#donald fitzroy
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Leap of Faith
※ Sierra Six ※
{ masterlist } ※ { ao3 }
※ Summary: What if the escape mission had gone a little differently? No outcomes are certain. No one is impervious to fault.
※ Rating: M for mature themes of suicidal idealization and death.
※ Content/Tags: Suicidal Idealization, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt No Comfort, Found Family, Suicide Attempt, Character Death
※ Word count: 4,938
※ Status: Oneshot/Complete
※ Author's Notes: Lloyd's moves did not, in fact, fuck.
Sucking in a deep breath, closing his eyes for a brief moment, the Sierra Agent steels himself. The doorknob is firm under his hand, sturdier than he feels right now. He is not sure what he is going to find behind the double doors. Is he too late? Is he going to turn the knob and open the antique door to see the bodies of his family cast aside on the floor like abandoned dolls? Lloyd does not seem like the type to treat his toys with consideration. He did not exactly come across as a beacon of patience during this entire ordeal, more like another rich kid who breaks things when he gets mad because his gilded parents will get him another.
Six does not allow himself to continue mentally circling the drain. He forces himself into a state of blind optimism. He has to believe he is going to succeed. A defeatist attitude will get them all killed.
Pushing the door open, he is greeted by the sight of Fitz standing in the middle of the room and prepared for trouble. Six feels his knees go weak, and he winks in lieu of a verbal hello, not trusting himself to speak just yet. There is no time to relax, to take a breather. He has to get his family out of here before Lloyd realizes that the building has been breached. His own body is also a factor. It is an hourglass counting down the minutes. Instead of sand, he is keeping time with blood. Their would-be assassin had not been as much of an amateur as Six had let on to Agent Miranda.
“Attaboy.” The retired handler praises, his relief palpable.
Claire let out a laugh from where she is crouched at the side of the bed. The scrawny preteen stands up and Six’s eyes rapidly scan her. She is unharmed, Greasy and exhausted, yes, but unharmed. Fitz had kept her safe in the agent’s absence, now it is time for Six to take up the task and see them through to the end.
“Fitz,” he says and brushes past to check the window. Dani is running Lloyd’s personal ragged outside. All eyes are on the woman racing across the grounds. He is unspeakably grateful for her. If she hadn’t picked his sorry ass up and taken him to Prague, he would have failed long ago.
“You able?” He asks Fitz, closing the curtain and turning away from the window.
“Well, I can walk, but, uh, missing a wing,” he responds bitterly and raises his bandaged hand. Of course Lloyd would be a fingernail puller.
“Can you wiggle your finger?”
“With this wing,” Fitz says and raises his right. Mercifully intact.
“That’ll do.” He pauses and looks at Claire, “You okay?”
“Took you long enough,” she grouses, watery despite the chiding words.
“Sorry about that. My flight was delayed.” There is no heat to his voice. He would have gone down in countless burning planes if it ensured the girl’s safety.
“I knew you’d catch another one.” Fitz sounds apologetic.
The sound of steps in the hallway outside gets his attention. They are no longer alone. Lloyd has caught onto the diversion that he and Dani cooked up before they ambushed the sentries. They are out of time.
“Put these in your ears,” he instructs Claire quietly, making sure she takes the offered pair of earplugs from his hand before lifting his gun into a ready position. He fires off a line of shots into the wall. Groans and heavy thuds signal that the bullets meet their mark. One of the assailants falls against the door, pushing it further ajar.
“You ready?”
Fitzroy nods and ushers their charge in front of himself. He will watch her while Six keeps the way clear. They have an unspoken agreement that regardless of the consequences, Claire must be escorted to safety. The two adults are disposable, she is not.
Hooking his gloved fingers around the door and pulling it open, Six cautiously sticks his head into the hallway. No sign of any living problems. He beckons for Claire and Fitz to follow him. They stay close to keep Claire sandwiched securely between them. Both of them tell her to not look down as they step over the bodies and creep through the building. Gunfire and shouts echo in the distance.
The agent nearly jumps out of his skin when feels Claire grip onto the back of his belt. He can feel her trembling despite the thin connection. Tremors aside, she is brave. He wishes that she did not have to be, that she was not even cast into this impossible situation to begin with. It is not fair. She is even younger than he was when he was arrested and charged as an adult for the murder of his father.
They make it onto the bridge before things really start to go to shit. Six considers their options. The bridge does not afford them much choice. Lloyd and his cronies would be able to meet them at the bottom of the steps or else pick them off like animals in a trophy seeker’s canned hunt. The water is the only possible route. They will have to jump and swim for their freedom. He can see a boat in the distance. It can serve as their escape vehicle until they get to the edge of the moat and proceed on foot.
“Okay. Do you have a plan, or are we improvising?” Fitz sounds a little labored. His hand must be hurting him. Who knows what else Lloyd did to him during his captivity. Six will have to wrestle the older man into an examination once they are out of here.
“Yeah, I got a plan. You got your swim trunks?” He smooths his worry with a joke. He has a bad feeling about all of this.
Gunfire from the bridge running parallel to theirs pushes them along. He hears Fitz telling their girl to keep going, to stay low. Six covers them, does his damnedest to make sure that neither member of his family gets injured. They take a rest against a pillar while Six checks their escape route again. No changes. Lloyd must be confident that he has them cornered. Conceited asshole, he thinks callously.
Speak of the devil and he will make himself known. Six hears Lloyd scream from the other bridge. He is able to make out something about destroying a historical building. He is of the opinion that if Lloyd really wanted to keep the structure intact, he would not have made it the prison for the two people Six cares about the most in this world. There is not anything on this earth that he would not tear down if it meant saving them.
“All right. Let’s get ready to jump.” The water is deep, the walkway at a lower point. It would be the safest here.
“I’m gonna have to take the stairs.”
“What are you talking about?” He asks, frustration creeping into his voice. He turns to look at Fitz. The other man is slumped against the pillar with his hand clutching at his abdomen. Blood has begun to soak into the bandage wrapping up his fingers. Six does not think it is from his nail beds.
“It's not good,” Fitz gets out through gritted teeth. He pulls his hand away for a brief moment, offering Six a glimpse of a bullet wound.
“What the hell is that?” He’s crowding into the older man’s space. Fear is creeping its icy touch up his spine. If any one of them were to die, it would be Six. That was the job of a good guard dog.
“What do you think it is?” Even now Fitz cannot show any vulnerabilities of his own. He doubles down. “Go, Six, get her out of here.”
The agent stands up with a growl. He fires off a few more shots at Lloyd, trying to buy them some more time. Time that he knows will not fix anything. He ducks back down next to the bleeding man.
Fitz speaks before he can. “Take the gun. Give me the grenade.”
“Let me see. Put your hand on it. Put some pressure. Get the gun out of my damn face.” Desperation is making him harsh. Things were not supposed to happen this way.
“Give me the gren-.”
Six cuts him off. “Shut up. I need to think.”
He can still fix this. Fitz does not have to die here. Six can carry him, Atlas the weight of both of their bodies. Claire is sobbing quietly beside them. He has to fix this. There is no other option.
“You don’t have time to think. Six, look at me.” He keeps his eyes averted from the speaking man. He is running scenario after scenario in his mind. He was trained for this. He can make this work.
“Look at me.” Six finally meets his eyes. They’re sad, understanding. Fitz knows what this means to the three of them. Knows that this is a devastating blow. “I’m out. Get her gone.”
“Sto-.” Six tries, agonized.
“Take this. Give me a hand grenade. You understand me? Go!” He shoves the gun at Six’s chest. They are out of time and Six knows it.
Woodenly, Six pushes a grenade into Fitz’s waiting hand and takes the gun. Claire is whimpering now, holding herself and rocking. He has to save her, even if it takes his final breath. He stands up and wraps his hand around her upper arm. Pins down Lloyd on the other bridge with a few more shots. He will have to grit his teeth and bear it like he did when he pulled the gun on his own father. He has to follow through no matter how much it hurts. Sometimes to save someone you care about, you have to sacrifice another.
“C’mere,” he says softly to the trembling girl in his grasp.
“You go with Six, baby.” Fitz prompts. He is looking at them as though he is trying to take in every last detail.
“We go in three, two, one.” He starts pulling her away, but she fights him, jerks out of his grip the moment she finally processes her uncle’s condition.
“No, wait! He’s bleeding. Oh my god!” She falls onto her knees next to him, frantically grasping at him. Both men close their eyes and cringe at what has to be done.
Six closes the gap between them and catches Claire in a vice grip. She cannot slip away from him again. It could easily be a death sentence for her too. He would not be able to live with himself if he lost both of them. They are all he has.
“Come on.” The agent is nearly begging.
“I love you, baby. Go with Six.”
“No! Not you too!” She’s screaming, fighting against the man holding her. She is breaking their hearts.
“Go, go, go, go. Take her!” The last part is directed at his final recruit.
“It’s okay,” Six mutters, trying to convince Claire as much as himself. There is nothing okay about this situation. Both his fathers will have died from a bullet to the gut if Fitz does not manage to trigger the grenade. He pulls the girl off of her uncle.
She is hitting and clawing at him in her efforts to not abandon Fitz. He will carry the gouges of her nails in his arm for weeks. They will be a tangible reminder of his failure.
“No! Six, stop! Stop it! Stop! Six, please!” She is choking on her words, sobbing hysterically.
Donald Fitzroy’s “Oh, for Christ sakes.” lingers in his ears as he shoves Claire behind him and forces her down the walkway. He gives them just enough cover to duck behind another pillar before helping Claire onto the barrier. The man hesitates, he has a bad feeling about this but Fitz was right, he does not have time to think. They are out of options.
“I’ll jump with you. I’ll be with you the whole way. I promise,” he tells her as he steps up next to her. She is crying and clinging to his hand now. There is no fight left in her.
They leap off the bridge, hand in hand until the impact of the water tears them apart. Six hits hard, the air knocked out of his lungs even though he went into the water feet first. Claire had flinched right before impact and had landed belly down. They sink beneath the surface, suspended in silence as a battle rages on overhead. Forcing himself into action, the agent grabs hold of Claire as he fights to get the both back to breathable conditions.. They break the surface, and he holds her for a moment, treading water. She is unmoving in his arms, deadweight. He reasons that she must have been knocked unconscious in the fall. Six will have to get them both to shore on his own.
It is a hard swim. She does not so much as twitch as he struggles to keep them moving and afloat. She is slung across his broad back. Her arms are tucked through the shoulder straps of the bulletproof vest he is wearing. He could not risk her slipping under the surface in her unconscious state. Exhaustion threatens to drown them both. His arms move like they have weights hanging from them. The wound on his side has torn open further. If this were a cartoon, he would be leaving behind a winding trail of blood in the water. His vision sparks around the edges. Blood loss and fatigue are catching up to him. He feels as though there is a man standing over him with a hammer, waiting to strike.
The last time he slept was in the back of Agent Miranda’s silver Audi, head knocking aggressively against the interior of the trunk lid. Perhaps she could hit him with another dart once they catch up with each other at the meetup location. He does not think that he will be able to fall asleep naturally, not for a long while. Even now, he can hear Claire’s wheezing sobs rattling in the back of his mind as they leave Fitz alone to die.
Hauling them both over the edge of the retaining wall hurts . His stomach scrapes on the stone and he nearly blacks out from the pain. His fingers slacken and they pull free of the gravel. Only the thought of the girl he is carrying rallies him enough to drag the two of them the rest of the way out. He crouches, breathing through the lightning bolts of agony racing through his tired muscles, and extracts Claire from his back. He is forced to let go of her to eliminate a threat that catches up with them. Lloyd will be coming soon, he realizes. The man he just shot was the welcoming committee.
He turns back to Claire and pauses. The girl lays in a crumpled little heap on the gravel where he had dragged her out of the water. She has not moved. Six returns to her and kneels. Rolling her onto her side, he makes sure her airway isn't obstructed. It was a hard impact, difficult even for him. It is reasonable that she is taking more time to recover.
“Claire.” The way he says it is soft, panic has not set in. He knows that Claire is a strong kid.
She does not respond.
“Claire, we need to go. I need to get you out of here.” He tries again, an edge creeping into his voice.
Nothing. He strips off his glove and notches his bare fingers against her neck. He waits. Tries a different angle. Waits. Presses more firmly. Waits. There's no matching echo to his own beating heart.
He feels an uncontrollable uptick in his breathing. Tension spreads in his nervous system. Her pulse is there, just too weak for him to feel it. She must have water in her lungs. He needs to get it out.
The agent shifts Claire onto her back. He gently opens her jaw and adjusts the angle of her head to ensure that there is a clear path from her lungs to her mouth. Her ribs feel as delicate as a bird's under his hands. She is just a child.
The first set of compressions jolts her, and for a shining moment, he thinks that she is coming to. That thought plummets when he realizes it is only the force of his hands puppeteering her. No water comes from her lungs, all he hears is the dry rasping of a chest cavity being forced to respond. Even still, he does not stop. He cannot bring himself to succumb to the truth, even as he feels her ribs shatter underneath his palms.
“I'm surprised that you're still here, sunshine. Thought you would have taken the girl and scrammed.” Lloyd's voice is an annoying buzz at the fringes of his awareness
Six drowns it out, swats it away like a mosquito. He is still trying to help Claire breathe. Stopping means giving up on her.
“Oooh. I see. Looks like the girl didn't make it, huh? Guess you'll have to turn in your parenting license.”
There is a stinging sensation digging at his eyes. Six feels wetness streaking down his face. The likelihood of an unrealized facial injury is high. Much to his disbelief, however, the liquid that falls onto the backs of his hands is clear. It is not blood. He has not cried in over a decade. Nothing was ever worth it, not since he walked out of his father’s bedroom, gun clasped in a too small hand. His movements stutter to a stop as he muddles through the dawning grief. His body is more willing to accept the truth in front of him than his mind is. The man kneels, head bowed, finally still. A dog loyally by the side of his dearest companion.
Lloyd fires a shot off. It clips his left arm, tearing a long gouge as it passes. Blood immediately fills the newly vacated space. It drips onto Claire, soaking into her shirt in a scattershot of drops. The pain is an annoyance, the insult to his charge is far greater. He looks at Claire’s still face, the cost of his failure. He knows. Oh, he knows.
The cause of her death is running his mouth without a care in the world. “With her and your old man gone, why don’t we work together. Smooth this whole thing over.”
Six stands, spits. He faces Lloyd. “You made a mistake.”
The other man laughs, delighted. He tosses his gun into the moat and pulls out a knife. He does a trick as he releases the blade. Lloyd has always preferred to be hands on when it comes to torture. There is something more rewarding about it.
“Let’s see if these moves fuck,” Lloyd crows.
The agent is on him in seconds, primed to tear into him like an animal. Six no longer has any reservations about being the aggressor. With no reason to try to be a better man, who is there to care about what cruelty his hands inflict? Why bother with morals? They had been his downfall, start to finish.
He takes the knife to the shoulder without flinching. It plunges deep into the meat of his trapezius muscle, missing the bulletproof vest. It makes a place for itself a narrow distance away from his spine. The minute it is withdrawn in an arc of blood, his hand clamps onto Lloyd’s. They snarl and growl in each other’s faces. Six is stronger and he overpowers the other man. He gives Lloyd’s wrist no option but to turn. The blade is steadily angled away from Six’s already injured abdomen and towards the other man’s. He looks him in the eyes as he unyieldingly drives the knife home. Together, they gut Danny Carmichael’s golden boy. Lloyd’s skin snags and jerks around the sharp edge as it carves into the tender flesh of his belly. It should have been sharpened for a clean cut. It would have hurt less. Blood spills hot and thick over their clasped hands. A crimson wave of carnage. Six does not exactly relish the pained surprise in the other man’s eyes, but he is not upset about it either. He lets go, the folding knife falls from Lloyd’s suddenly limp fingers. Impassive, he observes as the interrogator take a few stumbling steps back. Lloyd hovers his hands uncertainly over his stomach.
“You shit… look what you did to me,” he groans.
Six closes the scant distance. He does not want to hear the other man speak again. He fists one hand in the long hair at the top of Lloyd’s head. Like a steadfast, unthinking laborer, he drags his thrashing body over to the edge of the moat. Lloyd’s knees scrape across the gravel and he loses a shoe. He is clawing at Six’s gloved hand. It hurts less than Claire’s desperate attempts to break free had.
Lloyd gives into primal animal fear. He squeals and flails like a rabbit caught in the jaws of a wolf. There is nothing he can do to gain the upper hand when Six overpowers him to his knees at the water’s edge. The agent does not hesitate the first time he smashes Lloyd’s face into the stone edge. He does not hesitate the second or third time either. He lets himself fall into the repetitive motion, repeats it until all he can hear over the increasingly wetter thuds are Lloyd’s pathetic attempts to draw in air.
Six straightens, drops the now unrecognizable man flat on his back to suffocate in his own blood, and turns to Claire. He picks her up and cradles her in his arms like something fragile, precious. He handles her as gently now as he did when she was alive. Gingerly, he lowers himself to the ground beside the vehicle Lloyd arrived in. The agent leans back against the tire, he adjusts the girl in his arms so she is cradled against his chest. He waits to die.
───※ ·❆· ※───
Death does not greet him by the time Suzanne arrives. The Sierra Agent cannot bring himself to care about her presence. He is floating somewhere above his body. He has long since tuned out the sludgy sound of Lloyd’s breathing. At some point the other man had tried to crawl across the ground towards him, towards the vehicle, but that had been some time ago. He vaguely wonders who will die first. Fitz had always said his inclination to survival was almost supernatural. He wishes it were not so. Maybe continuing to live was part of his penance for failing Fitzroy… for failing Claire.
He hears a droning in his ears. He realizes that it is his own voice, hoarse and ragged. Apologies spill from his lips. He cannot make himself stop. Distantly, he is aware of a gun going off. The gurgling ends.
“Get up,” a woman’s voice tells him. He pays her no mind. He does not even think he could stand if he wanted to.
The rest of her words roll right over him. He comes back to himself when he registers that two men are trying to extract Claire from his hold. That provokes a reaction from him. His apologies turned into the feral growls and snarls of a wounded dog. A boot dug into his stab wound stuns him enough that they are able to pull the dead girl off of him. Despite the lack of motor functions, he makes himself struggle to rise. It is a series of starts and stops. His muscles will not obey. He feels cold.
The bullet to his thigh feels more like a gesture of mercy than anything else. It takes the final dregs of fight out of him. The last thing he sees before his vision gives out is Claire’s arm dangling as she is carried away from him. He reaches out for her hand. He said he would be there with her. He promised.
───※ ·❆· ※───
Steadily beeping machines greet him as he gradually comes to, fighting his way through the cocktail of pain management and sedatives that serve to keep him compliant. For a blissful moment, he hazily drifts along before his mind sharpens and he remembers. The memories of that night in Croatia latch onto him and they do not let go. He makes a motion to sit up, to do anything to end the anguish, but he is handcuffed to the hospital bed that he woke up in. He is a prisoner in every way that counts.
───※ ·❆· ※───
The nurse tending to Six makes two mistakes. The first is that she does not tighten one of his wrist cuffs enough to keep him properly restrained after sponging him down. The second is that she does not notice him slipping her ballpoint pen from one of the hip pockets on her scrub top when she leans over him to check an IV bag. She leaves the room none the wiser to his plan.
With the extra slack, it is easy to tug his hand free of the restraint. He angles his head to the side before locating his carotid artery with seeking fingers. It is a mirror of when he sought out Claire’s pulse in what feels like a lifetime ago. Unlike hers, his beats steadily against the pads of his fingers. His heart rate does not increase, even as he plunges the pen as deeply as he can into his own flesh. His hand trembles slightly. Six pulls the pen out, letting it fall to the floor as his blood begins to pump steadily from the hole he has made.
The heart rate monitor finally goes wild as he hemorrhages. He closes his eyes and coaxes his body into relaxing despite the instinctual urge to fight for self preservation. He will not fight what he assuredly deserves.
───※ ·❆· ※───
With a wild sense of déjà vu, he wakes up again to the sound of steadily working machines. Only this time, he is not alone. Suzanne is sitting in a chair at his bedside. She looks ruffled and bordering on irate.
“You are too important of an asset to be acting up like this,” she says as an opener.
What is there for him to say? He knows his value to the CIA. Does not care. There was no longer anyone to tether him.
“Fine. Don’t speak. You have two weeks, and then I’m sending you to take care of a little problem.”
He does not spend a single moment alone for those two weeks. His hands are kept in sight at all times. The staff are not allowed to have anything in their pockets. They do not give him a single opportunity to disrupt Suzanne Brewer’s will.
───※ ·❆· ※───
Morning dawns without fanfare. Six rattles along down the road, seated between two handlers. He is not trusted enough to be unsupervised, even now. The man knows that he could wrestle a firearm from one of the agents on either side of him, put it in his mouth, and pull the trigger faster than anyone in the back of this vehicle could respond, but he is going to see this final mission through. He will put a bullet into the target and then his work will be done. If he makes his death look like an accident, then the majority of the blame will be off the shoulders of the people supervising him. It will be better that way.
The van rolls to a stop and he emerges into the early morning light. He goes through the motions of checking his equipment. He declines the bulletproof vest that is offered to him with the argument that he does not need it for a stealth mission. It would only serve to draw attention to him. The target might catch wind of the plot to take his life.
A strict looking supervisor gives him the rundown on the operation like he could not do something this simple in his sleep. He had been Donald Fitzroy’s gray man for almost twenty years. He was the only surviving member of the Sierra program. The only real hitch in the plan would be drawing fire without someone else intervening until his personal goal was achieved.
As anticipated, he retires the target without issue. By all accounts the man he put down was a terrible individual, nothing to mourn. He finds that relatable. It is no big effort to draw attention. He allows himself to be spotted leaving the scene. A particularly loyal bodyguard tails him back to the extraction site. Without the vest that he declined, there is nothing to protect him from the cartridge of rounds that pierce his back.
