Try and Keep Up

parker-mehta‌:

nathmxnroe‌:

@parker-mehta, @scoutprewett, @rhiannon-faust, @athenaganero

The first step of any con was getting her people together, which was admittedly, a relatively easy task. A brief text message with a time and a location was all Nat needed to do to gather them. Back when they’d been in San Francisco it had been even easier, usually just a time and whatever emoji she’d felt like using that day. Today wasn’t an emoji day and the tiny conference room of a local library wasn’t nearly as cushy as she’d have liked. But they were on a time limit and honestly, Nat just wanted to get it all on the table as quickly as possible. She’d arrived first, mostly because she found she was nervous and unable to relax. Being nervous was ridiculous though, one failure does not a pattern make, but she couldn’t shake the general unease.

Armed with her coffee and a magazine she settled in to wait for the others. This meeting was going to be quick and dirty. The faster they got their hands on the goods the sooner they could get the funds. It didn’t take long for people to show up, she hadn’t expected it to really. She smiled at each of them, easily covering up any sign of her nervousness. This was the Monroe crew of San Francisco. A phoenix from the ashes. They had this.

“Our absent friend James Vincent has proposed and idea.” She looked around the room as she spoke, taking in the reactions of her team. “A little… competition you could say. And I don’t know about you lot but I, for one, am not about to get shown up.” She sniffed haughtily, if a little playfully. “We’re going to steal ourselves the Samson and Delilah. The plan is simple enough. We’re going to steal the ink copy from a private collector, replace with one of Tony’s creations, and ransom it back to them. Quick and easy.” She smiled wide. “What do you say to that?”

He really had to start offering his grifting skills from some of the more … mundane parts of being a crew. Next time, if Nat told him before hand, he could probably get them a bigger room, some place with good acoustics, a private bar. Anything was better than this room, but he stifled the sarcastic remark and settled into a seat with his coffee hand.

As soon as Nat had finished describing the event, Parker shook his head. “I cannot believe that we’re engaging in a competition so soon. But .. it does sound fun.” He smirked at her, before leaning back in his chair. “Isn’t there a big painting of the Samson in a museum somewhere? Why go for the ink copy, if we could sell a forged version, for the full thing?”

Was this the first time she was actually in a room with everyone from the crew? Maybe. At least she hadn’t planned to do anything else today (though when was there ever anything planned - and her computer back home was humming away nicely), so she pulled out her laptop from her bag with ease, automatically checking local networks and fortifying her own.

She nodded along at the explanation, not surprised at the mention of a competition. (Though it did sound completely unnecessary. There was no specific client this time, nothing outside of boosting their own egos. Could they band together and find Carter?) “Museum online security is always really easy to get, so I can be monitoring anything you need me to. Do you need me to?”

Athena was lingering towards the back, her arms crossed defensively. She still wasn’t sure where she stood in the crew, and this plan was something she’d honestly rather not be doing. It had been a while since their last job, but it had ended so disasterously, they were still feeling the echoes of it well past the summer. Why did they need to do this now? Couldn’t they just let it go?

Of course not. You don’t even really want them to. Think of your pride.

There was one thing that Rhiannon wasn’t able to handle and that was down time. It made her feel uneasy. It filled her with a weird energy that nothing seemed to fully get rid of no matter how many hours she spent in the gym or how much time she spent with her boys. Oh she loved them and being able to spend days on end with them without too much concern for the world, but she knew that even Ace could only handle her for so long. It wasn’t so much an itch for another job that got under her skin so much as an itch to feel needed by her crew. 

Deciding the best course of action was to try to use the gym to work out her frustration, even if she knew it was a fruitless search, as she dropped her bag on the floor looking around the large space trying to see who had shown up that day knowing everyday there was someone new either there or missing. Today though she spotted a familiar face that caused her to raise her eyebrows. “What are you doing here?” She asked curiously.

Athena stuffed her hands in her pockets. She did go to the gym, but mainly for cardio and general toning, nothing like what she was requesting from Rhiannon now. She’d been toying with the idea for ages, joking about it every so often, but it never felt more important to her than in the wake of the last job. She’d been helpless. And had she actually been able to catch up to the thieves and murderers, there wasn’t anything she could’ve done about them except hit them as hard as possible with her car. But, with Scout as her back up, she would have had to do most of the actual fighting. And... well, she probably would’ve died trying.

“Looking for you, actually.” She stuffed her hands in her pockets and prayed to God that Rhiannon didn’t hate her or blame her for the way the last job went. “I was hoping you could teach me how to defend myself. And how to fight if it comes down to it.”

athenaganero‌:

Yikes.

That reaction was so far from what Athena had both wanted and expected. She was honestly shocked. She’d seen Scout nervous and anxious before, but it was rare that it was directed at her, and especially to this extent. The woman went from looking at her as though she were a ghost to flushing deep red. And all in five seconds! Her poor blood vessels.

Then, she could barely speak or meet Athena’s eyes. Had Athena really been that terrible during the job? Or was this Nathalie’s influence on the hacker? Was Athena now persona non grata to her own crew?

“Hi. Just came to check on you. Brought some of your favorites… I’m… how are you? You’re looking at me like I’m a mercenary paid to kill you.” She hesitated. “Look, if Nat told you not to talk to me, I can just leave the food here with you. I was worried you weren’t eating if people didn’t stop by to check. Figured I might give you some company… but if you don’t want, I’ll just… see you some other time. Apparently there’s a competition or something coming up.”

