Lock. Load. Go get 'em.

"Fucking shit, fuck fuck shit!"

"Guess I should have paid more attention in climbing class."

"Seriously? What's wrong with you?"

"Revenge is the best medicine!"

"We are going to have sex! And it's gonna be hot!"

"What are you tweeting? Hashtag there's a freaking ghost after us?!"

"You always get like this."

"You need to step off."

"Jesus hot sauce Christmas cake!"

"Why are all these doors locked?!"

"Probably just a...squirrel, or something."

"When I imagined us groaning together this isn't quite what I expected."

"There is no such thing as ghosts!"

"Every second I spent with you...was the only thing I ever wanted to do with my time."

"I should've told you how I felt."

"Don't think, you idiot, just get me out of here!"

"You're sick! You're a sick fuck!"

"No, you're not real."

"Understand the palm of my hand, bitch!"

"Oh my God he's here, he's coming for me!"

"Oh my God totally we're sooo gonna make out."

"Go suck an egg!"

"If this is your way of trying to make me feel better...you're fired."

"Why'd you hit her? Why'd you have to fucking hit her?!"

"It was just a prank!"

"What in God's name are you wearing?"

       Shaun narrows his eyes at Joker. He knows that tactic, the small short answer when someone doesn’t want to talk about something cause he’s used it himself every single time. Wasn’t given a choice. It’s something Shaun believes, with the way Kent is giving him his reluctant story. 

       Got caught. It’s enough that Shaun’s able to put the pieces together with his behaviour, his sudden desire to bolt out the door and why he hasn’t been bounding into his arms. Not that Shaun would let him, or so he thinks. There’s still a sense of unease between them, and Shaun’s getting ready for either a) Joker to shoot him or stab him or b) someone else in this apartment to shoot him or stab him. 

       “I killed someone I shouldn’t have. I mean, I most definitely should have, but it pissed off the wrong people. Their target isn’t so much on the Assassins as it is on me.” He shrugs. Something that he hasn’t mentioned, just in case, is a codex he stole from one of their databases that’s sitting in his laptop’s files. He’s been working at cracking it, but he’s hit a wall. They’re not too happy he’s taken it and wiped it off all their files.

       If Joker’s here to kill him, then he would know that. “You know, I got caught too. You’re not alone in that.” He wonders for a moment if this is a good idea, but it would at least test a theory of his as he crosses the room, standing close to Joker. They’re almost the same height, but Joker’s just the tiniest bit taller. “Give me your hand. Oh don’t look at me like that, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Sounds just like you.” He says, with a half hearted snort. By the look Shaun’s giving him, he knows there’ll be further questioning. Hardly surprising. Information was Shaun’s damn job, he couldn't expect him to quit after a six word explanation. He had abandoned him after all, not intentionally no, but it wasn’t like ghosting a date you’d known for two weeks. They’d had something far more than that, and all Shaun had known for two years was that he’d left.

Hardly something that someone who loved you was supposed to do.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t cared. He had, but it didn’t outweigh the fear. God, the fear was everywhere, and when it wasn’t he just felt numb, incapable of moving forward, incapable of doing anything but sleep. A drugged up sleep had been far more appealing than facing the world. If he’d been him, he’d have made contact, but he hadn’t. A shell, as he’d overheard himself as being described. He’d convinced himself it was better for Shaun to think him gone than know he was that.

He’d been wrong, of course, if Shauns stance now was anything to go by.

He can’t help but offer a weak smile with a shake of his head to the floor - the last time some one had reminded him he wasn’t the only person to be caught it had been a taunt, an accusation as though he was supposed to give out a list of exactly why Irons had got him quite so fucked in the head in particular. Gideon had damn near started a fist fight over it. Kent could hardly hope Shaun had been treated like he had - he could imagine, of course, but Irons had been something worse. It wasn’t information he’d needed, so he’d been left to those running the compound as nothing more than a toy to abuse. He was simply entertainment. Someone to abuse because they could.

And they had.