Six falls forward, does not try to catch himself. The ground meets him like an embrace. He relaxes into the loose soil. The whooshing sound of the blood in his ears sounds like the ocean. If he lets himself pretend, he can imagine that he is laying on a distant shore, somewhere far away from here. Maybe they could have gotten a house near the beach. He had dreamed of open waters and palm trees while he was in prison. He thinks he can hear one of Claire's records in the distance. The crashing of the waves fades away with the music and silence sets in.
#the gray man (2022)#the gray man#the gray man movie#the gray man fanfic#sierra six#courtland gentry#sierra six fanfic#claire fitzroy#donald fitzroy#ryan gosling#my work#my posts#fanfiction
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You Were the One, Part 16
Summary: Lloyd gets another mission, this time to locate and destroy his arch nemesis
Pairings: Lloyd Hansen X Reader, Lloyd Hansen X Donald Fitzroy
Rating: explicit
Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, PIV sex, breeding kink, dirty talk, creampie plug, canon style violence, 18+ ONLY
Word Count: 3.5K
Previous
Series Masterlist
*Dividers by @firefly-graphics
“You through?” Suzanne looks her partner up and down as he finishes his temper tantrum. Six had outsmarted them, and Denny was not too happy. “What do you want to do?”
“What we should have done from the start,” she shakes her head rapidly at him, and he smiles back with a nod. “You had your shot.”
“Lloyd Hansen is a sociopath,” she tells him through gritted teeth. “You can’t be serious.”
“Lloyd Hansen is effective. Him and his secret weapon. You know he has a vendetta against Six for being the reason his wife is dead. This will be the perfect opportunity for him.”
“Still don’t know how he found a woman to marry him. Denny this is a mistake and you know it is. You involve Lloyd, and whatever he says goes,” he shrugs his shoulders, heading to his office. “Denny, this is a mistake.”
“You should have acquired the asset. Now we’re letting Lloyd take control,” with a smirk, he dials Lloyd’s number, while Suzanne stews in anger looking at her oldest friend.
Lloyd throws Ferryn up in the air before catching her with a fit of giggles. Giving her neck raspberries, while you beam at the two of them. He was supposed to be getting her to sleep, but he was always extending her bedtime for a bit more daddy and Ferryn playtime. You rock your toddler son in your arms. His hand randomly lifts up for you to playfully nibble on his finger.
Lloyd taps on his leg when he gets a call on his work phone, and you glance up at him quickly. You hated that thing.
“Pixie Dust, give me a moment, and let daddy take this call,” walking her over to you, you raise an eyebrow up at him. He promised two calls ago it would be the last.
“We agreed to the end of this year. Give me that,” he gives you a quick peck on the lips before going into your new Honey Hole. “Yeah?”
“You busy?”
“Just had a quick little meeting with one of the sweetest.”
“You were always good at getting desperate women,” Lloyd pops his neck in annoyance. Clearing his throat for Denny to continue. “I got an urgent locate and destroy.”
“Gimme a name,” he says smirking. Hearing you shuffle past the room to take the kids upstairs.
“Sierra Six,” Lloyd hangs his head down, he knows he’ll have hell to pay if he takes this job. He had made a promise to you before Ferryn was ever born. But the idea of getting paid to destroy Six was too enticing.
“Could be fun. The man’s got street cred.”
“Not to mention you hate him, and he owes you. He got his hands on some compromising information, the kind that could put us all in a cold, dark place. So, get it back.”
He taps his fingers on the desk, looking at a family photo of the four of you. It could be his last job. “Does the old man know about this?”
“Not yet. You ready to meet with some old colleagues?”
“I first need a full green light on this one. Open checkbook,” he needs to secure this as his last job. Then he’ll be free to live a casual life with you and his babies.
“Whatever you need. And Lloyd, I’m sending Suzanne in to assist.”
Lloyd hisses through his teeth. He’d need you in his ear at all times for this one. “I’d rather you punch me in the dick.”
“I will gladly punch you in the dick, Lloyd,” ugh, he hated that woman. Even the sound of her voice making his skin crawl.
“I got someone waiting on me that would not appreciate that very much. I just need to know that you can be compliant.”
“And I need you to quit being so fucking secretive.”
“When you’re as effective as me, you get to have your secrets.”
“All right, ladies, focus. Six is trained to be a ghost. How do we find him?”
“Don’t worry, I have my ways. If that’ll be all, I had prior engagements I need to attend to, and I don’t like keeping people waiting,” he hangs up the phone, pressing it on his chin, while he thinks. He knew you wouldn’t be too happy about this. But this was the job he was looking for. The job to get him out of this business for good.
With a look at the clock, he knows his sweet angel was going to be waiting on him, so he takes the quick journey upstairs. Passing Holden’s room on the way, seeing you talk to him sweetly as you wind him down for the evening.
Grabbing the flashlight off a hallway table Lloyd walks into his daughter’s bedroom, turning the flashlight on. “Daddy, I heard a noise from under the bed.”
“No! Those pesky monsters,” he crawls on the floor, looking under the bed, and smacks the floor. “Ah! I got him.”
Ferryn giggles at him, pressing her chubby hands onto her mouth, and points at the closet, “There’s something in there, too, there is,” her bright eyes look up at her daddy, while she nods, confirming the information to be true.
Lloyd stands to give her a quick kiss, before walking to the closest, “Oh!” he shouts, flinging himself inside and slamming the door. “You good for nothing!” he screams, hitting the wall. “Got him!”
Pretending to be out of breath, he walks out of the closet, and wipes his brow. “Whew, they’re gone, sweetheart,” he walks over to her bed, dropping down on the mattress, and she gives him the sweetest hug, and presses her nose against his with a squishy face.
“I love you, daddy. You always chase away the monsters.”
“I love you, too, Pixie Dust. But now, it’s bedtime. So remember…”
“Second star to the right, and straight on ‘til morning, but I can only fly to Neverland if I promise to be back in the morning.”
“That’s right. Now, give daddy hugs and kisses, and I’ll give you Baxter Bunny, so you can get your sweet dreams,” she sits up in the bed, squeezing him as tight as possible before giving him their nightly bedtime kiss. “Muah!”
Laying back down, Lloyd covers her up, and reaches to give her Baxter. “Am I gonna wake up and you’re gonna be gone?”
“Just for a little bit.”
“That’s what that call was, huh?” he nods his head, giving her an extra kiss to her forehead when you walk in for your own kisses. “I love you mommy.”
“Love you, Ferry girl. Goodnight and sweet dreams,” clicking on her star caster nightlight, you pull Lloyd out of the room. He would sit and watch her sleep if you let him. “Your son is barely holding on to being awake. Make sure you go in and see him, and I’ll meet you downstairs.”
He pulls you in for a bruising kiss before letting you go, hearing Ferryn fake retching at the sight of the two of you kissing.
You finish cleaning the kitchen when you hear Lloyd descend from the stairs, waiting in the doorway, “Honey, you’ve been awfully quiet.”
“What’s the job?”
“Honey,” he says, walking over to you.
“You’re not answering. Who’s the job?”
“An agent,” your eyes roll up to meet his when he wraps his arms around you. “I’ve told you so many times, the less you know, the better off you are.”
“Lloyd, something feels off. You promise this is a job that you come out on top. I need you to come home to us.”
“And you will. I’m always going to come home to you. I promise that when the time is right, I’ll let you be in my ear. I always need you,” grabbing your hips, he guides you to the bedroom. “But right now, I need you to give me a proper goodbye.”
“You’re always so horny aren’t you?”
“Who was it that was riding my abs this morning while I was still sleeping? Honey, I’m not the only horny one,” the first footstep in the bedroom has the two of you shuffling around to get undressed. Hands and fingers over everything as you reach to kiss the other one.
He grabs your bare ass, lifting you up to him, and groans at your wet core on his abs. Crawling the two of you onto the bed. “You know why I think you’re so horny?” he says in between kissing your body.
“Why?” you gasp, hands pulling his hips into yours, sighing when his thick cock rubs against your entrance.
“You are ovulating. You need me to breed this greedy cunt. Want me to fuck you until you’re swollen full of me. The most handsome man you have ever seen.”
“Lloyd, just fuck me,” you give a quick pout up at him batting your lashes.
“Because of that, I’m fucking you so deep, that it sticks. I’ll come back to you full of me,” you grunt out his name, and he slams his cock into your needy cunt with one hard stab, leaving you gasping and clinging to his back. “Does that feel better?”
“Uh huh.”
“Now keep your legs spread, and take every pounding thrust that I give you okay?” you nod your head quickly, and he sets off at a hard pace. Each time he feels like he’s going deeper.
His last nights with you are always like this. He wants you to miss the way you fit around him perfectly. You were molded to his cock, the two of you literally becoming one. He also wanted you to feel him for days after his departure. With every step you take that deep soreness was a reminder of how much your husband took care of your every filthy fantasy.
Arching your back, you tilt your neck back. Blankly staring at nothing as Lloyd rearranges your guts. Pulling out of you only to flip you over on the bed. Harshly grabbing your ass cheeks, to see your abused hole before he slides back home. Making you a complete mess as he slams himself into your ass.
“Honey, I’m leaving a piece of me behind with you. Just so you don’t miss me too much,” he growls behind you. Your grip tight to the sheets, the only thing you can grab, before a lewd mewl echoes into the bedroom. “You want this just as much as me. It’s time. Holden is nearly two. You want it, don’t you? Want me to fill you to the brim, and have your pussy leaking out onto the bed full of our juices. But I’m pushing that shit back in. Going to use that new plug so nothing goes to waste. You can take it out after it’s taken.”
“Please, please, please,” you chant as he continues to barrel into your warmth.
“Yep, you and them. That’s all that matters,” readjusting his weight, he lets himself pound into you, making you become a complete wreck. Fucked out and dumb with his motions.
Your walls flutter around him, and a coil deep in your stomach tightens. Gritting your teeth as the longest high speeds through your body. Lloyd behind you grunting and moaning with how tight you’re squeezing him until neither of you can take it anymore. Coming at the exact time, and you let out a satisfied moan.
“Now that’s what I’m fucking talking about,” and just like he promised, he leans over to his side of the bed, grabbing his new toy for you. He fingers his thick spend back into your swollen pussy before adding the plug slowly, moaning as it stretches you out, and you take it so well.
“Come on, over on your back and let that bake a bit. That way when I come back, you’re all pretty and swollen full of me. You’re always so pretty when you have this semi-permanent mark that I have been in your cunt.”
“Shh,” you press your hand against his cheek, pulling him down to your waiting lips. “Let me enjoy falling asleep with you.”
“With my cum deep in your womb.”
“Lloyd! Be sweet right now.”
“You wanna have another baby?”
“I’ll have all the babies with you. Just make sure that you come home to me.”
Lloyd sits outside, waiting for a procession to gather inside the building, when he sees the man he’s been waiting on. Sucker in his mouth, and wishing it tasted of you. “Hey Fitz.”
“Do I know you?” Fitzroy stops, looking over at Lloyd. When his head raises to see the man he lets out an annoyed groan.
“Lloyd Hansen, Hansen Government Services, sweetheart.”
“Yeah, I remember you.”
“Aw, do you? That’s really sweet. I’m glad you remember, it’ll make this next part a lot easier,” Fitzroy looks up at the crowd as the door finally closes for the funeral, and turns to glare at Lloyd. “Where is he?”
“Where’s who?”
“You really wanna do this?”
“Do what?” Fitzroy gives him a quick smirk.
Lloyd gives him a smile back, and takes off his sunglasses, sighing, “You know what makes me sad, Don?”
“Your small hands?”
“Ooh, good one. No, it makes me sad that you want to play these back and forth games that we’ve always done. You know exactly who the hell I’m looking for. He and I have some unfinished business to attend to.”
“Remind me Hansen, how long did you last at the agency? Six months?”
“Over a year. This little thing happened, maybe you recall, my wife died, and I lasted less than a month after that. He did this to me.”
“You’re telling me a woman helped you control your bad ethics, zero impulse control, and your sick need for unsanctioned torture? She’s better off,” Lloyd pops his neck, and glares up at Fitzroy, lucky for him you weren’t actually dead, because he’d have his neck snapped in less than five seconds.
“She proved it, didn’t she? You wanted to get rid of me until she became my partner and my everything. She kept me sane. What do you have next?”
“How’s the private sector treating ya? Does it pay as well as they say? Or do you spend most of your time strangling cats?”
“Who likes cats?”
“I like cats.”
Lloyd sighs as he stands up walking towards Fitzroy, “Let’s talk about the mess your boy made.”
“He doesn’t make messes.”
“Really? I remember one a few years ago, where he killed the woman he claimed to love. This one isn’t as big, because she wasn’t involved, but this is still a pretty big one. And judging by your shallow breath and puckered asshole, I can only assume you know why I’m here. Let’s put the past in the past.”
“He has his reasons,” Fitzroy answers quickly.
“I’m sure he does,” Lloyd fakes sympathy, but he’s getting tired of this talking in circles nonsense. He’s ready for Six to pay. “But see, that’s the beauty of the private sector. I don’t care about reasons. Now my guess is you’re helping him already, you always did favor him above everyone else. So this shouldn’t put too much of a dent in your day. You know I can’t find him, ‘cause his file doesn’t exist. The only other person who knew how to locate him can’t help me. But here’s the thing, your file, well, that’s chock-full of nuggets, some of which might make you rethink your fussy attitude. Now, I tried to get her to smile, but, uh, you know kids.”
He lifts up his phone, showing Fitzroy a photo of niece tied up and with a gun pointed at her. “You son of a bitch! What would Twelve think about this?”
“She won’t ever know. Give me his location, and we can let this go. Keep playing your word games with me, and she pays for your actions. What’ll it be?”
In a darkened car heading to the airport, Fitzroy’s phone vibrates in his pocket, and Lloyd smiles over at him. The older man looks at Lloyd’s pinky ring that catches the light, before back at him. Once Lloyd realizes what Fitzroy had been staring at, he moves his hand to the side of his lap, twisting the ring around with his thumb.
“You gonna answer that?” Fitzroy goes to grab his phone, and Lloyd puts his opposite hand on his cheek, “Well, let’s hope it’s good news. Speakerphone.”
“Hello.”
“It’s me,” Six pants out, looking at his surroundings and the destroyed plane. It was shaping up to be a horrible day.
“Where are you?”
“Emotionally? I’ve been better.”
“The extraction team?”
“They’ve been better, too.”
“Are you okay? You hurt?” Lloyd rolls his eyes at the man. His voice too soft for one of his agents.
“You know what, Fitz? I’m trying to figure out what answer it is that you want.”
“They leveraged me, kid. They have my niece. You hear me?”
“Hold on, you’re breaking up. Shit,” Six sinks to the ground, groaning. Trying to quickly come up with a plan. “Okay, there you are. It sounds like you’re in a real pickle, Fitz.”
Lloyd grabs the phone out of Fitzroy’s hand, tired of this menial conversation. “Hey, Sunshine, Lloyd Hansen here. I’m the one running this op.”
“Makes sense now. Everything you run turns out a shit show.”
“No, this is the one where I get exactly what I want.”
“I’m a little unclear as to what that is. You got the girl, and she marries you only to die.”
“Yeah, and whose fault was that?”
“What is it that you want, Lloyd?”
“Why don’t you come in, and we can chat? My assistant will get lunch. You like sushi?”
“No, I’m good. I…just had some Skittles.”
“Tell you what. Why don’t we skip lunch, you can give me the asset you stole, and I won’t have to chop your head off?” Lloyd gives Fitzroy a glaring smile, and he catches him staring at that ring again.
“When you say things like ‘chop your head off,’ it makes you sound untrustworthy. And we know I don’t particularly trust you, not after you ruined my engagement. So even if I had this thing, I’m not sure I would give it to you.”
“Oh I think you would. See, your old COS here has drawn way outside the lines. Headquarters needs a scapegoat, and his neck is just about the right size.”
“Fitz is a big boy, he knows what business he’s in. Hey, Lloyd?” Lloyd hums as a question. “You know I don’t like you.”
“Well, I’m glad we’re on the same page. And if you ever talk about my wife again, I’ll have your head mounted on my lawn. Don’t test my patience.”
“Looks like you overplayed your hand,” Fitzroy whispers when the line goes dead. Lloyd looks out the window, before jerking open the door and tossing Fitzroy’s phone out of it, and slams the door shut.
“Looks like you need a new phone.”
Fitzroy leans closer to Lloyd. His eyes flicking back to his ring that Lloyd twists around his finger again. He needed to talk to you, you always calmed him down. “Let me give you a word of advice, Lloyd. They say that in its most unadorned expression is a battle of wills. Six’s will is preternatural compared to yours.”
Now he was taking it too far. Lloyd kicks Fitzroy in the face, causing the older man’s head to throw back, and his hand goes automatically to his bloodied nose. “Don’t say preternatural to me. It’s an asshole word.”
“Twelve was right, you’re a child.”
“A child that’s about to put a hit so big on your boy’s head that even his most loyal Allie’s won’t hesitate to drop a dime. And I told him, and I’ll tell you, quit talking about my wife. You’ve already put me in a bad mood. Everyone is going to be vying for the prestige of killing the infamous Sierra Six. I’ll dig up every safe house he’s ever stayed in. I’ll unearth every man or woman he’s ever slept with. Your boy won’t be able to walk ten feet without getting his head blown off. And that Don, will be when I feel satisfied about what that asshole did to me and my future. I can kill anybody.”
“That ring,” he gestures his head towards Lloyd’s finger. “You started wearing that after this secret marriage. You also keep calling Twelve your wife, not in past tense. What if she’s not really gone?”
“Get out of the fucking car, and get in the plane.”
“Why don’t you call her and tell her who you’re hunting. You know she wouldn’t want this for Six. Whether you believe it or not, she still loves him.”
Lloyd’s eyes close slowly, glaring at Fitzroy. “You’ve made him a unstoppable by making him think he killed her. But which man will come out on top? She know you kidnapped my niece?”
“A niece she didn’t even know existed?”
“You’re not denying she’s alive.”
“Get on the fucking plane and shut your mouth,” he pushes Fitzroy out of the car, grabbing his jacket out of the seat. He grabs his phone out of his pocket, hovering over your secret name in there. It’s still not time to put you in his ear, but that doesn’t mean he can’t hear your sweet voice. He needed you right now, not for the mission, but for himself.
“You were never as good before her. I know she’s still alive. You’ve only gotten better.”
“You speak another word about my wife, and I’ll have a hole put in your head, get in the fucking plane,” he pushes Fitzroy’s back harshly. This call to you couldn’t wait. Hopefully he could hear his Pixie Dust and Holdie. But for now, he’s going to pretend he still talks about you in present tense.
Next
Masterlist
Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @bookwormchick91 @whimsyplaty92 @bambamwolf87 @curlycarley @infatuatedjanes @randomagnes0210 @8oopsiedaisy8 @spider-thot0115 @tryingtosurvivestuff @sstan-hoe @xcaptain-winterx @buckysteveloki-me @sgtjaamesbaarnes @writing-for-marvel @alwaysclassyeagle @mrsharringtonmunson @jlc3276 @elrw24 @kattreffic @lettersandsodas @saucy-sassy-sparkly @crazyunsexycool @pigwidgeonxo @dontbescaredtosingalong @royalwritersoftheuniverses @bigphattygyal @seitmai
#you were the one#lloyd hansen#lloyd hansen x reader#lloyd hansen x fem!reader#lloyd hansen x y/n#lloyd hansen x you#lloyd hansen fluff#dilf!lloyd hansen#dilf!lloyd hansen x reader#sierra six#court gentry#donald fitzroy#the gray man#the gray man fanfiction#lloyd hansen fic#lloyd hansen fics#lloyd hansen smut#chris evans#ryan gosling
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Home Again
Pairing: Dani Miranda x FemReader; Y/N is also goes by Love, a personal nickname for her and Dani only.
Summary: Welcoming Dani home from her mission with Six
Warning: Spoilers for the movie, The Gray Man. Some nudity, kinda smutty, but more so suggestive.
Length: Long as hell, sorry, kinda ;)
A/N: This will be my first MINORS DNI Warning. From here on out, ages need to be in your bios to prevent any blocking from my page. There will be a deadline posted later this week, from the date of that post you will have 7 days to add your age to your bio. More on this in a separate post.
You sat at the kitchen counter of your flat in London. Fingers skating across your keyboard as you read over some documents from work, sipping from your mug, when you heard the lock turning.
Jumping up off of the stool, you knew it could only be one person.
You go to meet her as the door opens, and find her with scars on her face. Still in her tactical gear.
“Dani-” you whimpered. She walked in, closed the door, and hugged you.
“I’m sorry to drop by like-” she gestured at herself, “Like this, I had to see you.”
You swallowed the lump in your throat and took her hands in yours, “Wh-what happened?”
“It’s a long story, Love,” she said, cupping your face. “Like I said, I just needed to see you after everything that happened.”
You stared into her eyes, as her thumbs began to rub your cheeks. You could smell the gunpowder on her and feel the callouses on her thumbs from the night she had. You laid your hands on top of hers, gently removing them, “Let’s get you into the bath, okay?”
Then she smiled for the first time since walking into your flat. You held her hand as you led her to your bathroom.
There you filled up the tub with bubble bath and epsom salt, leaving Dani to decide how warm she wanted the water to be. While you went through your clothes, finding clothes for Dani and yourself.
“Y/n,” she called. “Will you come join me?” Even after two years, you could still feel heat rush to your cheeks when she asked you.
You scooped up the clothes and walked into the bathroom. Dropping the clothes on the counter, you looked at Dani in the corner. She had stripped down to her bra and underwear. Folding her clothes into a neat pile to deal with later.
You turned to the cabinet, and crouched down to take out anything Dani could need so you could patch her up.
You felt her fingertips push past your layers of clothing to touch your hips, as you continued to lay everything out. “Love, let’s get these off of you.” You followed her hand as she turned you around, gently shrugging off your cardigan, her eyes never leaving yours.