Scout nearly interrupted, nearly tried to offer assurances, before the words got tied in her mouth and she tried to figure out why Athena could possibly want to bring food and company over. It wasn’t as though Scout was good company, especially not right now? 

But at the trailing tone, Scout sensed that Athena was about to pull away, and she couldn’t have that. No, she was the one who was meant to apologise right now, for not having done her part in the con.

“No, no, please. I don’t - I don’t want you to go if you’re here. Nat didn’t tell me not to talk to you. Why would she do that? You’re fine. I know I didn’t do my part, and I didn’t know if you even wanted to see me, and Hana came by once, and a couple other people. Like Seb. That was interesting. So I’ve eaten a couple times. Well, more than a couple, but thank you for bringing the food.”

“- Do you want to come in?” 

“Well I am here, so I guess I’m not going to go. And, I don’t know if you saw the blow up in our communications, but I can’t possibly be Nat’s favorite person right now. I wouldn’t put it past her to have everyone give me the cold shoulder.” As Scout rambled on, Athena took a moment to gauge her well being. She seemed... good. Might be skipping a meal or two, but the bags under her eyes weren’t at the most concerning levels Athena’s seen from the hacker, and she doesn’t smell as though she’s forgotten to shower. 

At the roll call of people who’d traipsed through Scout’s place, Athena couldn’t help but laugh, her mouth slightly ajar at the names mentioned. “Seb beat me here? I am the absolute shittiest then. Yeah, I figured you’re all caught up in your games or something and might have forgotten to refresh groceries or lost your take out menus or something.”

She nods at the offer and slips in through the front door, glancing around Scout’s home. It wouldn’t be the first time she invited herself over, but every time she did come, she had to reacquaint herself with the lay out. As the door closed, she glanced over at her friend, concern in her gaze. “How’ve you been, Scout? I haven’t... heard anything from you since we heard Mickey was ok at the Palais Garnier. Are you...”

It had been a day since she’d gotten back from the police station, more than enough time to get through all the information, take a five hour nap, finish some more of her work, find some more work to do. Enclosed in her study, the lights dim in a constant twilight, slowly feeling the bands of iron tied around her chest loosen, separation of then and now becoming a coherent thought, she found herself nearly willing to face the rest of the world again.

The rest of her crew again.

There was a knock at the door and Scout stood, stretching up and felt her spine pop several times. She was getting too old to stay hunched over a laptop all day, honestly.

There had been a strange sequence of visitors to her door in Paris, but none so far in London, and she wandered over to open the door, curious to see who it was.

And then the floor dropped out from under her.

The tension in her lungs came back with a force, and she could feel the blood drain from her face, even as her cheeks coloured with shame and she tilted her head to look down at the floor.

“Hi-” The voice escaped her, and Scout bit down hard on her lip before trying again.

“Hey.” She tilted her neck to stare at a spot just above Athena’s head, one hand coming up to push back her fringe, before looking to the side and touching her nose. “What are y- how are you?”

Yikes.

That reaction was so far from what Athena had both wanted and expected. She was honestly shocked. She’d seen Scout nervous and anxious before, but it was rare that it was directed at her, and especially to this extent. The woman went from looking at her as though she were a ghost to flushing deep red. And all in five seconds! Her poor blood vessels.

Then, she could barely speak or meet Athena’s eyes. Had Athena really been that terrible during the job? Or was this Nathalie’s influence on the hacker? Was Athena now persona non grata to her own crew?

when Athena pulls back as though she’s been burned, the linguist’s dark eyes track her carefully——–  curiously. though he’s exhausted, and perhaps mildly traumatized, and certainly in a mental ( if not physical ) state of shock … even her reaction doesn’t go unnoticed. the slightest bit of softness had her rearing away like a gun-shy horse :: and, hell, who was he to let such a thing go without confronting it?

“ fine, no nudes. “  his voice —- that deep tenor as always, seeming even lower in the sterile hospital lighting and the sharper contrast in the shadows they threw —- seemed almost too loud between them … but he knew his words weren’t. he knew. no more impish smirks, no more attempts at stolen kisses or thieved caresses or mischievous gestures.

not the linguist. not the fratboy. just … Michael.

“ ——–  but you did go after me, didn’t you?  you, and Scout. and you. “  his tone is even, unwavering :: dark eyes boring into her own.  “ … typical, for a Monroe. sentimental. trying to change the world by doing right. “

a pause. the world balances on its axis.

“ … Тысяча благодарностей, Owl Goddess. not everyone came after me, even though all of us ended up with the bennies. “  and wasn’t that the truth. Mickey was still second-guessing his decision to give up the Hen to the Bobrovskova and Monroe crews —- they were probably frittering away their ( not-at-all ) hard-earned gains on idiotic things. fashion shows, or charities, or … other such nonsense. next time, given all the concern those so-called Masterminds had shown for him … he’d repay them, with interest.

he was being genuine. there was softness and sweetness in his gaze... and that gaze when it focused on her reduced her to the small, unsure girl that she really was beneath the bluster and bravado. that gaze may have been just Michael, but it forced her to be just Athena. 

so she looked away, clearing her throat in the process.

men did not look at her like that unless they wanted something. but he’d already turned that down many times. she was done with getting shot down and rejected. she was fed up with him using her as a yo-yo. she would not succumb this time.

her tone remained nonchalant, even as she averted her gaze. carefully, she adjusted herself so she was tipping her chair back a bit. she felt it rock as it balanced on its back legs. “well, of course. it’s kind of in the crew motto. people first and all that. at least it is for me. would’ve done it for any person on the crews.” 

it should’ve rang truer. she’d been saying it to herself all night. but Nathalie clearly hadn’t seen it as part of the crew’s mission statement. she’d lost the respect of her mastermind over this - not that Mickey would know that - so Athena can’t pretend like this fell in line with the Monroe way of doing things.

her orders were clear. go after the egg. she went after Mickey. ugh.

