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@rick-flaggs >:) 

He had been on patrol all night with Bucky and now he was exhausted, not only from the patrol but really turning up the charm. He had to get his kicks somewhere, right? When he got back to HQ to check in, one of the assistant directors immediately pulled him aside and put him in an office alone for far too long, considering who he was. This definitely wasn’t ARGUS anymore—they trusted Floyd way too much. 

He pushed his sweaty hair from his forehead with one hand, his helmet dangling from two fingers on his other hand, draped over the arm of the uncomfortable chair. He slouched, almost ready to fall asleep right then and there. The last thing he needed was to go through some bureaucratic shit at 4:30 in the morning. He looked up lazily as the door opened and immediately scoffed when he realized who else they were bringing in. If he and Rick were going to get put on some stupid new assignment, the least they could have done is had the courtesy to wait until he had gotten some sleep. 

Now that he was the only one technically in charge of NOVA’s foot patrol, Rick’ free time was basically nonexistent. He used much of it to transmit important information to Scott Summers. Whatever he had left was reserved for sleep. It was easy to feel like an automaton, thoughtlessly performing for those around him while mentally disconnecting from the duty he’d pledged himself to. 

Floyd figured that their gruff manner with each other kept the others from thinking there was anything other than a begrudging respect there. They all knew that Floyd and Rick had worked together but none of them knew in what capacity. They definitely didn’t know how unprofessional it got. Floyd was grateful for that if only because this was hard enough to figure out with the prying eyes of a group of neanderthals. 

“I figured.” Floyd wasn’t surprised but that didn’t stop him from being unhappy with the outcome. He knew that Rick didn’t have to look to know how Floyd felt, so he was grateful that Rick didn’t—because if he looked up, all he would see on Floyd’s face was disappointment. He couldn’t hide it. Floyd looked up when Rick touched his arm, the contact lingering just long enough to get even Floyd’s heart to pick up its pace. When Rick dropped his hand, Floyd suddenly shot his hand out. He grasped Rick’s wrist for a moment. opening his mouth as if to say something, though no sound came out. He dropped his hand just enough so his fingers could brush up against Rick’s palm. 

Floyd had been so careful that he hadn’t anticipated the possibility of anyone reading between the lines. He knew how to hide things. He knew when to pick and choose the aspects of his life that he wanted people to see. Growing up in a military family made him realize what was important to advertise and what he needed to keep close to the chest. He’d always done a good job at compartmentalizing what was important. 

Perhaps it was self-defeating, but it was impossible for him to be unmoved by the way Floyd’s touch lingered, or by the way his fingers grazed his palm. He held his breath. There were a million thoughts in his head. It was a struggle to articulate what he was actually thinking. “Doesn’t matter,” he finally said. His voice sounded far away to his own ears. “It doesn’t change anything.” Curling his fingers, he gently pressed Floyd’s fingertips, running his thumb over the angle of each nail.

Foggy grinned back, “Y’know, anything to look forward to? Met someone? Have someone special that you’ve kept but didn’t tell me about cause I’m kinda used to be around folks who keep secrets…” Okay, maybe that was a cheap shot at Matt but he was sure his friend wouldn’t mind, it was done for comedic purposes. “Nah,” he raised a hand in a half-wave, “Best not to try and ruffle feathers, it may end up causing you some problems. More to the point, how are you doing?” he asked, genuine concern written on his face, “It can’t be easy being here.”

Foggy’s observation was so accurate that Rick was struck into momentary silence. He didn’t talk about his personal life very much. Never, in fact, and he had no idea how to approach the topic now. It was too much to explain. It seemed as if he should have an excuse ready - which he didn’t. There was no valid explanation for the closeness he’d allowed Floyd over the past several months. “I can’t imagine it’s easy for any of us,” he said gravely, shaking his head. “Hope life’s been treating you well.” 

Foggy walked into the room and sat down, the care of his gait more than enough evidence as to his injured state; technically he still shouldn’t be walking around but hell if he was gonna stay in bed, much as he cared about Peter and Matt being fussed wasn’t his cup of tea; he was better at doing the fussing. “Oh yea, those bastards. I’m eighty percent sure they’re behind the implement I mentioned earlier.” he deadpanned, “Still nothing there? No bright lights at all?” If not Foggy was gonna have to make himself one for the poor guy.  

Rick looked at Foggy blankly. “...bright lights? What’s that mean?” He wasn’t the type to see the bright side of things. It just wasn’t in his nature. Sighing, he shrugged and shook his head at the same time. “They probably are. Behind it, I mean. I’ll see what I can find out.” Even though he was technically “in charge” of patrol, it didn’t mean he had any inside knowledge of NOVA as a department. Working behind the scenes had never been his thing, but even Amanda Waller had trusted him with more information than NOVA had given him so far.

