#aisb

<Airport in 30.> Frankie’s voice crackled over the headsets and Santiago froze for a second before his gaze met Tequila’s. Hours had been poured into minutes for them, too.

Frankie glanced over to you and nodded, letting you know he had control of the bird and you were free to go prepare for the inevitable firefight once they landed.

You kissed his cheek, then clambered out of your seat and made your way to the back of the helicopter. Pope and Tequila nodded to you as you walked past them, reloading their weapons, and made your way to the bag you had left near Jack. Duke, for his part, seemed to understand that it would be best if he remained still and quiet.

You pulled the rifle out from your bag, reloaded it and took stock of the spare magazines you had.

“You guys ready?” The question was more of a manifestation of your nerves than an actual question; people were rarely truly ready to step into a firefight.

“Just like old times, eh, Halcón?” Santiago had met your question with a forced smile as he sauntered over to you and patted your arm.

You smiled back at him, the action not quite making it to your eyes.

Landing a helicopter in a hail of bullets with minimal back up and a cartel after you. Yeah, just like old times.

***

As the airport came into view, Frankie let out a long exhale as he turned his comm back on and waited for Ginger to answer before he identified himself. <This is Catfish, ID code Delta-Bravo-Whiskey-Niner-Niner. We’re about 40 klicks out and making our approach. T-minus 5 minutes.>

<Catfish, good to hear. I’ve got Cran on the line here too.> Ginger pulled her lip between her teeth, mentally preparing herself for the chaos that was coming.

<Copy that, Ginger, Cranberry.> Frankie licked his lips nervously as he scanned the rooftops ahead of them, looking for any combatants waiting to pluck them out of the air with an RPG. <Can either of you confirm a visual on any hostiles?>

<None in the open, Catfish.> Cranberry’s voice was terse and Frankie could hear her load her own rifle in the background. <But there’s a hangar next to me I’ve seen armed patrols come in and out of.>

<Copy.> Frankie’s lips pulled back in a grimace, hating that he was flying virtually blind. <I’m going to try to bring us down to land.> He called out, mostly to you, Pope, and Tequila, then began his descent.

The shimmering stasis of anticipation that suspended everyone and held you taut, broke, like a slow motion video suddenly thrust into fast forward. It was almost a relief when the familiar pinging of bullets pelting the metal exterior of the helicopter pierced the building tension that held everyone captive.

Frankie felt the old familiar rush of adrenaline spike in his veins like a drug, putting his senses into overload, and focusing him. Fuck, he had missed this.

Your heart thudded at the sounds of the building chaos around you, allowing yourself a moment before you swallowed and took control of yourself, moving to the co-pilot’s seat to engage the .50 caliber guns mounted to the helicopter. The swarm of combatants on the ground dispersed like ants as you rained lead down on them. In the midst of the chaos, the sound of Cranberry, Ginger and the guys on comms, threaded between the alternating thunder of the helicopter blades and the steady beat of the .50 cal.

<Cranberry, can you get clear of the hangar?> Frankie shouted.

<Guys, they’re radioing in for backup. You gotta get out of there quick!> You could practically see Ginger’s eyes wide and lips pressed together as she stared worriedly at the screen.

<Copy, Catfish. Standby. I’m going to pull out so you can land and transfer quickly.> Cranberry’s voice was the essence of calm, as if she wasn’t about to taxi the jet out into the middle of a firefight.

As the nose of the jet began to poke out of the hangar, Frankie looked up to see one of the men below drop to one knee and take aim at them.

<Hijo de puta> He swore as he pulled up in a hard, jerking movement to avoid the incoming RPG. You maneuvered the guns and took aim at the shooter, leaving a small crater where the assailants had been.

<What the fuck is going on, Catfish?> Santi yelled into his mic as the helicopter jostled all of you and he staggered to the entryway of the cockpit.

<Fuckin’ RPG.> Frankie’s tone was thin and distracted as he worked quickly to get the helicopter back into compliance while they took heavy fire. <Trying…> He cocked his head and furrowed his brow in concentration. <To get us even so we can land…>

You turned to look at him as he trailed off and his eyes darted around the scene below as he ran through a variety of calculations and scenarios in his head to figure out the best course of action.

<I’m gonna bring her down.> Frankie gritted his teeth and the helicopter creaked under the sudden shift in velocity. <Brace for a rough landing and get ready to make a run for the jet!>

Pope rushed back to the belly of the helicopter and assessed Duke’s state. There was no way he would be able to make the run, even if Frankie managed to get as close to the jet as he possibly could.

“Oye, pendejo!” [Listen, bastard!] Santiago shouted to Duke over the cacophony. “Tendré que llevarte cuando aterricemos.” [I’m going to have to carry you when we land.]

Duke blinked up at Pope in disbelief, but fear dawned on him as a bullet punched daylight into the helicopter then whizzed past them and he realized that Pope was dead serious. Another bullet pelted the helicopter and Duke nodded, wide eyed, as he quickly did the sign of the cross, praying he’d make it out alive.

The helicopter dipped and shook, jostling you, Santiago, and Tequila as Frankie did his best to evade the brunt of the heavy fire they were taking. Pope stumbled and caught himself on the beam bolted to the ceiling, then cast a worried glance towards you and Tequila; they needed to decide how the hell they were going to get off the helicopter and to the jet in one piece.

“We better get ourselves a plan an’ we getter get one quick!” Tequila hollered as he clung to the same beam Pope was.

You looked around at everything and quickly decided on the best course of action.

“Ok! Pope’s on Duke. Tequila, you take Jack.” Tequila glanced at Jack, then nodded and started moving towards him. “I’ll take point and Frankie’ll take rear. Everyone, copy?”

A chorus of affirmatives sounded off over the headsets and then for a second, everything seemed to quiet, like the volume had been turned down and you had been plunged underwater. The tense calm that harmonized with the steady roar of the helicopter gave way to a clamoring discordance that matched your elevated heartbeat as Frankie landed the bird and all of you sprung into action.

You took a steadying breath and burst out of the helicopter, pointing your rifle and shooting at the men who were firing on you as you weaved through the bullets flying towards you. Santiago followed behind you, Duke slung over Santi’s shoulder, scared shitless as Santi fired his pistol and ran towards the jet.

Frankie scrambled out from his seat, bullets punching holes through the glass and upholstery of where he had just been seconds before. He grabbed his rifle and hurried to cover Tequila and Jack as they exited the helicopter and found themselves in a storm of lead.

The promise of back up had emboldened the men shooting and they crept around either side of the helicopter in a pincer maneuver. Frankie moved on a swivel, falling into the familiarity of being in a firefight with each pull of the trigger and every person he shot. He glanced back at Tequila, relieved that he was almost up the stairs with Jack. From his periphery, Frankie saw you perched at the entry of the jet providing cover fire and he kept shuffling back until he was at the base of the steps.

A sudden flurry of extra footsteps thundered on the pavement and the first wave of backup charged in as Frankie was jogging up the steps. He reached out to grab the hand you held out for him to help haul him in when he felt a searing burning sensation rip through him and he pitched forward.

“Fuck!” Frankie shouted, in frustration and pain as he scrambled the rest of the way up the steps and threw himself into the jet.

“Frankie!” You quickly hit the button to raise the steps and shut the door, bullets pinging as it went but you were more focused on Frankie who was grimacing as he dragged himself to the other side of the cabin.

“Cran!” Tequila shouted as he laid Jack down. “We’re all on board. Get us out of here!”

“Let me see.” You dropped to your knees in front of Frankie and immediately started ripping his tactical vest from him.

“‘M fine, baby.” Frankie tried to give you a reassuring smile, but it broke off into a hiss and a “Fuck!” when you pressed down on his wound. “Just need the medkit, amor, it’s not bad.”

Santi slid down beside you and Frankie with the medkit in hand. He pushed Frankie so that he was leaning on his side, giving him better access to the bullet wound. “You’re a lucky son of a bitch, Fish. Bullet went through.”

“Yeah, I know.” Frankie nodded, his hair plastered to his forehead and his hat askew as he bared his teeth and dragged in deep breaths while you and Santi went to work patching him up.

Once you were finished, you and Santi each took one of Frankie’s hands and hauled him up into the closest seat, then you took the one next to him.

“Can’t scare me like that, Frankie.” You breathed out, taking his face in your hands, pressing your forehead to his and shaking your head.

His eyes left yours, falling to where Jack had been laid down, lingering there for a moment until he finally nodded.

“It’ll take more than this to get rid of me, baby.” He tried offering you another reassuring smile but it came out as more of a tired quirk of his lips.

