FIC: 300 (for poppetawoppet) - R
Title: 300
Author: rollingplains
A Gift For: poppetawoppet
Rating: R
Warnings: language
Pairings: C/N
Summary: The first few days are the hardest.
Authors Notes: Very loosely based on a portion of poppetawoppet's second prompt: "I need your grace"
Banner by inkvoices
T+1
A hero complex and a pretty face. That was all it took.
-----------------------------------------
T+60
She finally gains standard access, and is no longer dependent on his security clearance to move around base like she was for the past 2 months.
So yeah, he got a little attached.
-----------------------------------------
T+71
He hadn't expected her to be particularly chatty, but she tells him she's been mostly silent for the first 26 years of her life and she's ready to leave that behind like everything else she already has.
He's crouched on a rooftop, waiting for the mark to emerge, and for the first time, he thinks he finds the silence deafening.
-----------------------------------------
T+74
He drops by her room first when he gets back. His heart breaks a little when she opens the door, dressed in office conservative, hair bunned, and glasses on.
"They made you an analyst," he says softly.
"How could you tell?" she asks, voice dry.
-----------------------------------------
T+75
It keeps him up at night.
-----------------------------------------
T+76
On his last day off, he picks up a bottle of vodka, heads over to Intelligence and leaves it on her desk with a shot glass and a note ("to help pass the time")
Maybe what he meant to write was "I didn't mean to fuck you over."
-----------------------------------------
T+77-78
"You know, it's like having a fucking atom splitter, and using it to boil water."
She's unmoved. "They think I'm a liability. Come on, defected two months, multiple hits ordered on me? I'm all risk, no return, as far as they're concerned."
He has a hard time believing she would have come with him if she had known they'd assign her to desk duty.
Where field agents go to die, in obscurity, and from boredom.
"Stop looking like that," she says. "I'll be fine."
Add her to his growing list of accidental fuck-ups. "Fine is no way to live."
"Dead is no way to live either," she reminds him.
-----------------------------------------
T+104
She works longer hours now, and he sees her less. He's worried about her. Corporate does something to people like them. Sucks the life-force out of them. Turns them into empty shells. Destroys souls.
"Stop being so dramatic," she says. She looks every bit the office drone now - pen in her hair, coffee cup glued to her hand, a hint of fatigue, dark under the eyes. Sustaining ergonomic injuries like carpal tunnel and eyestrain, when she should be out handing people's asses to them. Not working as a fucking intern.
"I get paid. Interns don't get paid."
He has to stop thinking out loud. "What did you do today?" he asks, changing the subject.
She hands him two thick files. "Wrote a novel for your reading pleasure."
He groans and she snatches them back. "Sorry, I forgot you're barely literate."
-----------------------------------------
T+127
There must be a rule somewhere stating that you can't get involved with someone whose life you had a direct hand in ruining. Not that he's been thinking about anything like that.
Did he actually ruin her life? He's never sure. It takes a couple drinks before he works up the nerve to ask, a watered down version, if she's any worse off since meeting him.
"Worse?" she asks, uncomprehending. "Different, maybe."
-----------------------------------------
T+158
He starts giving her detailed recaps of each assignment he returns from. He doesn't want her to get too complacent with her desk job, to which she is adjusting better than he'd like.
"I couldn't get a good vantage point from up top so I was forced to tail him on the ground."
"Bad move. You were cleared to follow him into the city."
"It was faster."
"And now you have that scar to show for it," she says, pointing at his neck.
It was barely visible. "How did you-"
"Oh come on. You were obviously forced into hand to hand. You never should have taken that chance."
"I took a calculated risk-"
"You could have taken him out from 50 meters away so the risk you took was unnecessary. Your hand to hand combat skills are mediocre."
"My hand to hand combat skills are adequate."
"You put your money on adequate?" she asks, incredulously.
"It got me home 3 days early," he retorts.
"For the distance they expected you to cover, it should have been a 2 person job. Could have been done in 5 days, not 8."