Floyd knew that the longer they put off talking about things, the worse it would be. However, he couldn’t bring himself to say anything, not after their moment in the car—or all the moments that had followed. Every single second with the two of them, alone, slipping through his fingers like water, too ephemeral to hold. He didn’t get a chance to slow down and really think about what he was doing, ever. 

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” he replied. “He was talking about fucking off for a while.” Floyd leaned back against the counter, turning his head to keep looking at Rick as he folded his arms over his chest. “They gonna let me go out? Or is it looking like it’s not going to happen?” Floyd pressed his lips together for a moment. “I can’t imagine why they’d let me out. It’s not like ARGUS ever did,” he grumbled, looking down at his feet as he dug his toes into the floor. 

The camaraderie between them had become a running joke with the other men who assumed they were nothing more than unlikely allies. It went far deeper than that. Rick suspected that there were those who suspected that there was something else under the surface, but no one had dared to question them. His own reputation was to thank for that. He was Rick Flag, decorated soldier. Anyone who valued their career wouldn’t dare say a word.

“It’s not going to happen.” He didn’t mince words. There was no point in it. If their roles were reversed, Rick knew he would prefer blunt honesty to pretty promises. “Not right now.” He didn’t have to look at Floyd to know that he would be disappointed. It seemed like it was natural for him to turn, to put a hand on his arm, as if he were going to share some stern words of wisdom - but the touch lasted longer than it should have. “Doesn’t matter. There’s nowhere worth going, not out there.” 

@rick-flaggs

“Heyy dude!” Foggy said, poking his head around a door and grinning at Rick, “Long time no see huh? Matt’s not letting me work cause I might’ve been impaled a little and am recovering from surgery and my roommate…” boyfriend, “Worries too much so I forced him to go hang out with some friends. So I figured I’d come see an old friend too! How’re ya doing. Sorry we’ve not been talking more, it’s been craaaaaaazy around this joint.” Foggy babbled as he walked inside and (a little too carefully) lowered himself into a chair, still wincing at the motion, “So, what’s new with you? Anything exciting I oughta know?” 

There weren’t a lot of people Rick let into his life. He tried to keep his associates at a professional level, as if they were colleagues, but that didn’t mean that a few hadn’t slipped through the cracks. Foggy had been one of them. “Crazy is one word for it.” He motioned for Foggy to take a seat across from him and closed the folder that had been open on his desk. “Exciting?” He laughed, but the sound was forced. “I wouldn’t really call it that. NOVA owns my ass. How about you?” 

Floyd knew that it was inevitable that they would talk to each other, but the longer they could put that off, the better. He always made sure to stay with the group, to avoid any time when he would be alone with Rick or any time where they would be working too closely together. That was too dangerous. Floyd wasn’t ready to test the bounds of his new freedom—though, freedom may have been too generous a word for the city they were living in. 

Standing up, Floyd rubbed a hand down over his face. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” Their jobs with ARGUS had certainly been more grueling than this, so Floyd wasn’t worried about that. Working so closely with Rick during those 24 hours was a different story, and enough to make Floyd anxious. He leaned against the counter, facing Rick. “What are we doing for all those extra hours?” 

Neither of them were ready or willing to solidify whatever strange dynamic existed between them, as if not discussing it would make it disappear. If anything, it made it even more obvious. The tension in the room only grew the longer it was only the two of them there, not saying the very thing that was on their minds, making small talk instead of approaching anything substantial. 

“They got me in charge of the whole city. Valdez took off.” Normally Rick had enough time to sleep and take care of what little remained of his personal life - before Waller’s death it had been all about Zoe. Now that Selina was taking care of her, he had virtually no existing obligations. “I’m trying to convince the boss that you’re ready to patrol on your own, so we can cover twice the ground. It won’t be easy.”

“Warden Gallio? Rick Flag, your official NOVA liaison. I have an official records request to submit to your records department. Signed by the judge.” Rick was all business when it came to his job. He was a NOVA agent, but his ideals were not NOVA ideals, and it meant his day to day was a constant battle of wills between his conscience and his obligations. The only thing that kept him sane was the fact that this duplicity kept Zoe safe. Whatever power he was given could be used in a variety of ways; it was up to him to choose what he would do with it. It had been his decision to start working with Scott Summers, to turn over his information, and so far it was something he’d kept to himself. 

@rick-flaggs liked for a starter!!

Floyd was standing in the kitchen far too late that night, brooding over his fourth cup of coffee. He had never considered himself the type to brood, but then again, he had never considered himself the type to get involved in messy romantic entanglements, nor was he the type to be confined or chained. Times changed. he changed—the world around him forced him to change. He only glanced up when the door open, realizing that the person walking in, still in fatigues from that night, was Rick. Just his fucking luck. He immediately looked back down into his mug, unsure of what to say. They hadn’t spoken since the time in Rick’s car. Floyd didn’t know what to say, and he doubted Rick felt any different. 