“you know i can’t understand you. you also know i hate that nickname.” she muttered, rocking the chair a little more. her brow furrowed just a touch before she got up and sighed. “i don’t even know what i’m doing here. glad you’re not dead... it would really suck if you were dead after everything.”

She was right, but he couldn’t admit that. He did backtrack whenever he hit resistance. He did jump through hoops to keep her happy. But wasn’t that what friends were supposed to do? Prioritize the other’s feelings over their own? She was his best friend, how could he just watch her cry, knowing he’d caused it, and not try and fix it?

“Athena, please, I – you know it’s more complicated than that.” He pleaded, staying firmly rooted in his spot. She’d made it clear when she backed up at his movement that she didn’t want him closing in on her, and he’d respect that. So he stayed planted, despite how badly, how desperately, he wanted to run to her. He was a physical person, always had been, and so artificially restraining himself just felt wrong, especially around her. But she didn’t want it. And even if it hurt, he needed to hold back. 

He hadn’t meant to equate her choice with his feelings, and in his mind, it went without saying that they were distinct. But it didn’t matter because she didn’t hear that. She didn’t know that. And so she thought – not without reason – that he blamed her for his failure, that he judged her for going after Mickey when he’d been left alone. He didn’t. He never would. But he knew how it sounded and it was too late to fix it now.

Her next words hurt, and he knew that was the point. Whether or not she meant it, whether or not she was holding him accountable for the loss in the job, he didn’t know, but it stung nevertheless, and he clenched his jaw and looked away as she said it. Her words cut deeper when she tried to soften the blow. Belittle him? Is that what she thought he was doing? Belittling her? God, he wanted to cry. He wanted to scream and cry and punch a wall and fight back, but what good would any of that do? What was the fucking point?

He knew she’d made up her mind long before she spoke. The way she stuttered on ‘family,’ the way she unnecessarily reminded him of her past – as if he’d forgotten the history that others knew but he’d lived with her – and grabbed Ferra. He’d failed again, and now she was leaving again, this time with no uncertainty as to how she felt about him. And fuck if it burned. 

“I can’t change your mind, and I won’t try and stop you, but…” he paused, collecting himself, steeling himself because he knew she was walking out. “No matter what happened in the job, or after it, or whatever the fuck else goes down – no matter what – I love you.” He swore, this time meeting her gaze, all solemnity and seriousness that felt strange to embody but necessary. “You don’t have to say it back. I don’t want you to if you don’t mean it. But I just – I need you to hear that. I need you to know that.”

He swallowed the rest of what he wanted to say. If he said it all, he’d never stop. And maybe that was the point; say it, and if she listened, she’d never leave. It was an enticing idea. But it wouldn’t help. She needed to go. She needed to run. He knew her well enough to understand that. So he wouldn’t hold her back, but he was by no means giving up. She was his best friend, his family, and he wouldn’t let this lie just because they’d had a fight. They’d work it out, actually talk like real adults, and fix this thing. But not tonight. So he let her go and watched as she walked out, Bug whining at the loss they both felt. “I know, buddy.” He spoke softly, clenching his jaw to keep from crying – at least until the door shut behind her.

“Of course, it’s more complicated than that! But you’re the one who simplified it. The people who went after the Egg vs. the people who went after Mickey. And, I’m on the other team. It’s all so clear.” He would completely dissolve his own pain to take away her own. It wasn’t healthy, and it wasn’t right. She wanted him to yell, to stand his ground, to finally give into her because she was right. She didn’t want his surrender because he saw her weakness. He refused to take the hit, refused to press the point, if she was vulnerable she would have to be protected. There were times where she needed that. This was not one of them.

You could change my mind. She thought, bitterly. You could change it if you’d just finally say what’s on yours. I may cry in front of you, but I’m not fragile. But he would let her run. He would let her go. And as he spoke, she knew that one day, no matter how close or far that day was, she’d come back. He was her person. This was one fight over something that wouldn’t matter in the long run. She’d come back. But he’d also let her go, and that was something that he’d been doing... since their only night together.

Jack wouldn’t fight with her. But she also knew he wouldn’t fight for her. Not against Athena herself. And she’d never come to him tamely... she would never come to any man tamely and lay her head in his lap. It’d be a fight to get her in through the door. 

So, even though his love rang of more, rang of deeper... and even though there were still shards of a similar love in her own heart, she knew his role in her life. For as long as he let her leave, she would leave, and those shards would never grow to be more. “I know it. I also know that people who love me leave. By choice. By force. They leave. I just thought you’d be the kind who left me by force.”

She could read him, she always could... and he was a heart on his sleeve kind of guy. So much went unsaid in those few beats between them. And she didn’t want to say the words back, not if she didn’t truly mean them in the way he wanted. Because she loved him... as her family, as her best friend, but with the way they were now... she couldn’t force herself to turn him into more. She’d never trust it. 

She wanted nothing more than to walk back over to him and hug his tears away and kiss his forehead and remind him of their bond. But she was angry and hurt and so proud she understood why God had condemned it to be a mortal sin. Ferra walked out ahead of her, and she followed, the door clicking shut behind her as the tears dried and her eyes dimmed. The Athena who cried was the Athena in that loft. No one else got to see her. She could at least give Jack that much. He was her best friend. Even now.