You hadn’t even realized the sound of bullets had since quieted until you felt the plane level off and you let out a sigh of relief.

“We made it." The words sounded much more relieved in your head but tumbled from your mouth in a dissociated monotone. You were clear of the firefight, but there was still so much to do, so much that was left unknown.

Santiago nodded in agreement almost imperceptibly; the same sinking feeling of apprehension he’d had in the helicopter, like the rug was just seconds from being pulled from under him, was acid etched into his bones. The echo of the bile he’d tasted when Tom was shot stung his throat–he didn’t need to see Jack at the back of the jet to see him. He saw Jack in the way you and Frankie clung desperately to each other in the wake of all the death and darkness. He had seen Jack, lifeless, in the way Frankie had torn through the cartel thugs like a jagged piece of shrapnel intent only on piercing whatever lay in its path. He saw it again in the bottomless well of fury iced over in your eyes, in just how far you and Frankie had been willing to go when the two of you tortured Duke.

They’d made it…but what had been the cost?

You and Frankie were like two wheels, wobbling and careening towards a moving target on broken tracks, kept on course only by a frayed ribbon of hope that Jack would be ok. He was worried–concerned–about what would happen if Ginger couldn’t turn back the metaphoric hands of time and bring your Jack back.

How much more would it cost to finally complete the mission?

You spent the entire flight connected to Frankie in some way, his thumb rubbing small lazy circles on your thigh, your thumb doing the same to the bullseye tattoo on his hand; but for as languid as your movements were, your mind was racing. Every little vivid detail cycled through your mind, skipping through the memories as if you were impatiently flicking through channels.

The bounce of the jet as it landed shook you from your thoughts, and the aircraft had barely come to a halt before you were helping Frankie to his feet. A few members from the Statesmen medical team rushed in as the door to the jet was lowered, carrying a stretcher and brushing past the rest of you as they made their way straight to Jack. The five of you stayed out of their way as they carried Jack away to where Ginger was no doubt waiting in the lab.

Frankie stepped forward to follow after them, his feet moving on instinct of their own accord, before his side twinged and he grunted in protest at the pain. You caught him before he could stumble and one of the medics who had been lingering just outside, hurried in as the others left, to help you get Frankie out.

The medic unfolded a wheelchair and held his hand out to steady Frankie so he could get in, but Frankie pushed the hand away.

“I don’t need a fucking wheelchair.” He spat, letting go of your arm to stand on his own, and leveling the medic with a hard glare.

“Alright, Frankie. No wheelchair.” You waved the medic away, then nodded towards the door Jack and the rest of the medic team had disappeared through, gesturing for Frankie to follow you. “But you need to get checked out and stitched up. Trust me,” you scoffed. “Ginger won’t let us leave without clearing all of us first.”

“Ok.” Frankie relented with a sigh, wiping his glare away as he scrubbed his face with palm, he knew he shouldn’t have snapped at the poor medic, the kid was just doing his job.

You led the way to the medbay, just a half step in front of him in case he faltered. Cran made a beeline for the main building while Santiago and Tequila filed in behind you and Frankie.

Outside, the last of the Statesman tours for the day were finishing, people following their tour guides, eager for the tasting at the end of it. Inside, Ginger was ordering the medical team around with a gentle firmness that compelled obedience even from the most stubborn of wounded agents. Jack had been placed on a bed, the nanomites working to repair the damaged tissue while Frankie sat on another hospital bed, hissing as the medic stitched and patched him up.

“I know you’ve had worse, Catfish.” Ginger let out in response to the hissing, more in reassurance of the new medic who was tying off his stitches. “There, you’re done. That wasn’t so bad.”

Tequila cleared his throat, having been let go first, he had gone to check in with Champ.

“Champ was adamant that we all go home now, an’ we’ll meet in the conference room t’ debrief in the mornin’.” Tequila looked at Ginger while he spoke, even if his message was for you, he wouldn’t cross Ginger on the best of days. “Once y’all are finished here, of course.”

“They’re free to go, Tequila.” She nodded to him then turned to you and Frankie. “You’re more than welcome to come down here and visit him any time. It'll be longer than usual considering the circumstances.” The soft sympathy in her voice was back and she rubbed yours and Frankie’s shoulders reassuringly. “Just promise to get some rest first.”

“Thanks, Ginger.” You let out as you stood up from your chair while Frankie tugged his shirt back down, then slid off of the hospital bed.

A tense, heavy silence followed your group as you shuffled out of the medbay and rode the elevator down to the lobby. There were a few scattered glances cast towards your ragged appearance, but all of you had shed your tactical gear, the articles of clothing that were too obviously bloodstained had been replaced, and most of the blood had been wiped away, so you couldn’t find it in yourself to care

You just wanted to go home, to wash what remained of the mission away, to try to calm the adrenaline still running through you– keeping you on edge, and to find peace with Frankie, if only for a moment.

“Hey, Halcón?” Santi’s questioning tone reached your ears as his hand tentatively rested on your shoulder and you blinked yourself back to the present, a worried expression on his face. He was looking at you expectantly like he had been talking and only just then realized you hadn’t been listening.

“Sorry, Santi.” You sighed and stopped, giving him your undivided attention. “What were you saying?”

“Hey, don’t worry about it, Halcón.” He waved his hand, dismissing your apology. He understood. “I asked if you guys wanted to grab drinks tomorrow? It’s been a while, but we sure as hell shouldn’t break tradition now.”

Santi gave you and Frankie a small smile that you couldn’t help but try to return with a soft scoff. Back when you were all still in the military, the team would get together for drinks after every mission; success or failure, it didn’t matter, but more and more each one of you came to realize how much you needed the time to decompress by talking or just sitting in silence together.

“Yeah.” You agreed after looking to Frankie and seeing the slight nod he gave you. “Can’t break tradition now.”

“Great!” Santi’s smile widened, faltering slightly when he looked down at himself. “We all really need a shower.” He muttered as he checked his phone. “17:00, tomorrow?”

“Sounds good, Santi.” You said, trying to muster a more upbeat tone. “We’ll see you guys then.”

Pope and Tequila walked off talking amongst themselves, while you and Frankie went your own way. You stepped outside and Stan caught your attention by waving to you both and you silently thanked Champ for asking Stan to come get the two of you.

Stan didn’t ask why it was just you and Frankie climbing into the back of the car, in fact, he didn’t say anything at all. He didn’t even ask if you wanted to go to your place instead, and you didn’t correct him. The haunted, tired, far off stare that was mirrored between you both told him all he needed to know.

You sagged against the back of the elevator, watching as Frankie leaned against the wall next to you, arms crossed in front of him and his chin tucked into his chest. Your eyes fluttered closed for a moment, you could feel the echoes of Jack’s presence all around you: his casual touches, his searing kisses, and those enveloping hugs he would pull you into on the way back up to his place after a long day. There was an answering echo in your heart, a pang lancing through you at the memory of the comfort he always brought you.

You pushed off from the elevator as it dinged, trudging towards the door to Jack’s penthouse, and you couldn’t help but think that the key had never felt so heavy as you opened the door. Frankie lumbered in after you, and closed the door behind him, the stomp of his boots as heavy as the air in the penthouse felt.

There was a deep seated emptiness inside of you, making the thud of your heartbeat even louder in your ears as you made your way to the bedroom, eager to wash the day away. You heard Frankie let out a sigh behind you and he nearly stumbled into you when you stopped suddenly to take him in. He looked stretched thin, the stoic mask he had plastered on his face since you landed was peeling, revealing more of the man you loved, barely hanging on. His brow was scrunched together, deep in his own thoughts, a storm of emotions swirled in his eyes. He blinked, murky confusion quirking an eyebrow as you brought a hand up to his cheek and caressed the spotty patch of his beard. His eyes fluttered closed as you stood there, grounding each other and when you hummed as he leaned into your touch, he opened his eyes again, the swirl of emotion in them solidifying into something dark, hungry, vibrant and familiar.

Your hand slipped down to his neck, his pulse racing under your palm as you stroked his jaw with your thumb and you knew your heart was doing the same. Blood was roaring in your ears and your body was still tense, as if waiting for the next tragedy lurking around the corner.

Frankie’s gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips, then lower, snagging on the shiny metal chain around your neck holding his dog tag. He sucked in a sharp breath, the bright, cold metal against your warm, soft skin a stark reminder of what he could have lost. It felt like he was in free fall, as if his sense of self was being pulled from his body, but there you were, holding him together and accepting all of him. His eyes found yours again, then he leaned in and kissed you, clinging to it like a lifeline as he poured all of himself into the kiss.