       He takes a second to prop himself against the wall, letting the cool draft flow over him. Watching Joker look so unsure in this location, like a deer ready to run, pulls at a string in Shaun’s heart that he immediately ignores. Whatever this was, it was temporary. There was no way Joker was coming back into his life — they both had their separate duties. Shaun’s life was irrevocably tied to the Assassins, and they had on more than one occasion, been there for him.

      One of Bill’s assistants, Gavin, had taken a liking to him. They quietly spilled over details of their lives over blueprints or maps, getting ready for the next location they were going to hit. That had been about a year ago, and even though he still got emails from Gavin, that ship had long sailed back to America. Shaun’s desperation for silence and isolation kept him happily at bay from making any other mistakes. 

       No sense in getting attached if he’s going to be killed, or if who he was seeing was going to be put in danger. In fact, what he and Joker had before was foolish. Even if the man could take care of himself, it was still irresponsible of the both of them.

       “So.” He wants to rip into him, pull every detail with an aggression that Shaun hasn’t felt in a long time. But instead, he remains composed, leaning back into the wall. “Want to tell me what the hell happened? You tell me first, then I’ll fill you in on those pricks back at the bar.”

For his own surroundings, Shaun certainly didn’t seem comfortable. Neither was Kent, for that matter, while he’d been told to make himself at home he didn’t quite have to confidence to move much closer to Shaun. He’d invited him in, but his body language was distinctly unwelcoming as he eyed him from his spot on the wall.

There was no small talk with Shaun, though Kent can’t blame him. Shaun wasn’t to know it hadn’t been his choice, that he hadn’t had a chance to warn him. Kent doesn’t know where to start. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Shaun, no, and it certainly wasn’t that he didn’t deserve an answer. He just didn’t know where to begin. What to tell him, and more importantly what to keep from him.

“I didn’t mean to leave you,” He starts, “I... I wasn’t given a choice.” God, he hoped he looked more composed than he felt, crossing his arms in an attempt to still his shaking hands. The past couple of years were hardly something he wanted to think about, let alone talk about. He hadn’t had to in a while either - not since he’d left the others.

“I got caught.” He sums up. Not exactly explanatory, he thinks, knowing Shaun would hardly be satisfied with such a short answer. “That’s what happened.”

       Shaun nods and begins to guide them through what seems like a maze, and it takes them a couple of close rooftops and fire escapes to finally get down to the ground. The rain doesn’t let up as he keeps them in the shadows, out of view and out of any surveillance camera that could be accessed. There’s without a doubt a small team sent out to search for him, but Abstergo’s been slipping out recently. Sending too many lazy men. It’s easy for Shaun to get away from blokes like these.

      He keeps an eye on Joker the whole time, reading him to see if — maybe, just maybe — he’s the reason the men found him. It doesn’t seem like his style, but the man seems frazzled, out of touch. When Shaun knows that they’ve made it out of complete danger, he wonders if leading Joker to the safe house that he calls home a smart idea. What if Joker was behind it all? A trap?

       The thought makes Shaun’s insides turn. Rebecca had been right — he couldn’t fucking trust anymore. 

       But the lonely and curious part of him tells him that he can do this, that walking into the trap and being aware that it could be a trap would be the best way to get this over with. Get it out of his system. Move on. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a set of keys, letting them into a tall apartment complex. He opts for the elevator, pressing the sixth floor before it takes them up, arriving with a simple ding! that almost makes Shaun flinch.

        No, he’s not on edge or anything. As they walk down the hall to 608, he realizes they haven’t said a word the whole time. Just utter silence between them. As he opens the door, he doesn’t flick the lights on and instead hangs his things up in the dark. There’s enough coming from the city lights to let him see what he’s doing, maneuvering around the couch. He walks over to the window and props it open, listening to the rain and the traffic below them. The place is basically furnished. No TV. His laptop sits on the desk in the corner.

        “Make yourself at home.”