"Cutbacks are a bitch," he shrugs.
She takes off her glasses and rubs her eyes. "If I was with you," she says, staring off into the distance, "we could have finished the fucker off in 4."
"For that, I'd give you my per diem."
"Fuck that. I'd work for free."
-----------------------------------------
T+190
She insists on reading his mission profiles now, even if it was technically a breach, he never says no (like he could say no to her anyway). He doesn't say it, but he suspects she lives vicariously through them.
"Who writes these things?" she asks, looking at the briefing contemptuously.
"People like you," he replies, same tone.
"I don't know what they're thinking."
"I'll be fine."
"Oh fuck, I don't doubt that. It's just a stupid set up. You should be called in to take the shot, not the recon as well. It's a waste of your time. They could get a couple college students to monitor the warehouse."
"It'll be a security problem to recruit civilians on a part-time basis."
"Then kill them afterwards, I don't give a shit."
-----------------------------------------
T+194
He's preparing for deployment when she shows up in his room with an envelope.
"That for me?"
She nods, and ignores his outstretched hand, preferring instead to tuck it into the inside pocket of the jacket he's wearing. She pats it. "Open it when you're on the ground, not before." She gives him a quick kiss on the cheek and turns to go.
Her casual affection burns. "This is very 50's housewife of you. Like you're wishing your banker husband a good day at work."
"Except I'm not a housewife and you're shit at math. You'd never hack it a day at a bank."
"And we're not married."
She grins. "Knock 'em dead. Literally."
Of course he opens it as soon as she leaves the room.
It contains a few of black and white photographs of his mark. In red marker, she's circled his companion in both of them. Her note reads If he's with his girlfriend, he'll have plainclothes security around him cause she doesn't know what he does. I'd wait till he's alone. The security's for his girlfriend, he doesn't bother if he's on his own - he thinks he's invincible. See you at home in a couple of days.
It's a 6 day mission - 2 days is how long she estimates it'll take.
He sends her a text. "thanks," it says, instead of "santiago, wanna come? off the books."
That would be stupid.
-----------------------------------------
T+196
It's a 17 hour flight, and the whole time he thinks about how she's slipping away.
Funny he would think that since he never had her in the first place.
-----------------------------------------
T+200
"You're late," she says.
-----------------------------------------
T+268
She's beginning to find out about his assignments before he does, and she always seems to have something for him, a memo, a USB stick, some vital piece of information the powers that be missed (or saw fit to keep from him) and she had turned up.
This is how he knows she's good.
She does it on the side, she doesn't need to tell him that. Because they have no reason to inform her of his missions, and she's never assigned to work intelligence on his cases.
At least she cares.
-----------------------------------------
T+299
"Stop it. Stop walking around all wounded like. I don't have time for your shit."
This is what he did to her. Hell, she could have her entire management team off a cliff in 3 minutes, but instead they're breathing down her neck for some sort of fucking after hours deadline.
"Barton, I chose this. So will you stop it?"
"You didn't get a choice," he whispers. "A gun to the face is not a choice."
"Sure it is," she responds, not even looking up from her laptop. "I chose life."
-----------------------------------------
T+300
He had promised to stay awake and keep her company while she finished up her report, but must have fallen asleep at some point, because he wakes up to her mumbling "Fuck this shit." She snaps her laptop shut with a click. "There room for two in there?" she asks.
He shifts over, returning one of her pillows to its rightful position. "It's your bed," he shrugs. "You tell me."
She takes off her glasses and socks and slips in next to him, lying on her side so she can face him. "Wake me up in two hours. Can you manage that without an alarm clock?"
"You underestimate me."
"Just checking," she chuckles, and closes her eyes.
He stares at her for a moment, and sighs, brushing a wayward lock of hair off her face and tucking it behind her ear. "We were supposed to take on the fucking world together. Me and you."
"I know," she says wistfully, smiling slightly, eyes still closed. She slides her hand under the sheets and finds his, lacing her fingers between his and squeezing. "Maybe next time."