The ferocity of it tore a moan from your throat as you matched him in his neediness, deepening the kiss, as you crashed into each other as if you were both trying to reassure the other that you were truly home. You gripped his shirt tightly, fisting it and tugging him to you only for him to roughly walk you back against the wall, his hand slapping against the hard surface as you landed against it. A dull ache radiated from where your head connected with the wall, but you didn’t care. There was nothing gentle about the way you pulled at and bit each other as you kissed in a dizzying fever.

His strong, thick fingers found the collar of your shirt and he yanked, the sound of fabric tearing and buttons clattering on the floor clashing with your yelp of surprise. You tugged on his shirt, ripping it off of him, greedily pulling him back to you and digging your nails into his back as he sucked a deep mark into your neck. He quickly undid your jeans, a sharp punched out groan leaving his throat as he shoved them down and you dragged your nails up his back, leaving a white hot bloom in their wake. You stomped down, and stepped out of your jeans and underwear, gasping when Frankie cupped you, fingers finding your already soaked core with practiced ease and the frantic desperation to feel you.

“Frankie please, just fuck me.” Your plea dipping into a growl before he pulled his fingers from you and shoved them into your mouth, wanting to taste you on your tongue the next time he kissed you. You sucked on his fingers greedily, pulling a small moan from Frankie, while his other hand fumbled with his belt.

His belt clinked as he pushed his boxer briefs down, and pulled his cock out, already pearling precum at the head and aching to be inside you. He grunted in approval when you wrapped a leg around his hip, one hand gripping your knee while he lined himself up at your entrance with the other, burying himself inside you with one forceful snap of his hips.

The air was thick with your gasps and his groans as he thrust into your wet heat, pressing you further up the wall when you wrapped your other leg around his waist and he set a quick, hard pace–fucking you the way he needed to fuck you, the way your plea told him you needed too.

Both of your hearts were racing, a thin sheen of sweat coating you as you clung to him, the adrenaline pulsing in your veins, making you feel everything so much more intensely; his hot breath as he panted into your chest set you on fire, his hard grip on your thighs throbbing and going straight to your core. The feral grunts each thrust tore from his throat were sending you higher and higher, until you arched into him–cumming hard around him and squeezing his waist with your thighs.

“Fuck!” Frankie jerked suddenly, slamming his hips up into you with a cry that was somewhere between a sob and a moan.

As you came down you felt something rough against your knee instead of the hot sweaty stick of Frankie’s skin and you realized you had accidentally pressed into the bandage covering his stitches.

“S-shit Frankie, I’m-” The apology spilled from your lips, but he shook his head quickly, panting as he held you to him, not letting you remove the pressure and leaning further into you, into the feeling.

He looked up at you, a tendril of vulnerability tangling with the lust in his feral eyes. You could feel him twitching and throbbing violently inside you and your confusion gave way to realization, to how much he needed to feel the pain.

“S’fine, hold on.” Frankie grunted as he adjusted his grip to your ass then carried you to the bed giving you time to do hardly anything more than yelp and cling to his neck.

The breath left your lungs as you fell back onto the bed, and then Frankie was on top of you, kicking off his pants and sliding back into your warm, slick cunt. There was no burn from the stretch like before, but he still made you feel so full, each hard, deliberate thrust sending sparks dancing up your spine. One hand pressed your hip into the mattress, pinning you beneath him as he rutted into you with renewed desperation.

You let that desperation fill you, let it plug the gaping holes in your soul the mission had bored into you. He grunted above you, the rapid puffs of air frantic, but breathing new life into you all the same. His hands grabbed at you greedily, your soft flesh under his rough palms, simultaneously taking you apart and putting you back together; stitching together the scarred pieces of you that had been ripped open by the darkness you had readily let consume you to torture Duke. You let yourself go to all of the sensations, surrendering to the man you loved, a man as broken as you were, and hoped you would somehow come out the other end in more of one piece than you started.

Frankie wrapped his arm around your leg, grasping your thigh roughly in his bruising grip, and keeping your knee pressed against his injury, not caring if the stitches broke, he’d endure them again. The pain, the high he got from it, felt good. It focused him on the present, on being there with you, and it reminded him that he was alive. He panted against your lips, his barely grazing yours, and he growled as you met his thrusts, each one pulling a grunt from him and a hitched moan from you. He wanted to lose himself in the pain and ache radiating from his injuries, physical and not, and find himself in you.

His eyes met yours and suddenly you were both so overcome with emotion the two of you had to look away. Frankie buried his face in your neck while you mirrored him. You both saw so much of your own reflections in the other, it was fitting that your bodies would meld into each other, as two broken halves form a whole.

Your second release caught you both by surprise, and your entire body seemed to pulse and throb with pleasure; each cresting wave overwhelming you with emotion. Frankie fucked you through your high, chasing his own and when your knees squeezed around his hips in the aftershocks of your climax, he came with a choked out cry. Pain lancing through him, and racing sweet pleasure up his spine as he rocked into you, grinding himself and his spend deep inside of you.

The cant of his hips slowed but his breathing remained erratic and it wasn't until you felt the hot wet of tears falling and sliding over your shoulder that you realized Frankie was crying. He stiffened as if reading your mind, but you felt him gradually relax into you as you brought your hand to the back of his head and gently stroked the back of his neck.

You wrapped your other arm around him and held him tight, relishing his weight on top of you as little shudders rippled through his body and you felt the sting of your own tears pricking the corners of your eyes. There were no words, nothing to say, only quiet acceptance.

Eventually, he slipped from your grasp, shifting so that you were facing each other on your sides, a tangle of emotion and limbs. You would wash the dirt and grime off in the morning, for now, you and Frankie would soak in it, and in each other.

“Fuck… baby.” Frankie’s voice was thick with sudden unshed tears. “I-I was so worried...” He reached up and gingerly cupped your cheek, afraid you’d vanish.

You pressed into his palm that was somehow still warm despite the rain leaving the rest of his skin cool to the touch.

“I was worried too, Frankie.” You whispered, feeling like anything louder than that would shatter the glass fortress of calm in his arms.

Your eyes closed in the comfort of his touch relaxing you for just one half of a second before the images of Jack, dead on the floor, haunted the backs of your eyelids, making them startle back open.

Frankie leaned in and kissed away tears from your cheeks you hadn’t even realized were falling.

“A-And Jack?” Frankie asked, brows knit together and brown eyes full of cautious hope. “Tequila says we can bring him back?”

You pulled back, frowning at the alpha gel that was now smeared across his vest and cheek from where it had clung to you. Your unease, relief, and your worry mixed in with the gel and seeped into his skin. A grimace contorted your face; you hated seeing it on Frankie, even if it was just transference.

“What is this shit?” Frankie asked as he wiped the sticky substance from his face, then scraped it off on his cargo pants.

“It’s called alpha gel.” You turned to Tequila at the sound of his rushed steps, as he jogged towards you, his hat already outstretched for you to take. “Statesman developed it in the event of a head wound.”

Frankie followed you back to the car as you spoke, and opened the car door, revealing Jack in the backseat. “The gel protects the brain and then they do the rest in the lab.”

His whole body stiffened at the sight of Jack laying askew in the backseat, a mess of fluids and blood matting his hair. Frankie’s fingers gripped the car door tightly and kept him from collapsing when his knees buckled as the sickly sweet, iron laden stench hit his nose.

The smell never seemed to bother him before, the errant thought floated through his mind along with the smell.

Frankie trembled as he fought off the nausea of seeing the man he loved so far away from life, and let his anger fill the void his nausea fed off of.

You noticed the change in Frankie’s demeanor and quickly moved to wrap Tequila’s alpha gel pack around Jack’s head.

“The problem is…” Your voice was strained as you maneuvered Jack’s heavy and awkwardly limp form. “Whoever shot Jack also put a bullet through his Stetson, which housed his alpha gel.” The activators popped out from Tequila’s hat and you plunged them into their respective ports, then watched as the blue and orange fluid swirled together once again.

You tossed the activators onto the floor of the car, then turned to face Frankie, you noticed the way his face had darkened. His eyes narrowed suspiciously as his gaze darted from Jack to his ruined Stetson, then back again.

He glanced over his shoulder towards Tequila and Pope, who seemed to have the good sense to give the three of you some privacy. Frankie caught Duke’s frightened gaze and clenched his jaw, looking for all the world like a wolf staring down a cornered rabbit. He couldn’t quite place why he felt the deep, twisting unease in his gut, but he knew well enough by now to trust it. Something felt off.

“Where the fuck is Vodka?” Frankie’s heavy gaze snapped back to yours as he half-growled, half-spat the question.