Kent follows as Shaun leads through the urban jungle. God knows where the man was taking him, but he had to trust him. He had no choice, not if he wanted Shaun to trust him back. Between keeping an eye out in front of him and glancing at himself, he couldn’t tell what Shaun was more concerned about keeping an eye on.

Not that he was particularly deserving of trust, let alone Shaun even giving him the time of the day. A good part of him expected the man to throw him a solid punch as payback for disappearing without a trace. Shaun had enough worries with Abstergo. He didn’t need him and his issues on top of it all.

They finally reach he safe house (in silence, mind. The cold didn’t exactly encourage conversation and besides, what to say?) and he follows Shaun in, doing a quick check out of habit as he removes his now drenched jacket - no others, by the looks of it. Hopefully Rebecca was alright. She was a smart woman, but who knew how things had changed in his time away. “Home.” He repeats, more to himself than the other man. He wasn’t entirely sure he knew how to make himself at home. ATLAS, had been home, but he hardly felt comfortable there anymore.

       Shaun raises his eyebrow at Joker’s apology; it sounds so small, so weak. Regardless, a simple sorry never cut it for Shaun and he decided he would figure out the rest to the story. It seemed like there was more to it, and they had the time now. If Joker chose to walk away from the explanation, then that would be it. No chasing, no strings attached. 

       “Well, like I said, safe house is a bit away.” Shaun walks up to Joker, unsure if he should offer a hand, a hug, something to get them mobile again. “I’m… just glad to see you’re alive. I suppose.” It’s a quiet murmur, almost lost in the sound of traffic below them and Shaun turns back away.

        It’s different now. He can tell something’s changed in Joker, no cool or calm collected demeanor. Still remnants of a soldier, moving quickly and listening to orders when Shaun barked their escape route to him. But now, Kent seems so small. Shaun wonders how much he’s changed in his eyes over the past couple of years, wonders if he looks any different. More tired, probably, and that would have happened without the Initiates or not. Fatigue seemed to be a daily part of Shaun’s life. Even know, his body feels heavy and he drags his feet across the ground as he starts to cross the roof. “Come on, we’ll get down and get out of here. I think you owe me a conversation at least.”

Shauns face is visible for a fleeting second before he turns away, but its him, without a doubt. He’d struggled to recall exactly how the mans face had looked after so long, and seeing him now again it was like he could piece together the final bits his mind had forgotten. It was hard to tell in this light, but the exhaustion was clear enough. Not that he probably looked any better, he thinks.

He can’t help but bristle as Shaun moves closer, not reacting to the man himself but instinct. Even though he was familiar, could be trusted, physical closeness was still difficult. Still a threat. He almost felt uncomfortable with what an invader of personal space he’d been before it all.

@exo-joker

“Joker, what are you doing?” MItchell asked as he watched his fellow soldier.  “I don’t think you should touch that. Gideon’s gonna be pissed if he finds out.”

Joker chuckles, throwing Mitchell a wide grin. Gideon was no fun, but maybe Mitchell could be swayed.

“Relax, I know what i’m doing.” Placing his tools down he gives the hover bike a loving tap. “High beams were barely working. You put a complaint into maintenance and you don’t find out if they’ve fixed the problem until you’re back in the field. New bulb, no sweat.”

        “Yeah, a safe house. Sicheres haus.” The German feels awkward rolling off his tongue, and for being in Berlin, he realizes he hasn’t talked much to any of the locals. But when Kent starts questioning him on the word, he realizes that no, he hasn’t recognized him — that safe house is an unique word saved for people like him and special forces, or the army. Shaun groans as he stops pacing, crossing his arms over his shoulders as he keeps his back to Joker. The bitterness from earlier begins to surface, and he has to fight a snarky comment when he’s asked his name. 

         “Come on, Kent. You don’t even have to ask. You know.” His tone isn’t pleasant, but it’s not rude either. “How many years has it been now?” Shaun turns around, eyes falling on the man’s face, barely highlighted by the city lights. It’s him for sure, and Shaun turns away again, guffawing as he throws his hands up in the air. Older, a different expression. No smile at the sudden realization.