You went to pull your shirt off, she gently moved your hand, doing so for you. Shirt in hand, she cupped your cheek as her eyes flitted over your chest. Your cheeks heated up again. “Don’t be shy, Love. I’ve been gone so long, I’ve almost forgotten how pretty you are. M-may I?”
You knew what she was asking and wordlessly, you nodded. You missed her, and the fact that she missed you made you fall for her again.
She leaned in, and started kissing your neck, causing you to let out a whimper. “Mmm, Love, ” she hummed. “Missed you so much. I’ll take my time later, promise.”
As she kept kissing your neck, her hands made their way to your shorts. Unbuttoning them, she pushed them down your legs taking your underwear with them. You slid off your slippers, and stepped out of the pile of clothes.
Your head rolled back, as Dani’s movements became more wanting. “Dani, let’s clean you up.”
Her lips smacked as she planted one last kiss to your neck. Taking the hair tie off your wrist, you cupped Dani’s rosy cheeks, before reaching back and pulling her hair into a ponytail leaving her bangs out.
Staring at her face, you couldn’t stop your fingers from brushing over the bruises and marks on her face. Being as gentle as possible, to prevent any more pain. “Do they hurt?”
“A little, they were worse earlier.”
“What happened?”
“I got caught up in helping - a friend.”
“Let’s get in and you can tell me more,” you said. She nodded, letting you reach behind her and unclasp her bra as she wrapped her arms around your neck, staring at you as you finished undressing her.
“You’re staring again,” you said as you pushed her underwear down.
“Like I said, I almost forgot how pretty you were. I don’t want to make that mistake again, Love.”
“Alright, in you go,” you said lightly patting her bottom. She smirked and followed your instructions.
You stepped into the tub behind, the water was still very warm. Dani, can practically read your mind. “I made it boiling hot. We’ve never been able to get in and out of a bath on time.” You let out a laugh. She was right, you could only count the number of times you had taken too long getting undressed in the past just for the water to be cold as ice when trying to get in.
“How are you feeling, Hun?”
She hummed, “Good, thank you for this.”
“Let me know if the soap stings.” You took the washcloth adding soap and started to wash her back. She leaned forward, hugging her legs to her chest. You spent minutes on her back. Getting any dried blood off of her and checking for bruises to treat once she was dried off. You passed the washcloth to her, and she unwrapped herself cleaning the rest of her body while you cleaned yours. “Let me know when you’re ready to stand up.”
After some time she responds, “Will you help me up, Love?” Wordlessly, you hoist both of your bodies up, letting the water out of the tub and switching on the shower. You’re holding her under the shower head, watching as the water cascades over her. You reach behind her and grab the shampoo.
“Step towards me, Dani.” She does, her eyes still closed. You turned her around and massaged her hair with the shampoo. The dirt and sweat falling to the tub as you rinsed the day before away.
After shampooing and conditioning her hair, you moved both your bodies under the running water. Finally rinsing yourself off. When you were both clean, you led her out of the shower and wrapped her body in a towel. She jumped on the counter and watched as you wrapped yourself up.
“Love?” You looked at her, and raised an eyebrow silently urging her to go on. “Which one is mine?”
“The stack with the black sweatpants. But, please, let’s put some ointment and icy/hot on you first.”
She laughed, “Okay, Love.” Grabbing the ointment, you walked over to her and stood between her legs. Dani brought her fingers to your face, letting them skate across your features as you patched her up.
When you get to her nose, she flinches a little. “Did I--”
“No, no you’re fine. It hurts from earlier.”
“Please, stop me if that happens again.” She looked as worry crossed your face.
“I will, promise.” You kept working, being as gentle as you could.
“Hun, I need to put some stuff on your back and we’ll be done.”
She jumped off the counter, and dropped the towel. Dani had always been proud of her body, and when it came to your relationship she was never afraid to flaunt it in front of you.
She slightly turned her head, looking back at you, “Now who’s staring, Love?”
“I’m no better than the men you work with.”
She scoffed, “You’re ten times better actually. You see me for more than my body.”
“How could anyone not?” You asked.
“I love that.” You hummed as you rubbed the ointment in. “You don’t think like I do. Most men in my field would hate that, but it’s nice. You're my innocent girl. My innocent, caring, pretty girl.”
You blushed and cleared your throat. “I’m all done here. Are you hungry?” She nodded. “I’ll go make you something.” You kissed her shoulder and moved to dress yourself. “The blow dryer is in the cabinet. Just come to the kitchen when you’re done.”
“Love?” You stopped as you clasped your bra on. “I meant what I said. You're all those things to me.”
You smiled, “I know. I love you, Dani.” You felt her eyes on your chest again. “Dani,” you started to scold her.
She laughed, “Well now, I’m looking just because. Besides, you know I love your tits.” You laughed, you knew a little too well actually.
“I’m going to go cook now.” With that you threw your shirt on, grabbed the dirty laundry, and left Dani to finish getting ready.
You knew of Dani’s line of work, but she never told you explicit details. “The less you know, the better.” That was her motto when it came to you. It was rare that she ever came to you like this. She never wanted you to worry about her, especially when she was on a mission.
You instinctively went into the kitchen and made her a meal you only made on special occasions. She only liked to eat it at your place, because according to her, only you made them right. Warm ham and cheese sandwiches with a side of barley soup.
Thankfully, you made a batch of barley soup yesterday. It was fresh enough to reheat, so you put the leftovers in a pot to warm up properly and heated a skillet to grill the sandwich bread in.
Pieces of butter were melting in the skillet as Dani came out of the bathroom. She moved past you letting her hand linger on your lower back as she grabbed cups and silverware to set up in the living room, leaving two plates and bowls down for you to plate the food.
As you filled the bowls, you heard Dani flicking from channel to channel before settling on “The Nanny”. Grabbing the food, you joined her on the velvet couch. Watching silently as she dug into her food. Her head falling back at the taste of your barley soup. She hummed, “I missed this so much.” You smiled into your bowl as you tucked your legs beneath you and lost yourself in the show and Dani’s quiet company.
It was strange to have her back after so long. The last time you saw her was almost four weeks ago. She stopped by in-between missions to celebrate your birthday. You had her for forty-eight hours all to yourself. She set out to do everything you wanted for your birthday.
You guys had breakfast at a cafe you fell in love with. Curled up under a tree together while you read to her in the park. And that night you were sprawled out under her.
She had rolled off of you and you held each other through the night. Until you woke up and found flowers and a note. Promising her return and to spend more time with you.
It was bittersweet knowing she would most likely be gone in a day’s time. But you pushed those thoughts back as you admired her. Even bruised and beaten, Dani was still stunning and was able to rattle your cage of butterflies.
When the food was gone, Dani was sprawled out over your lap. Holding you down to the couch under her body. Her bruised beautiful face nuzzled against your stomach.
"Dani?" She hummed. "Do you wanna talk about it?"
She looked up at you and moved to straddle your thighs, "Depends, what do you want to know?"
"How bad was it?" You had seen the news, everyone had. Prague on fire was pretty hard to miss after all.
"I have a meeting with some higher-ups, Carmichael, and Brewer. Not sure when, but I'll have to head off to Berlin Station for the meeting, and hope for the best." Her career meant everything to her. She had given up a lot for the agency and now it was hanging in the balance.
Your hands found her hips and rubbed tiny circles there. "They'll give you a heads up?"
"Maybe."
"Will you be back?" She hesitated. Shit.
"Y/n, I have a home and you do too."
"I know that but-" She kisses you to cut you off. Her soft lips molding against yours, gradually throwing you off track.
She leaned back, "Good, now let me finish. How would you like to move to Berlin?"
You tapped her hip, and she continued, "I want to be closer to you in case anything happens. Here, we have a twelve hour distance between us. I figured it'd be better to ask you to move closer than if I could move in." She confessed.
You were awe struck by her. The proposition of moving or even her moving in could only mean a few things. You swallowed and asked, "Where is this all coming from?"
"I come back at all times of the day, when you least expect it and you never fuss or complain. You just take care of me, and we've been doing this back and forth thing for a few years now."
"Wouldn't I just be a distraction?" You asked. She shook her head no.
"I love my job, but you've been my home for so long now that I love you more. You don't have to give me an answer today. Just think about it and we'll go from there." You nodded your head and she took your face in your hands, titling your head back as she placed her lips on yours. Kissing you roughly, she bit your lip to coax your mouth open and you let her lead. Letting out a whimper as she gripped the hair on the back of your neck.
"Now, Love, I hate to break it to you, but we got dressed for no good reason."
#dani miranda x reader#the gray man fanfiction#bishopgirl98#the gray man#ana de armas#claire fitzroy#sierra six#denny carmichael#suzanne brewer#llyod hansen#donald fitzroy#court gentry#dani miranda#dani miranda x you
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I thought the movie was stunning, but baby, look at Court in the book and tell me it's not stunning!
#the gray man#the gray man spoilers#ryan gosling gif#Ryan gosling gif#Donald fitzroy#claire fitzroy#Kate fitzroy#The old woman who lent him his pants#That girl who sewed it while driving#How can a book get so damn hot#How many shares there#Poor Court#Constantly getting hit#Lloyd is so funny#Chris Evans#With the book#Lloyd is at#An exemplary citizen without psychopathic tendencies#The author's humor is fantastic
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In a pretty exciting “the shit hits the fan” moment... Pierce uses Gateway to “bring him to the one responsible” which brings him to Fitzroy, though he mistakes it as Emma’s doing... not that it matters as the Sentinels bust in, and fry both Donald and Emma’s brains...
#Marvel#Uncanny X Men#Ororo Munroe ~ Storm#Emma Frost ~ White Queen#Fabian Marechal Julbin ~ Bevatron#Manuel Alfonso Rodrigo de la Rocha ~ Empath#Donald Pierce#Trevor Fitzroy
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The Other Fitzroy | Part 2
Pairing: Court Gentry/Six x F! Reader
Summary: This chapter takes place in “present day” where Reader and Claire are currently held hostage in Croatia by Lloyd. Their uncle, Donald Fitzroy, is finally brought to join them, and Six shows up to save the day. Reader has a big secret that’s finally revealed.
Warnings: cursing, brief mentions of torture, death of characters (all of which happened in the movie), blood, gunshot wounds, etc.
Word Count: 6.3k
A/N: I know this took forever, and I am sorry about that! I hope you guys will enjoy this part as much as the first, even though it doesn’t contain any smut. It follows along mostly with the movie, with some changes I needed to add to incorporate reader into the story. Please let me know if you liked it! Thank you so much to @truesblue for being my beta! <3
Part One
You softly hummed while stroking Claire’s hair to calm her, allowing her to lull herself to sleep for some much needed rest. You kept your eyes wide open, though, having promised her that you’d keep watch as she did. You didn’t think you’d be able to fall asleep regardless of the promise you made her, too wired with adrenaline and fear over your current situation.
You were both laid on top of the covers of the queen sized bed, locked within the extravagantly large room of the castle you were being held hostage. Every fiber in your body was on edge, and you hadn’t been able to sleep since the two of you arrived a day ago. You probably looked like shit by now, dark bags under your eyes, but there were no mirrors in the room to confirm that suspicion.
As you listened for any footsteps outside of your room, you let your thoughts drift away into worries that caused tears to well in your eyes. You had almost been killed when the mercenaries came to kidnap you and your sister, your training immediately kicking in and not letting you go down without a fight. However, it quickly went south when you realized just how outnumbered you were—and you owed your life to the screams from Claire and a reminder from one of the men that you were meant to be brought in alive. The one that had had his gun aimed right at your temple backed off, but only once the reality of the situation began to sink in. You were trained to fight, but you had much less experience than those who’d been sent to capture you. Still, you had managed to take a few of the men out, a slit of the throat here, a couple gunshots to the chest there, before they cornered you.
Your jaw trembled as you fought to keep your tears at bay. You were thankful that you had been given the heads up by your uncle that something was going on, and that you were here with Claire, doing your best to keep her safe. You were worried for Donald, as you knew he had to be in danger as well—and even Court. But there was one other person that you were worried about above all….
Your daughter.
You and your uncle had tried your best to keep the existence of your daughter hidden, and you were extremely grateful for that precautionary measure. It meant that the second Donald called to give you a heads up, you gathered a bag filled with your daughter's things and strapped her into the car seat. You had a friend that knew your situation, knew your uncle’s profession was dangerous, and thankfully asked no questions when you arrived on her doorstep with your toddler in tow. You gave your daughter—Lyla—a hug, a kiss, and a promise that you’d be back for her, one you weren’t sure you’d be able to keep. Then you were gone, back to the Fitzroy house to protect your little sister.
Now, here you were. Trapped in a castle—that if it weren’t currently being used as a prison—you’d find yourself enjoying staying in. The view from your room was beautiful, the hedge maze you’d caught a glimpse of on your way in even looked enticing to get lost in. In other circumstances you’d probably be able to imagine yourself as a character in one of the romance novels you’ve read. A Lady sneaking about the grounds in hopes to meet up with a devilishly handsome Lord. But sadly, this wasn’t anything like the novels you enjoyed getting lost in, this was the harsh reality of being a hostage. There was nothing romantic about your situation.
Successfully killing a few of their men only served to bite you in the ass. Anytime your captors entered the room, or escorted you for a bathroom break, a gun was pointed in your direction. You were completely and utterly trapped. All you could do was wait, and pray that either your uncle or Six would be able to save you and Claire—and hope that no one had uncovered where you had hidden your daughter. It killed you that you couldn’t be with her, but so long as no one found out that she existed, she was much safer right where you had left her.
The sound of footsteps rapidly approaching and the door being pushed open pulled you from your thoughts and woke Claire from her slumber. The both of you sat up on the bed, bodies tense and hearts beating high in your chests. A breath of relief escaped from the both of you as the familiar figure of your uncle was shoved through the doorway.
Claire shot off of the bed, running directly into his arms. Donald wrapped his arms around her tightly, his head resting atop of hers as he muttered calming words to her. You simply moved to sit on the edge of the bed as you let them have their moment, but you didn’t fail to catch the look of relief on your uncle's face when he saw the both of you unharmed. His eyes met yours and he gave a nod as Claire clung to him. A soft smile pulled at your lips, one that didn’t reach your eyes.
“Lyla?” Your uncle questioned softly, not wanting to speak your daughter's name too loudly.
“Safe.” You responded, before sighing softly, “At least I hope.” Your voice trembled slightly as the fear of the unknown crept over you once more.
He gave a single nod of his head, “She is.” You both knew there was no way to guarantee that, but still his words comforted you.
It was only a few hours later when Lloyd and his men stormed into the room. You had finally been able to catch a few moments of rest, your uncle assuring you he’d wake you if something happened. However, you didn’t need to be woken by him as the sound of the door slamming open had you awake and alert within seconds. You moved to stand just as Lloyd was making his way into the room.
“Goldilocks, will you be a lamb and excuse us?” He spoke, his words aimed directly at Claire as he marched towards her. He grabbed her by her shirt, forcefully removing her from the couch as two of his men came and grabbed you by your arms.
“Go to hell,” Claire spat out, being shoved off by Lloyd to two of his other men as more went straight for your uncle.
“Hey! Whoa!” Claire shouted as she was tossed about, her arms being harshly grabbed by the two men she had been thrown towards. They began carrying her out of the room, as your uncle yelled after them.
“She has a pacemaker, jackass!”
Whilst your sister was fighting within their grasp on her way out, you were simply allowing the men to escort you out into the hallway. Perhaps it had something to do with the gun that was pressed into your spine. Lloyd’s voice stopped them as you were half-way through the room.
“Well then she definitely shouldn’t stick around for this next part–woah, wait. Not you sweetheart, you’re a big girl. You get to stay and watch.” He raised his hand to motion for the men to stop leading you outside, then beckoning them to bring you closer as your uncle was being forced into a seat.
Lloyd shushed your uncle as he threatened to annihilate him if he hurt you or Claire. Lloyd seemed unbothered by his words, moving to stand behind Donald, facing the window. You didn’t blame him, he knew who held the power right now–and it wasn’t you or your uncle. “Who’s in Prague?”
“There’s three million people in Prague, I don’t know all of their names.” Your uncle responded nonchalantly.
“Your boy sent a package to an address in Prague. Must be someone out there that he really trusts.” Lloyd pauses for a moment. “Who is it?”
“Your mother.”
Lloyd quickly closes the gap between him and your uncle. “Boring.” His hands raise to grab Donald’s ears, twisting them sharply. The action makes you grimace as Donald groans in pain. You shift your stance slightly, only to feel the hands that held you into place tighten and the gun pressed to your spine dig into your skin harshly.
Moving to take a seat in front of Donald, Lloyd scoots his chair closer and picks up the tool he had placed earlier on the table. “Who’s in Prague?” He asked again.
“Nobody.” Came Donald’s quick response.
“Boring.” Lloyd’s response came just as fast as he began to forcefully remove one of your uncle’s nails. You averted your eyes to the floor as Donald groaned, a phantom pain radiating from your own finger that had you flinching. “Should we try this again?” He questioned, moving the tool to his next finger.
“Okay, fine.” Donald huffed. You had to admit you’d never seen your uncle’s resolve tested in action. When it came to his own pain, he could put up with quite a bit. Lloyd removed another nail before asking who was in Prague once again. “I already told you, I don’t know.” He gritted out.
Lloyd stood up abruptly, the tool clattering down on the table. He tsked in Donald’s direction before closing the distance between you and him. His hand raised up to cup your jaw harshly, forcing you to look up at his face.
“Don’t you touch her!” Your uncle shouted from where he was bound to the chair.
Lloyd grinned wickedly. “But where would be the fun in that?” He spoke in Donald’s direction before turning his gaze back to you. “See, I found some interesting information when I went digging through your file, Donnie. Sweetheart here was hospitalized about two years back, but all the paperwork of the reason why was hidden.” He began, pausing for a dramatic moment before he continued his spiel. “At first, I thought you just had a fucked up heart like your little sister. But what I found was much more surprising.” His blue eyes locked with yours, a brow raised as he regarded your reaction. You steeled your emotions as best as you could, but you couldn’t hide the way your breathing picked up pace. “You were pregnant.” He released his hold on your jaw as he revealed one of your well-kept secrets.
The room fell silent for a moment, your gaze dropping to the floor. Lloyd laughed maniacally. “Don’t worry, I haven’t managed to find where you hid her before we snatched you up.” You would’ve let out a sigh of relief from that, but a second later he reached into his pocket and a switchblade was pressed to your throat. You swallowed thickly as you felt the blade nick your skin, a grimace crossed your features. He leaned down enough that you could feel his breath fan over your face. “How about we change that?”
As he pressed the blade further into your skin, your uncle spoke up. “Wait!” Lloyd turned his attention towards Donald, but he made no move to lift the blade. You could feel blood trickling down your neck and staining your shirt, the sting of the cut causing your eyes to water. Donald begrudgingly relinquished the information that Lloyd wanted. Margaret Cahill was the one Six trusted the most in Prague. Satisfied with that answer, he pulled the blade away from your throat and tucked it back into his pocket. Before he stepped away from you completely, he leaned down to whisper into your ear. “When we find your boy, should I keep him alive long enough so you can tell him about your little secret? Or should I break the news?”
You couldn’t control the look of worry that contorted your face. How had he put together that Court was the father of your child so quickly? You hadn’t told anyone, not even Donald knew that secret. Lloyd leans back a bit to gauge your reaction, shooting you a wink. He then gives a snap of his fingers as he moves to exit the room, his men following suit.
Tears continued to brim in your eyes as you helped your uncle out of the bindings he was trapped in. “I’m sorry,” he apologized.
You shook your head, handing him some cloth to wrap his hand in that Lloyd’s men had tossed on the table before leaving. The rest of the cloth was used to stop the light bleeding on your neck. “It’s okay. At least he doesn’t know where she is.”
Several hours had passed. Claire had been returned to the room shortly after Lloyd left. Her and Donald were lounging on the bed as you leaned against the wall, staring out the window. It was dusk now, and though you could hardly see anything outside, you refused to move from your spot.
“He’s coming to save us, right?” Claire’s soft voice asked.
“If he can walk, it’ll be right through those doors.” Donald responded, raising his injured hand and gesturing towards the double doors of the room, his other wrapped around Claire’s body.
Hope blossomed within your chest at his words, however there was still the worry that your rescue would never come. That Court would wind up injured, or worse, and not be able to save the three of you. Your daughter would never get the chance to meet her father. You sighed, conflicted as your thoughts plagued you, drawing the attention of Donald.
“What’s the matter, sweetie?” He asked curiously.
You turned away from the window, leaning your back against the wall as you now faced the bed. You could feel Claire and Donald’s eyes on you, but you refused to raise your gaze from the floor. You opened your mouth to speak, but then hesitated, your breath catching in your throat. Trying again, you managed to get your words out. “I…think there’s something I should tell you guys.” Your eyes rose from the floor to meet their expectant looks. Uncomfortable, you shifted your weight from either leg. “Lyla’s father,” you paused, your heart pounding in your chest. “Her father is…Six.” You finally admitted.
Donald looked to be stunned into silence, Claire being the first to speak. “Wait, so you and Six…” she trailed off, giving you time to nod in response. Her face scrunched up in disgust. “Gross.”
You couldn’t help but chuckle softly at her reaction, glancing towards your uncle for his. “Donald?” You questioned, a brow raised.
“I knew her eyes looked familiar. She mostly takes after you, but she has his blue eyes.” He finally responded after several moments. You smiled softly, nodding in agreement.
“He doesn’t know, does he?” He questioned softly.
Shaking your head, you pushed yourself from the wall and moved to sit at the foot of the bed. “How could he?” You shrugged. “He was sent off on another mission directly after you came back, and I didn’t realize I was pregnant until a while later.”
“I could’ve called him.” He offered. Your eyes met his and you shared a look. You both knew the kind of life Court lived wasn’t conducive to a family. Donald sighed, a soft smile spreading across his face as you had your silent conversation.
“If we make it out of here, I’ll tell him.” You promised.