-----------------------------------------
Author: rollingplains
A Gift For: poppetawoppet
Rating: R
Warnings: language
Pairings: C/N
Summary: The first few days are the hardest.
Authors Notes: Very loosely based on a portion of poppetawoppet's second prompt: "I need your grace"
Banner by inkvoices
T+1
A hero complex and a pretty face. That was all it took.
-----------------------------------------
T+60
She finally gains standard access, and is no longer dependent on his security clearance to move around base like she was for the past 2 months.
So yeah, he got a little attached.
-----------------------------------------
T+71
He hadn't expected her to be particularly chatty, but she tells him she's been mostly silent for the first 26 years of her life and she's ready to leave that behind like everything else she already has.
He's crouched on a rooftop, waiting for the mark to emerge, and for the first time, he thinks he finds the silence deafening.
-----------------------------------------
T+74
He drops by her room first when he gets back. His heart breaks a little when she opens the door, dressed in office conservative, hair bunned, and glasses on.
"They made you an analyst," he says softly.
"How could you tell?" she asks, voice dry.
-----------------------------------------
T+75
It keeps him up at night.
-----------------------------------------
T+76
On his last day off, he picks up a bottle of vodka, heads over to Intelligence and leaves it on her desk with a shot glass and a note ("to help pass the time")
Maybe what he meant to write was "I didn't mean to fuck you over."
-----------------------------------------
T+77-78
"You know, it's like having a fucking atom splitter, and using it to boil water."
She's unmoved. "They think I'm a liability. Come on, defected two months, multiple hits ordered on me? I'm all risk, no return, as far as they're concerned."
He has a hard time believing she would have come with him if she had known they'd assign her to desk duty.
Where field agents go to die, in obscurity, and from boredom.
"Stop looking like that," she says. "I'll be fine."
Add her to his growing list of accidental fuck-ups. "Fine is no way to live."
"Dead is no way to live either," she reminds him.
-----------------------------------------
T+104
She works longer hours now, and he sees her less. He's worried about her. Corporate does something to people like them. Sucks the life-force out of them. Turns them into empty shells. Destroys souls.
"Stop being so dramatic," she says. She looks every bit the office drone now - pen in her hair, coffee cup glued to her hand, a hint of fatigue, dark under the eyes. Sustaining ergonomic injuries like carpal tunnel and eyestrain, when she should be out handing people's asses to them. Not working as a fucking intern.
"I get paid. Interns don't get paid."
He has to stop thinking out loud. "What did you do today?" he asks, changing the subject.
She hands him two thick files. "Wrote a novel for your reading pleasure."
He groans and she snatches them back. "Sorry, I forgot you're barely literate."
-----------------------------------------
T+127
There must be a rule somewhere stating that you can't get involved with someone whose life you had a direct hand in ruining. Not that he's been thinking about anything like that.
Did he actually ruin her life? He's never sure. It takes a couple drinks before he works up the nerve to ask, a watered down version, if she's any worse off since meeting him.
"Worse?" she asks, uncomprehending. "Different, maybe."
-----------------------------------------
T+158
He starts giving her detailed recaps of each assignment he returns from. He doesn't want her to get too complacent with her desk job, to which she is adjusting better than he'd like.
"I couldn't get a good vantage point from up top so I was forced to tail him on the ground."
"Bad move. You were cleared to follow him into the city."
"It was faster."
"And now you have that scar to show for it," she says, pointing at his neck.
It was barely visible. "How did you-"
"Oh come on. You were obviously forced into hand to hand. You never should have taken that chance."
"I took a calculated risk-"
"You could have taken him out from 50 meters away so the risk you took was unnecessary. Your hand to hand combat skills are mediocre."
"My hand to hand combat skills are adequate."
"You put your money on adequate?" she asks, incredulously.
"It got me home 3 days early," he retorts.
"For the distance they expected you to cover, it should have been a 2 person job. Could have been done in 5 days, not 8."
"Cutbacks are a bitch," he shrugs.
