An Eye For...
Years ago.
It was another slow night.
Ever since he was thrown into this assignment he had known that things would be a bit less than glamorous, but that was okay by him. He could be sure of himself now, sure that he was doing something good for once, and sure he was doing the right thing. It had certainly beaten the tense moments and lingering feelings that things were more than met the eye.
Ever since he had been put on Operation: Rusty’s Blanket things had slowed down. For once, he didn’t really mind. It was supposed to be a garbage assignment and probably assigned by someone who hated him, but what the hell, he had the last laugh. He just had to look after Doc-he could tolerate the little man when he wasn’t babbling about astrophysics or complaining about something-and more importantly, he had found the routine of looking after Venture’s two young sons a strangely comforting rut. Better to be playing ball with Hank or, uh, at least making sure Dean wasn’t playing with some doll Doc had nonchalantly bought him than wondering if the next assignment was going to be his last or listen to some poor sap beg for his life before being gutted.
But lately? Things were too dull. Quiet. Boring. Hank and Dean were sticking to themselves lately to play with each other, and for once they were behaving. So he wasn’t needed to baby-sit them or break up fights. Doc was just holing himself up in the lab to try some new hair-brained get-rich quick formula and he only really saw him at mealtimes.
So finally, he decided he could afford to throw caution to the wind and go to the bar in town. The boys and Doc would be safe, and the compound had reasonable enough defenses in case the butterfly guy decided to attack again. Heh. He chuckled, remembering how the guy was begging for him not to muss up the little crown he had on.
He was back home now, outside the hangar, letting himself enjoy a cigarette. He had given Doc credit at first to not wanting secondhand smoke in the building, until he learned he just didn’t like the smell of it and wasn’t really thinking of the boys. Hrm.
Something rustled in the bushes and he saw the outline of something black flash by.
He blinked.
….
Another blink, and he tensed. Someone was there. Can’t be the bug. Obviously not his style, he was too melodramatic. He willed himself into a combat pose. He didn’t want to have the night get exciting this way….
……
Silence. He could only hear himself taking slow, calm, deep breaths. Was there something there? Had to be….
He took a step forward.
A red blur suddenly slammed into his jaw, hard. He barely had time to register the searing flash of pain in his mind as he fell, his large hands instinctively falling palm-first to catch his body as he fell from the impact. He hit the ground.
He turned his head slightly. Something metallic coming at him…
He rolled around and heard the sword clank against the runway’s pavement.
He looked up. Mol.
They gazed at each other.
------
For once, he winced. It had been nearly a year…year and a half ago since he had seen her last. It had been one of his last assignments working directly for the OSI, in fact, and as usual, she was there. They had done the usual fighting, cursing, threatening. The usual danger. The usual risks.
But she didn’t know for once he finally had enough for that time. He needed this mission done, and he couldn’t afford to screw it up. She wasn’t relenting to him…. and he needed to get her out of the way.
It only took a second. She had already been pulling back for another punch.
He reached out to her face.
His palm was suddenly stained with red as he held the objective in his hand and he watched how for a moment-the tiniest of moments-she looked like nothing had happened, then just surprised-not hurt, not enraged. Surprised.
That moment very suddenly melted into a scream, a primal one-one of horror, of anger, of pain, of everything. He had never seen her quite so…. vulnerable? No, no, oh hell no. Wrong word by a long shot. Angry? Certainly not that either. Hurt? Well, physically it probably hurt like hell, but he realized that wasn’t it either….
He stayed put all that time, and finally, he couldn’t take it. He had rushed away. Not out of fear, of cowardice-the objective at that point was HIS, dammit, he had won! -but because it hurt.
He never completed the mission. Hunter was as amazed as he was infuriated, and had lectured him-endlessly, how his future was drying up, how he couldn’t cover his ass anymore, how they finally had to probably dump him to something else since he kept screwing up.
He didn’t care.
It hurt.
It hurt because he had finally realized what that look was.
