged tight between them. Johnson ignored it, and stared straight ahead. “He’s left, hasn’t he? Gone and left another pregnant woman to clean up his shit.” Alice raised the bottle once more. “He never changes, does he?” she murmured against the glass lip.
Johnson sighed, the air traveling from the bottom of her feet, up through her body and expelled into the already close atmosphere. Stale. “He -”
“No.” Alice cut her off with a note of finality. “No. He’s not to be mentioned to me ever again. I refuse.” She looked Johnson in the eye. “Is that understood, Agent?”
“Perfectly, Alice.”
Alice looked away again, and closed her eyes. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”
Johnson drove them back, silent but for the rain pattering on the SUV and the windshield wipers attempting to push it all away. She tucked Alice into bed before leaving, the strangely maternal gesture sitting awkwardly on her shoulders. She would not see Alice Carter again, she knew.