So Take Aim At Me For Once

Philip Graves is a patient man. He’s proud of his restraint, his ability to wait for the right moment. He’s opportunistic, willing to overlook morals in order to get a job done. It’s all about money in his line of work, money and building trust. Prove you can get the job done and do it well, the more contracts get offered, the more money in their pockets. 

He’s been waiting patiently for a long time. He waited almost ten years only to be denied what he wanted, what he had been promised. He had pulled the strings, done the work, and still he didn’t get what he was guaranteed. 

The fucking government made sure of that. The bullshit ‘Omega Initiative.’ Of course, at that time he didn’t know, he hadn’t understood. 

He does now. 

What a small world it really is. 

He’s patient, yet he can’t help but feel a bit agitated as he waits. He checks his watch again for the twentieth time, growing more and more annoyed. They have a tight schedule to keep. Everything has to be timed perfectly, and now they’re behind. 

He stares down at the ground, at the abandoned landing strip they’d utilized. It’s old, abandoned after the war ended and there was no more use for it. Grass grows through the cracks in the asphalt, rain and erosion pathing a way for nature to reclaim what man had destroyed. A spider crawls its way from the patch of grass, scurrying across the damp asphalt. He shifts his weight, crushing it under his boot. 

He looks up as a car approaches, some compact Ford model in an obnoxious blue. Of course he’d drive something like that. Obnoxious and noticeable. 

It’s a miracle things haven’t failed yet. 

Corporal McKinney parks on the runway, climbing out of the car. He’s dressed in civvies, looking far too smug as he pops the trunk. Phil already hates him and he hasn’t even shared words with the corporal yet. He’s nothing but a bootlicker and a weasel. Philip can respect a man who values money though, a man who will sell out to the highest bidder. He’s no better, but at least he can keep to a schedule. 

What he hates is a smug bastard, far too proud of doing the bare minimum. 

His hand itches, tempted to reach for his gun. 

He wants to wipe the smirk off McKinney’s face as he hefts the package out of his trunk. He looks far too satisfied as he approaches, as if he’s completed some medal-deserving feat, like he’s about to be rewarded some chest candy for committing several crimes. 

He’d be tried as a traitor for this at least. 

“The package as requested.” McKinney says, lowering the body off of his shoulder. 

Duran is there, slipping his arms under you and lifting you easily. Phil stares down at your face for a moment, still unconscious from the drug McKinney had injected into your system. There’s a noticeable bruise forming on your cheek, darkest right over your cheekbone. His hands close into fists, palms itching to grab his gun and shoot him right where he stands. 

His eyes catch the hole in your jeans, the blood soaked into the fabric. Bullet wound. He’s no idiot. He’s well aware of the look of those. He turns back to McKinney, annoyance making his jaw tick. “I thought our agreement was that she would be delivered unharmed.” 

“Bitch deserved it.” McKinney says far too casually, casting a glare your way. “Made my job hard.” 

Phil’s jaw clenches tighter at his words, his hand twitching for his gun. “I’m sure she did.” He says, his voice strained. “General Shepherd will be sending you payment as promised.” 

He nods for Duran to follow as he turns back towards the plane, nodding at Oz as he passes. He doesn’t even flinch as the gunshot rings out in the silence, a smile tugging at his lips. Bastard deserves it for putting his hands on you. 

It was his fate regardless. 

Duran sets you in one of the seats, buckling you in. You’re still unconscious, blissfully unaware of the world around you. He grips your chin lightly, tilting your face up. It’s been a long time since he’s seen your face. You’ve grown up a lot in the time since he’s seen you last. You had still been a kid back then, still growing out of your baby fat and into your personality. 

How much you’ve changed since then. 

The plane rumbles to life under his feet and he releases your chin. He still has a job to do. He can’t get distracted now. He shakes off the thoughts in his head, ignoring the mating bite just peeking out from the neckline of your shirt, his anger bubbling in his chest. 

That should have been his. 

You should have been his.