You saw the doubt and suspicion swirling in his deep brown eyes. The softness in them disappeared as the distrust took root in his chest. You knew the unspoken accusation wasn’t directed towards you, and you also couldn’t deny that the same suspicions had been clawing at your skull.

“He never called in after the charges went off.” You looked over at Duke as you spoke, your posture mirroring Frankie’s: tense and predatory. “You think…?” The question hung bloated and heavy in the air as your voice trailed off.

“Yeah, and so do you, Halcón. This shit was…” he trailed off for a moment and shook his head in frustration. “This shit was too easy until it wasn’t.” The words dripped from his tongue, low and raspy in his throat, as if he was tasting every word, pondering each one even though his tone was firm in his certainty. He knew the weight of what he was implying. Frankie ducked his head and leaned in, lowering his voice even more. “What if someone at Statesman is playing both sides?”

You nodded slowly, and a muscle in your jaw twitched as your thumb absentmindedly stroked the wood grip of Jack’s Colt. Things had happened more than a little too conveniently, and too few agents at Statesman were briefed on the mission for it not to cross your mind.

It was also a concern that you and Jack had shared with Champ some months prior. There hadn’t been a single event that had made you suspicious, but then again, you knew there wouldn’t be if it was someone at Statesman; they’d know how to tiptoe around protocols and where Statesman’s resources would be focused. None of you could fathom who it could have been, though. Champ had hoped that by keeping Ginger from promoting to agent that she’d be to head off any major moves that the double agent might make, or at the very least she’d act as a deterrent. Hardly anything made it past her.

You trusted Tequila with your life; he was as loyal as they come, and if you were working under the assumption that the operation was compromised, the four of you were going to have to move fast.

“Champ, Ginger, and Tequila are safe, but I don’t know who else we can trust if we bring Duke in to interrogate.” A sigh fell from your lips and you crossed your arms as you threw another glance towards Pope and Tequila.

From the way Duke was practically snivelling, you knew he’d make the trip to the jet even more of a pain, assuming the jet was still even there; and who was to say there was only one mole in Statesman, just waiting for you to make it back before launching another attack?

“We don’t have to wait.” The pointed tone in Frankie’s statement brought your gaze back to him.

You took in his stance, tense and buzzing with the need to act and exact his pound of flesh. His meaning washed over you like a bucket of ice water, and you recalled times where you had similarly doused prisoners, leaving them shaking, sputtering and desperate. You felt equally desperate, caught between the need for answers, your own desire to exact revenge for Jack, and your morality.

It was the cold, pragmatic choice, it made sense, but you weren’t sure if you could go through with it again. Each time you had inflicted pain, left physical scars with your blade or psychological ones with the scenarios you and your team engineered, you left a mirror image of those scars on your own soul. You knew it had done the same to Frankie and the other guys as well.

“We’ve both done it before.” Frankie pressed on, coaxing you in a way that was firm yet almost gentle as his hand fell to rest on the pistol holstered on his hip and he shrugged. “It’s like riding a bike.”

You raised an eyebrow at what he was suggesting, and deep down, beneath the coldness that was wrapping its way around your heart, you winced at the hollowness in his voice, as if he was commenting on the weather, the Sunday night football game, or the ambiance instead of suggesting torture.

The two of you looked over at where Duke sat on the ground squirming between Pope and Tequila, terror in his eyes. Like any prey animal, he seemed to understand that his life hung precariously in the hands of the predators before him.

The both of you had been on missions before that required… more creative methods of persuasion on the fly; had seen the dark emptiness in each other. The ease of going there and the struggle of coming back was a push and pull you were all too familiar with. This was for Jack, though, and there was nothing you and Frankie weren’t willing to do for him.

“Like riding a bike.” You echoed, your tone equally hollow, and nodded.

Consequences be damned.

Santiago assessed the two of you as you and Frankie approached them, noting the resolute determination in your posture, and the grim line pressed into Frankie’s lips that mirrored your own. He was fairly certain what the two of you had agreed upon; he knew you both, and he had been with you on those missions that had required the team to push aside their humanity for the greater good.

Pope knew you were both willing to go much farther for someone you cared about.

Tequila stopped the examination of his shotgun and looked up as you came nearer. “Well,” he paused as he gratefully took his hat back from you and planted it firmly on his head. “Looks like y’all have decided on somethin’.” His eyes darted between the two of you. The glittering tension that bounced between was nearly tangible. “Mind sharin’ with the class?” There was a bit of a teasing quality to Tequila’s question, a futile attempt to diffuse the increasingly grim situation.

“We think the op is compromised,” you deadpanned to Tequila. “Not sure how deep it goes, but we’ve got someone here who might.”

You gestured to Duke, who whimpered, only to be silenced by a glare from Frankie.

Tequila’s face twisted with confusion, then concern. Duke was their only genuine lead now that the rest of the heads of the cartel were in the wind; they couldn’t risk losing him.

“Are you two sure?” Tequila shifted uncomfortably under the weight of your stare. “I mean, I know they got Jack, but that’s a serious accusation you two are throwin’ ‘round, Bourbon.”

“Like I told Halcón, Tequila, this shit was too easy until it wasn’t.” Frankie shook his head and gestured at Duke venomously as he continued. “And the stunt they pulled at the gala wasn’t your usual cartel shit either.”

The deadly glint that Tequila had noticed in Frankie’s eyes when they were storming the compound had settled in and hardened his gaze. The stench of death clung to both his and your demeanor and Tequila worried that despite the likelihood of you and Frankie being right, this was a disaster in the making.

“We’re professionals, Tequila.” Frankie shifted his gaze from Duke to Tequila and he read the clear hesitancy on the agent’s face. “You can supervise if you want,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “But we’re doing this. We can’t risk transporting him just to deliver him to a dirty agent.”

There was the briefest moment of tension where it seemed like Tequila might push the matter further, but then you stepped forward, and pulled Jack’s mangled Aviators from your pocket and held them up to Tequila.

“I recovered these when I-” you paused and swallowed the image of the pool of blood that came to your mind unbidden. “See if you can get these working and get the video to Ginger on a secure line so she can try to repair whatever footage they got before…” You cleared your throat and stepped back after Tequila took the glasses. “We’ll set up, then you can look in and record using yours.”

The finality in your voice was just as concrete as Frankie had been, but in giving Tequila something to do, you had effectively settled the matter. Tequila nodded, then headed just inside of the hangar where he could get to work without the distraction of the rain.

Frankie turned to Pope, he wasn’t expecting the same resistance from his friend, but even through the selective clarity his desire for revenge had afforded him, Frankie had seen the concern in Santiago’s eyes. However, one glance at Pope, and Frankie knew that his brother-in-arms would see this through with them to the end, whatever that may look like.

“In the hangar?” Pope questioned you and Frankie as he hauled Duke up to his feet.

You took in your surroundings and nodded; while the relentless rain could have worked in your favor, it would be best if the interrogation was done in something as close to a controlled environment as you could get.

Santiago gave you a quick nod in confirmation, then started dragging Duke into the hangar. You watched as he squirmed and complained about the pain in the leg that had been shot, as if that mosquito bite of a gunshot wound would compare to what he was about to endure. As they disappeared into the hangar, Frankie unsheathed his knife and held it out to you hilt first, knowing you had a preference for blades in this kind of situation. He watched for a moment as you took it in your hand and felt it. The familiar weight of the weapon sent of a bloom of electricity across your palm and little frissions of anticipation through your chest.

After a few moments of admiring you with the weapon, Frankie gave you a small, almost rueful smile. Then he followed Pope, his shoe prints swallowing the muddy trail left behind by Duke. You took a deep breath, then followed suit into the darkened hangar.

Tequila glanced in your direction as you walked past him, the red cherry of the cigarette dangling between his index and middle fingers stood out in the dusk created by the gloomy overcast outside as it met the dimly illuminated hangar, while he explained the situation to Ginger. He still didn’t seem happy, but Ginger held his attention enough that he didn't argue further.

Up ahead, Santiago had put Duke down on an empty crate and used old cargo rope and nylon webbing he found lying around to tie Duke’s hands behind his back. Electricity in the hangar had been a thing of the past, but as you walked around, avoiding the small waterfalls cascading through the holes in the roof, you saw an additional light source ahead. Based on the high-powered flashlight set facing towards the ceiling, and what looked like a Statesman branded duffle Pope was rifling through, you guessed Ginger had the good sense to send some emergency supplies along with the helicopter outside.