Donald nodded. “Good.” You gave both of them a gentle pat on their legs before returning back to your position by the window. Within moments of watching the night sky, your eyes caught something flying through the air. You didn’t have time to decipher what it was before it connected with the helicopter that was monitoring the property. A large boom sounded as the helicopter exploded into flames. It had been a rocket you saw soaring through the night.
“Holy sh-” You gasped, the explosion sending shockwaves through the wall that your hand was resting on. Donald leaped up from the bed to join you at the window, peering out to see what was going on, Claire was right behind him. Another rocket was shot in the dark, only making itself known when it hit its target and combusted. The shots were coming from the entrance of the castle, with Lloyd’s men returning fire in the same direction. Someone was launching an attack, and you had a sneaking suspicion that Court had something to do with it.
“Get away from the window,” your uncle instructed, ushering both you and Claire towards the bed. You wrapped an arm around your sister as you both sat down, eyes and ears alert for any signs of sudden danger. When the sound of gunfire right outside in the hallway began, you stood to shield Claire just as Donald moved to the center of the room. There were a few more shots, the sound of bodies dropping to the floor, and then it all ceased. You held your breath as you strained to hear what was going on outside. A second later and the door was pushed open, a sigh of relief falling from your lips at the familiar form of Court in the doorway. He checked the hall to make sure it was clear before glancing into the room, giving all of you a wink.
“Attaboy,” Donald praised as Claire breathed out a laugh once Court had fully stepped into the room.
“Fitz,” Court greeted with a nod as he walked through the room, heading towards the first window. “You able?” He questions your uncle, who raises his bloody and bandaged hand.
“Well, I can walk, but I’m missing a wing.” Donald responds.
Court pulls the window curtain shut, turning his attention back to Donald. “Can you wiggle your finger?”
Your uncle raises his right hand, “With this wing.”
Court gives a nod, moving closer to pass him a handgun. “That’ll do.” He walks towards where you and Claire are standing by the bed, giving you both a quick glance as he moves to the second window. “You both okay?” He asked, but neither of you directly responded.
“Took you long enough.” Claire finally spoke up, drawing Court’s attention back to her after he had shut those curtains.
“Sorry about that, my flight was delayed.” He apologized, his eyes now shifting towards you. They lower slightly and in an instance he’s closing the distance between you. Clearly, he’s noticed the short, angry, red lines upon your neck from Lloyd’s blade. He hooks a gloved finger beneath your chin and gently coaxes you to lift your head, allowing him a better view of your throat. He moves his hand to lightly trace over the cuts, fingertips barely touching your skin as he lets out an unhappy grunt. “You okay?” He asked softly.
You let out a hum as you nodded, “Yeah, I’m good.” He responded with a short nod of his own before letting his hand drop back down to his gun.
“I knew you’d catch another one.” Donald spoke up after watching Court worry over you. The sound of floorboards creaking in the hallway drew everyone’s attention, Donald and Court immediately raising their guns.
Court took a moment to pass ear plugs in Claire’s direction. “Put these in your ears,” He whispered before taking a few steps forward, the barrel of his gun pointed at the wall in front of him. One, two, three shots were fired by Court, and the sound of a body hitting the floor followed soon after. “You ready?” He asked a bit rhetorically before he began leading the way out of the room.
Of course you were ready to get the hell out of the castle, you were sure that all of you were, but you weren’t all that ready to venture out of the room without a weapon. You trusted Court and your uncle with your life, but you would’ve felt a bit more secure if you had a way to help. Regardless, you had to keep moving. You held Claire’s hand as you followed closely behind Court, and you certainly didn’t miss the way her hand trembled in yours. You squeezed her hand reassuringly, though it didn’t seem to help much. Court navigates you through portions of the castle you haven’t even seen before, and before you know it, you’re traversing through a door that leads you to a parapet walk. You move swiftly across the stone, pulling Claire along with you to keep up. As Court pauses and takes cover against one of the pillars, you follow suit.
“Do you have a plan, or are we just improvising?” Donald asks from his place at the end of your formation.
“Yeah, I’ve got a plan. You got your swim trunks?” Court responds dryly just as bullets come flying in your direction. Court reacts instantly, stepping forward to return the shots as you, Claire, and Donald run for cover. Along the way, a searing hot pain tore through your upper right thigh, causing you to cry out softly. You didn’t have time to check your leg until you were safe, limping the rest of the way before sitting next to Claire as you all hid behind another pillar. You had just been grazed by a bullet, your jeans darkening with blood around the wound. Thank God, you thought, a graze you could survive–it hurt like a bitch– but you’d just need to stop the bleeding. As Court returned, you applied pressure to your leg, glancing up in his direction. His eyes met yours before falling to your leg, his brow creasing with worry as he took in your blood-stained pants.
“It’s just a graze,” you explained. But that didn’t stop Court from crouching down immediately and ripping your hand away to assess the damage himself. Once he had concluded that you weren’t lying, he placed your hand back and applied pressure.
Court heaved a sigh, “Alright, let’s get ready to jump.”
“Think I’m gonna have to take the stairs,” Donald wheezed.
You and Court’s heads whipped in his direction. “What are you talking about?” Court asked as you simply furrowed your brows. Donald pulled his hand away from his stomach, his white button-up was stained with dark red blood.
“What the hell is that?” Court asked at the same time that you shakily gasped, “No.”
“What does it look like?” Donald quipped as Court pulled his hand from yours and moved towards your uncle. You missed the warmth of his hand on yours, and your body certainly missed the pressure–more blood began to seep into your jeans, the red stain growing.
“Go, Six, get them outta here,” your uncle instructed. Court merely growls in response. He stands up and moves to fire several more shots in the direction of Lloyd’s men, grunting and growling in distress.
Poor Claire had her ears covered and head tucked down, too far gone into shock to realize what was going on around her. Out of bullets, Court drops back down in front of Donald. “Take the gun and give me the grenade,” Donald orders.
Court is ignoring him, reaching to move Donald’s hand from his stomach. “Let me see it. Put some pressure on it.” Donald tries handing him the gun, repeating his order. “Get the damn gun out of my face and shut up, I need to think.” Court continues, exasperation clear in his voice.
“You don’t have time to think!” Donald responds. “Six, look at me. I’m out. Get them gone.” He continued as Court stared at him. It was easy to see that Court was fighting with himself internally. You were focusing on your breathing, eyes focused on the two men, trying to ignore the pain that radiated from your leg and Claire was still sobbing, not paying any attention at all. “Take the gun, give me a hand grenade and go! You understand me?”
Court begrudgingly traded Donald’s handgun for a grenade and reached to grab Claire by her arm. You pressed your weight against the pillar behind your back as you moved to stand, gritting your teeth together.
“You both go with Six,” your uncle encouraged, waving you off with his free hand. Court counted down from three before you all began moving. He fires off shots to cover your escape as Claire wrestles out of his hold to run back to Donald.
“Claire, no!” You call after her, ready to move, but a raise of Court’s hand has you staying in place as he goes back to get her. Tears well in your eyes as you watch the scene unfold in front of you. Claire is screaming and crying over not wanting to lose Donald, not wanting to leave him behind, but Donald is pushing her away as Court grabs ahold of her again. There’s only so many bullets in a handgun and you need to get moving before Court runs out. You give one last glance towards your uncle before reaching out to grab Claire’s other arm as Court drags her back to you. She’s still crying and thrashing in your grasp, but you’re able to get her to move forward as Court fires his gun once again before following behind you.
Reaching a spot on the parapet walk that Court deems good enough to jump off from, he hoists Claire up onto the stone wall. He then turns to you. “Ready for a swim, my lady?” He asked in a deadpan manner. You snorted in response. It was hard to have humor in a situation like this, but if anyone could, you knew it to be him. Still, the words were successful in making you laugh–if only because it meant he had remembered your favorite books. He helped you up onto the wall before quickly joining the two of you. He reached for your hand as he started to count, and on three, you all jumped.
Crashing into the moat below certainly didn’t help alleviate any of your pain. The water caused the wound on your thigh to burn even more than it did already. It hurt to kick your leg as you rose to the surface, but you still had a bit of adrenaline fueling you. You were hoping that little bit would stick around until you made it out of here. When you were about half-way across the moat, an explosion sounded behind you. You pause mid-swim and turn your head back towards the noise. Your heart sinks in your chest, as you know exactly what that means. Donald’s gone. Claire begins to sob, unable to continue on her own, and Six wraps his arm around her, dragging him along with him. He casts a glance towards you, but you are already moving again, silent tears trailing down your cheeks. You don’t have time to openly grieve, but the tears that fell were uncontrollable.
Court helped both you and Claire out of the water before leading you into a boat. He was moving towards the motor when the lights of a vehicle rapidly approaching appeared. “Stay here,” He ordered before walking off. You were quite content to do as he said, slumping against the wall of the boat as you took a seat on the floor. Claire curled up beside you, shivering and shaking as shots rang out nearby. You happened to pop your head up right as Lloyd ran past, tackling Court. Claire must’ve done the same, as she began crawling around the boat, seemingly searching for something.
“Claire, what are you doing?” You asked, brows furrowed in confusion.
“I’m helping Six!” She responded, cheering softly when she found a flare gun. She stood abruptly and began to leave the boat.
“Oh, fuck.” You sighed as you heaved yourself into a standing position, following after her. Your leg screamed in protest. It had a chance to rest and it didn’t want you to start moving again, but you weren’t about to let Claire go off on her own. Your eyes widened as you realized why Claire had wanted to help Court, she must’ve seen that Lloyd was beginning to have the upper hand in their fight.
Claire aimed the flare gun in Lloyd’s direction and fired it off at the perfect time. The spark hit Lloyd in his back, giving Court an opportunity to flip the gun in his direction. He fired it off when Lloyd stupidly placed his hand on the muzzle, blowing a couple of fingers off. Lloyd recoiled in pain, hollering for someone to shoot Court. You gasped softly as you watched him have to roll into the water to dodge bullets, and that gave enough time for Lloyd to walk in your direction.
“Wait, please don’t shoot!” He cried out.
You grabbed the flare gun from Claire and pushed her back towards the boat, “Run, Claire!” You ordered. Thankfully, for once, she listened and took off. Unfortunately for you, the time you bought her to run for safety gave Lloyd enough to reach you. Your instincts told you to kick, a move you had been taught to keep space between you and an enemy, but your injured leg slowed you down. Lloyd caught your foot mid-air and used it to twist you harshly. You lost your balance and crashed to the gravel below. Your head bounced up from the impact of hitting the ground, and you didn’t even have time to reorient yourself before Lloyd was grabbing you and lifting you to your feet. Oh, everything hurts now.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Lloyd whispers to you, wrapping his arm around your neck as he aims the flare gun at your head. You blink a few times to clear your vision as Lloyd is walking backwards, pulling you along with him. Court is quickly following, his gun aimed at Lloyd, but neither makes any sort of move to fire. You lose sight of Court as Lloyd pulls you into the hedge maze. Your head is pounding, your back aches, and your leg….you didn’t even know how to describe the pain there. You’re pretty certain there are pieces of gravel in your bullet wound now, and Lloyd twisting that leg definitely pulled something. You weren’t even actively struggling against him and he was having a hard time dragging you along. He grew annoyed with you, huffing out a breath of air. “Pick. Your. Feet. Up.” He enunciated each word as he whispered it to you.
“I’m trying,” you bit back. “It’s not easy to do when you’re being dragged.” Your words were spoken much louder than his, purposefully trying to make enough noise that Court would know which turn to take.
“Shut up,” he snapped, taking another few turns around the maze before pausing. “If you move, I’ll kill you.” He warned as he bent down to steal one of the laces of your shoes, using it to stop the bleeding from his missing fingers. When he finished, he resumed his previous hold on you, and pulled you along until you reached an opening in the maze. There was a large fountain in the middle, with several benches scattered around. It was as beautiful as you imagined it to be whilst trapped in the castle. Too bad you’d never be able to properly enjoy it.
It didn’t take long for Court to find the two of you, entering the courtyard-like area with his gun aimed in Lloyd’s direction. “Now, I’m gonna stop you right there, cupcake.” Lloyd called out to him as Court stopped on the other side of the fountain. “Why don’t we wrap this up? But first, you’re gonna throw me that gun or your girl gets a new face.”
Court didn’t make any moves to do so. “If you think I won’t kill her, you’re sorely mistaken.” Lloyd calls out again. He turns the flare gun just a bit to the right so that it would only graze you, and pulls the trigger with it against your cheek. The heat of the gun burns you, and a cry escapes from your lips. That prompted Court into action. He unloads the gun within seconds and tosses it across. It lands in the fountain, a few feet away from Lloyd. “Cute. I meant with the bullets.”
“Nobody throws a loaded gun, Lloyd.” Court called back in response.
Lloyd let out a sigh of annoyance, then a wicked smirk spreads across his face. “Do you wanna tell him your little secret, or shall I, sweetheart?” He may have been speaking to you, but his voice rings loud and clear across the courtyard. You swallow thickly. This is so not how you wanted Court to find out about his daughter. The fear of not knowing what his reaction would be bubbled up inside of you like all of the other times you’ve thought about telling him. He’s not supposed to have a family. He technically doesn’t even exist. He’s never even been able to live his own life, always following the orders of those who command him. What would he want with a child?
Lloyd took your silence as a response, even though you were really lost in your own thoughts. “Guess it’s on me, then.” He announced with a shrug. “When they first told me to find you, I was at a momentary loss. You have no file, no records, or anything to go off of. But, your father-like figure, Fitzroy, had quite a few.” Lloyd began, pausing briefly as he let the words linger in the air. “That’s how I found out about Claire and sweetheart here. I also found out that roughly two years ago, when Fitzroy’s home address was leaked, that he had one of the Sierra’s come stay with his girls while he was out on a mission.” Lloyd clicked his tongue. “Now, I only know of one Sierra that Fitzroy would trust to be around his family like that. It was you, right?” He questioned, pausing for a response.
You watched as Court nodded his head, but he gave no verbal response to Lloyd’s question. It was hard to see clearly from how far away you were, but it seemed like he was confused, the gears in his head turning as he tried to put together where Lloyd’s story was heading.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll be as surprised as I was when I found out that this one,” he jostled you around a bit in his grip, “was admitted to the hospital about…I don’t know…nine months later?” You felt Court’s gaze on you more than you could see it. “Did something happen between the two of you that uncle Fitz might’ve been upset about if he found out?” Lloyd’s words were rhetorical as he let forth a laugh. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m sure he loves–oops–loved his grandniece very much regardless of where she came from.” Lloyd’s correction of using the past tense form of love in regards to your uncle tore your heart in two. It was a slap in the face that you really didn’t need. You weren’t sure how this day could get any worse. Lloyd pushed you away from him, waving you off. “Go on and say goodbye to your baby daddy.”
You bit down on your bottom lip to keep your jaw from trembling as you began limping in Court’s direction. Tears welled in your eyes as you grew closer to reaching him. By the time you had reached a few feet in front of him, they were trailing down your cheeks. From afar, Court’s expression had been unreadable, but up close it was easy to tell that Lloyd’s words had affected him. It was all in his eyes, the one place that he’d let his emotions be displayed. “Court, I’m so sorry,” you began. “I should’ve found a way to tell you sooner. I-I was just afraid,” you stuttered out, sniffling in between every few words.
He shook his head, cutting you off as he closed the gap between you and cupped your face with his gloved hand. “No, baby, it’s okay.” He soothed, taking a moment to look over your new injuries. “Where is she?” He questioned, breaking the silence.
“With a friend, somewhere safe.” You responded with a soft smile.
“Good,” he nodded his head. Your heart warmed in your chest, the first good feeling you had felt all day. He already cared enough to make sure his daughter was safe. “Why don’t you go back to your sister? I’ll take care of this.”
“But–” you began, once more being cut off by him, though this time by his lips that pressed against yours. It wasn’t like the heated kisses you had shared two years ago, but it was loving, soft, and comforting. It was everything that you needed in that moment, butterflies swirling in your stomach. It lasted far longer than it should’ve in your current situation, but at the same time not long enough to satisfy you. As Court pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours for a moment.
“Wow. Such a sweet goodbye kiss,” Lloyd teased from across the fountain. “Now, get her outta here and let’s finish this.”
You and Court moved away from each other, and you gave Lloyd one last glance. He was stretching out his arms, preparing for a fight. You turned your attention back to Court. “Kick his ass, yeah?”
The corner of Court’s mouth turned upwards as he gave you a nod in response. “Go back to Claire,” he instructed with a cant of his head towards the exit of the maze. You sucked in a deep breath of air as you stalled, not quite wanting to leave him, but then you turned and limped your way out.
Once you made it out of the maze, you were greeted by the sight of several CIA members and vehicles scattered about. A bad feeling settled into the pit of your stomach as your eyes darted around to find Claire. This wasn’t going to be good.
#sierra six#sierra six x reader#sierra six fic#court gentry#court gentry x reader#court gentry fic#the gray man#the gray man fic#myfics#ryan gosling fic#the other fitzroy
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sleepless (sierra six X f reader)
Warnings: smut (in future chapter) ,masturbation, eavesdropping (i don't know) hot sexy six.
Sierra six was assigned by your uncle Donald Fitzroy to watch over your younger sister Claire and yourself (22) six (36) has taken a strong liking to you, and not the way he likes claire. he's strictly business but can he keep that moral when he catches you in the act of pleasing yourself?
Part two
You had woken up in the middle of the night again, as of recents you hadn't been able to sleep tossing and turning as your mind racks a million possibilities. you were trained to be a sierra but your uncle never let you actually pursue the job so now all you had to do with all the training you'd gone through was protect claire and since that didnt make Donald the happiest cause you are also his niece he had hired sierra six to protect the both of you.
Getting up out of bed you headed to the kitchen for a glass of water trailing in the dark trying to be as quiet as possible before you could reach for a glass six had spotted you.
“Cant sleep.” you were beyond startled, grabbing a knife from the counter as an instinct and turning around ready to stab someone before you'd seen him with his hands raised in surrender.
“Holy shit you can't sneak up on me like that, and no i can't sleep.” you breathed out pointing the knife at him before settling it down. Six was always in a suit or a black shirt and beige pants. I mean he was incredibly attractive and even more so mysterious he had become a bit more familiar around you and Claire loved him and you guys got along well.
“There’s melatonin in that cabinet if you want it.” he offered with a half low smirk, eyes focused on the computer in front of him. You stared for a second admiring the man before you, not leaving this house often was doing something to you and you had that well to known feeling in your body.
“y/n you okay” he was looking at you now eyes wandering your face and for a second you could have sworn he was checking you out but that was also probably your delusion.
“Yes yes i'm sorry and no thankyou i don't like to deep sleep i'll just find some other way goodnight six.” you'd spoken before retrieving some water and heading back to your room on the other side of the house.
Laying back down your mind wandered and all that you could think about was six his veiny hands and his half rolled sleeves, the stupid fucking toothpick in his mouth and before you could think about it your hand was slipping down to your pajama shorts without a second thought.
Now there was a rule in the house and it was to never fully shut the doors they can be mostly closed but never fully except for the restroom just in case someone made it past six or any intruder situation it was for safety and if needed privacy all you had to do was let him know.
As six was making his 20 millionth round around your home out of paranoia he heard something almost like whining whatever it was he was going to investigate.
He had found the source of the noise in your bedroom and as he was just about to walk in to see if you were alright he realized the movement under your blanket and the soft stutters from your mouth, you were pleasing yourself and he had seen. That was alarming, yes but what came after was even more.
“Six please” he was startled had you caught him catching you. No that wasn't the case your eyes were still shut your beautiful face contorted in pleasure wait wait you were touching yourself to the thought of him.
He slowly backed away from your door feeling the growth in his pants dammit. he had thought of you that way once and he stopped himself right when it happened and said he'd never let it happen again i mean you were beautiful and strong hed watched you train once and he'd watched how you took care of claire and you always looked at him like he was normal.
No he thought to himself he could never have you that way it wasn't right he was a live in body guard that was it even though claire always told him he was family and you'd always treat him like it he thought he wasn't good enough for you.
Once you had finished your activities you rolled over in bed and your eyes landed on the door shiittttt no he couldnt have heard you wouldve heard him come to your door right, RIGHT.
Your post orgasmic haze wasn't going to let you ponder too long cause as you thought more they just sounded like whispers and sleep overcame you quickly.
Six sat at the table his head in his hand and his mind was replaying it involuntarily the look on your face his name in your mouth is a sexual way the sounds of your needy whines and the erotic noises of your wetness.
He threw his head back shaking it hoping to shake the thoughts of you but to no avail he sighed adjusting his pants he had no time to ease himself especially not at night he grabbed a drink wondering how he could look you in the eyes at breakfast or any other time without wanting to fuck you sensless.
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this is base basically and most definitley a part one;)
i have the major hots for him and there isnt enough fics,
if you have any requests please send them<3
please leave feed back its so motivating and appreciated.
#ryan gosling#sierra six x reader#courtland gentry x reader#court gentry#the gray man#sierra six smut#sierra six imagine#sierra six x you
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Baby Girl (The Gray Man x Female Reader)
Based off film, not book
Sierra Six x Reader x Lloyd Hansen
Warnings: Explicit, Age Gap, Violence, Language, Sexual Assault, Loss of Parents
Ages:
You are 21
Sierra Six (Court Gentry) is 41
Lloyd Hansen is 40
Summary: After your parents were mysteriously murdered, a man of the name Donald Fitzroy decided to take you as his own…but unfortunately that doesn’t come without a price. Later the years passed and somehow you caught the eyes of two dangerous men. One of them completely ignoring the chemistry while the other relishes in it.
~ Chapter One ~
This was not the life you wanted, maybe in a fantasy world…sure, but this is reality. At Fifteen you became an orphan when you opened the door to your suburban home with a smile on your face after your friends dropped you off. Only for that smile to fall apart after seeing objects and furniture trashed and a few bodies laying around.
Your friends already left leaving you to clutch your phone as you side stepped bodies, making sure to not create too much noise. Blood painted the walls, cabinets, sofa, and flooring.