Ever since they’d arrived at the bunker they shared with two other agents, Rick had tried to take it one day at a time. Around the others he acted professional. Trouble was, they were always around the others. Neither of them made the effort to separate themselves, as if they were both avoiding the inevitable “talk” about what they were doing and where things between them stood. 

When he came home that night, he instantly knew that Floyd would be the only one inside. He sat in the driveway for over fourteen minutes before finally going inside. When he saw Floyd standing in the kitchen he paused long enough to give a silent, curt nod, and draped his coat over the closest chair. “It’s gonna be a 24-hour job for a while. Get ready for getting even less sleep than before.” 

He had been waiting for Rick to touch him, but there was still a part of him that was surprised when Rick actually took his hand. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but he wasn’t exactly expecting to have this touch, this feeling reciprocated. It was almost dizzying. He pressed his lips together for a moment, just sitting in silence with his fingers curved around Rick’s leg and Rick’s hand pressed up against his. It was an acknowledgment from both of them. 

I still see you. I still care. 

Floyd shook his head. “I can deal with a hard mattress,” he said with a soft snort. They sat in silence for too long after, just holding each other’s hands as if letting go would mean something terrible. He pursed his lips lightly. He wanted nothing more than to lean over and kiss him, to pretend, just for a moment, that they could be like everyone else, that they could be normal. He did just that. 

His hand came up to pull Rick’s jaw around and he crushed their lips together, kissing him so hard it was almost painful. The hand on his leg tightened, gripping Rick to keep him in place, to keep him from running away from this. He couldn’t help it. He didn’t care if the people from the house saw them there. He didn’t care if everything fell apart right then. He needed this.

The air between them felt electric. Rick didn’t know if it were the small space, the touch, or if it were all the things they weren’t saying. Those unspoken words of affirmation hung in the air between them, thick and heavy. He could almost hear them. When Floyd spoke, just the movement in the air and the shift of his hand set the hairs on the back of his neck on end. He felt chilled and he felt a rush of warmth. He felt the need to jerk back and the need to latch on. The combination of feelings was dizzying. Painful. 

He barely heard what Floyd had said. Had he said anything? “...Yeah.” The word punctuated the silence with too much force. 

The second Floyd touched his jaw, Rick had to fight the urge not to shove him away. It was an instinctual reaction, an instant, defensive denial that was well-practiced and disciplined. It instantly melted away when Floyd kissed him. All the hesitations left his mind and left it alarmingly empty, for once in his life, and he turned in his seat, the seatbelt strained against his chest as he kissed him back hard.

“Dude, what you drink doesn’t fuckin’ matter,” he said, gesturing vaguely. Rusty wasn’t caught up in the specifics, he just wanted to make sure that he had an ally in Rick. He wasn’t looking for someone to have his back through everything, but knowing that there was a NOVA agent around who might be willing to spill some of the secrets—if he ever got his hands on them—was comforting.

Floyd had been living while looking over his shoulder for so long that he wasn’t quite sure how to keep going when he wasn’t. He was paranoid by nature, even as a young man—now that he had reason to be paranoid, that tendency was just amplified, completely succumbing to the urge to second-guess everything, to search every room he was in for bugs, to act as though Amanda Waller still had a bomb in his head and could shred his brain with just a touch of a button. It was a lot to contend with. A lot to unlearn. 

Of course, it had later come out that the bomb hadn’t been a bomb at all, that they had simply cut him open and made sure there was a ridged scar on the back of his neck so he wouldn’t try anything. Look close enough under his dark hair and it was still there. 

Without that threat hanging over his head, he grew bold. He was able to keep his hand on Rick’s leg as if it was nothing, as if they were a couple. It could have been so different, it could have been so easy. If Rick hadn’t been Rick, if Floyd hadn’t been Floyd, maybe this could have been normal. Maybe in some alternate universe, it was. He pressed his lips together tightly, fighting the urge to move his hand away from Rick and instead holding his ground, proving to Rick that whatever it was they had was still there between them. Floyd had changed a lot in his time in prison, had gotten smarter, had grown, but this hadn’t changed. His fingers squeezed lightly at Rick’s thighs. “As long as there aren’t bunk beds.” 

The situation with Waller had unraveled so quickly that Rick had no time to adjust to the new circumstances. Part of him still expected Waller to pop back up. She’d never seemed like someone who would die and then stay dead; the thought of not watching his back anymore was too good to be true. It was something he’d never be able to stop doing even now, when he knew that his current supervisor’s interest in him didn’t extend beyond his abilities in Task Force X. It was still a comfort he didn’t trust.

Floyd’s hand on his leg drew his attention back to the present. He recognized the meaning behind the gesture, what it meant, and his grip tightened on the steering wheel even though he’d already put the truck in park. He didn’t know the men they were sharing space with. They were recruits. That was it. They wouldn’t come with combat experience and they might not even be soldiers. That didn’t really matter, not in the long run, not if they were able to pick up on anything going on.