And his stomach bottomed out.

He was an idiot. Of course he was. Why did he ever doubt that? He thought he knew what he was talking about, thought he was always right, but he never was. He was never fucking right. And there she was, crying – though she’d never admit it – in his living room, standing there looking like… God, looking like his family. He’d done this. Five seconds, and he’d done this. To the only one that ever fucking mattered. 

“Athena, just… fuck, just listen to me.” He stood, nearly knocking his drink over as he set it down. Don’t move too fast. Keep your distance. Keep your voice quiet. “I didn’t… not like that, I didn’t mean it like that. I –– I was hurt, alright? I felt like I’d failed, and like everyone had abandoned me. And yeah, maybe I included you in that, but… fuck, I had tunnel vision. You know how I get. I just… couldn’t see it.” He explained, sighing as he clenched his jaw. He couldn’t ruin this. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t handle that. 

“I trust you with my life,” he answered honestly. There should never be any doubt there, but the look in her eyes told him that that assuredness was wavering. Which, honestly, hurt more than anything else possibly could. “I never want you to think I don’t. You’re my…” he stopped, biting his lip. Backtrack. He took a step towards her, moving like she was some frightened, injured wild thing, something that could make a break for it at a moment’s notice, something that could bolt and leave him in the dust. He’d chase after her, God knows he always would, but he couldn’t bear the thought of having her run from him in the first place. 

“Seeing everyone run after him, some guy I barely know, some asshole who thinks he can just – whatever.” Not the point, Santos. “Seeing everyone drop everything and go after him just made me think none of what we’d worked for mattered. That the whole job was just fucked because of it. And I felt helpless. We got out with what we did on pure luck, and if we’d lost it all, who the fuck knows what would’ve happened. Nothing good, that’s for sure. And I felt like no one saw that. Like no one got what we were up against, that it was more than just some Egg. So it all fell on me, and things just started going wrong. But who am I gonna blame? Madi?” He stumbled over his words to try and explain what he felt. That it wasn’t about his trust in her. Or shaming her for her feelings. I mean, maybe in some deep part of him it was, but he wouldn’t touch that with a ten-foot pole. Not tonight. Because it didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.

He sighed and let his shoulders hang. “I just… I dunno, I guess a part of me felt like you picked him.” He finally admitted quietly. “Like all of you picked him. And I had to do it by myself. And I felt alone.” He wished he had a better explanation, some reason that would make universal sense and explain his perspective. But that would be too easy. “I don’t like feeling alone.” 

He swallowed and shook his head. He was never meant to be a fighter. He was too soft for that. He should’ve learned by now. She was always the strong one, and he… well, he didn’t know what he was. But he certainly wasn’t tough. And if you had to live with this feeling, he certainly never wanted to be. “I should’ve talked to you. I shouldn’t have run. I don’t know if it was anger, or frustration, or jealousy, or some other bullshit feeling, but you didn’t deserve it. You didn’t.” He relented, apologizing. Nothing – no conviction, no pride, no stubbornness – was worth seeing her like this, and he’d give everything to make it right.

She was like a caged animal. In many ways, her puppy was her spirit animal, because she was very much like an animal covered in scars and certain that any outstretched hand was a strike. Things didn’t feel like home for long. Nowhere felt safe. Not even Jack. Not even after all this time. Because it took one thing for every tentative stick she’d propped up into a ramshackle hut to come tumbling down. 

“I do know how you get.” She said, wiping her cheeks quickly, forcing herself to dry her eyes. “I know that the second you think I’m going to flee, you backtrack, no matter how you really feel. I know that if you think I’m hurt, you’ll do what you can to make it right, even if it means hurting yourself or saying you’re wrong when you don’t really believe it. And I know...” Her breath hiccuped a bit in her chest. “You meant it. I know you meant what you said. You may not have realized who I was when you said it. You may not have realized that I was on the other team. But you meant it.”

With his step forward, she had already taken two back, wanting to maintain that space. Because he could hug this away. She knew that. It would be easy, to let him hug her and ignore their problems. But she didn’t want the ignorance. Not here. If it ended, let it be with everything on the table... She would not watch this slowly silence and smother out. She would not let resentment be the thing that killed them, and this rang of that. 

“Yes! YES! We all ran after him! Just like I pray every goddamn night that if it were you. If it was fucking you in that car, that everyone would run after you. It...” She brushed aside one more stubborn tear that had slipped down her face. “Nothing matters if the people around us die. The... the whole fucking job could implode if you were taken. Why would that ever matter? Why would that matter compared to the people we know? You know who you blame? You. You. Because we haven’t been three crews the whole time. The Bobrovskovas could have done this job on their own, technically. Every other crew in Leverage is made of one or two sets of roles. We have three. Every other crew in Leverage could have done this job themselves, and we had three sets of people and still failed. You should’ve been able to pull it off without us. It was just you and another car. That was it. So, why couldn’t you?”

She lashed out, she knew it as soon as she said it, and her hand fluttered to her mouth lightly when she finally said it all. But she wasn’t wrong. She was angry, but she could’ve said it kinder. “... I didn’t mean to say it that way, but I won’t belittle you by saying that I didn’t mean to say it.”