Frankie was leaning against another stack of crates, looking over his pistol and checking the magazine when he heard your soft footsteps echo in the hangar. The sticky tension clung to the air around you, thick and heavy in anticipation of what was to come. This was wholly and completely different from any interrogation he, Pope, or you had conducted. All of the previous training and missions they had gone on were part of a job, devoid of a truly personal connection. There was no such separation here, no mental barrier or final emotional threshold to be crossed to ready yourselves before it began.

You took that final step forward, bringing you into the hazy dome of light and just a few paces in front of Duke. His attention was drawn to and fixated on the blade that gleamed in the artificial light. Duke blinked, his gaze darting to Pope, then Frankie where they stood just outside of the illuminated circle, until he settled on you. His eyes widened. The light cast by the flashlight draped you in shadows, contorting the angles of your face into something out of a nightmare.

“Do you know who I am? ¿Sabes quien soy?” Your tone was as sharp and cutting as the blade in your hand as you questioned Duke. You brushed your thumb over the edge of the knife, noting the coppery rusted echoes of blood smeared over the belly of the blade from when Frankie must have used it earlier and a small thrill ran down your spine.

“N-no?” Duke shook his head hesitantly, eyes drawn in fear, and you could see the desperation in them as he searched your face for some trace of familiarity, hoping to appease you. As if that would help his situation now.

“¿Conoces a ellos, sí?” [Do you know them?] Your words were quiet yet far from soft as you paused and waited for Duke to nod before continuing.

“¿Sabes lo que pueden hacer?” [Do you know them? Do you know what they can do/what they’re capable of?] You gestured towards Frankie and Pope with a wave of the knife, then tipped Duke’s chin back with the tip of the blade as you waited for his next response.

“Si, si estaban en el ejército y…” [Yes, yes they were in the army and…] A bead of sweat slid down his temple, over his cheekbone, and down his jaw as he tried to keep his movements to a minimum and avoid nicking his throat on your knife. “Y mataron a Lorea.” [And they killed Lorea.]

“Bueno.” [Good.] You smiled down at him, the corners of your mouth lopsided into more of a smirk that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Mira… hago lo mismo que ellos y acabo de ver a mi amigo en el suelo, muerto en un charco de su propia sangre.” [Look… I do the same as they do and I just saw my friend on the floor, dead in a puddle of his own blood.] Your smirk deadened into a contemptful sneer as you dragged the tip of the blade across his Adam's apple and down his throat.

“Tú socios lo mataron,” [Your partners killed him.] You stopped the descent of the blade at the hollow of his throat, pressing just enough to leave a mark but not enough to draw blood. “Pero, no te vamos a hacer nada, si contestas unas preguntas. ¿Entiendes?” [But we’re not going to do anything to you if you answer some questions. Understand?]

Duke nodded, but there was apprehension etched into his features despite your promise that no harm would come to him if he cooperated.

“Bueno, pues no tenemos mucho tiempo, vamos a empezar con algo fácil.” [Good, well we don’t have a lot of time, we’ll start with something easy.] You leaned down, so that you were both eye level as you crowded his space. “¿A dónde fue Isabella? ¿Cuál era el plan si necesitaban huir?” [Where did Isabella go? What was the plan if you needed to flee?]

Duke shook his head, then swallowed thickly. “No sé a dónde fue.” [I don’t know where she went.]

A frown darkened your face, and you shook your head in pseudo disappointment. You let out a sigh as you pulled the knife away from Duke, noting the small exhale of tentative relief he let out before you stepped forward, moving lightning fast to grip the collar of Duke’s shirt. The knife caught on the expensive silk for a second, then the sound of the fabric tearing and splitting under the edge of the blade filled the air. Duke’s chest rose and fell rapidly as you pushed his shirt back on his shoulders, then stepped back to stare at the canvas of skin before you.

“Duke… estoy muy decepcionada de ti. ¿Crees que no voy a usar esto?” [Duke… I’m very disappointed in you. Do you think I’m not going to use this?] You asked, gesturing at the knife in your hand.

Without giving him time to respond, you leaned in and carved a shallow, thin line down his chest to his bellybutton. Duke cried out, pitching forward against the hand you had braced against his shoulder to keep him still. He crumpled as you released your steadying grasp on him and he doubled over in pain, crying as you wiped the blood on the knife off on Duke’s shoulder, staining his suit jacket. It was a relatively superficial injury, but would bleed enough to impress upon Duke the gravity of the situation he was in. You sighed and stepped back again, brows drawn together in concentration as his pain filled the air around you.

Neither Frankie nor Santiago flinched at the action, and although Tequila, who now stood next to Santiago, didn’t say anything, the way he crossed his arms, furrowed his brow and rocked back on his heels, spoke volumes of his discomfort.

You gave Duke a few seconds to feel his pain and catch his breath before grabbing his shoulder and pushing him back into an upright position.

“Ay, mira lo que me hiciste hacer.” [Ugh, look what you made me do.] A sigh of mock disappointment trickled from your mouth and your lips pouted in faux regret. “Te dije que solo necesitabas contestar unas preguntas y nada te pasaría.” [I told you that all you had to do was answer some questions and nothing would happen to you.]

Duke’s eyes watered and somewhere deep, deep down, you knew you should find what you were doing abhorrent. What you were doing went against every moral fiber in your body, the due South to the True North of your moral compass.

The part of you that cared, though, the part of you that would hate yourself for what you were doing was so far buried, completely iced over, that not even a flicker of doubt or concern permeated your consciousness.

“Otra vez, ¿dónde está Isabella?” [Again, where is Isabela?] You asked again, and this time your words made Duke flinch.

“Hay-hay algunas casas que tenemos si necesitamos huir.” [There-there are a few houses we have in case we need to flee.] Duke’s voice trembled, the words rushed forward and spilled from his mouth like the blood from the wound you had cut in him that had begun to seep into the waistband of his trousers. He was almost babbling in his eagerness to appease you. “Puedo darles las direcciones.” [I can give you the addresses.]

“¡Eso, Duke!” [There we go, Duke!] A leering smile split your lips and you gently patted Duke’s cheek. “Eso no fue tan difícil, ¿eh?” [That wasn’t so hard, eh?]

Duke shot you a withering glance before looking back down at the floor. Your eyes flickered over to Frankie whose gaze was fixated on you; the makings of his prideful smile spurred you on.

“Ya sabemos que tienes otros socios,” [We already know you have other partners.] You crouched down in front of Duke, ducking and tilting your head to meet his eyes. “¿Cuántos hay?” [How many are there?]

Duke blanched at your question and his frightened gaze met your steely one; the fearful denial etched on his face before it left his lips.

“N-no hay otros. Eran los Weisels, Isabella y yo.” [T-there aren’t any others. It was just the Weisels, Isabella and me.] He stuttered under the weight of your stare and you let out an irritated sigh.

“¿No me oíste o qué?” [Did you not hear me or what?] You stood up straight, anger roiling beneath the surface of your skin, muddying your objectivity, thin as it was. “¡Ya sabemos que hay más!” [We already know there are more!]

Your fingers twitched around the handle of the knife as you flexed your control over your temper.

“No es difícil, Duke. ¡Dinos!” [It’s not hard Duke. Tell us!] The fear in his heart kept a firm grip on the hesitation that held the answer on his tongue and you hissed, impatience crawling over your skin.

“¿Qué crees que pasará?” [What do you think is going to happen?] Your eyes flashed as you raised your voice and paced a short line in front of Duke. “Estamos aquí solos en la puta selva y nadie viene por tí.” [We’re here alone in the damn jungle and no one is coming for you.]

“Mira,” [Look,] You stopped in front of him, switching tactics as you evened out your voice. “Podemos ayudarte, Duke. Tenemos recursos-” [We can help you Duke. We have resources-]

“¡No sé nada de otro socio!” [I don’t know anything about another partner!] He cut you off with his hurried declaration and you drew in a sharp intake of breath.

“Un cabrón como tú…” [A bastard like you…] You shook your head and did nothing to hide your disgust as you spat the words in Duke’s face. “No lo merece, pero te podemos ofrecer protección.” [Doesn’t deserve it but we can offer you protection.]

“Solo necesitas contestar: ¿Quién es tu otro socio?” [All you need to do is answer: Who is your other partner?] You rocked forward, jaw clenched, your annoyance bleeding through into your voice as it rose with each gritted-out syllable until you were near shouting.

Duke’s nose twitched like a rabbit’s, as if he could smell the rage building within you; and his eyes widened as if he could see the tenuous, fraying strands of your self-control that kept a leash on your knife-hand.

“¡Dinos quién es!” You yelled. Another strand snapped, and you reversed your grip on the knife so that the flat of the blade ran alongside your forearm, then you pressed both the edge and your forearm into Duke’s throat.