She takes off her glasses and rubs her eyes. "If I was with you," she says, staring off into the distance, "we could have finished the fucker off in 4."
"For that, I'd give you my per diem."
"Fuck that. I'd work for free."
-----------------------------------------
T+190
She insists on reading his mission profiles now, even if it was technically a breach, he never says no (like he could say no to her anyway). He doesn't say it, but he suspects she lives vicariously through them.
"Who writes these things?" she asks, looking at the briefing contemptuously.
"People like you," he replies, same tone.
"I don't know what they're thinking."
"I'll be fine."
"Oh fuck, I don't doubt that. It's just a stupid set up. You should be called in to take the shot, not the recon as well. It's a waste of your time. They could get a couple college students to monitor the warehouse."
"It'll be a security problem to recruit civilians on a part-time basis."
"Then kill them afterwards, I don't give a shit."
-----------------------------------------
T+194
He's preparing for deployment when she shows up in his room with an envelope.
"That for me?"
She nods, and ignores his outstretched hand, preferring instead to tuck it into the inside pocket of the jacket he's wearing. She pats it. "Open it when you're on the ground, not before." She gives him a quick kiss on the cheek and turns to go.
Her casual affection burns. "This is very 50's housewife of you. Like you're wishing your banker husband a good day at work."
"Except I'm not a housewife and you're shit at math. You'd never hack it a day at a bank."
"And we're not married."
She grins. "Knock 'em dead. Literally."
Of course he opens it as soon as she leaves the room.
It contains a few of black and white photographs of his mark. In red marker, she's circled his companion in both of them. Her note reads If he's with his girlfriend, he'll have plainclothes security around him cause she doesn't know what he does. I'd wait till he's alone. The security's for his girlfriend, he doesn't bother if he's on his own - he thinks he's invincible. See you at home in a couple of days.
It's a 6 day mission - 2 days is how long she estimates it'll take.
He sends her a text. "thanks," it says, instead of "santiago, wanna come? off the books."
That would be stupid.
-----------------------------------------
T+196
It's a 17 hour flight, and the whole time he thinks about how she's slipping away.
Funny he would think that since he never had her in the first place.
-----------------------------------------
T+200
"You're late," she says.
-----------------------------------------
T+268
She's beginning to find out about his assignments before he does, and she always seems to have something for him, a memo, a USB stick, some vital piece of information the powers that be missed (or saw fit to keep from him) and she had turned up.
This is how he knows she's good.
She does it on the side, she doesn't need to tell him that. Because they have no reason to inform her of his missions, and she's never assigned to work intelligence on his cases.
At least she cares.
-----------------------------------------
T+299
"Stop it. Stop walking around all wounded like. I don't have time for your shit."
This is what he did to her. Hell, she could have her entire management team off a cliff in 3 minutes, but instead they're breathing down her neck for some sort of fucking after hours deadline.
"Barton, I chose this. So will you stop it?"
"You didn't get a choice," he whispers. "A gun to the face is not a choice."
"Sure it is," she responds, not even looking up from her laptop. "I chose life."
-----------------------------------------
T+300
He had promised to stay awake and keep her company while she finished up her report, but must have fallen asleep at some point, because he wakes up to her mumbling "Fuck this shit." She snaps her laptop shut with a click. "There room for two in there?" she asks.
He shifts over, returning one of her pillows to its rightful position. "It's your bed," he shrugs. "You tell me."
She takes off her glasses and socks and slips in next to him, lying on her side so she can face him. "Wake me up in two hours. Can you manage that without an alarm clock?"
"You underestimate me."
"Just checking," she chuckles, and closes her eyes.
He stares at her for a moment, and sighs, brushing a wayward lock of hair off her face and tucking it behind her ear. "We were supposed to take on the fucking world together. Me and you."
"I know," she says wistfully, smiling slightly, eyes still closed. She slides her hand under the sheets and finds his, lacing her fingers between his and squeezing. "Maybe next time."
-----------------------------------------