“Picked him? I didn’t think I was making a choice.” She said, her voice raising to an extent that suddenly her pup was bumping concernedly at her leg. No Bug trailing after Ferra either. “You’re my fam... you’re...” Athena swallowed, and she scooped to pick up her pup. Her giant ball of fluff. But her hands shook so much that Ferra woo-ed disappointedly, and she had to put her back down. “You know everything about me. Do you think that I would ever leave the only... leave you alone? Do you think I like feeling alone? After my dad? After everything? But apparently, I like feeling alone. And making you feel that way. That’s the only logic that makes sense, I guess!”

“You’re backsliding and it’s not a good look. Because you were angry and jealous and all those feelings, and I made you feel that way, even if you can’t or won’t outright admit it.” She got the leash and clipped it to her dog again. “I should go before this spirals out of control. I’ll talk to you later.”

Jack followed her to the living room, sitting far too far away for his comfort but giving her the space her body language told him she wanted. It wasn’t even a conscious choice; he’d learned to read her years ago on impulse, and this was not a person who wanted him in her personal space. So to the far end of the couch he went. 

He listened, fully prepared for the laugh that followed the usual joke, hoping for it as some sign that things were okay, but she didn’t come through. Instead, it was just hard edges, intent laid bare, and he’d have to really be an idiot to pick up on that cue. She was definitely mad, and it was definitely his fault, and he was definitely starting to feel guilty.

What did he have to feel guilty for? He went on vacation, something to which he was fully entitled. And he didn’t tell her. But could she blame him? It wasn’t like she was around for him to tell. She was off chasing after Mickey, then looking for Mickey, then looking after Mickey, and he didn’t want to be a third-wheel in whatever weird tension they had. She might’ve told him otherwise, but Jack knew his best friend, and something was there, despite her protests otherwise. He wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t.

So when she spoke what was really on her mind, when she finally said what she was thinking, laid it bare for him to hear, he wasn’t in the mood to apologize. He stared ahead at the coffee table in front of him, not meeting her gaze, not looking at her. “I felt like shit after the job. I’d failed because everyone fucking bailed on me to go after Mickey. Wasn’t exactly in the mood to check in with people who busy with more important people,” he bit out before taking a long swig from his bottle, making it painfully clear who everyone and people were.

That’s what this was about? That’s what this was about? “Yes. Go after Mickey. Go after a member of our crews. I would’ve done the same thing if it were Maisie or Omar or Sabina in that car who was taken. And you’re a big boy, Jack. You weren’t dealing with something with a gun to its head. You weren’t dealing with a life. I fucking believed in you to get the Egg back. I believed in your skills as a driver. And I don’t appreciate you throwing it back in my goddamn face. Next time, I’ll know better and fucking buckle you into your goddamn car, program a GPS for you, and hold your hand through the whole thing. How about that?” 

She stood up, beer forgotten, her laugh incredulous. “Mickey is a person. I know you hate him. I know you two have fought for whatever reason, but he’s a person like anyone else. So what? We lost the Egg, we get slapped on the wrist. We still crippled Jules. Terrorism isn’t getting funded as far as we know. I can sleep with that. But if we lost Mickey? And he got tortured or killed? Because we prioritized a cold, unfeeling artifact? Could you sleep with that? Do you expect me to be able to? Because if you do, then you’re friends with the wrong girl.”

Her hands were shaking with hurt, with anger, with pain. This was her best friend. Her best friend in the whole world. The only thing she had left of a real family... and he was making her out to be this floozie. It was there in the accusation. You cared more about Mickey than me. “I saw Mickey just that night. Thirty minutes maybe... Where I made sure he was ok, because he did the same for me in the last job. But then I was here. I was here, alone, the whole time. I was here with Nathalie pissed at me, with my best friend gone. Alone.”

They didn’t do mushy a lot, so she’d never said it out loud before. But she would say this. “I can’t believe you... you thought I would be with anyone more important than you. Maybe one day I will choose someone to be more important than you. But that day was not fucking then. I left you alone, because I trusted you. You left me alone, because... because you didn’t trust me.” Saying it out loud made her rock back on her heels a little bit. The force of it weakened her knees. “You don’t trust me.”

Jack should’ve expected it. He’d ghosted everyone he cared about as he jetted off to some foreign country without so much as a goodbye. He could see how that could seem shitty, how someone could take that and run with it. Run with it in the wrong direction, but hey, they didn’t know that.

So when she showed up, all sharp edges and hard looks, Jack should’ve been ready for it. She was his best friend; he knew her better than anyone. But the job… well, he’d followed his instincts, and he’d gotten burned for it. Maybe he didn’t know what he thought he knew so well. 

He opened the door and barely said hello before the words left her mouth. Ferra had darted off to some dark, secure place in his apartment where he was sure Bug would follow – God, they were their dogs – and clenched his jaw before shutting the door behind her. “Japan was fine,” he answered, walking behind her to the kitchen. He felt stilted, hesitant. If things were different, normal, he’d hug her, kiss her forehead, get her a drink and listen to her bitch about his shitty taste in beer. It wouldn’t be this… estranged. 

Maybe he was reading into it? Was she really angry? A little voice in his head said he would be. And maybe he was. She’d left first after all.

“I needed to clear my head. Not knowing what anyone was saying to me certainly helped.” He joked, but it sounded flat in his ears. So he preoccupied himself with digging out two beers – normal ones, Modelo instead of his usual IPA nonsense – and opening one to hand to her. “What about you?” He asked after a moment’s hesitation. Did he really want to know? “What have you been up to?”