“¡No, no por favor! ¡No puedo, no puedo decirte!” You scoffed then pushed off from him, standing up and staring down at him, eyes full of contempt “¡Me van a matar! ¡Me van a matar si te digo!” [No, no please! I can’t, I can’t tell you! They’ll kill me! They’ll kill me if I tell you!] Tears and snot flowed from Duke’s eyes and nose, painting a pathetic, babbling portrait of the man before you.

You snarled, your exasperation and frustration breaking through the veneer of your control. Every moment spent dealing with Duke was another moment that Jack wasn’t in the medical wing under Ginger’s care. You lunged forward, your free hand wrapping around the sweat-slick skin of Duke’s throat.

“¿Y qué? ¿Crees que nosotros no lo vamos a hacer?” [And what? You don’t think we will?] Your fingers squeezed around his neck, as your voice rose, then lowered to a seething hiss. You used the knife to split the gauze wrapped around Duke’s leg from where he’d been shot, then sunk the blade through the bullet wound, into the meat of Duke's thigh. There was a sickening squelch as the blade tore through skin and muscle followed by a strangled, stomach churning cry of pain that tore itself free from Duke’s throat.

Frankie perked up at the sudden act of violence. From where he stood across from Tequila and Pope, you were crowned in a halo of artificial light, making you look like a terrifying angel of war come down to deliver vengeance. The dark, violent side of him was in awe of the taste of your ethereal ruthlessness. Your eyes caught his, and you nodded, finally giving him permission to join. A nonverbal order. Finish it.

He nodded back, then took the handful of steps needed to bring him to your side, eyes searching yours for confirmation. Everything was still. The only sounds in the hangar were the echoes of Duke’s pleas for mercy and the pitter patter of the rain on the metal roof.

There was a shift in the air before there was a shift in Frankie. A change in the energy of the room, as if the very room itself was holding its breath and every cry, every babbled plea, sucked the air out of the room until its lungs were burning, begging for air. It was suffocating.

“¡Ya! ¡Para con todo este ruido!” [Enough! Stop with all this noise!] Frankie snapped, and the room seemingly took a breath.

Santiago saw it a half second before it happened, and Tequila realized just a beat after; the way Frankie’s eyes deadened, seemingly unfocusing, then refocusing, and narrowing. Then he pulled his pistol, barely looking away from you before shooting Duke through his shoulder.

The gunshot pierced the room, reverberating against the walls and then giving way to Duke’s blood-curdling scream. Santiago grimaced at the howl of pain, noticing that Frankie didn’t even blink as a fine mist sprayed back at him from the entry wound and speckled the left side of his face in crimson freckles.

“Si no te callas… ¡te vuelo la cabeza!” [If you don’t shut up...I’ll blow your head off!] Frankie seemed bigger, an avenging force of nature, as he growled out the threat; his low, gravely voice somehow rising above the shrieking.

“¿Quien. Es. Tu. Otro. Socio?” [Who. Is. Your. Other. Partner?] He bared his teeth and wrapped a large hand around Duke’s right shoulder, thumb pressing into the wound, coating it in wet, crimson blood, as he brought the cool metal of his gun’s muzzle to rest on Duke’s forehead.

“¡No sé!” the man cried out, tears dropping one after the other “¡No sé su nombre, solo dijo que-que se llamaba Belvedere!” [I don’t know! I don’t know his name, he just said his name is Belvedere!] Duke whimpered, the words coming out in stuttering gasps.

“Does he mean that vodka brand?” Pope asked, his eyes flickering with familiarity.

You glanced at Frankie, then turned to Tequila, your head tilting at the incredulity of the code name.

“What the fuck, Tequila… He wouldn’t be that sloppy, would he?” Your voice was brimming with disbelief.

“He always was a cocky son of a bitch, Bourbon.” Tequila clenched his jaw and shook his head. “An’ he’s always goin’ on about it being the best damn vodka there is.”

Just like that, one word, a name, brought the air back into the room, breathing fury, fire, and righteous validation into all of them.

“¿Hay alguien más?¿ Un otro socio del Señor Belvedere que conozcas?” [Is there anyone else? Another partner of Vodka’s that you know?] Frankie pressed into Duke’s shoulder again, but you couldn’t find it in you to feel sympathy for him.

“No, solo erámos cinco,” [No, there were just five of us.] Duke’s mouth opened in a soundless sob and he shook his head weakly. “Y nadie estaba con él cuando nos reunimos para hablar de negocios.” There were no more tears left to stain his cheeks, and he looked near faint from everything he had endured.

Frankie stared emptily at the blood that had dripped from his thumb and down his wrist for a moment then wiped it off on his vest, not caring to wipe his face off just yet. He blinked himself back into the present then stepped back and looked over to Santiago, nodding for him to come over with the med kit. Santiago moved without hesitation and took small comfort in the fury flickering in yours and Frankie’s eyes; at least it was better than the ice that had frosted over and deadened them earlier. None of Duke’s injuries would prove fatal. Despite letting your frustration get the better of you, your strike had re-pierced the non-fatal gunshot wound and missed the femoral artery.

Tequila approached once he disconnected from the secure line he had established with Ginger and tilted his head towards the entrance, gesturing for you and Frankie to follow.

“I updated Ginger an’ sent her the video.” He paused and let out a sigh when another scream echoed behind them as Pope was likely removing the knife you had embedded in Duke’s leg. “She’s prioritizin’ what she can get from Jack’s glasses t’ see if she can find out where Vodka an’ Steven went.”

You nodded and Frankie, absentmindedly, did too as he looked out towards the helicopter that sat beneath a camo tarp.

Hazy, blissful memories of what followed after Jack helped him with an almost identical tarp just a week prior speared his heart. Now, on a mission deep in Colombia, Jack, the man he loved dead to the world, and having just tortured someone with you, it felt like a lifetime ago.

“We need to head out as soon as we can move Duke.” Frankie crossed his arms in front of his chest, his eyes narrowing slightly, deep in thought. “He would have told us if there was another partner, and since Vodka wasn’t there when we came up with the helo plan, he won’t be expecting us to get back to the jet by air.”

“Yeah, and I don’t think Vodka would trust anyone besides himself at Statesman’, so we ought to be able to hold Duke without worrying, but we still need to get there.” You pinched the bridge of your nose and closed your eyes for a moment; images of Jack’s bloody lifeless eyes now replaced by Duke’s agony twisted face and the warmth that bloomed up your arms when you plunged the knife into his thigh. “They may not be expecting us to come in by air, but they will be expecting us to try to make it back to the jet.”

“Ginger said she’d get Cranberry on a secure line." Tequila offered, his hand falling to rest on his belt buckle as he shifted his weight. "She ought t' have been followin' protocol an' keepin' the jet locked down so she'll be able t' cover our approach."

Santiago came up beside you hauling a worse-for-wear, but bandaged Duke behind him.

“We good here?” Pope asked, grunting a bit as Duke stumbled and he supported Duke’s weight. “He’s good enough to travel when we’re ready… as long as we don’t have to run for it.” He looked at you and Frankie pointedly, and you couldn’t do much more than shrug in return.

“Ven, bonita.” [Come, beautiful.] Frankie motioned for you to follow him, then nodded to Pope and Tequila. “We’ll get the helo ready, be ready to leave in 10 minutes.”

He glanced outside the hangar, making sure everything was clear, then quickly made his way to the helicopter. The two of you made quick work of the tarp, and even despite everything going on, Frankie allowed himself a quick second to appreciate the bird before him. The moment was over as you finished folding and stowing the tarp, and you looked up to find Frankie seated comfortably in the pilot’s chair.

You ducked out and jogged over to your car, waving Tequila over to you so that he could help you get Jack onto the helicopter. As you waited, you grabbed everything else you had thrown into the car, including your bug out bag, wanting to leave as little behind as possible. Once you and Tequila got Jack loaded onto the aircraft, you grabbed a thermal blanket from the emergency supplies cache onboard and wrapped it around Jack, hiding him from view.

Frankie wrapped up his pre-flight check, then looked back and saw Santi securing Duke to a seat. Frankie's brown eyes warmed slightly when they found you and you slid into the co-pilot’s chair.

“We’re all good back there.” You spoke into your headset. “Ready to take off when you are, Fish.”

Frankie nodded, “Copy that, taking her up.” He called out, then began their ascent; focusing more than he really needed to on their flight, something he could just about do in his sleep. There was something heavy that seemed to rest at the base of his skull and hadn’t been there before, or at least not for a while. If he stopped for a moment, he could put a name to it and bring torturer back to the top of the list of words that described him, but he shoved that back down deep in his subconscious. It had all been for Jack, and he’d do it again in a heartbeat; the rest could be sorted out later.