Grabbing a gun, you checked to see if the safety was on and if there were bullets left. Safety was off. Bullets were in. You hadn’t gone to a shooting range that much but you know the basics thanks to your father and even some friends. Your parents were not in the living room nor kitchen, which made you still scared for their sake.
“Mom, dad?”
Your voice trembled and tears threaten to escape. Wanting to run far from there but you couldn’t until you knew your parents were safe. Only if.
Fresh blood poured out from your mother’s gauged out eyes and slit throat. A knife still stuck in your father’s chest, his eyes focused where your mother laid. Bile rose to your throat, puking when you turned from the gruesome scene no child should see of their parents. Dialing the cops, they came to the scene and threw a lot of questions at you. Why did you have a gone? Where were you? Who were those men in tactical armor? Blah? Blah? Blah? They brought you into the station and that was when you met Donald Fitzroy. “What do you want? As I said a thousand times before, give me a fucking lawyer.”
“I’m not here to prosecute you. I know you didn’t do that, besides, you’re free to walk out those doors.”
“What?”
“Listen, I’m sorry for what has happened. Truly. You’re just a child who saw the most unforgivable. I’m here to give you my condolences and to offer you a safe place. Whoever did this, they are dangerous and I don’t know if you are next on the list as you were the child of their targets.”
Sniffling, you can’t help but to let out a sob and some tears, “Who are you?”
“My name is Donald Fitzroy and I am the director for CSS short for Cheltenham Security Services. Though, I am retiring so now would be your best bet to come with me for protection.”
“…How am I supposed to trust you?”
Donald smiled and threw a file on the table, “If you got any questions, I’m right here. I don’t know why your parents were targeted…why your family was targeted. Hate to be the one telling you this, but you are the only living member left. Telling me this isn’t random and since it’s just you left, you are the best bet to this puzzle.”
“No time to mourn?”
“You can mourn,” he stated softly, “Mourn all you want. You didn’t deserve any of this.”
After the meeting, he took you on a private jet to his home in a different country. His niece Clair was only seven and though you were distant and 8 years older, you were each other’s saving graces. Yes, there were many problems you couldn’t confide with her as she could with you, but it was nice having her around. Donald and Clair slowly became your family and both helped you overtime with the loss of your own blood.
Time to time—unfortunately—a man named Denny Carmichael would visit to steal you away for a few meetings and made you train. Made you. Being a resilient one made him all the more angry yet insistent about you. Donald hated the idea of making you an assassin, but the CIA all turned their heads away. At one point he took your training so intensely that he had you meet someone to learn how to interrogate. He was a handsome man, you have no shame admitting, but a complete sociopath. Maybe even psycho. With gorgeous blue eyes and a strong mustache, you couldn’t help but blush the first time meeting him. Which made his ego burst more than it should.
“Why the fuck should I waste my time with a brat?”
Those were his first words.
It only lasted a week with him as a woman who you never met seemed to know how to pull strings to get you out of training altogether. Though, you too made quite an impression yourself. Being a young 15–almost 16–year old who about lost everything she loved, every time you spoke to him was as if you were signing for a death wish. He beat the crap out of you when you talked back or didn’t do what you were told. Yet, you always gave him a shit eating grin with blood dripping from your nose and lip.
Lloyd Hansen never forgot about you…the stupidest yet strongest brat he ever met.
Three years passed and you didn’t have to deal with anything involving the CIA and other government politics. Donald was really trying the best he could to let you live as a semi-normal teen. The only thing you had to worry about was Clair’s heart. And the fact your guys address got leaked. That was how you met Six and you completely fell for him. Though, you were only 18 and he was a whole grown man.
“(F/N), can you come here for a moment,” the maid announced. Leaving your room, you paused for a moment after seeing him. Easily guessing him to be around 6 feet compared to your height, you can’t help but blush from his right fit suit and facial hair. Cursing at yourself mentally because of your hormones, you greeted him with a shy smile and offered your hand out for a shake. His grip was strong and you could feel just from it that he was a hardworking man. It was stale for awhile between all of you…well it was just stale with him. Clair was more sassy than usual but you didn’t change your behavior. Every other morning you did your routine of working out with weights and skateboarded out front. Every evening would be a walk and sometimes run around the limits of where you were aloud. You knew that it may have been a pain for Six to take care of two at once but from how he hovered over Clair more you had an idea that Donald may have told him of your training.
After Clair had her peacemaker attack and fell asleep on the hospital bed, you held her hand and tried to keep a conversation with Six.
“She’s not lying about this being another Thursday. You know, she’s a strong kid. More than I could ever be.”
“Hmm.”
“Pfft…you know…come here I got something.”
Cautiously he walked towards you. Rolling your eyes, you reaches for your pocket and pulled out a box. “I’m a gum chewed myself. Donald tried to get me to stop, but I’m just too damn stubborn.”
Offering him a piece, his mouth tweaks a bit and he accepts the Spearmint. “Why did you pull out?”
“I didn’t want to do it. Just because I lost everything doesn’t mean I should be used as a toy. No offense.”
“None taken. You were too young anyways.”
Later that night Clair woke up and you all were able to go back home. Left your bathroom door open, you turned on your shower connected to you room. You threw off your shirt and pants leaving you in lace pink bra and underwear when you noticed something strange.
Or someone.
Pretending to not notice, you grabbed your razor and just as the figure moved you threw it at them. The man stalking you cursed when he felt the razor graze his cheek and took out his knife, rushing at you. Saying “Fuck it” to yourself you ran at him and focused on the weapon. Using your forearm for guarding, you kicked his side which made him grunt and get more frantic in his attacks. Switching the knife to his other hand, he cut your arm and with the pain as distraction, he got a hold of you with his arm squeezing your neck. Yelping, you felt the knife go from your neck all the way down under your belly button.
“My, my, for someone barely legal you sure are delicious aren’t you sexy?”
“You pervert,” you hissed when his knife was poking just under the waist band of your panties.
“She’s right, you are a pervert,” you hear a voice that made you sigh with relief. The assassin’s dirty hands left your body and all you heard was a disturbing gurgling noise. Six then stood in front of you with blood on his arms. “You okay,” he asks you looming over. “Yeah, I’m going to take a shower. You should too.”
He nods and went to the sink to wash his hands.“I’ll clean this mess up. Sleep with Clair when your done,” he orders before drying his hands and moved over to your dresser to pick out your pajamas and even underwear. Your heart races and can’t help the embarrassment to overflow, but you let him get your clothes anyways as you closed the door to take your shower. Behind the door, you smiled and toled him, “You know, that was OOC of you.”
“What does that mean,” Six asked, moving towards the body using your sheets to move it.
“Means “out of character”, usually you hum, grunt, of just say a word or two. Not really have I heard you make jokes. But you did make one about the guy being a pervert when he—well—you know.”
“Well that’s because he was…plus being around you and Clair is such a headache.”
“Pfft, you love us,” you laughed before hopping in the shower.
#the gray man#reader#imagine#x reader#female#female reader#sierra six#lloyd hansen#sierra six x reader#lloyd hansen x reader#you#the gray man x reader#the gray man x female reader#lloyd hansen x you#Sierra six x you#series#the gray man female series
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"My name is Donald Fitzroy, and I'm here to commute your sentence. When I get out of this chair and walk out of this prison, you'll walk with me."
"What's the catch?"
"You work for us. You'd be part of an elite unit, the Sierra Program. You would exist in the gray."
The Gray Man AU where former members of the Strike Team are recruited as part of the Sierra Program after the TWS.
#callan mulvey#jack rollins#brock rumlow#frank grillo#hydra husbands#sierra program#rumrollins#sierra four#sierra five#sierra six#the gray man#the gray man au#captain america#winter soldier#my edits
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Heaven Is In A Shortcake {the gray man ff}
⚜🍰⚜🍰⚜🍰⚜
WARNING: if you LIKE and/or REBLOG this post, I WILL put you in the TAGLIST OF THE FANFICTION. BUT, yes, there's a but, I will wait for you to comment whether or not you want to be in the taglist.
If you wanna be part of the taglist: like, reblog, and comment a shortcake (🍰)
If you don't wanna be tagged: like, reblog, and comment down a compliment :3 teehee
⚜🍰⚜🍰⚜🍰⚜
SUMMARY: you've had an excitingly normal life, but you'd be lying if you say it isn't a rollercoaster ride full of loops and spiraling turns and disappointed looks from your family. That's why you ran away from them, away from the suffocation, to find a place that feels like home. But on every payday, you'd still send some money to your family.
It's been a while since your life began flipping all the ways around. And now it's because of a certain father-daughter duo.. or more particularly, an ex-CIA agent with trust issues and an orphaned girl with a heart condition. Six doesn't want you to get too close, but Claire likes your company. They're the most unlikely pair to be a family, but as you get to know them, they're more of a family than yours could ever be. And if given the chance, are you willing to be a member of their rickety family?
✨TABLE OF CONTENTS✨
Masterlist [you are here]
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18 [wip]
Chapter Banners
Odd Numbers
Even Numbers
⚜🍰⚜🍰⚜🍰⚜
Reader bio: (i'm not changing anything physically unless you're taller than Six, but the hair may be medium-length)
33y/o (shall we vote on a birthday? or comment down a suggestion)
half-Filipino
occupation: waitress at Flour Cake De Liz. bartender/waitress at Ril Steak.
ran away from home [will update the reason as the story progresses or see for yourselves lol]
Six bio: (tweaked it a bit to have him closer in age with reader)
37y/o (born 1985)
incarcerated at age 15 (2000)
recruited by Donald Fitzroy at age 18 (2003)
officially Sierra Six at age 19 (2004)
(i may use this bio in other future the gray man fanfictions)
Claire bio: (fanon as well cuz I can't find a definite bio of Claire)
16 y/o (born 2006)
living with Donald Fitzroy at age 11 (2017) until age 16 (2022)
adapted a pacemaker at age 14 (2020)
✨PLAYLIST✨
just some songs that i feel fitting for the fanfic
⚜🍰⚜🍰⚜🍰⚜
AN/: i'm having trouble in picking 1 cover, can you please vote your fave out of the two covers above? THANKYOUVERYMUCH
may update tomorrow/later *fingers crossed*
✨TAGLIST✨
@kat-thepoet
@queenofhellhasrisen
@sierrasixswife
@vallyb
@lyuir
@yvxcy
@justareaderdude
@sortingharryshairclip
@captainbarness
#strawchoco berrylate#the gray man#reader insert#six x reader#courtland gentry#claire fitzroy#court gentry#court gentry x reader#netflix#russo brothers#ryan gosling#chris evans#ana de armas#teenage girl needs a mama figure#trust issues#slow burn#fluff#comedy#filipino#Spotify
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Witness in the Dark
※ Sierra Six x Claire's Older Sister!Reader ※
{ masterlist } ※ { ao3 } ※ { requested fic }
※ Summary: Don't we all just want to feel the companionable reassurance of another human being?
It only takes a single tragedy to tear your life to shreds and make it to where you're unable to sleep through the night. You tell yourself that you will never trust a bodyguard again, but things don't go according to plan when a man with a number for a name is assigned to the Fitzroy household while your uncle is away
※ Rating: T for suggestive themes and canon typical violence.
※ Content/Tags: Slow burn, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Night terrors, Pining, Unspecified age gap, Movie based - Alternate Universe, No use of Y/N, Obsessive behaviors from both parties, Descriptions of injuries, Mentions of parental death, Mentions of past kidnapping, Mentions of past torture, Implied death of minor character(s)
※ Word count: 12,637
※ Status: Oneshot/Complete
※ Author's Notes: I don't know what came over me. This really got uncontrollably out of hand and ended up being wildly self indulgent. Huge thanks for @danime25 for proofreading this. I owe you my life.
"Ladies!" Your sister's nurse calls as she walks into the room. "I want to introduce you to Six. He'll be looking after the house while Mister Donald is away."
You look up from your position next to Claire on her bed only to meet the eyes of the man following the nurse. They're startlingly blue. His face is impassive as he turns away and surveys the room. He carries himself with an easy grace that hints at the violence that his body could produce. He reeks of danger. You instantly don't appreciate his presence. You had fought with Uncle Fitz tooth and nail over hiring a bodyguard for the duration of his trip away from the home. This man’s presence here means you have clearly lost that argument.
"Only the two exits?" He questions, moving past the bed to stand at the ceiling to floor windows.
"Yeah." Your tone is hard, biting. The nurse gives a small gasp at your rudeness and says your name disapprovingly.
The man, Six, turns away from the window to look at you with a raised eyebrow. You stare at each other silently, sizing the other up. There’s a flicker of some emotion that you might label as respect in his eyes before Claire, picking up on your hostility, throws her hat in the ring.
"We don't chew gum in this house." You've never loved your little sister's faux-snob act more than in this moment. She snaps a photo of him with her Polaroid, staged records forgotten. He doesn't look particularly pleased about it. It’s more exasperated acceptance than anger though.
He's silent for a moment before speaking. "I'm sorry. I wasn't briefed."
There’s a trace of a smile on his face. It’s irritating and you have to look away from him. You stare at a record sleeve like your life depends on it. He asks for the photo and picks it up. You see a flash of a tattoo on his hand as he plucks the Polaroid off of the bedspread. Poorly done and worn with age. He’s definitely one of Uncle Fitz’s prison recruits then. One of the most morally dubious options he could have saddled you with in his absence. Perfect.
He says his goodbyes to you and Claire before leaving the room. Your heart is beating irrationally rapidly and your mouth is dry. The man with a number for a name is stirring up nothing but bad memories. You know you won’t sleep well tonight.
───※ ·❆· ※───
“What kind of name is Six anyway?” Claire asks first thing in the morning after she tosses herself into a chair at the kitchen table. The man in question gives her a long look.
"007 was already taken so…" He says with a relaxed shrug, coffee mug in hand. He's leaning against the kitchen counter in the same suit as yesterday.
You choke back a laugh at the sight of your sister's expression. You accidentally meet Six's eyes over her head. There's warmth in them that douses your amusement immediately. You sober up and turn back to your breakfast. Softness in someone doing his line of work felt… wrong. He isn't trustworthy, you decide, no matter how kind he acts.
───※ ·❆· ※───
You wake up with a start. The coppery tang of blood mixed with the dry powder of concrete lingers in your subconscious. It takes several heaving breaths to clear your airway and bring you back to the present. You shakily sit up. You press your palms into your eyes. You try to forget the sensation of a knife in your skin. You're here. You're safe . You're one of the last people your sister has. You're the stable one.
You get to your feet in the dark bedroom and open your door to step out into the hall. You trail unsteady fingertips down the plaster and paint as you make your way to the kitchen and living area.
There's a barely audible scuffle and you peer through the gloom to see Six stalking you. You catch the barest glimpse of his face in a strip of moonlight. It's intent. Predatory. There's no hint of recognition, not while you move through the darkest parts of the room.
You feel cold. Your pulse starts to hammer in your veins. Your throat works uselessly. Words won't come out of your mouth. You forge along to the kitchen and fumble for the light. The kitchen is awash in a blinding glow right as you feel heat against your back. It immediately withdraws as the bodyguard removes himself from your personal space. You don't turn to face him while you get a glass from the cupboard and fill it with ice and water at the fridge's dispenser. You stare blankly at the burnished steel while you take sip after sip.
You refill your glass. You blink. You take a drink. You pretend like your mind isn't shattered. You pretend like the man your uncle hired hadn't been about to…
"Are you alright?" Six's voice cuts through the fog in your mind. It's like a lantern has been lit to guide you back into the waking world.
You find yourself then and turn to look at him. You study him. He looks slightly rumpled and tired. There's tension around his eyes and his mouth is set in an almost apologetic frown.
"Just another nightmare. Sorry for disturbing you."
The frown deepens. "You didn't. I was caught by surprise, that's all."
"Fair warning, me out here like this is probably going to be a regular occurrence." You smile wanly. "I know you want us in bed, but I don't do the whole staying put thing so well most nights."
He just nods. He's accepted your words without protest. The frown fades away.
You gesture with your glass in the vague direction of your bedroom. "I'm going to go ahead and excuse myself. Goodnight, Six."
"Goodnight."
───※ ·❆· ※───
Weeks go by. The household falls into a comfortable enough routine. Claire ribs him good-naturedly every chance she gets. He's always got a faint aura of amusement every time she takes a shot at him. You hadn't yet seen him get angry. Pretending to be annoyed? Yes, but never actually expressing any negative emotion beyond mild exasperation. Not yet, anyway.
He sends the both of you to bed every night after Claire's nurse takes her leave. You inevitably get up in the middle of the night after another vivid nightmare. Six is always either watching the camera footage or doing his rounds. He's stopped being surprised by your presence after the night he hunted you. You linger in the kitchen doorway night after night, watching him keep vigil. He's got a soft face, you've decided. There's tension there, likely from worry and lack of sleep, but not cruelty. You've begun to wonder if he has the capability for it. You know he must. Uncle Fitz has kept you in the dark about a lot of the work he does, but you know a kind man wouldn’t have been a candidate for whatever program your uncle runs.
───※ ·❆· ※───
You're woken up a few nights later by the sound of hands scrabbling on your door. Your eyes snap open and you remain frozen for a second before you hear Claire's muffled voice. You're immediately out of bed so fast you stumble and twist your ankle painfully. You fling the door open and next thing you know, your little sister falls wheezing into your arms. "Something's… Something's wrong." She gasps out.
She can't breathe and is clutching at her chest with weak hands. Horror races down your back and you're pulling her into your arms in a clumsy embrace, desperately trying to keep her upright.
"Six!" The name is torn from you in a shout. You never thought you would be screaming for a man you'd told yourself you couldn't trust.
He's there in an instant. He puts a steadying hand on your back before he gently pulls Claire away and lifts her up into his arms. She wheezes again and both you and Six freeze.
"I'm okay." she whispers. She looks so small and breakable in the bodyguard's thick arms. Like a bird plucked from the sky, held the mercy of a giant's hands.
"Can you get the keys for the car and unlock it?" His voice washes over you. Its steadiness anchors you to reality. You manage a "Yeah." and take off through the house to the garage, making a pit-stop to snag the keys from their bowl. Your ankle is throbbing. Six is close behind, his brisk stride and long legs keeping time with your hurried scrambling. You mash the unlock button on the fob and throw yourself into the backseat. Claire is gently deposited in after you. Her head is resting on your lap. You comb through her brown hair with shaky hands.
"Mount St. Mary's." You tell Six the moment he's halfway into the driver's seat. "They're the ones who put her pacemaker in."
He grunts in response, backing out of the garage. You don't remember when you handed him the keys or when the garage door was opened. You don't think about anything other than your little sister. You can't lose her too. You've already lost so much of your family and of yourself. The ride passes in a blur. You're only fleetingly aware of the passing lights. Your heart is hammering in your chest like it's beating for Claire and you both. You whisper pleas and promises to her, stroking her forehead with shaking hands.
You're pulled out of your trance by Six yanking the passenger door open, and you help guide your sister into his capable arms. The medical team whisks Claire into the back immediately the moment he has her on the stretcher. You're left in a stiff, vinyl chair in the waiting room. Bodies haven't been in it long enough to soften the material. You're filling out intake paperwork on your sister's behalf. Six stands next to you, hands clasped in front of himself. You glance over, checking his watch every few seconds, your leg bouncing in place. Nervousness and fear wash over you in all-consuming waves.
He catches your glance as your eyes dart over yet again.
"You holding up alright?'' His questions surprise you. He rarely is the one to initiate conversations. His gaze is steady, grounding, blue eyes watching you intently.
"Not really." You admit, inhaling and exhaling jaggedly. He nods. There's tension around his eyes. Is he worried too? You have to look away from his face and instead talk to his watch. "She's my sister. I need to keep her safe. I can't lose her too."
You hear him make a noise in response. You watch the seconds tick by one by one on his watch. The two of you are silent for approximately thirty-seven of them before Six breaks the moment by undoing the metal clasp. He pulls the watch away from his skin, revealing a bar of ink across the underside of his surprisingly delicate wrist before he's handing it to you.
"Here."
You stare at the dangling watch blankly before looking up at his face. "What?"
"Keep it safe for me for a while." His tone leaves no room for argument. You reach out with hesitant fingers and take it from his grasp. The steel is warm in your hand. You swallow thickly and drape the watch over your wrist, waiting for the sickening feeling of having your hands bound to hit you. It doesn't. You clumsily latch the buckle. It's sized perfectly for the man diligently standing at your side, no possibility of tightening it without it being resized altogether. It hangs off your wrist like a loose bracelet and you realize then just how big Six is.
He hides his mass well. His muscles are concealed discretely enough underneath blazers and tailored trousers. He simply doesn't take up space in whatever room he's in, always the expert at being unremarkable, unobtrusive, and not worth remembering. But this… this is a dead giveaway. You cast a sideways glance at his hands and, for a dizzying moment, you wonder how your hand would look pressed palm to palm with one of his.
"Miss Fitzroy. Your sister is cleared for visitors now if you would like to see her." A nurse's voice cuts into your illogical musings.
You stand up so abruptly that the chair you were just sitting on screeches agonizingly loud on the polished vinyl flooring before it thuds into the wall. The nurse flinches slightly, but Six is steady at your side. He falls into step behind you as you follow the man through the winding hallways to Claire.
The doctor stops you at the door, arm barring you for a moment before letting it drop. "She's stabilized. Tell your uncle there was a programming glitch. We were able to repair it. Non-invasive." She pauses for a moment, giving the man hovering behind you a hard look before continuing. "The remote system flagged it ten minutes before he pulled up."
"You're able to monitor from that distance?" You interrupt.
"We can keep track of her pacemaker from just about anywhere. You may see her. She can be released later tonight after we have her under observation for a while longer.” The doctor catches your pinched expression and adds. “Just to be safe.”
You nod, gaze bypassing her to focus on Claire. She’s been watching the exchange and, at your attention, she pulls a weak smile under her oxygen mask while raising a pale hand to flash the rocker sign. The doctor finally steps aside but not before blocking Six as he makes to follow you into the room. “Only family allowed.”