The joke sounded flat to her. And the beer that she approved of in her hand also confused her. Modelo? Instead of some fruity grapefruit or shitty toffee bullshit? Or something that tasted like it had never actually been through a brewery? I mean the amount of times Jack said “hoppy” and made it sound like a good thing appalled her. Taking a sip, she didn’t immediately hate it, which was the weirdest thing of all.

“Nothing.” She said, sitting in her usual place on the couch. This was just a set up for things to get weird again... After all, they usually sat all twined together and close. His head in her lap or her head on his shoulder, always touching while they talked as if to remind each other that someone they trusted was there. “Nothing really. Just the usual stupid stuff. Wrenching in the garage. Taking care of Ferra. Watching TV. Heard of a big race brewing in Monaco, but that’s just gonna be full of spoiled rich kids, so you’d fit right in.”

Usually jokes like that would be accompanied by laughter and playful shoves, but today, there was an edge she didn’t entirely mean to the joke, and that made her frown. She decided to take another sip and watch as Ferra - unattacked as of yet - poked her head tentatively out of the safety of the coffee table borders. She glanced back and forth, looking for Bug but unsure where he was. As a compromise, the Malamute laid her head on her paws just in the light, so her friend would know where to find her... even if she wasn’t quite sure if she wanted the company.

“You left.” She said, the edge in her voice was intentional this time. “You left with no word at all. I had to find out from someone else where you went. What a dick move, Santos. I came over with food and no one was home. It was a dick move.” Her voice was gruff, not to mask any hurt, but so she wouldn’t yell. Her damn pride was urging her to lash out, and her free hand was already in a fist. It wasn’t supposed to become a fight, but... the best laid plans of mice and men often go astray...

well, the course of true love never did run smooth, wasn’t that right? … or whatever it was that Shakespeare had said; Mickey had only paid 49% attention on the best of days during his high school AP Lit classes —- mostly to steal lines to pick up girls with, but attention was attention after all. Mickey can’t help as his mouth curves into a slight smile —- not a grin, not a smirk, but an actual smile —- as Athena’s thumb moves just beneath the cut on his right cheek.

one could almost accuse her of caring.

but then they’re back to their usual selves —- back to that same old, same old between them, when he sings to her and her eyes roll in response. as if he would’ve expected any differently from the antagonistic driver :: his fingers tighten just the tiniest bit against hers as Athena seats herself on the edge of his bed. though callused, perhaps due to leather-bound wheels or soft kid-skin drivers’ gloves, her palm still feels small against his own —- and he matches his own gaze with her, bold as ever —- bold as always.

( he wasn’t going to bemoan his fate, or be a shirking violet now. especially not now, trapped in this hospital bed until the doctor saw fit to release him after determining he wasn’t going to perish of a concussion. if he was, it would change their dynamic … and what would she possibly do then? )

“ yea? you want a better line? “  mickey pulls forward then, using his grip on her hand to draw her down until his lips are nearly flush with her ear —- and then he’s whispering, all mischief, all fire:  “ nudes, please. “

that smile made her pull her hand away as though it’d been burned. smirks and half-grins and mocking smiles were fine... but that soft, happy look? well, nope. she’d have to go to the bathroom and scrub her hands with the soap surgeons use before cutting into patients just to wash that look off her skin. the last thing she wanted was for Mickey to see her as weak or vulnerable or for him to think that he could influence her in anyway. really, what she’d have to do is stay as far away from him as possible in the next job. somewhere he couldn’t bump into her with an alcoholic beverage and expecting a kiss. five years her junior and fifty times as cocky. what a catastrophic combination.

she looks back at him unflinchingly, forcing herself to feel nothing but mild amusement and slight superiority over the man in the hospital bed. she banished the thoughts of him caring for her during her concussion, feeding her good food and making sure she crawled into bed alright afterwards. instead, she looked back at him, one unimpressed brow raised, and she tried to slip her hand away from his before the heat of his palm could sear her.

too late. he was already tugging her down, and she could all but feel his chapped lips brushing the shell of her ear. she’d never considered that area particularly sensitive, but now she wasn’t sure that there wasn’t a dozen nerve endings all alight just from his breath curving against the skin. then he said that.

shoving him lightly, so she could finally break away, she rolled her eyes at him even harder, getting up off the bed. “that line is worse, frat boy. could you be any more childish?” she settled back in the chair and put her feet up by the foot of the bed. then she stretched her arms upwards and felt her lower back pop. “while nudes are fine in principle, i don’t send them. and definitely not to you.” maybe someone who’d actually consider me worth sleeping with.

time: (at least one week) post-job location: london, england

Jack hadn’t spent much time out in the world since the job, choosing instead to turn in on himself and stay with what made sense. Whether it was fashion week at Tokyo or isolating himself in his apartment with his dog and Sabina, he stayed with what he understood, what was predictable, what didn’t remind him of their failure at least. He’d done his share of feeling guilty, and he’d processed his part in the events and how it all went down. What was left, however, was blame. It was a sour, ill feeling that he hated, irrevocably linked to any memory of the streets of Paris or the game they’d failed to win. Jack couldn’t deny, after everything, that he felt abandoned, left without support –– ultimately, doomed to fail.

It makes sense, at least in his mind, that the idea of socializing with other members of the team, whether they be people that chose to go after Mickey or people who stayed in the chateau, would be upsetting to Jack. After all, Jack and Madi had tried their best, and they’d still failed, so it wouldn’t make sense to blame themselves for losing the Egg. They should’ve had support. They should’ve had back-up. But they were alone, and as a result of that, they lost the Egg. Sure, they recovered some consolation prize or whatever, and Mickey was alive. But it wasn’t good enough. It wasn’t what they were hired to do. They’d failed.