The flight looked familiar in some parts to Pope, even though he knew this wasn’t the same path they had taken years earlier. Still, the ocean of trees below them took him back down memory lane. It called him back to that feeling when they thought they were nearly there and the worst was behind them. It reminded him of how wrong they had been, and how, yet again, they would be returning one man down.

Frankie walked through the entrance, scanning the clothes on display, and immediately felt out of place. His gaze fell on a jacket that looked somewhat similar to the one he owned. He took a few steps closer, then noticed the intentionally distressed material and price tag. He came to a stop suddenly, and you almost bumped into him.

“Nope, absolutely not.”

Jack moved past you and took in Frankie’s comical look of horror.

“What’re you talking about, Flyboy?”

“I said I’d do this, but I… I am not doing this.” Frankie hissed and motioned around the store, ending at a mannequin clad in a “work jacket” with a price tag of $500.

Jack opened and closed his mouth and cocked his head as he took a closer look at the jacket, scrunching his nose in disgust. You couldn’t help but laugh, already bringing your phone out to text the Statesman driver you and Whiskey shared to come and pick the three of you up.

“C’mon, boys there’s an REI in SoHo that I think will be more Fish’s speed.”

You led the way back outside of the people milling about, then leaned over and whispered in Jack’s ear.

“Pay up, cowboy.”

Jack grumbled and fished out his wallet, pulling a fifty out to put in your outstretched hand. Frankie raised his eyebrows questioningly and crossed his arms as you pocketed the bill in your hand.

“I bet Jack you wouldn’t last five minutes inside Bergdorf Goodman.”

Frankie snorted, then shook his head with a smile. “I saw another jacket on the way out that cost two months of my rent!”

Jack let out a huff and smoothed out his mustache, then put a hand on Frankie’s shoulder.

“Hey, I said I was buying, Flyboy. You don’t have to worry about that today.”

Frankie twisted his lips and shifted somewhat uncomfortably. For as long as you had known him, he struggled to accept any sort of help, especially that of the monetary variety.

Your Statesman driver, Stan, pulled up a lot quicker than you thought he would considering the traffic, and you all piled in. It was about as roomy as the backseat of a car could get for three people, but you made it work with Frankie in the middle.

“Hey Stan, thanks for getting over here so fast. Could you take us to Duncan Quinn? Champ wants us to get Fish fitted.”

“Sure thing, Bourbon, sounds like fun.” Stan winked and smiled at Frankie, then pulled out of his spot and into the sea of traffic.

Jack slung his arm around the back of Frankie’s shoulders.

“Fitted?” Frankie asked, eyeing you suspiciously as your hand rested on his thigh. He was sure you were doing it on purpose to distract him. “That doesn’t sound like REI…”

“Don’t you worry, Flyboy. Duncan Quinn has been working for Statesman for years now. They’re the best at what they do, but don’t let the agents in the London office hear that.”

That gets a smile and another small grumble from Frankie. “Ok, but my hat stays on.”

Jack blinked in disbelief, and you laughed knowing Frankie was dead serious. You squeezed his thigh reassuringly and kissed his cheek.

“I don’t think you’d get away with that if you were with anyone but us, but I think they’ll let it slide.”

Sure enough, when you arrived, you were greeted by an associate who looked incredibly apprehensive until you introduced yourselves.

“Hi there, we’re with Statesman, and we need to get our friend here measured and fitted.”

Upon hearing the word ‘Statesman’, the associate’s demeanor did a complete 180.

“We’ll be lookin’ at getting him a tux and one of your Bespoke Tweed suits as well, bowtie, tie, and pocket square to match,”Jack drawled. The edge in his voice told you he had also seen the associate’s apprehension at working with Frankie, and he wasn’t going to stand for it. You both eyed the man expectantly until he cleared his throat and put his hand out to Frankie.

“Hello, and welcome in, sir. My name is Aaron, and I’ll be taking care of you today. Can I offer you any refreshments?”

Frankie allowed Aaron to guide him over to an alcove surrounded by three mirrors. Jack took a seat in the green leather high back armchair behind Frankie, and you took a seat in Jack’s lap.

“I’ll have your rosé, thank you.”

Aaron nodded and scurried off to get your drink.

“Relax, Fish, you’re going to be just fine. You looked great in your other suit. I can’t wait to see how handsome you look in one of these.”

Frankie fidgeted but smiled at your reflection in the mirror, standing up just a bit straighter at your praise.

Aaron returned and handed you a glass of their house rosé. Then, he turned to Frankie.

“Is this your first time getting fitted, sir?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Well, you’re in good hands, here at Duncan Quinn...”

You tuned out the man’s spiel and leaned back into Jack’s chest, enjoying just having his arms around you. Jack held you tight and moved to sit up a bit more, careful not to dislodge you or spill your wine. He sighed contentedly, then he rested his chin on your shoulder while you both watched Aaron work on getting Frankie’s measurements.

“I’m looking forward to dinner tonight, darlin’. Looking forward to finally having the both of you in bed tonight, too.”

A shudder ran down your spine as Jack murmured in your ear, his lips and mustache grazing your earlobe, and you squirmed in his lap.

“Me too, but we’ve got a lot to talk about first.”

He hummed. “We sure do, sweetheart, but it’ll work out. He had a lot rolling around inside that pretty little head of his.”

“Let me guess, you helped ‘quiet it’ for a bit?”

You raised an eyebrow at Jack teasingly, then leaned back and tilted your head to kiss him. You knew very well how good Jack was at that sort of thing.

Once the measurements had been taken, Aaron brought out a tux, pulling and pinning the fabric to be better suited to Frankie’s figure. You made an appreciative sound in your throat as your eyes raked over Frankie.

“Damn, Frankie.”

That was all you could manage for a moment. You could see the tux coming together, accentuating his broad shoulders, muscular back, and arms.

What was it that people said about a man in a suit?

“Our handsome little Flyboy is gonna knock ‘em dead in his tux, isn’t he, Bourbon?”

Jack said it loud enough that Frankie could hear him, and he struggled to stay still, Jack’s words igniting a warmth in his chest. Frankie had already forgone trying to keep from blushing, especially since he had known there was no way he’d be able to not blush when Aaron went to measure his inseam.

“Mmhmm,” you hummed in agreement and smiled at Frankie, noticing the way his eyes hardly ever left yours. “Damn Fish, even on base in your PT gear you turned heads, and in this, you’d fit in at any gala.”

His eyes were dark as he watched you, and when Aaron left to go get more pins, you took your chance to get up and whisper in Frankie’s ear.

“You look incredible Frankie.” Your eyes found his in the mirror as he preened, and you smiled. “Am I going to get a turn with our handsome Flyboy tonight?”

He clenched his fists and took in a sharp breath as he worked to restrain himself. You smiled, then turned to move back to your spot in Jack’s lap just as Aaron came back. Jack chuckled. You had a talent for being a tease when you wanted to be.

The next suit that Aaron went to work with was a gorgeous tweed navy pinstripe suit that made your mouth water and Jack’s fingers dig into your thigh a bit. The both of you were thinking about not only how amazing the final product would look on Frankie, but also how much fun it would be to take it off of him.

It seemed like Frankie was finally starting to relax a bit as well, and you caught him eyeing the way he looked in it appreciatively. Good, the man deserves to know he looks damn good.

Even though he was starting to feel slightly more at ease, Frankie still breathed a sigh of relief when Aaron let him know he was finished, and that the two suits would be delivered to the Statesman building.

You and Jack didn’t give Frankie a chance to be or feel awkward about paying as the both of you got up. You straightened the collar on Frankie’s shirt while Jack paid at the front. Lacing your fingers with Frankie’s, you led him back outside where Stan was waiting.

“How’d it go?” Stan asked, looking at Frankie.

“Not as bad as I thought it would be,” he chuckled, “I’m Catfish or Frankie, by the way.”

Stan nodded and shook Frankie’s hand, then Jack emerged from the shop.

“Alright Stan, we’re off to REI now. Time to reward Frankie for letting us drag him around.”

“Sounds good, Bourbon.”

The three of you piled in again, Frankie’s hand rested on your knee and rubbed small circles while he leaned back, using Jack’s arm as a headrest. Whatever lingering tension from the past week evaporated with each little touch you shared.

Frankie was like a kid in a candy store at REI. He was still hesitant at first, but after Jack threatened to buy him a kayak if he didn’t get going and find some clothes, Frankie took off and started loading a cart with an assortment of button downs, v-neck t-shirts, cargo pants and jeans.