       “Two years and counting!” He rubs his face, the notion that the man he had cared for so closely, that was taken from right underneath his nose, is just a couple of steps away from him. “How romantic of a reunion, don’t you think so? Rain too.”

Two years and counting.

Shaun wasn’t wrong. God, how he wished he was, wished that things could have been different. He’d always told himself it was for the best, but standing here it all felt so awful. If only he could have been stronger, could have recovered faster, maybe...

“I’m sorry, I-” How pathetic, after all this time. “I wasn’t- I’m not well, I-” How to explain? No matter how much he’d been told what had been done to him wasn’t his fault, he still felt ashamed. Embarrassed.  He could’ve tried to find Shaun, it was true - even if the chance of finding him was small. It wasn’t like he was a facebook search away. But the thought of having to explain it all again, the thought of Shaun seeing him in such a state had terrified him. He’d seen the looks people gave him, received more than enough unwanted pity. Even if he’d been able to hide behind false sanity, he couldn’t hide the physical trauma. Ilona had kept him away from mirrors, but he’d seen his reflection, a black and blue skeleton who he hadn’t recognized as himself at first. Bruised had faded, fingernails and hair had grown back, but he’d still changed. Scarred.

“I’m sorry.” He repeats softly, a shaky hand rubbing at his face. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He hadn’t meant to hurt Shaun - and he had, clearly, from the mans tone of voice - but however unwillingly, he had. As far as Shaun knew he’d simply disappeared, vanished without so much as a ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ and now resurfaced with just as much tact.

        Shaun hoists the man up with ease, and he thanks the training regime Bill’s been hammering down on him. Ever since his capture at Abstergo, he’s had to keep his body in top condition, the best he could do. There was no way in hell he was going to get captured again. Plus, he found himself listening to podcasts as he worked out in the apartment.

         Returning his mind to the present, he moves out of the way for the ladder to drop, and as it does, the sound echoes down the alley. He freezes for a moment, listening for the other two voices and they go silent for a moment before he hears footsteps. With a quick leap, he’s up the ladder (making sure to pull it back up as far as it goes) and right behind the other bloke. Once again, the voice nags a familiar sensation and he realizes it as they’re about halfway up the fire escape. Stopping dead in his tracks, almost all sound seems to suck out of the world at once. He can’t see the man’s face as he runs up the steps, but he can make it out, know it well enough. 

       “Kent.”

       He doesn’t say it loud enough, it’s hardly a whisper, and hearing himself say the name out loud snaps him out of sudden trance. Back to moving and grabbing the railing, he catches up to the man as gunshots begin to ring out and he tries his best not to let it distract him. Move fast, move with purpose—

       The gunshots stop as they make it onto the roof and Shaun takes the second to catch his breath, blood beating in his ears. The rain soaks into his jacket and he’s absolutely drenched, the cold shiver of the evening finally settling in as the adrenaline wears away. “We should keep going.” He’s finding it difficult to find the words (when has that ever been the case?), but he starts to walk across the roof without showing his face to the man. Had he recognized him too? “If we can get across a few rooftops, then we can exit out one of the buildings and I have a safe house we can get to. Unless… you want to go your own way. That’s fine.” Give him the option to go. He did all those years ago anyways. 

       History repeats. He should know.

They manage to make their way swiftly up the fire escape, heart pounding as he reaches the roof. Kent just about collapses, throat raw as he resigns himself to the damp, watching as the other man paces about. Still catching his breath, Kent finally looks up at the other man, but despite the light of the moon, the mans face is hidden as he faces away.

He had to get back before he completely shut down. It had happened before (the subway had been the worse - the stares) and he could feel it coming on in the tightness in his chest. The other man speaks again and he tries to shake off the nausea.

“Safe house?” He queries, the word catching in his throat. He only knew one person outside of ATLAS who frequented safe houses. An Englishman. Surely not, no. Not now, not like this. “Why would...” A safe house. “Don’t you mean a flat, or, or a room or?” He stutters, trying to swallow the feeling in his throat as he stands, squinting through the rain at the other man to try to get a look at his face.