So understandably, Jack hadn’t felt much like associating with anyone from the crews – it burned too much – but he’d never been able to distance himself much from Athena. She was too important, so he broke and texted her not more than two weeks after it all went down.

u around? i’ve got leftovers and bug wants company.

For Jack, it was always clear-cut when it came to the two of them. He didn’t have to think that much. He didn’t have to have sensibility or logic. It was just him and his best friend, his closest ally, and nothing else mattered.

He ignored the niggling feeling in the back of his head that this was different, that things had changed with their dynamic. He pretend like nothing changed between then and now. Maybe he was naïve. Maybe he was kidding himself. But Athena was his person, no matter what circumstances told him. She was his best friend. And he couldn’t ignore that for long. So he caved, and he texted, and he waited for her to show up. Like he always would.

Of course, Athena was around. Athena hadn’t left London. Her best friend had fled the country without telling her... And, that’s about where her circle ended. She didn’t feel comfortable reaching out to people in vulnerable states. She had one person. Her person. And he had left her. And didn’t say anything about it until she asked someone else where Jack had been recently, and they said Japan. Fashion Week. Didn’t you know?

Didn’t you know? No. She hadn’t. Because no one had told her until that moment. And yeah, she wouldn’t have been interested in fashion week, but it would’ve been nice to be asked. After all, it’s not like Japan is only known for its fashion weeks. It’s not Milan, right? She could’ve checked out the racing scene. She could’ve gone to one of the million arcades. She could’ve karaoked badly. But the most important thing was that she wouldn’t have been alone. And she would have been with her best friend. 

Jack Santos. Who now was back.

She showed up, Ferra on a leash. That being said, Ferra didn’t need a leash. The pup was still in a wary frame of mind around strangers. It seemed she only trusted Athena, and earning complete trust was still far off. But it was clear that to the pup the world still went Athena then the other pups then the other pup owners then the rest of the world in terms of trustworthiness. 

She showed up, and she knocked on his door, and she walked in when he opened the door, letting Ferra off the leash wondering how soon Bug would attack his friend. She was wondering how soon she’d attack hers. “How was Japan?” She asked, colder than she meant to... but exactly the temperature her darkest self wanted.

though she’s talking, the words come to him in waves —- belated comprehension, as his mind struggles to understand. promise to be here. reciprocal. it all sounds … well and good, once he understands what she’s saying. which———  he’s not entirely sure he does, at least not at this point. maybe later. a minute—-  five minutes later. ten. everything’s still——–  muddled.

least of all whatever this thing is between them.

athena continues speaking, talking about … hey, she was apologizing. apologizing. he vaguely remembers now, the memories coming to him like ripples over the surface of a drum :: the abrupt, immediate screeching coming from the bracelet around his wrist. Aedan slamming on the brakes, the Rolls-Royce skidding to a stop in front of Les Invalides. the so-called dying mercenary gripping his collar so tightly from the backseat that his tongue had rolled out of his mouth, his air supply cut off —- Aedan tearing the shrieking little thing from his arm, leaving a raw, red stain across his wrist :: in an uncanny burst of strength, the Irishman breaking it and tossing it from the window. but they were caught now, stuck, and so they’d tumbled ungracefully from the car and down into the Metro, down,

                                                                            down,

                                                                                               down …

“ couldn’t turn it on. “  the presence of his voice surprises even himself, soft but even in that distance that separates them.  “ hands … on the dash. had to. merc behind me, knife to my face … still got me even tho’ I listened. “  that was clear enough, the ugly gash on his right cheek an indication of the truth —- even though it was mainly because the merc had been shot, thanks to Isabela.

when Athena’s gaze meets his own —- glassy, unfocused, exhausted —- he meets and holds it, probably thanks to the … morphine, or whatever hung in that IV above him. there’s a moment’s pause, and his left hand rolls on the sheets —- palm-up —- and he extends it a few inches towards her, the faint trace of his old devilish smile dancing around the corners of his mouth, murmuring softly :: but still melodic … he could sing to her, couldn’t he?  reassure her?  after all, she hadn’t made an appearance at his birthday party, so many months ago…

“ bonnie lass, will ye gang wi’ me?  bonnie lass, will ye lie near me? “

Athena’s thumb rose of its own accord, swiping just under the swell of his right cheekbone. he’d pointed out the damage done, and she’d seen it when it first came in --- but to know the cause, the source, the whys and wherefores of the mark --- an unspeakable anger welled up in her. she wanted to hunt down the man and make him suffer, she wanted to hurt him as he had made Mickey afraid. twenty times more than he had made Mickey hurt. she didn’t know he was dead, but it would fill her with great satisfaction when she found out.

when he started singing, her autonomic response and sheer instinct had her rolling her eyes, scoffing at him. but his hand was up, and she wouldn’t lay down beside him, so what harm did it do when she slipped her palm against his and sat at the edge of the bed. her eyes were unreadable as she looked down at him. what lay in there? irritation? anger? tenderness? relief? what was she feeling? could she even articulate it to herself?

“lame line, Fitz. when you get out of here, you have to learn how to up your game.”

Sebastian wasn’t sure how long he had been waiting, eyes closed and lost in thought. His eyes even closed felt heavy, though, with his state of mind, Sebastian knew that going to the hotel he booked would be useless. 