You look at her incredulously and open your mouth to protest before Six cuts you off. “I understand. Thank you, Doctor.” His tone is bland, unemotional. He arranges himself to stand with his back to the inside of the open door. He’s obnoxiously in the way of anyone that would need to come or go. He spends the passing minutes as they bleed into hours standing there like a steadfast sentinel. Back straight, hand clasped over his right wrist, left wrist startlingly bare, head lowered in waiting supplication; he’s the very image of patient servitude.
You sit at your sister's side in your own vigil. The three of you wait in tired silence until a nurse finally announces Claire is free to be discharged.
She fusses as she's helped into a wheelchair. You and Six stand aside, letting the staff fight the battle. They win, but as soon as everyone spills out of the automatic doors, she's pulling herself out of the mobility aid. She gently slaps away yours and Six's reaching hands when the two of you try to steady her. "Don't you dare."
"But-" you start to protest before you're immediately shut down. "I can walk to the car. I'm not that much of an invalid."
Six doesn't even try to say anything, just forges ahead through the parking lot like nothing happened. He's learned by now that there's no arguing with your little sister. The traitor. You and Claire make it to the vehicle after him and you move to slide into the back seat with her but she pulls a face.
"You're smothering meeeee." she exaggeratedly whines. You give her a flat look. "Smothered." she insists. She dramatically points at the front of the car and raises insistent eyebrows.
You end up buckling yourself into the front passenger seat with an exasperated sigh. You look over at Six. The tension has bled away from his face. He looks more relaxed, relieved even. He notices your stare and the two of you make eye contact. You roll your eyes pointedly at your sister’s antics. Six maintains a serious expression until it cracks and you’re rewarded with the bodyguard's smile.
Six's arm brushes ever so slightly against yours when he puts the vehicle into reverse and then into drive. The feeling of his warmth lingers like a brand on your skin. His watch hangs heavily around your wrist. You fight the urge to gently touch the gleaming metal and instead interlink your own fingers together hard enough to hurt.
You spend the car ride sagged against the leather of the passenger seat, desperately trying to focus on the passing scenery and not the man seated next to you. Not his kindness, not the way he had kept you grounded. You tell yourself he was just doing his job. Any bodyguard would have been tender and careful with your sister… and with you. You try to not read into what Six offering his watch to you for "safe keeping" might possibly mean.
Soon you're back at the house, waiting in the garage with your little sister while the hired man does a sweep of the building to make sure no one has breached the perimeter while it lay vacant. Claire is tucked against your side. She's bleary eyed with exhaustion.
"Clear." Six's voice cuts into the silence of the garage.
You tow Claire along with you and sit her down at the table. She slumps with her cheek resting in her hand. You busy yourself with getting a bowl of ice cream set in front of her.
She gulps it down in huge mouthfuls. Six sits to your right at the head of the table while she eats. His eyes are focused on the screen of his laptop. You're sitting across from your sister, half curled up in the dining chair. The adrenaline has long since left your body, leaving you feeling heavy with exhaustion.
"You feeling better?" Six directs at Claire.
"Just another Thursday." She says with a shrug. "Uncle Donald and my sister say this is the best medicine. Ice cream. I tend to agree."
"They're smart people."
"Only family I got."
Six’s response is instant, like he’ll choke on the words if he doesn’t get them out of his mouth fast enough. “Fitz’s the closest thing to family I’ve had in a long while.”
"Maybe that kind of makes us family."
You catch the way that he smiles. He ducks his head to hide it, but you see the hopeless spread of it across his face. There’s something so tender and vulnerable in his eyes that you get stung by a pang in your chest. Your heart aches for the people sitting at the table with you. Claire for carrying the loss of your parents and Six for whose closest hint of a familial tie is his boss. You get pulled out of your spiraling thoughts by Claire yawning.
"You should go to bed." His voice is soft.
You haul yourself to your feet, exhausting hanging on you like a blanket. You whisk Claire’s empty bowl away and gently touch her shoulder. “C’mon, you heard the man.”
She grumbles a little and stands up with you. You’re about to guide her to her bedroom but she pauses and turns. “‘Night, Robot.”
“Goodnight, Claire.” He sounds exasperated with an undercurrent of amusement.
He doesn’t look away from the screen as you and your younger sister retire for the night. You fall into bed, wrung out from the hospital trip. It’s not until you’re firmly under the covers and settled into bed that you realize you’re still wearing Six’s watch. You stare at it, warring with yourself on if you should scrape yourself off of the mattress to go give it to the bodyguard keeping vigil at the table or to just set it aside to give to him in the morning. You do neither of those things. You fall asleep watching the silver metal reflect the moonlight peering through the shivering curtains. You do not dream of your past captors and their leering smiles that night. Instead, you dream of a comforting hand on your wrist, the gentle hum of a deep voice.
───※ ·❆· ※───
The three of you settle back into routine following Claire’s hospital visit, but things have shifted slightly following that night. You gave Six his watch back the following morning before your sister got out of bed and before her nurse arrived for the day. He took it from your hesitantly offered hand. His thick fingers gently brushed your palm as he lifted the piece from it. Your wrist has felt desolate, too light ever since you took it off. You try to ignore it all, try to regain the distance you had before. You don’t succeed. Something about Uncle Fitz’s hired man keeps eroding the walls built from mistrust and agony.
───※ ·❆· ※───
You snap awake, soaked through with rapidly cooling sweat. You’re certain you didn’t scream out. Your throat isn’t sore, but your face is wet, moisture clinging to your lashes. You must have been silently sobbing through your nightmare. You uncurl yourself from your tensed position and drag yourself out of bed. You walk through the darkened hallway to the kitchen. You make sure to roughly trail your hand along the wall and clear your throat. It won’t do anyone any favors to startle Six.
You get your glass of water and make your way into the main sprawl of rooms. The bodyguard is sitting at the kitchen table, laptop open, as he is most nights. You pull out a chair and sit down with your glass. You look at it hollowly, trying to ignore the lingering terror from your nightmares. You can't but notice Six’s eyes flickering over to you now and again. There’s a concerned crease between his eyebrows.
“Rough night?”
“The usual. As Claire says, it’s just another Thursday.” Your voice comes out more bitter than you intend. You tighten your grip on your cup until it feels like it might shatter in your hand. You force yourself to loosen your clenched fingers.
The man seated at the table with you gives an acknowledging hum, sedately chewing his gum. He doesn’t press, doesn’t try to force any explanations out of you. You relax a little in your seat. Having another human being awake and nearby is a comfort. You rest your cheek on your hand and observe him. He looks tired. The light coming from the screen serves only to highlight the weariness weighing down his face and stooping his usually rigid shoulders. Looking at him like this reminds you of the night you watched this man and your sister interact after he drove you both home from Mount St. Mary’s.
“She’s happier with you around, you know.”
There's such a long silence following your unprompted comment that you don't think he'll respond but he finally does. "She's a good kid."
"Yeah. Yeah she is." You don’t think you could have clung to life in the wake of the incident without her there to be strong for. Most weeks, she was the only reason you bothered to try to function.
You drain the rest of your glass and stand up. The ice clinks. You dump it in the sink and put the cup in the top rack of the dishwasher. You felt wrung out enough to attempt sleep again. You pause in the doorway and look back at the man at the table. "Six."
He looks up, eyebrow raised. His lips are slightly parted.
"'Night."
"Goodnight." You can’t decipher his tone.
Your nightmares don’t return that night.
───※ ·❆· ※───
About a month later, you’re screaming and thrashing in your bed. You’re choking under your captor’s hands, the sensation of soaked cloth over your face. You feel the pressure of those cruel fingers on your throat, over your mouth. Water moistening every ragged inhale. You can’t breathe.
Six’s response is all but instantaneous from the moment he hears your first scream. He pushes your door open, one hand on the knob and the other wrapped around his drawn gun. He’s sweeping his eyes across the dark room, There’s no attacker to find, there’s only you writhing on your bed, plagued by your own mind. He holsters his weapon and goes to your side. He tries calling your name, but there’s no acknowledgement, only your panicked wheezing. He puts one knee on the mattress for stability and grabs your upper arms. He tries to shake you awake. That gets a reaction. You start fighting him. Your hands claw and hit at him. He ignores it and repeats your name, asking you to wake up with an edge of desperation to his voice. He’s wildly unprepared for this. A physical enemy he can handle, but this…
You come out of it, going limp in his hold. Your chest is heaving. You blink away the lingering horrors of your dream and look up at him, horrified. For a split second your panic flares anew until you focus on his face. You remind yourself that you know this man, that you trust him with your sister’s life. He releases his grip on you and leans to turn on your bedside lamp. You wince against the explosion of light before bolting upright to reach towards his face. He’s scratched and you wonder if he’s going to be sporting a black eye. He lets your fingertips rest on his cheek for a heartbeat, something unreadable in his eyes before he’s withdrawing his knee from the mattress and standing at the side of your bed. He’s the picture of composure.
“I’m so sorry.” Guilt is suffocating you almost as much as the man in your nightmare.
"You don't need to apologize. I should. I wasn't briefed about how to handle it." He sounds genuinely sorry, a touch of distress bleeding into his tone. It twists the knife of guilt deeper. You feel your eyes start to well.
"No, no it's not your fault.. I don't want to be like this, I'm sorry." The tears spill over. You turn your face away and scrub your hands over your cheeks.
He hesitates and sits down on the bed next to you. There's a yawning span of distance between the two of you. There's not a hint of anger or frustration coming from him, not even pity. just.... sorrow. Understanding.
"Fitz briefed me on your history." It's blunt. matter of fact.
"Then you know about the...." You hesitate.
"Yeah.” He answers before continuing. “Does he know how bad it gets?"
"No… I never told him all the details. I didn't want to burden him. He's got enough to worry about." You shrink into yourself. Your eyes focused on the items cluttering your nightstand.
"Your wellbeing isn't a burden." There it is. There’s a taste of the anger you’d been waiting for in his tone. You squeeze your eyes shut.
"I'm the stable one, Six. I can't let everyone down again ." You laugh a little, self-deprecating. You press your palms against your eyes. Baring down until stars explode behind your closed eyelids.
He hums, and you feel the shift of the mattress as he stands up. You think he’s leaving, disgusted with you and your emotions, but the heat of his presence doesn’t go away. The warmth of him bleeds through your sleep clothes. You can feel him looking down at you. You nearly jump out of your skin when he nudges your arm. You look up at him, startled. He quirks an eyebrow.
“Come on.” He says, offering his hand to you. You take it. He easily guides you up onto shaky legs.
He has you follow him down the hallway and to the dining table. A path as familiar as an old friend by now. He motions for you to sit at the table, and you mutely follow his direction. You hear him move around in the kitchen. He returns with a bowl of ice cream and a full glass of water. He sits both in front of you.
"I have it on expert authority that this should help. All the smartest people I know support it." He's so serious sounding. You look at him flatly. He holds his grave expression for a beat before he winks. You crack a teary smile and lay into the ice cream like it personally insulted you.
He settles into a chair across from you while you eat. He occasionally glances over at the open laptop’s screen to check the security footage, but his main focus is on you. You feel a little self conscious under his gaze. You scour your mind for something to say, anything to lessen the intensity he’s directing towards you.
"Do you ever sleep? Like… go to bed sleep?" The question comes out of nowhere. a flash of surprise crosses his face. You'd seen him cross his arms in his chair and tip his head back. Caught him leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, hip cocked for stability. But the thought of him actually dressing down into pajamas and tucking himself under the blankets seems.... implausible. too soft for this man who is alert and buttoned up into his crisp slacks and fitted shirts no matter the hour of the day. You half supposed he showered in the damn things.
"Not as often as I should. I don't sleep easy either." The honesty surprises you.
"Why?" It's probing but you're too exhausted and raw to care.
"Too many memories. My line of work isn't exactly conducive to pleasant dreams." You wonder if he would have been willing to be so open this entire time or if something changed between the two of you. When would it have changed? Were the moments you found significant also important to him? Was he starting to crave your company in the inexplicable way as you’ve begun to crave his?
You almost apologize to him for prying, but you stop yourself. You nod instead. You understand how it is to have a beast pacing the maze of your sleeping mind, pulling out the threads of your worst memories like entrails for you to witness over and over again.
"I still think about it… About them." You admit. Your eyes skitter across the table like a frightened mouse, focusing on Six's watch face before darting away. You can’t tell the time from this distance. There is a pressure welling up in your throat. Something is clawing its way out into the open.
“Talk to me.” His request is firm, paving the way for your words. He takes his watch off, a mirror of the other night. It slips free of his arm in the same way, inky black revealed on the underside of his wrist, tendons shifting, the movements delicate. He sets the watch on the table in front of you. The metal links clatter on the polished wood surface. You glance up at his face, shadowed in the dim light. “For safekeeping.” He remarks.
You reach out and lift it from the worn surface, running your fingers over the band. The weight is soothing in your grasp. The seconds tick by and it feels as though your heart is trying to race them. You finally open your mouth and release your burden.
“Claire had her birthday party that day. It was the last good day we had with our parents. It was hard to keep the security straight since there were so many people in the house. I didn’t think anything was wrong when two men came up to me and introduced them as part of the security detail. I still didn’t think it was weird when they asked me to come with them. How could I have been so stupid ?” Your breath catches, anger palpable in your voice. Six twitches like he might reach out, but he stills and you continue.
“They got me out of the house. I wasn’t strong enough to fight them off when they put me in the back of the SUV. They… they kept me for days asking questions I didn’t know the answers to. They didn’t like that I didn’t know anything. They tried to be more persuasive… so I started making up things. I just wanted them to stop but they wouldn’t. The wrong answer or the right answer, it didn’t matter. They offered me in exchange for a ransom and eventually they pulled me out of the basement. My parents were there to do the handoff. The guys wouldn’t let anyone else do it. We made it about three miles down the highway before they caught up with us and shot out the front tires. I don’t think they expected anyone to live after we went through the guardrail, so they just.. drove off. Left. I don’t know how long I was in the car staring at my parents. Claire was too young to understand that I ruined her life. I’ve been waiting for her to realize what I did. She hasn’t yet but she will.”
“How did you ruin it?” Quiet, disbelieving.
“I got our parents killed. I shouldn’t have gone with those men. I should’ve known better.” You hear a noise like a wounded animal. A creature left for roadkill, great heaving breaths rattling in that damaged chest. It’s you, you realize dully, you’re the animal. There’s a large hand enveloping your wrist. It’s Six and he’s holding onto you.
“How could you know?” He asks. You shake your head, a sob escapes you. You feel shame. Grief. Six’s hand squeezes almost tight enough to hurt. It grounds you, you can’t escape into your own mind. Not with that insistent pressure to stay . You feel the metal of his watch biting into the skin of your palm. It’s a good kind of ache.
“It wasn’t your fault. You trusted people you were meant to trust. Who could blame you for that?” he insists. His eyes are too soft, too kind.
“Uncle Fitz.” It slips out, involuntary. You would bite your own tongue off if it could take back the betrayal. You don’t dare to look at the man seated across from you. You had all but swung a bat at the person who he said was the closest thing he had to family.
His hand withdraws from your arm, and for a moment you’re certain that he’s going to walk off and leave you sitting here by yourself. He doesn’t, he surprises you once again. He simply leans further over the table, capturing your hands with his before plucking his watch from your ironclad grasp. He lays it over your much smaller wrist. He handles you with so much gentleness it almost hurts. He secures the clasp and simply… holds your hands. He says your name and you look up
“Your family loves you.” He states simply. He says it like it’s an indisputable fact. Like it’s something as true and honest as the rotation of the Earth. You nod mutely. You can’t argue, not when he says it with so much assurance. He gives your hands a final, comforting squeeze and stands up. He gathers up your dishes, bowl, spoon, and glass. The bodyguard makes a soothing gesture to stay seated when you make a motion to rise and help him. You listen to the domestic sounds of him running the sink and loading your used dishes into the dishwasher. Your eyes start to drift shut. There’s a weight off your lungs, your burden has been dispersed, even just for a little while.
There’s a soft touch to your shoulder. It’s Six and he wants you back in bed. You get to your feet and let him escort you to your bedroom door. You feel oddly nervous, fidgeting with your fingers and avoiding meeting the hired man’s eyes. It feels like the awkward end of a weird date where everyone was too uncomfortably honest.. No matter how delusional that sounds even to yourself.
“Goodnight.” he’s the one who breaks the silence first. You feel relieved.
“‘Night, Six.” is your response as you put your hand on the doorknob and slip into the room, away from his unreadable gaze. When you fall asleep for the second time that night, you dream of steady hands marked with prison tattoos.
───※ ·❆· ※───
The morning dawns without preamble. It feels like you have barely laid your head on the pillow. You check the time on the watch hanging loosely around your wrist. Less than four hours have passed since your night terror and subsequent comforting via the household bodyguard. Your morning routine feels more laborious than usual. Every movement feels like crawling through tilled soil.
You’re dressed for the day and walking into the kitchen when you hear your little sister badgering Six.
“What happened to you, Robot?” she asks.
You pop your head around the corner to take a look at the man she’s addressing. You stop cold. It’s a mess. He’s a mess. The skin around his left eye is puffy and bruised. There's clear nail marks on his cheeks and down to his neck. Any exposed skin had taken the brunt of your panic. You can even see some redness through his facial hair. You feel sick, betrayed again by your body. Your own hands had tried to tear him apart.
"Well..." he starts and shrugs his jacket off. He folds it and drapes it over the back of one of the chairs.
He's about to go on his outdoor rounds, which you and Claire have secretly dubbed ‘enrichment time’, and continue wearing a trail into the yard. If he’s feeling particularly comfortable, he might sneak a nap in one of the lawn chairs now that the sun is up. Provided that he’s sure the two of you are secure and can survive without him awake for an hour or so.
"Your sister beat me in a fight. I'll have to hand in my championship belt." It's relaxed and easy. He gives you a conspiratorial wink when Claire rolls her eyes with a scoff.
You match his earnest tone with your own. "You should have seen it, I was about to get the folding chair and everything."
“Ooh-kay, I’ll just assume it was a weird sex thing,” she comments, turning back to her breakfast. “Looks like you already won his watch though. Congrats.”
Silence follows. Claire smugly scrapes her spoon around in her bowl, capturing every last shred of cereal. There’s a self-satisfied smile on her face. Neither of you protest. Either you let it go and hope she loses interest in the bit, or you launch into a defense that will only get her to double down. No matter what, you’ll be the losers.
Six pushes a heavy exhale through his nose and walks out of the room. You follow him right out the back door and onto the deck. The two of you stand there for a moment in companionable silence. It’s beautiful out here. The sun is a sedate creature in the sky. She's lazily casting her rays over the yard. The water in the pool is sparkling in it, lapping playfully at the concrete walls. Six’s shoulders are still tense in your field of view. He looks as though he’s holding himself up through sheer force of will.
“I’m sorry again about last night.” You say to his back.
“Please don’t be. Things happen.” He says with a sigh. You falter. He sounds as exhausted as you feel. You don't want to push the issue.
He gestures for you to sit in one of the deck chairs by the pool. You don’t, instead choosing to trail him as he does his rounds. He’s lit by the sun. You’re in his shadow. His hair looks like a field of golden wheat. You almost want to run your hands though it in order to feel the softness for yourself. You instead soothe the urge by toying with the band of his watch still loosely encircling your wrist. He looks back at you every once in a while, eyes dazzlingly blue in the bright sunlight. You had never noticed the angles of his face before, the curves of his nose with its distinctive bump, the set of his cheekbones, how his facial hair is darker than the hair on his head. You hate that you're noticing these details now. After the events of last night, any tentative bond feels tainted.
The morning grows warmer as you drift behind him like a ghost. Eventually he rolls his sleeves up to reveal his forearms. You start to understand why people in bygone eras got so flustered at the sight of a lady's ankle. His wrists are bodice ripping enough, you suppose, but the space from his fingertips to the crook of his elbow? That is home to so much previously unseen skin. Had he been rolling up his sleeves every morning? If you had simply looked out one of the windows, would you have seen the sight that you’re witnessing now? Would you have seen the distinct veins trailing up the insides of his muscular arms? What about the tattoos whose mere existence beg to have a finger trace along his skin? You avert your eyes, not wanting him to notice you staring. You tell yourself that it’s just the novelty of it all, that the surprise at seeing him less buttoned up will wear off.
With the rounds done, the two of you are back at your starting point. The bodyguard settles onto one of the deck chairs. He lets out a borderline obscene groan as he lets his body relax against the wood. His eyes flutter closed. He shifts slightly, another noise escapes his throat as he does. You make your way to the chair next to him on shaky legs, and drop into it. He doesn’t stir. You debate on standing up, you don’t, the thought of leaving his side makes you anxious. You make yourself comfortable in your seat.
Through the open window, you can hear Claire’s record player. You hear the notes of Feel the Warm. She’s playing Mark Lindsay again. You let it wash over you. The sunlight is dappled across this part of the patio. You cast a glance over at your companion. His arms are crossed and he looks dead to the world. Your own eyelids are drooping, He’s the last thing you see before you drift off.
You wake up gradually, it’s an easy kind of waking. No wild jerk of consciousness, just the soft trickle of awareness. You’ve managed to curl on your side in the deck chair. You squirm upright and feel cloth slide down into your lap. It’s the hired man’s jacket. He must have gone back inside to get it. You touch it with hesitant fingers and look up, scanning for him. He’s currently out of sight, but you do see Claire in the hammock chair across the way. She’s engrossed in her phone and frantically tapping at the screen. You check the time on the watch in your possession before you catch a glimpse of Six coming up the patio steps from the lower yard. He’s got a sandwich in one hand and his own phone in the other. He’s intent on the device. He glances up and accidentally meets your eyes. He jumps slightly as if startled you’re awake. He recovers and gives you a nod.
“‘Morning.” His mouth is full. You know Claire will give him the tongue lashing of a lifetime if she notices.
"It's after twelve." You playfully retort, watching unimpressed as he fights to swallow the bread in his mouth. He’s really struggling for a second before he gets it down, his throat working roughly. You get to your feet, carefully folding his jacket over your arm. You approach him with it.