        “Lovely. Let’s go.” Shaun hurries over to the ladder and crouches, his knees aching in protest. He cups his hands, making the perfect little foothold for the man. The voice he had heard was vaguely southern, and Shaun found it a bit peculiar for a southerner to be in Europe. Weren’t they uncultured, roaming swamps and chasing alligators? Maybe it was crocodiles. Christ, Shaun could never remember the difference between the two. “Come on then.” He nods down to his hands, realizing the dark probably doesn’t help with the other’s vision. 

        There’s another shout in German and Shaun’s skin crawls, and he tenses, ready to help the man up.

        If he was caught, alive, he can’t even begin to imagine where they’ll start. He likes his nails intact, he really does. The last time he had been caught by Abstergo had been brutally aggressive, leaving scarring on his chest, stomach, and lower legs. Bill had sent in a rescue team; the man knew he wouldn’t crack. Shaun didn’t have much left except the Assassins. It had taken him a little bit to recover after that, but he didn’t have a choice. They needed him.

        “Mate, can we pick up the pace a bit? I know I seem a bit pushy but trust me, these are not nice guys with fun water guns.”

“Alright.” He agrees softly, trying to push the knot in his stomach aside. The situation was hardly ideal, without having to factor in this stranger. Too much about this made uncomfortable - the mans accent, the suits with guns, the amount of people that’d been in that pub, the physical contact getting up to the ladder.

Get it over with, the sooner you do, the sooner you’re away from this.

Tentatively he paws at where he guesses the man hands are, finally finding them in the dark and hoisting himself up to the ladder. The help is certainly necessary, he thinks bitterly. Recovery was never going to be pleasant, but he’d never quite been able to get used to how much weaker he’d become. It was so much more apparent now with the strain, but with a final stifled grunt of effort he manages to pull himself up, hands holding on tightly to the wet metal.

“Alright!” He hisses at the command, startling himself with his own voice, as he tries to get the ladder to budge. Firm was hardly a word he could use to describe the way he spoke these days, but perhaps adrenalin came in handy. “Move out of the way.” He tells the other, softer this time. With a final, hard kick the ladder drops with a clang.

         Stumbling out the back exit, Shaun bumps into two other bodies before he scrambles out. The shots continue until he can hear one of them reloading, the other being more conservative with his ammo. There’s a darker alley that’s probably the easier exit, and there’s already someone running to it. They seem to be the only one, and Shaun would rather put one other person in danger instead of a small handful of people going in the opposite direction.

        With a frustrated grunt, he sprints down to the alley, keeping in pace with the man in front of him. Tossing a look over his shoulder, the two suits are easily keeping their eyesights on him and even as he turns round the brick corner with the other, the dropping sensation in his stomach doesn’t disappear. As he looks down the alley, his stomach drops as it becomes a dead end. Nothing to climb over either. Cornered.

        “Fucking Christ.” He growls, tapping his side for where his sidearm should be but isn’t, and he quickly scans the alley to see a fire escape with a ladder half hanging down. If the other is capable, he could boost them up and hope that they kick the ladder down for him. It was the only option they had.

        “Oi, mate. Any chance I can boost you up the ladder? We don’t got much time for decisions here.” Looking at the back of the man’s head in the dark causes a sudden twinge in his chest and he winces.

The rain had eased, but not enough to stop it soaking through as he sat crouched there, fingernails scratching at his wrists again as he watched the two suits. Just get out and back to your flat he tells himself. If he could get himself back, he could get himself dried and forget this had ever happen.

So much for trying to get himself used to populated places again.

His hearing returns gradually, a soft garble slowly beginning to clear - the rain is expected, but another voice, particularly so close takes him off guard, quickly stifling the startled yell that tries to emerge. Probably just a pub member he tells himself. If they’d been with the gun toting lot it’d be hardly likely for them to cowering there in the dark with him.