It was a look that told him, more than anything else in that moment, she felt betrayed.
------
They gazed at each other. Her glare was one of intensity. Coldness. Death. She was not giving a confident smirk. Her eyes did not tell him she expected this to be easy, or fun, or teasingly mocking him.
She did not even have both eyes to do that now.
He had pulled one of them out of her socket that night, and he had not seen her until now.
She had a patch over the socket. A heart-shaped one…
She gave a cry and raised her sword and forced it down at him with nearly inhuman speed. He gave a short grunt as he quickly pulled himself out of the way, backing up, getting back onto his feet.
“MOL!”
She roared again, thrusting the blade left, at his kidneys. He jerked again to the side, trying to put distance between him and the katana. He needed to tell her.
She took a step and leapt at him, foot extended. He felt the heel slash against his cheek-Jesus Christ she hitthebruiseFUCK-and he stumbled back, hand reaching to his face in pain.
He looked up; he saw the toe of her boot rising up to him-
-he caught it in time and shouted her name again. Another roar. She took a step forward with her other foot and then somersaulted upwards, her left foot uppercutting his chin and freeing her other leg. He felt himself knocked back again and wondered just how he managed to still stay on his feet.
He couldn’t parry the next blow, or the ones after that-she had already jumped back to him and was throwing as many punches as she could to him, blows raining everywhere, too fast to dodge or defend.
He finally fell.
She gave a snort of derision and kicked him hard on the shoulder, finally eliciting a yell from him as he turned onto his side to try to assuage the pain, and suddenly he found himself on his stomach, the extra weight of the woman he had felt so much forcing him onto his back.
He then felt her breath on his ear.
Her voice was a low hiss. “You took my eye.”
He took a deep, pained breath. “Had to get that mission done.”
“You RAN.”
“You were hurt.”
“YOU RAN!” Her voice was louder this time.
“You…were hurt.” His lowered.
A moment of nothing but tense breathing.
He heard her unsheath something and suddenly felt the cold metal of the flat side of a knife on his neck.
“You ran. I did not FORGET!”
“Mol….”
Another low snarl. Then: "You insufferable bastard!"
Even weaker. “Mol….”
“I do not forgive.”
He felt the blade touch the tip of his ear, and stay there. Christ. She was going to cut his ear off. Of course…she was going to make him pay too, wasn’t she? He really had no idea how much he had hurt her…
Another moment of silence.
….
“Alright. Just get it over with.” He muttered. Despite everything…he probably deserved this. He wasn’t going to be getting off easy forever.
He never felt the blade press harder against his ear. Instead, he suddenly felt her right foot get up off of his shoulder, heard a small clacking sound, and felt a small, sudden sting on the back of his neck.
He felt her breath against his ear again, her lips touching its tip ever so softly.
Her voice, still trembling with fury, suddenly sounded faint. “But for you…I will make an exception for once....”
….
The world went black.
******
The next day.
He awoke.
He stayed there, motionless. He was facing his left. Why did he not see dried blood by his side? Feel anything odd on his neck?
He reached gingerly for his earlobe.
It was there. Despite everything, a tiny smirk appeared.
He got off. Freaking amazing.
Then the breeze flew by, and his neck suddenly felt very cool. Why?
He reached for it.
He felt the back of his skull too easily, then felt the matted hair just below.
He pulled gently at it, brought his fingers back to his face to gaze upon. Strands were in them.
He reached again, pulled more, bought it back for another glance at what was in his grip: more hair.
He lifted his head up and felt all the hair of his mullet drop onto his back.
He stayed there, contemplating what had happened last night, then sighed. He got back up and watched the entire length of his hair below his ears fall to the ground silently.
Okay, she didn’t forget. She did forgive. She didn’t even take an eye, or an ear, or something else disfiguring in vengeance before she did.
He raised an eyebrow and felt himself grimace-one of wry amusement, of aggravation, he couldn’t tell yet-at the fact she, too, had made sure he certainly wouldn’t forget all of it himself.