"Good afternoon then." He says quietly. You swear you catch the ghost of a smile on his face as he looks at you.
“Thanks for the blanket.” You say, offering it to him. He takes it with his unoccupied hand before shrugging it on, doing a quick change of hands with his lunch.
You move to take off the watch and return that as well, but he stops you with a disapproving noise. “You’re keeping that safe for me, remember?”
You pause for a moment, mind racing wildly with the effort to make sense of his words. To find meaning in them. Your hand falls away from the metal and you surrender with a mute nod. If he wanted you to keep it for him for a while longer, who were you to protest? It’s a strange kind of comfort to have it.
───※ ·❆· ※───
Things come to another disastrous head some weeks later. It happens after the nurse sees Claire tucked into bed before heading home for the evening. It happens after you give your sister your own goodnight wishes. You had gently brushed her hair from her face and gave her a kiss on the forehead even if she scrunches her face in mock disgust each time you do. There’s no telling which moment between the two of you will be the last. You hadn’t had the luxury of knowing that your mom’s wet pleas for help would be the last gift from her in that twisted hunk of metal. You wanted your little sister to have a happy memory of you if a goodnight ever turned into a goodbye. Less nightmares that way.
You had stood up from your seat on the edge of the bed, made sure to smooth her blanket out. “Sweet dreams, Claire.” you said before you extinguished the slow glow cast by the lamp on her nightstand.
“‘Night,” she had said to you before yelling. “‘Night, Robot!” in the direction of the door.
You heard a weary sounding response from the ‘robot’ in question. Six was hovering in the hallway, patiently waiting to escort you to your bedroom door. He’s been diligent in performing the action every single night without fail since your impromptu wrestling session with him. He also hasn’t let you return his watch to him yet. You closed the bedroom door behind you, stepped into the hall and nearly brushed against the tall man. He moved back only enough to give you the barest clearance to get past him so he could trail after you for the scant few steps to your own door. It seems lately that he’s been standing closer to you. It also seems like his eyes have been lingering more on your face than the surveillance feeds at night when you emerge from your room, wide eyed and shaken from whatever terror that had gripped you. Your exchanged goodnights haven’t been anything out of the ordinary though, even if his voice was lower… more intimate than it used to be.
The bubble officially bursts for you when you abruptly jerk awake. You assume it was a nightmare you can’t remember, though you don’t feel any of the usual symptoms. There’s no tremors or wild breathing. You’re just… awake. You think about laying in bed and trying to drift off, but there’s a sense of unease you can’t shake. You make up your mind and shuffle over to the door. Like any other night, you turn the knob and walk out into the hall.
Like a snare snatching a rabbit, rough hands seize you. Your mouth is covered, fingers digging in harshly. And with a sudden drop of your stomach, you register the sensation of a gun pressing into your side. The metal’s coldness burrows though the thin layer of your sleep shirt. You’re frozen in shock, mind racing. Where's Six? Where's the bodyguard uncle Fitz had hired? He was supposed to protect you and your sister. Keep you safe. Why wasn't he doing his job? Why was this man in the house?
Tears start running down your face without your permission. Your sobs are broken off against the inside of your mouth. They can’t escape the crushing pressure. A scream you can’t release is building in your throat. What if this man did something to Claire?
The gun digs in deeper, grinding against your ribs. He drags you down the hall and into the living room. It’s dark and you flinch as you feel something sharp dig into one of your feet. You whimper. The floor is littered with broken glass. The sound of it shattering must have been what woke you up.
“Shut up.” the man holding you hisses, giving you a tooth rattling shake while he leans over your shoulder to see where he’s steering you. His breath is sour. “Where is he?” He must mean Six.
The bodyguard must still be able to present a problem if this man is asking about him. You’re not completely alone in this. It’s enough to sharpen your mind. To direct your focus. Your eyes are straining to make out anything in the darkness. It’s a mess of shapes that are so familiar in the daylight, but they look like strangers in the darkness. You manage to recognize the coffee table before the attacker does and you pull your leg out of the way. He slams into it and stumbles. He curses loudly through the pain of hitting his shin on the corner. You see your opportunity and savagely bite the hand covering your mouth. The saltiness of blood washes over your tongue but you bury your teeth in deeper. The tendons and nerves give way beneath your teeth. You go until you hit bone and hang on. Even if you don’t make out of this alive, you’re going to make damn sure this fucker doesn’t get to keep full use of his fingers.
He’s groaning, blinded by the shock of pain. You dare to release your hold on him in order to slam the back of your head into his face as hard as you can, throwing yourself into a backwards jump to do so. He lets out a wounded noise and clutches his face. He’s completely let go of you to do so. The gun is on the floor now, dropped in the surprise of your retaliation. You skate awkwardly on the glass as you make a run for it. The floor feels wet under your feet as you sprint for the hall. You’re leaving a trail of bloody footprints in your wake. The scream you’ve felt building weakly escapes. It’s a too quiet utterance of Six’s name. You can’t find the ability to yell as loud as you need to. You’re nearly sightless from a lack of light and terrified tears. You’re battering against the walls and furniture like a moth around a lightbulb. You make it halfway down the hall to Claire’s bedroom when you feel it. A brush of the assailant’s hand against your back. He shouts when he misses you, and you jitter to the side, making contact with the wall right as he slams into the floor. You put your back to it and look down, eyes wide enough in terror to make out the shapes of two struggling men.
Six is on top of the man who had grabbed you. His silhouette is identifiable even in the murky dark. Relief turns your legs into jelly. He’s come for you after all. You allow yourself to go limp and slide down the wall, curling up on the floor. You squeeze your eyes closed so you don’t have to put a visual to the violence you’re hearing. It’s wet, crunchy. Eventually you only hear the heaving breathing of one man. You don’t know how long you sit there shaking.
You’re coaxed into opening your eyes by Six’s voice saying your name. Your bedroom door is ajar and the light is on, illuminating the hallway enough to comfortably see, but not enough to where you can’t pretend the dark smears and streaks are shadows. The attacker isn’t in the hall any more. Six is kneeling in front of you. He’s got a cut on his cheek but otherwise looks unharmed.
“Are you with me?” It’s said with aching concern.
"Yeah… Yeah I'm here." You’re all too aware of your stinging feet, the ache of your muscles, the pain in the back of your head.
Relief floods his face at your words. He reaches out but stops himself before making contact with you. You notice that his knuckles are split open and already bruising. His hand hovers in the space between your bodies, trembling slightly like he can’t bear to touch you but withdrawing is equally torturous. You rock onto your knees and shove yourself into his arms instead. They’re instantly around you. He holds you to himself. It’s all you can do to cling to him in kind. If you could nestle alongside the lungs in his chest, you would make a home in his rib cage.
"You did well. I'm sorry I wasn't able to keep him from you. His pals kept me busy." His voice is full of bitter frustration.
You shake your head and speak against his collarbone. “Is Claire okay?”
"She slept right through it. She's still asleep. I just checked on her." He soothes, running a hand up and down your back.
“Good…” you respond, unspeakably thankful. You could cry.
“Do I have your permission to pick you and take you to your bed? I don’t want you walking with your feet like this.”
“Yeah, but I’m too heavy?” You’re surprised and uncertain. Sure, he had slammed around a grown man like a rag doll, but what if….
“Believe me, you’re not.” He sounds almost amused.
He eases you up onto your knees and over his lap. He encourages you to put your arms over his shoulders. It’s startlingly intimate. You can easily see the fine lines around his eyes at this distance. His breath is warm and against your face, smelling faintly of the watermelon gum he chews. You have just a second to try and process it before he’s gaining a foothold. He stabilizes you with one thick arm under your thighs and his hand on your back. You reflexively gasp and clench the back of his jacket in your hands. Each of his steps is steady. There’s no sign of strain even as he navigates your bedroom doorway. He carefully lowers you to the edge of your mattress and withdraws his arm. Your thighs release their death grip against his hips and you settle into place, feet off the ground. You avoid looking at his face, you know yours feels like it’s on fire.
You notice that he had already moved your trashcan to your bedside and collected the first aid kit and a roll of paper towels. He must have known you’d cooperate with him. He drags your desk chair over and takes a seat. He pats his thigh encouragingly, and you place your heel right above his knee. He steadies you with a firm hand around your ankle. He removes the shards of glass. He doesn't let you jerk away, not with the grip he has on you, even when the tweezers catch on a particularly deep piece. He works in silence and you eventually allow yourself to lay flat on the bed while he does his task. You don't ask what happened to the man in the hallway. You don't ask how Six got detained in the first place. He doesn’t volunteer the information. The time passes and you’re halfway asleep by the time he’s tying off the wrap securing the bandages on your other foot and carefully easing your leg back down from its elevated position on his thigh.
"Please stay." You ask the ceiling. You feel more than see Six freeze in response to your question.
“I shouldn’t.” He sounds conflicted. You prop yourself onto your elbows to get a better look at him.
“Do you not want to?”
“It’s not that. It’s anything but that.”
You bite your lip and decide to throw all your cards on the table. “I sleep better when I'm around you. You keep the nightmares away.”
He looks surprised, devastated even. His demeanor couldn’t have been any different than if you had asked him to bare his neck and slit his own throat. Resigned, but he would still pick up the knife for you.
"Give me a minute," is his response.
He gathers up the supplies and turns off the light on his way out of the room, plunging you into the familiar dark of your room. You're not sure what exactly he does while he’s away, but he comes back sans jacket and with his sleeves rolled up. He carries the acidic tang of cleaning chemicals. He settles back into your chair after tossing the laptop on the desk. The two of you watch each other for a moment
"Are you okay?"
"Emotionally? I've been better. Physically? I'm fine. Just a few scratches and a bruised ego. " He's soft. You nod, reassured.
You keep your eyes on his face. It’s lit by the soft glow of the screen. It’s become an unhealthy habit, observing this man. You drift off to sleep facing in his direction. He's there when you wake up. He's clearly gotten up at some point to shower, but he did come back to resume his sentence at your side. You greet each other and he excuses himself back to the common areas of the home.
───※ ·❆· ※───
It becomes a thing, you spending time in his presence outside of what follows your nightmares. Something changed in you after the attack. It has culminated in a strong desire to be near him, to be within the frame of his reassuring gaze. Most of the time but not always, you go with him on his surveillance rounds. You walk with him through the yard. It always feels a little like you’re two society members having a chaperoned walk, but it’s soothing. Routine. You’ve also begun sitting with him in the hours before bed. At the table or on the couch while he watches the TV. The two of you simply exist together.
You rarely return to your room most nights, choosing instead to make your bed in the living room. If you lay just right on the couch, you can spot the bodyguard keeping watch throughout the night. His presence in the room eases your mind enough to allow you to peacefully sleep. You wish that he hasn’t become so essential. You don’t want to think about what your uncle’s return will mean.
He accepts your new routine without question. You notice that he always has the throw pillow moved from the armchair to the couch on the nights you don’t tell him you’re going to bed. There’s no blanket in the living room, but you usually wake up with his jacket of the day draped over you in lieu of one.
───※ ·❆· ※───
One night, you and Claire manage to bully him into a game of monopoly after the nurse leaves. You’ve been made the banker because Six doesn’t trust your sister and she doesn’t trust him enough either.
“You just landed on my boardwalk. That’s fourteen hundred bucks.” Claire announces.
Six takes his hand off the game piece and gives her a look . “I thought you owned the brown properties, not the blue ones.”
She picks up the deeds for Boardwalk and Park Place and waves them pointedly in his direction. “Nope, fourteen hundred. Fork it over.”
Six lets out a genuinely flustered growl. You have to smother your laugh. He counts out the remainder of his money and tosses it in front of your sister. He’s woefully short and out of assets. You and Claire had run him ragged the course of the game until she managed to bankrupt you with some suspiciously underhand tactics. Looks like she got to Six as well.
“I’m out.” He says, resigned.
Claire stretches her arms over her head and lets out a satisfied sigh. She then slumps back into her chair in smug victory as the bodyguard extracts himself from his seat at the table to do his nightly check of the doors and windows. She leans over and taps the watch on your wrist.
“He hasn’t won this back yet?”
“Oh… uh. No.” Your answer sounds flustered, even to you.
Your little sister raises her eyebrows. There’s a mischievous gleam in her eyes and she opens her mouth to say something before pausing. She instead gets up and gives you a squeeze around the shoulders. You return it with a one armed hug. “‘Night, sis.”
“‘Night. I’ll see you in the morning.” You return affectionately, letting her go.
“‘Night, Robot!” She cheerily shouts. There’s a responding grumble from the direction of the garage. Claire flashes you a grin and a thumbs up.
She’s in her room by the time Six finishes his checks. You’re in the middle of putting up the game when you feel the weight of his eyes on you. It’s just the two of you alone. He sits back down at the table to help you with it. He’s like a fire against your left side. You’re surprised he didn’t sit in his usual spot at the head of the table.
He lets out a yawn that he can’t suppress. He’s more undone tonight than you’ve seen him yet. He’s wearing a t-shirt tucked into slacks today. No blazer. His hair is tousled, not smoothed into place with product like usual. You think he looks more approachable like this. Your hands touch when you both go to scrape the same pile of deeds off the table. You both freeze. You hear your heart pounding in your ears and with it muffling every other sound, you trail your fingers over the top of his. He shudders when you brush over his knuckles and skim over the dots tattooed into the meat of his thumb. He doesn’t move, staying perfectly still for your exploration. You reach the horse on his forearm and you think his breath hitches in response. You linger on the horse, using your pointer finger to trace its outline. You follow the swoop of its tail, down the outstretched hind leg.
A soft groan from the man you’re touching makes you remember yourself. You withdraw your hand like you’ve been burnt. He twitches and jerks his own hand towards you like he’s about to reach out and stop you, but he doesn’t. You can still feel the sensation of his skin under your fingertips even as you glue your eyes to the remaining monopoly money and sort it into the tray with unsteady hands. You finish putting up the game in silence. You sleep in your own bed that night. He escorted you to your room.
───※ ·❆· ※───
You wake up weeping the next night. You lay on the couch staring at the living room ceiling while tears involuntarily run down the sides of your face. The imprint of spider webbing glass still swirling around in your mind. You must have made some kind of noise, because Six is making his way across the room.
You sit up and take a swipe at your face. “I’m sorry.”
"You have to let it out somehow. May I?” He asks, gesturing to the space next at your side. You nod and scoot over to give him slightly more space.
He puts the ever present laptop with its surveillance feed on the coffee table before sitting down. You feel your cushion dip. Against your better judgment, you lean against him. He’s solid. He relaxes underneath the pressure of your body. You instantly feel better. You watch the cameras with him for a while, sighing along with him as the local monkeys throw the lid off the trashcan at the curb in search of a meal. You’ll have to clean up after them after the sun rises. It’s one of the downsides to living in Hong Kong.
You stay leaning against him for a while, but a stiffness in your neck gets you to change position. Moving slowly so he’s fully aware of your movements, you carefully lay down. He’s taken the place of your improvised throw pillow cushion. Your head is resting on his thigh. He puts his hand on your upper arm and gives it a reassuring squeeze. He leaves it resting there, heavy and warm.
You wake up a few hours later. The sun is cascading through the living room, throwing rainbow hues on the floor thanks to the decorative glassware. You’re comfortable, too comfortable you realize. Your eyes widen in horrified surprise. You’re still using the bodyguard as a pillow. He's shifted slightly through the night, more slumped and relaxed. He's slid down further, and your face is firmly pressed against his hip now instead of his thigh. You know that you’re going to have the imprint of one of his belt loops on your cheek. His arm is loosely draped over you with his hand tucked underneath your side, a bastardized attempt at spooning. You crane your neck to catch a glimpse of his face. He’s sound asleep.
You try to sit up without disturbing him, but his arm tightens around you and applies pressure. You’re locked into place. Your mind races. If the nurse or, worse, Claire comes into the room and sees you and Six like this… You have to get up. You put a hand on his thigh and use it as a support to push yourself up. He’s instantly awake from the overt movement. He lifts his arm off your body and lets you sit up. You turn to say something, but find him already staring. His blue eyes are focused on you, they’re sleepy and confused but quickly sharpen to alertness. He looks vaguely distressed. All you can do is offer him a smile and squeeze his leg. You stand up and he follows. Your day goes as usual.
───※ ·❆· ※───
Your nights are largely the same, except that Six seems more distant. He doesn't linger as closely or as comfortably as he did before. Your interactions with the man are more professional. It’s as though weeks, months , of getting to know each other have been erased and you’re back at the beginning. Strangers again. It hurts. You miss him like hell even though he’s right there. Your sleep is worse. It’s almost as bad as in the weeks following the incident that started them in the first place, but they’re different. Amongst the disjointed scenes, there’s a broad shouldered man with dirty blond hair walking away from you in your nightmares now. You scream for him but no sound ever escapes you, just noiseless air. You never see his face.
You finally have enough when he escorts you to your room one night. You haven’t slept on the couch for over a week, and he’s taken that as his cue to resume seeing you to your bedroom door. You turn to face him as always in the doorway. Instead of saying goodnight like you do every night, you confront him. It even catches you by surprise.
"You're avoiding me.” He doesn’t deny it and you think that hurts more than the newfound distance itself.
“Why?” You ask only to get more silence. He won’t look at you.
”What did I do wrong?” Your voice trembles and you hate it. You fumble to take off his watch, to return that final tie between the two of you. He reflexively clamps down on your wrist before you can undo the clasp, pinning your hand to your own wrist. He releases his near crushing grip almost immediately, but the ghost of it lingers. Point taken. You let your arms fall to your side in a clear display of frustration, willing him to talk.
“It wasn’t you. I overstepped. Your uncle hired me to do a job and I've stepped beyond my purview. " The confession is rough. Torn out of him. The corner of his mouth pulls down in a grimace.
You stare at him blankly. "What?"
"I allowed myself to be too close with you. I apologize. I was unprofessional." He explains, but he won't quite meet your eyes. He hasn't for a while. Not since the morning following the night you fell asleep on him.
"You were... unprofessional?” You question, absolutely lost.
"Yes. I let my feelings about you affect me and my work.. I’ve become… compromised." It's matter of fact. It’s said like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on you.
You reach out and grab his jacket lapels. He looks at you like a beaten dog might, as though you might strike him. He makes no motion to pull himself from your grasp. You swallow hard and let out a breath.
"What about my feelings for you?" You ask. His breath catches and he shakes his head, disbelieving.
“It would be better if you didn’t feel anything for me.” There’s heartbreak in his blue eyes even as he looks at you like there’s nothing else in the world he would rather be seeing.
“Better for who?” Your mouth is unbearably dry as you ask the question.
“You. I’ll only jeopardize you.”
”Six…”
You pull him down and you press your mouth against his. He's rigid and unmoving for a moment before he's kissing you like a dying man who has just been offered immortality. His hands come to rest on your back. He grips your clothing like it’s a lifeline keeping him from going under. You gently nip at his bottom lip and he gasps against your mouth, a broken little noise. He tastes like watermelon gum.
You pull away. “Jeopardize me then.
That forces a quietly helpless laugh from him. "Now that was unprofessional." His voice is hoarse.
"I had to give you a proper example."
"Good job. I feel exampled.”
" Good ." You say and kiss him again. He's ready for it this time. He keeps it slow. His hands gently trace your body. He's slowly rubbing his thumb back and forth against your side. You step back, walking him into your room. His breathing is ragged and he's gripping you with a desperation you can’t put your mind around. You stand there, intertwined in each other. His facial hair is rough against your skin but the burn feels good. Your hands make their way around his neck and you gently card your fingers through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. He makes a wounded sounding noise in response before he pulls away. His hand is cradling the side of your face to keep you in place while his eyes roam across your face. It's as though he’smemorizing you, imprinting the fine details of this moment into his mind. As though he’s preparing to say goodbye. He trails his fingers gently down your jaw before he lets his hand drop.
"Will you stay? Can we sleep?" You ask before he can make up a way to excuse himself.
There’s a dizzying moment of silence before his face softens. “Okay. Yeah.”
The two of you are left to navigate the awkwardness of getting ready for bed. You spin your finger around in a circle and Six immediately gets the idea. He puts his back to you while you change into your sleepwear as quickly as you can. You turn around after giving him the verbal ‘all good’ in time to see him pull off his jacket and toss it onto the desk chair he had occupied when you first realized how addicted you were becoming to him. He pulls his belt off, coils it around his hand before setting it aside. You watch him unbutton his dress shirt. His fingers work deftly to slip the buttons through the holes. He shrugs the shirt off and lays it over the jacket. He’s in his undershirt and slacks. He bends down to untie his shoes and sets them aside. He straightens up and there’s nervousness on his face. You’ve never seen him nervous before. Worried? Yes, but not nervous.
You slide into the bed and fold down the other side of the blanket for him. You gesture for him to come lay down beside you. He approaches warily and settles in stiffly at your side. His head is on the pillow, hands overlapping on his stomach. He looks like a body in a coffin. You gently touch his hands. He jolts.
“Are you okay?” You ask softly, letting your hand rest on top of his.
“I haven’t slept in the same bed as someone since I was a child,” he admits.
“Oh… and that was…?”
“Over twenty-five years ago.”
You allow yourself a moment to grieve for this man before you pull away to shut off the bedside lamp.. You roll onto your back and flop your arms to the side. “Come here then. I’ve used you as a pillow. It’s time for me to return the favor.”
You feel the mattress shift under his weight and he hesitates, hovering over you with arms braced on either side of your body. It’s intimate, having him over you in this way. It’s enough to make you want to kiss him again.You hear him draw breath to raise some kind of concern so you just wrap your arms around him and pull him down on top of you. The weight of him pins you into the mattress. It’s comforting. He’s heavy and warm, akin to a weighted blanket. Granted, a weighted blanket wouldn’t have a muscular thigh wedged between your legs or be breathing against your neck in a way that makes you want to shiver. You fight to ignore your body’s response to him and work on easing the tension that’s holding him rigid against you.