“I can probably manage.” He offers quietly, keeping his gaze locked on the two suits. They hadn’t moved, but one was heatedly spewing something foreign on the phone to someone. No doubt they’d sweep the area soon. He hardly wanted to be there when they did. He flicks his gaze to the other man - he didn’t seem too tiny to hold his weight, from what he could tell in the dark - but drops his gaze just as fast. The guy sounded English.

           Nothing catches his attention and he returns his focus to the glass being slid across the bar for him. He mutters a thank you in German before he brings the chilled glass to his hands, feeling the taste already as the liquid slides past his lips. It’s awful, not at all what he’s used to, but he’ll take what he can get. Maybe it’ll make him tired, and he won’t have to spend too long out.

          After Joker had never returned, Shaun was shipped over to Europe via boat (which was not a pleasant voyage). Given the location of a few apartments he could crash at, he choose the one closest to the bars. It’s not that Shaun picked up a drinking problem in the wake of his companion’s absence — no, it’s not a problem, he swears — but it definitely helps with the anxiety of the night creeping in. He’s not afraid of the dark, no, not since he was a tiny child, but it’s what lurks in the shadows. Abstergo was always looking to fuck up their plans, and if it meant taking out him, well, he was important. At least he liked to think so. Saw the passing of Desmond. Saw with Those Who Came Before. Knows the location of the Pieces of Eden in the Assassin’s possession and who’s on a mission to get the next one.

          He’s a little valuable, maybe.

          The door swings open and Shaun looks out the corner of his eye to see two figures in fitting black suits survey the room. A sudden drop in Shaun’s stomach has him scrambling to come up with a plan. A quick escape, a dash for the exit. Without trying to be obvious, he glances towards the back of the bar and sees a rear entrance. If he’s lucky, no one was stationed out there to catch him on his way out. Without even knowing he’s moving, he’s drifting to the door, bartender’s voice ringing out over the low music playing.

        “Hey, you haven’t paid for your drink!” The harsh German words make Shaun look behind him, the two suits glancing at their phones and then at Shaun. “Hey!” 

          “Sorry!” The word slips out in English, his own accent a mystery probably to the bartender. He begins to sprint to the exit before a gunshot echoes through the small space. It makes Shaun’s ears ring, and he stumbles for a second, scrambling to his knees to try and get out of sight.

Swift fingers move to his ears - the noise is too much. Despite what an inconvenience they were, Kent had found he quite liked the ability to switch his hearing aids off at will. He couldn’t control the flashbacks, panic attacks, no, but he could at least shut out the noise. No one at base had appreciated it of course, certainly not at the beginning, at his most difficult to deal with. It had been easier to shut them out.

He feels guilty. It wasn’t liked he’d forced them to look after him, he didn’t ask them to. Hadn’t wanted them to care and desperately wanted them to all at the same time. Physical inflictions weren’t enough for Irons, the time he’d spent inbetween was spent messing with his mind, and as always, Irons had known what he was doing. Progress, he reminds himself. He was here, among more people than he could count. He had to think of the progress.

Perhaps Shaun was making progress himself, he thinks. He hopes. Maybe with ATLAS in ruins Abstergo had taken a hit - who knew? They could disbanded, a threat of the past. Perhaps, even, Shaun had found someone more like himself by now. Someone less rough around the edges. Some fellow sweater wearing intellectual, who he could chat history with rather than just at.

Someone completely unlike him.

A woman in an oversized coat chats animatedly to a man (the owner of the coat, perhaps, he wonders) when her face drops, conversation halting as Joker followers her eyeline. A commotion, shit, that he’d missed, sat there unable to hear it start. The fear is immediate as patrons scramble (towards the front door for the most part, thankfully) grounding him for a second before he remembers, swiftly scrambling to the back exit along with the woman in the oversized coat into the night.

He weights up his options as he quickly surveys his surroundings, before settling for an alleyway out of the light, squatting in the shadows just as two suits appear at the bars exit. Nervously, he fumbles to switch his hearing back on, shaking hands hardly helping as he notes the glock the taller of the two has.

Shit.