The sound of footsteps was easily ignored. At least until they stopped in front of him. He almost kept his eyes closed, ready to ignore whoever was there. But it was Athena. Eyes opening, he blankly met her gaze. Her question was grating, it was almost annoying. He didn’t want to explain how he felt currently. The sadness, the guilt, the pure frustration. Mickey was safe, but Sebastian had failed to prevent it in the first place. 

“About as well as you, I would guess.” He replied, running a hand through his hair while leaning forward in his seat.  She looked hesitant, skittish.  He wasn’t very good at comfort, but it looked like she needed it. To be honest, he needed a distraction from the overbearing thoughts that were plaguing him too. It helped that they got along, to an extent. Their connection with Mickey and Maisie linked them as well. It made him trust Athena more than anyone else in her crew. Standing up, he gestured her to follow him. “Come on, let’s go on a walk. We could both use the fresh air.” Mickey would be fine for a while and even if something did happen, Sebastian had posed as Mickey’s brother. The hospital would contact him if needed.

There was the same self-remonstration in both their gazes, which made Athena feel better. She would try not to soothe him with platitudes about how it wasn’t really his fault. She had a feeling he wouldn’t do anything of the sort to her. After all, they weren’t close enough to one another for any well-meant words to be believable... Honest? Athena doubted there was anyone in the world they would believe about their own blamelessness. So much had ridden on them, and they had let Mickey down.

When he suggested the walk, she almost protested from habit and on principle. What if something went wrong with Mickey? What if one of those people somehow came back for him? What then? But Seb wasn’t stupid, and he wasn’t going to put Mickey at unnecessary risk just to clear his head. After all, Seb was a protector, and his friends were on his crew. Athena could honestly say that she’d never personally witnessed him being selfish when it comes to their safety.

So, she followed after him with a mild nod, and her mouth twitched into a faint facsimile of a smile. “Do you wanna talk... or brood in silence? I’m truly fine with either.”

he’d never imagined he’d be one of those people sitting there shell-shocked, mumbling that things were a blur … but that was precisely what had happened when he was in that hospital room with Seb—-  and were there others there too?  Maisie, and Madi, and Via?  maybe even Kim, and James himself?  the faces were indistinct, the voices all melding into one another … hell, he’d never dealt with a concussion before :: only what he’d seen with Athena, back during the Wedding Job. ( wasn’t like IC swimming was a high-contact sport. ) he felt … slow. sluggish. like he was trying to sprint somewhere but was trapped in chest-high water —- his mind knew what it wanted to convey, but it just … wouldn’t come out as quickly as he wanted. the thoughts wouldn’t form just right.

this must’ve felt like what it was to be Jack Santos, all day every day.

the guests come and go. he’s aware of Sebastian’s comforting presence. he’s aware of Maisie’s swearing, and Madi leaning over him with worry. ( perhaps it’s all a hallucination induced by the painkillers … but if it is, he won’t argue otherwise. ) he remembers telling them what exactly had happened——–  he remembers passing off the Hen——–

he remembers sleep. sweet, blessed sleep. resting, to ease his battered, aching brain. to shrug off the stress and worry from having a gun pointed at him :: twice. his mind goes down many rabbit-holes, trying to follow the voices of his kidnappers, their strengths, their weaknesses, their motives …

… but before long, he’s stirring in those sterile, eggshell-white sheets. there’s another presence here, one that’s … not one of the Vincent Crew’s, but is somewhat familiar all the same. he’s on his stomach ( much to the dismay of the nurses, he’s sure ) with his face nuzzled into the pillow; he’s only really half-conscious, but he tries to make out the voice all the same. it’s familiar… very familiar. it’s————

————  well, she’s unexpected.

he lets out a soft hum in response, clearly not fully aware :: but could one truly expect him to be at full capacity following what had happened?  he shifts in the bed, clearly responding to her voice —- but there’s little else as far as reactions. just a slight turning of his torso towards her, the tilt of his chin in her direction, eyelids barely open.

( his subconscious mind wonders :: is it enough?  will she stay? )

he looked strong. the thought itself needed justification in her own mind, since his physical form looked more quiet and vulnerable than she’d ever seen him... but he was there. he was whole, and he was still moving, trying to acknowledge her presence there, responding to the stimuli of her form there talking to him.

the sigh that leaves her mouth tinges on exasperated, but she fights to keep it from sounding too relieved. he’s there... “do you remember what you said to me? when you were grinding on me like a goddamn menace at that bachelor party? you... you made me promise to be here. and here you are, slacking on your end. it was a reciprocal promise, you ass.”

halfway through the speech, one she thought she could keep light and partly joking... her voice cracked, her throat tightened, and her body finally betrayed her. her voice was soft, so she could deny it if Mickey chose to crow about it later (not because she couldn’t even manage a louder volume). “i’m sorry. about your... your dumb present. scout was just trying to find you. i was... i was driving stupidly and as fast as i could. i wasn’t paying attention... she... she set off your alarm. but... but why couldn’t you... why couldn’t you just turn it on? you, you get hit in the head before or something? i made it for this reason exactly. why didn’t you... Scout couldn’t find you. she was really freaking out about it. i think you scared her.”

she cleared her throat, her voice gruff and tense. she didn’t want it to sound angry. he was in a hospital bed for fuck’s sake, and it wasn’t like he’d asked to be taken, but she was thrumming with cognitive dissonance and fighting the urge to lash out at him. 

finally, she hazards a glance at his eyes, not really sure what her own were saying. Athena hasn’t felt this out of control in so long. another thing she fucking hated. she had to get out of here soon, before she started saying too much.