Three days after their first meeting, Reese has set up a comfortable corner for the two of them, a cul de sac of sorts in the library, comfortable chairs with soft cushions. A pitcher of iced tea and two glasses awaits on the table, along with a plate of English biscuits. He's also asked the plot hole for a new grey silk shirt: gotta look his best ( Read more... )

Reese has been keeping his skills honed, doing target practice on a fence in the back garden, and shadow-sparring when he gets the chance. And he might be found in one of the more secluded rooms, punching and kicking at an imaginary assailant, his movements swift and precise, his lean form silhouetted against the large windows.

Title nicked from ( Read more... )

It could be later that day, or it could be days later. But at some point, when Phoenix enters the kitchen, he might find a tall, slim guy, the jacket of his suit draped over the back of his chair, sliding a cleaning brush down the barrel of a handgun, while the rest of the parts -- the slide, the firing mechanism, and several other parts -- lie ( Read more... )

Reese has crossed paths with one or two medieval (or at least pre-industrial) types, and the thought has crossed his mind, sooner or later, he's likely to get into a scuffle with one. Human nature, plus he has a knack for getting into fights -- and ending them. It just doesn't seem fair to be more heavily armed than his opponent: a gun at a ( Read more... )

Found on pofinterest_fic and was too good not to repost here.

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Do they smoke? Nope, not at all
Drink (alcohol)? Drinks socially, and has also been known to drown his woes in alcohol, but now that he has a purpose, he's sobered up.
Drugs? Nope, but given his time in the CIA, he knows a creepy amount of info on using chemicals to deal with troublemakers and how to deal with unwelcome doses...
What genre of ( Read more... )