He gradually relaxes as you trace your hands over his back. You feel more than hear him groan when you pass over a particularly sensitive spot. The rumble feels almost like a purr against your chest. You narrow in on that location, working your fingers into the tight muscle. He allows himself to go limp on top of you, no longer stiffly trying to spare you the brunt of his mass. You run your fingers through his hair, gently scratching his scalp as a reward for letting himself relax. It earns you a low moan and an involuntary shift of his hips. You’ll have to keep that reaction in mind for later.
Six’s breathing soon evens out. Years of exhaustion and sleep deprivation have him rapidly sinking into the oblivion of sleep when offered such a precious comfort. You fall asleep with your hand still in his hair. You have the most peaceful rest of your adult life. There’s no night terrors, no pain, no fear, no longing, you just sleep .
The bodyguard is still asleep on top of you when you wake. His breath is whistling slightly through his nose. Not quite a snore, but it’s a sound that gets a fond smile out of you. You wish you could wake up like this every morning. Just this once has given you an insatiable longing for more. You bite the inside of your cheek at the thought of the future. Uncle Fitz is due to return from his trip soon, which means the dismissal of Six from the Fitzroy home to complete whatever assignment is next on his task board. You don’t figure him for the abandoning type though. That way of thinking about him doesn’t fit in with the loyalty and thoughtfulness you’ve seen him exercise in his time spent with you and your sister. You’re sure that he’ll find a way to stay in contact after this job ends.
You gently smooth down his hair. He shifts and buries his face against the hollow of your throat more firmly. You pause, hoping you didn’t wake him, but then you hear a sleep roughened voice say, “Don’t stop on my account.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
#the gray man#sierra six#courtland gentry#sierra six x reader#the gray man fanfic#ryan gosling#ryan gosling character#the gray man (2022)#courtland gentry x reader#my work#my posts
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Incarceration (Six) (Into The Gray Chpt. 6)
Fandom: The Gray Man (2022)
Pairings: Sierra Six x Reader, Courtland Gentry x Reader, Sierra Six x You, Courtland Gentry x You
Type: Multi-Chap
Running had become instinct, hiding second nature, every step taken in the last few months planned down to the smallest detail to ensure that he could keep running and keep hiding. Six played his part, did what he was told, and ensured that nobody knew the truth about Courtland Gentry. For years, he obeyed the idea that he was replaceable; at any given moment, if his handlers decided that he had outlived his usefulness, he would kneel down and let them shoot him in the back with only gratitude given for the opportunity.
Now, they had never outright said that, and it wasn’t in tiny print on any contract that he’d ever signed–that he knew of–but he wasn’t foolish enough to think that everything would be cut and dry. He’d only assumed that what he’d been doing over the years had made up for things, and that he was working toward something. Not to end up being the CIA’s scapegoat.
Not to once again be reduced to the convict that had been incarcerated for the same exact damn thing–being the blame because there had to be someone to blame.
When Six was hired by Donald Fitzroy to protect his niece, tunnel vision on the ground and breaking every rule on day one, Claire taught him about normalcy and routine in his world–one that didn’t have those things–and she had successfully enacted a strictness on him that the toughest agencies in the U.S. government could not. It wasn’t a trait inherited from Donald, but one completely her own.
He was not allowed to lock the doors.
He had to ask about her day at least once and act interested about it even if he wasn’t.
No chewing gum in the house. Period.
Ice-cream was a suitable dinner choice and he wasn’t allowed to argue.
At the first instinct to run, he had to ignore it.
Claire didn’t like running, or hiding. It guaranteed his freedom, but to her, it may as well have been prison. Living life watching your back constantly thinking several steps ahead wasn’t living, not to her, but he had come to enjoy having his own terms since becoming a fugitive.
Again.
It beat waiting to be stabbed in the back, his old life that he’d willingly let them burn suddenly reignited because they needed it to be. Claire had unknowingly given him a new purpose, and even after everything, no amount of training or experience taught him how to exactly explain that to her. He spoke several languages, had learned tactics to approach every social encounter imaginable, and he could spot a lie in literal masters of deception.
Yet, he wasn’t sure how to tell a pre-teen ‘ thank you ’. He’d come close, on days that she was understanding of their circumstances, only to clam up on days that she was angry and spiteful, reminded of what he couldn’t give her.
Like her rules, he was struggling to keep up.
Ignorantly, he’d chosen to spend a few weeks closer to his hometown so that she could get some grasp of normalcy, and it was because of that they’d finally caught up. His downfall was because of an agent with a ‘come hither’ smile and a whole lot of bad luck. He could have scoffed at his own stupidity had it not been well-deserved.
So, Six was left with not knowing where Claire was again , and waiting until he could confirm that she wasn’t in the CIA’s custody before he made a break for it. The number of bodies stacking up hadn’t made a difference before, and Claire wasn’t there for it to make a difference now. His one viable clue was unfortunately, as far as he knew, on the enemy’s side.
Harsh overhead light washed Carmichael’s face in deep shadows, pulling it back into darkness with every flicker and sudden dim from a failing bulb. It didn’t matter. Six knew that he was the most terrifying thing in this room. The handcuffs were uncomfortable and dug into his wrists every time he shifted, but he could have it around the prick’s neck and have the job done before anyone knew what was happening.
His pensive stare bled through the man around a wad of chewing gum. It was a previous attempt at winning his favor several hours ago, only for more frustration to succeed when it fell through. Nobody had proved brave enough to take it from him, either.
He slouched back against his chair, his index and middle fingers tapping no particular beat on the metal table. He had yet to look up, questions and demands shifting into the background in one hazy, drowned out sound. His patience with all the shit was thinning considerably. He glanced at the one-way mirror, wondering if you were watching, if you were mocking him just on the other side. ‘ This is the Gray Man?’
And whose side are you on?
Nobody’s.
Clearly somebody’s or he wouldn’t even be here. You’d said your name, and now as much as back then, he hadn’t expected an honest answer. He may as well have driven himself crazy thinking about it, but it did distract him from Claire, what little bit of time that he didn’t think of her; that he didn’t think that she would be better off in the long run without him.
He drove himself crazy thinking about that too.
A manila folder was shoved into the center of his vision, breaking his concentrated focus. His eyes flicked over, the beat that he’d been making on the table finishing its chorus with one more resounding tap. It bounced across the emptiness of the room, and echoed off the silence burying itself into the walls. Carmichael had been quiet so far, waiting and attentive but still putting out a tough farce. Six had since become disinterested in him about an hour ago.
He’d watched multiple trained officials come and go already, several making obscene gestures as soon as they made it out of the door. This one would prove no different. Carmichael was the man behind the scenes–the intelligence, but not the skill. It was Lloyd and Six that had fought in the war, tumbling through the trenches spilling blood. He never saw Carmichael there to finish the job that he’d started when Lloyd failed. This was his first time seeing him at all.
If there was a definition of a corporate prick, Denny Carmichael would be the example picture directly beside it.
The folder was slid in-between them, opened with precision, then flipped across the table. Every action was taken with practiced restraint, Carmichael’s hands moving to fold on top of the table, leaving the folders' contents exposed in their macabre glory. It was all a show, he knew. They needed this for records, to say that it had been investigated and closed. The cuffs on Six’s wrists were placed there for the CIA’s own peace of mind.
He dared think even Carmichael’s peace of mind, seeing as the door was probably locked.
“If you’re going to charge me anyway, can’t we just…” Six waved a vague hand gesture over the table, suggestive, one brow taking on a high arch, the movement of his hands limited within his restraints. “Skip this part? I’ve played this game several times and it's never worked out.”
Carmichael tilted his head, vague amusement flickering through his expression behind his glasses. The reflection of the lamp glared just inside the lens, making him harder to read, but he had hardly been hiding his intentions this whole time. He’d expected a confession and a closed case as soon as Six had been apprehended. “What makes you think it won’t this time?”
“Because you don’t care what I have to say.”
A scoff of a laugh from the man followed Six’s bluntness, exposed to the truth and unable to deny it in all of its honest sincerity. His posture mirrored Six’s, the brunt of his shoulders pressed back against the harsh metal of the chair, arms crossed. He shrugged. “If you have something to say in your defense, I’ll be glad to hear it.”
“I’m going to guess ‘I didn’t do it’ isn’t convincing enough?”
Carmichael’s amused smile grew broad, the signs of a man knowing that he’d already won before an argument could be started. “The accusations against you are stacking up the further we look into your background. You’ve never had a clean history. I can pull records before your time in the Sierra Program just as easily if you want to put your old life back into the public eye. Or, we can keep this private. It’s up to you.”
Six nodded solemnly, as though suddenly understanding his position, and the lack of having a way out of it. He would have no other choice but to agree eventually–whether willingly or not, but that didn’t stop him from fighting it in the meantime. He was not foolish enough to not realize that they had ammo stacked against him since the beginning, all of the assignments they’d sent him on further fuel for when their secrets finally slipped, but for someone used to running, he guessed he never expected it to catch up.
“I see where this is going.”
“Then confess.” He invited. “You’ll take the fall either way, but it makes my job a lot easier if I get it in words.”
“I’ll confess to my fuckups.” Six’s eyebrows furrowed, and only then did he cast a glance at the folder. “Not yours. And that ,” he pointed down at the file. “Wasn’t me.”
“You didn’t kill Lloyd Hansen either, I take it?” He pushed against the edge of the table, his chair grinding against the floor with an audible screech. It didn’t deter either man inside the room.
“Actually, I didn’t.”
While Carmichael rose, he circled around the table to stand beside Six, circling a man without realizing that he was the one in the shark tank. He had an ominous look about him, his hands braced on the table beside Six, leaning in, leaning down so that they were barely inches apart. “You’re a dead man to the world and nobody will be able to argue in your defense. If I jump, you need only ask ‘how high’, because that is what we made you to do. Other than that, you’re a rogue agent. What advantage do you think you have?”
“The one that makes your job a little bit harder, I guess.” Six answered without missing a beat, meeting his glare with a level look of his own, smug despite his position in it all. “You should probably get started on that paperwork. It’ll take you a while.”
Carmichael pushed off against the edge of the table, putting some much needed distance between them. He hummed thoughtfully, his nostrils flaring but his rage staying contained in its most primitive form. When he moved, it was stiff, and slow, his gaze sweeping over Six in the chair one last time.
“And what about Claire Fitzroy?”
Six looked up.
“We’re not privy to Hansen’s methods, but we do know people who are. If we have to elicit a signed confession from you with less than tolerable means, then we will.” Carmichael’s hands folded behind his back, his tone even despite what he was suggesting. Six could have moved from his chair right then, but retaliation was what they were wanting, more evidence stacked against him in an ever-growing list. “I don’t want to have to do that. Especially to the family of a colleague.”
Six could have scoffed, considering that colleague was dead because of him. It didn’t matter. Claire wasn’t here. The last place that he’d seen her was with you . “Where is she?” He asked, not so much meaning Claire as he was you. He expected that you would have come to talk to him yourself, negotiating Claire’s well-being if she was in your custody.
Yet, you were nowhere to be found.
“Safe.” Carmichael was lying.
Six’s gaze slid to the mirror, but it didn’t grant him any kind of answer. He could have been meeting your eyes for all he knew, that come-hither smile that was innocent but simultaneously lethal flashing in his direction on the other side of the glass. He was met with his own reflection, frowning at himself while he tried to picture your face, but he couldn’t imagine your expression; your reaction to everything had been perplexing to say the least.
He couldn’t figure out your angle.
“I want to talk to Claire. If I know she’s safe, I’ll sign whatever you want.” He decided.
Who’s side are you on?
Nobody’s.
The CIA would have been the obvious answer, and yet it was your complete dismissal of the idea that gave him pause at all. He needed to talk to you.
“I don’t think you recognize the position–” Carmichael started.
“Claire,” Six’s gaze once snapped to him, gradually losing his already thin patience. He ground his teeth, unable to hide just how exasperated he was anymore. He was tired, and the day had been too damn long already. “She’s here isn’t she? I couldn’t tell exactly because of your guys. If she was accidentally killed in the crossfire, just tell me, then I won’t waste my time sitting here.”
“She’s safe inside the facility.” Carmichael said, flat.
“Great.” He said sarcastically, lips pressed tightly together When he leaned forward, he angled himself toward Carmichael, brows drawn. “You want my cooperation? Then go get her.” He jerked his chin toward the door. “ Now .”
Carmichael’s expressions flitted between several different emotions, not too quick for Six to read, but not important enough for him to care. It was somewhere between annoyed and unnerved. When he slid away, his body followed his trek to the door.
It slammed with more force than necessary.
Six looked at the mirror, still unsure if there was a possibility that you were there or some regular observer with only half the intelligence. He asked no one in particular, shaking his hands inside the cuffs: “Can someone come take these things off? I really have to piss.”
Nobody obliged his request, taking Carmichael’s exit as their own.
#sierra six#the gray man fanfiction#courtland gentry#fanfiction#the gray man (2022)#the gray man#sierra six/reader#sierra six x you#sierra six x y/n#sierra six x reader
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Sneak Peek for Afterglow: September 1995
September 1995
Your fingers drummed on the cold steel table as you sat waiting in a room by yourself. Handcuffs clinking against the table when you hear the door creak open behind. You turn to see an older man come into the room. His hair was a grayish white and he was clad in a suit with files in hand. He took a seat opposite of you. Glancing up at you and offering a small smile.
You keep your mouth in a thin line as you wait for the man to speak.
“Hi, y/n”, he said. “My name is Donald Fitzroy, I’ll make this quick. I reviewed your file and what’s happening doesn’t add up.”
You sighed, “Which part? The one where my step mom changed her story? Or my father throwing me under the bus?”
“Both.” he replied. “I looked at your father’s record too. It seems clear cut, but no one believes you.”
You scoffed, “You believe me huh?” He nodded his head in response. “Well, you have my attention. I assume you’re here to help in some way, unless you’re working for my father and there’s another shoe waiting to drop.”
He sat up in his chair, “What if I were to tell you, you could be out of juvie today?” You furrowed your eyebrows, silently urging him to explain. “I’m putting together a program to train an elite group of agents. Based on your record. You have the grit and resilience to survive. Plus, if they sentence you, you could go away for a long time. Either way is a gamble, but your chances are higher if you leave here with me.”
You raised a cuffed hand, “I want out of this hell hole, Fitzroy.”
He smiled and waved a hand at the window. “I’ll tell you more in the car. But y/n, let’s get you out of here first. Oh, I forgot.” He stopped and reached in his pocket, spearmint gum. He held out a stick and you took it. “We’ll stop for food on the way. Welcome to the Sierra Program, y/n.”
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Claire Fitzroy & Six Headcanons bc I fixated on adult unofficially adopting children storylines bc of personal stuff I'm going through.
He kept the picture she took of him instead of destroying it.
He would never risk holding an actual picture of her in his person in fear he would get captured & they would find her so the picture she took of him is the next best thing.
Whenever he was away at work he would buy her a record wherever he was.
He never lets her see him chew gum at Donald's house.
He visits her whenever he's in town & takes her out to get ice cream.
She gets double scoops whenever she had a doctor's appointment.
Six tells Claire his real name but says he hates it so he prefers Six.
She decides to name him herself.
He loves it & uses it when they're on the run.
Claire picks out his clothes when they're on the run.
Their cover story at first was that they were brother & sister before Claire suggested Father & daughter.
Claire always says her mom is dead & thinks of different interesting ways to kill her off everytime she has to tell someone about it.
Six says he hates that & suggests she stop because the more wild the story the more likely someone will question them but doesn't actively stop her.
He secretly loves it.
Her favorite story is her mom died getting shot by a tee shirt canon at a sports game & fell off the bleacher.
Six's favorite story is her mom choked on a piece of gum because he was chewing gum in the background while she told the story & the receptionist's face was hilarious.
The have competitions over who can be the most sarcastic.
Claire wins 9 outa 10 times.
Six LETS her win most of those times.
She doesn't know his real age or birthday.
So whenever she wants sweets she claims its his birthday & buys a cake & has the baker put on more & more ridiculous ages.
She also gets him birthday cards for little girls.
Her favorite are the princess ones.
His favorite are the Barbie themed ones.
He keeps them all.
She pretends she doesn't know that.
He rarely sleeps & NEVER sleeps while she sleeps.
Claire has taken to slipping melatonin into his drinks when she wakes up in the morning so he could get some sleep while she keeps watch.
He still never sleeps more than 5 hours.
He teaches her self defense & how to use a gun.
He doesn't want her to be a killer like him just needs her to be able to defend herself.
But does everything to make sure she never has too.
He teaches her about greek mythology & when she starts reading more myths on her own they discuss them for hours.
He tells her he feels like Sisyphus & she then picks out more & more greek heroes that he's more like instead.
She tells him stories of Perseus and other heroes & points out how similar they are instead.
He starts to believe her.
He in turn tells her stories of female goddesses he sees her as.
He also gives her a list of famous people with pacemakers.
#claire fitzroy#six#netflix#court gentry#ryan gosling#julia butters#the gray man 2022#the gray man#russo brothers#headcanon#headcanons#the gray man headcanons#i love them ur honor#I'm just... going through a lot right now & its my new comfort duo
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Duart Castle, Isle of Mull
The home of Clan MacLean.
Perched in the corner of the Isle of Mull it was actually built by Clan MacDougall in the 1200s and historians believe it came into the ownership of the Maclean’s the following century.
Through the 1600s various battles were fought between Clan Campbell and MacLean and there is still a ship wreckage from a storm found off the coast the HMS Swan.
At the end of the 18th century the castle was abandoned by the Macleans until the 26th chief Fitzroy Donald Maclean purchased it in 1911 and set about restoring the castle.
It was also used in the film ‘Entrapment’ as Sean Connerys home…
One of Argyll and Butes many storied castles and an absolute must visit when visiting Mull and certainly by any Macleans making the journey “home”
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Meet the Wives
Part of the Rogers Family Expansion Series
Annabelle Rogers (Formerly Graham): A organizer to her very core, excelling at coordinating events and calendars which is how she came to be employed as Sarah Roger’s personal assistant: the gateway for her to meet her future husband Steve. Her organization comes in handy when she slots herself into the family upon her marriage and becoming the unofficial leader of the wives. She tries to make all those employed in the Rogers name feel welcome from the events she tries to plan at least once a month. Though only blood is invited to the monthly family game night she hosts.
Daphne Adler (Formerly Barnes): Growing up in poverty her father took note of his daughter's beauty and thought to use that as their salvation. Her mother raised her to be the perfect wife and mother, her father used her 18th birthday to clear all his gambling debts with the Rogers family by marrying her to the head of the family's dearest friend James Barnes. The unhappy marriage leads to insecurities and self-doubt that she searches to correct after her divorce. Moving in with Frank and Mary, she refuses to marry Frank until she finds herself-his support and Mary’s compassion push her into discovering a love for interior decorating that she manifests into a career.
Aria Barber (Formerly Pearson): Childhood best friends to the Levinson twins, specifically Delilah, she was around the family often enough for her first childhood crush to last into adulthood. While she’d always had an air of popularity around her despite her heavier physique, she’d never been able to gain Andrew Barbers attention-that is until she takes a vacation from her job a model and entrusts her modeling agency in the hands of her employees long enough to attend Delilah’s wedding. When she encounters Andy again the man is absolutely entranced but no one holds a grudge better than her.
Juliana Hansen (Formerly Fitzroy): Apple of her father’s eye, the princess of the Fitzroy empire, nothing was more important or as spoiled as the only daughter of Donald Fitzroy. That is until her aunt and uncle met an unfortunate end (at the time it seemed like an accident) and her cousin Claire became a ward of Donald. What Juliana first thought would be 24 hour sleepover energy quickly turned to envy when a few months later her beloved cousin was diagnosed with a rare heart condition. Daddy’s little girl was pushed to the wayside so Claire had every chance to succeed. Not content with having money thrust at her as her fathers form of apologizing, she sought revenge in the form of Lloyd Hansen who introduced her to all kinds of fun new skills.
Chole Everett (Formerly Collins): The opposite of her big, burly, gruff man, Chole is the squishy goodiness whose energy and excitement keeps everyone feeling lighthearted. The events that led to her meeting Curtis pulled her from college where she was a business major trying to educate herself to open her own bakery. The loan for such a feat is a source of contention between her and the family until it succeeds and opens new conversation topics for her and Frank, integrating her further into the family.
Blair Levinson (Formerly Perkins): Poverty was the stench that had always surrounded her. From her fathers drug addiction that eventually took his own life, to her and her mother working to bring themselves out of the debt his death brought upon them. Dropping out of high school entirely to help support her mother she eventually encounters her father’s old dealer; who in a rare moment of shame takes her under his wing and teaches her the trade. He never suspected the sexy, young, naive teen to bring his demise-though could she really be blamed for alcohol poison? Taking over all his assets after his death, the money it brings to her instills agreed that can only be quenched by skimming supply from the Rogers’ foreign dealings. A business she eventually helps to perfect once she is forgiven and brought into the family.
Victoria Drysdale (Formerly Stark): Twin to Anthony Stark, she’d always tried to stay out of the business her family dealt in, much preferring her duties as a math professor at NYU. But when her niece, Morgan, is brought into the world and her brother begs her for her assistance in peace-she never thought she’d find herself marrying into the Rogers family and certainly not to Ransom. But neither ever expected to fall in love so when they do and their boundaries are bent for one another a slip of the mind occurs. When Victoria falls pregnant their marriage nearly collapses, especially when she demands Ransom take on the responsibility of stay-at-home-dad since he doesn’t work anyway. A duty that has him asking Andy for the proper divorce proceedings that is until he meets his twin daughters and everything in his life seems to finally click into place.
#steve rogers#frank adler#andy barber#lloyd hansen#curtis everett#ari levinson#ransom drysdale#james bucky buchanan barnes#sarah rogers#mob au#mob boss steve rogers#mob frank adler#mob andy barber#mob lloyd hansen#mob curtis everett#mob ari levinson#mob ransom drysdale#mob james bucky buchanan barnes
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