“A kayak, Jack? Really?”

He leaned in and kissed your temple, his hand wrapping around your back and coming to rest on your hip.

“Well, it worked, didn’t it? It was the most ridiculous thing I could think of him trying to get back up to my place.”

You couldn’t help but snort at that, and well, he was right.

After you and Jack felt like Frankie had picked out and tried on enough clothes, with no small amount of ogling on your part, the three of you decided to tackle what potential gear you’d need for Colombia. Frankie led you and Jack down his mental checklist of things you’d need: a rain jacket, boots, new clothes for while you were there, several packets of hand warmers, rope and so on. You raised an eyebrow at the rope and hand warmers. Frankie shrugged in response.

“We shouldn’t need them but if I get stuck on in the fucking Andes or if we have to cold camp again, I’m not gonna freeze. Always a good idea to have some rope on hand too.”

A flicker of melancholy threatened to take hold of the moment as you thought about Frankie, your team cold camping and stuck in the mountains… of coming home one fewer than they had set out. Jack was quick to usher you and Frankie along with him.

“Come along now Honeybees! We still have to fit all of this in Stan’s car. Bless that man, we’ll need to get him something real nice for driving us around and offering to put all of our bags up at my place while we’re at dinner.”

You smiled and tugged Frankie along with you, he was still in a stupor and red in the ears at the nickname Jack had used for them.

Frankie was still antsy about Jack paying, but he had to admit, there was something… nice about having Jack spoil him a bit.

You still had a bit before you all needed to leave to make your reservation, and you knew just the thing to do to kill some time. Stan helped load up the bags of clothes that the three of you had gotten, and you leaned in to whisper the directions of where you wanted to go next. He smiled then nodded.

“Let’s go, boys, one more stop before dinner!”

You were practically giddy with excitement as you all clambered out, and Stan promised to be back in time to take you to dinner. Jack’s eyes lit up when he saw the sign, and Frankie joined him when he breathed in the smell of sugar and waffle cones that filled the street outside of the building.

“I thought some ice cream after a long day would be nice, so long as we don’t spoil our dinner.”

You said the last bit as a joke, but it fell on deaf ears. Jack and Frankie were already on their way inside. Your heart swelled as you watched them examine all of the flavors. Your boys had a sweet tooth that neither would readily admit to anyone but you. You also knew that the hemming and hawing over flavors was all just for show and free samples. In the end, you all got the same flavor: cookie dough.

The ice cream parlor wasn’t too busy, and you were able to find a small table for the three of you to share. It was almost sickeningly sweet for anyone else to watch you and your boys act like love drunk teens, your legs entangled below the table while you teased, kissed, and put ice cream on each other’s noses, then roared with laughter. None of you cared what anyone else thought. Your hearts were too busy soaring, riding the high of the care, affection and ease of being together, to even notice anyone else.

When it was just about time to leave for your reservation, the three of you wrapped up and went out to meet Stan. The car ride was quiet but comfortable. Jack played with the hair that poked out from under Frankie’s hat while your fingers were laced together with Frankie’s, resting in his lap.

The three of you arrived right on time, and the maître d saw you to a cozy half-circle booth in a dimly lit section. It was secluded enough that you didn’t have to worry about anyone eavesdropping on your conversations. This was a nice restaurant with amazing food, but didn’t go so far as to have a strict dress code as some others in the city did. You sat down first, scooting to the middle of the booth, and Jack and Frankie hung their hats on the booth’s hooks before taking a seat on either side of you.

A waiter appeared with a smile to take your drink order. You ordered an Old Fashioned while both Whiskey and Frankie opted for Whiskey’s namesake. The waiter left, and Frankie and Jack both dived into the menu. You felt Frankie’s thigh stiffen as he perused, no doubt in shock at the Manhattan prices.

“The ribeye here is delicious. So is their grilled salmon, and their rack of lamb is amazing.”

Frankie blanched a bit at the cost of each of the items you rattled off, thinking about how much money had already been spent on him, but nodded along at your suggestions. The server came back with your drinks and took your orders. Then, a silence bursting with anticipation fell over the table. Jack was the first to break it.

“So, what do you do when you’re not freelancing for Santiago? Private tours?”

Frankie swallowed thickly then nodded.“Yeah. At least, I used to.” He sighed, still feeling a tinge of shame at having lost his job, then took a sip of his whiskey. “I, uh, I actually got fired a couple of days ago.” Frankie’s gaze flickered to the table, his brow furrowed and his tongue peeked out over his bottom lip for just a moment. “It’s not a big deal.”

Frankie sounded more like he was trying to reassure himself than he was the two of you. Both you and Jack shared a glance before turning back to Frankie. In all the years you’d known Frankie, through thick and thin, if he ever said something “wasn’t a big deal”, it was, in fact, a big fucking deal.

“What happened? Y’know, Statesman will give them a call if it’s about missing a drug test or somethin’. Ginger can get it sorted right out for you, Flyboy.”

Frankie shook his head and pressed down on the small bullseye tattoo on his left hand.

“It wasn’t a drug test.” His voice instinctually lowered to a whisper. “I thought I’d only be gone a day or two max and my boss was already pissed that I only gave him five day’s notice to do the gala job. I couldn’t guarantee when I’d be back, and he couldn’t find anyone to cover for me, so he let me go.”

He looked up at the two of you, eyebrows raised and he shrugged, trying to be nonchalant but the fear that tugged at the corners of his eyes betrayed him.

“Actually, it is kind of a big deal.” Frankie admitted while he fiddled with his glass and frowned. “As long as I can fly, I don’t really care what I do, but not many places are willing to look past my record.” He cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the blossoming shame that stuck to his throat like molasses. “Benny’s been trying to get me to do a fight, might take him up on it to tide me over in between jobs with Pope.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Benny’s trying to get you to fight?”

“Yeah, I’ve been going to the gym to work out and help Benny train. Keeps me decent for when Pope needs me.” Frankie gave you a slight smile and barked out a little laugh. “You know me though, Halcón, I don’t like showing off or putting on a show. Besides, it’s fucking hard to ignore our training when it comes to sparring.”

You chuckled, remembering how he had put Davis in his place the day before.

“After yesterday, I think it’s safe to say you’re more than decent, Frankie.”

Frankie couldn’t help the smug grin that curled his lips. It was infectious, and your own smile quickly came to life. Jack’s did too, but one look at him told you that he hadn’t so easily forgotten about Frankie’s recent unemployment.

The waiter came out with your food and to check on your drinks. The three of you decided on another round.

“It works out since we have the mission to tend to, but you gotta tell us these kinds of things, Flyboy. Keeping it locked up inside your head isn’t gonna do anybody a lick of good. If there is one thing I have learned, it’s that nothing good comes from not communicating.”

Frankie nodded and adjusted in his seat. “It’s an adjustment, but it’s something I’m working on, that I want to work on.”

The waiter came back with your drinks then, and you could tell by the way Frankie was studying the ice cube in his glass that he was mentally preparing for what he was about to say.

“So… uh, speaking of communication, back at the safehouse, you tried talking to me about what had happened between us, and I’m sorry for mentally bailing on you both.” His gaze flitted over to Jack then back to you. “I was scared, and I know it’s a bullshit excuse. At first, I didn’t want you to regret what had happened, Halcón, and then lose you after just getting you back. But then sitting down and eating breakfast with you guys was… amazing.” Frankie’s eyes were far away and his voice wistful. He was recalling the domesticity of it all and how he had felt like it was something he would be content to do with you both for the rest of his life. “I know it was just breakfast, but it felt right, and as scared as I was and still am, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

You noticed Frankie toying with his tattoo again before he continued.

“When I realized what you were starting to bring up, I panicked because as good as everything else felt, I tried a... thing with a couple up until six months ago and it... didn’t work out.”

You frowned and noticed the way Jack’s grip on his whiskey glass tightened. There was clearly more to that story, but that would be for another time.

“I shouldn’t have run away from you two though. I want to know what you want and expect. You know I’m shit at these things, Halcón, but I’m ready to put the work in.”

He was fidgeting with the silverware that sat next to his hand, and you gently placed your hand over his and squeezed his fingers comfortingly.

“It definitely wasn’t how we wanted to bring it up to you either, Frankie,” You chuckled a little, trying to ease his nerves. “I know it was a lot to try to take in, even under normal circumstances. We’ve been talking about adding a third person to our relationship for a while now,” Jack’s gaze was heavy on you and Frankie, a small smirk mirroring the hungry glint in his eyes. “With what we do, and the… things we like, it’s hard to find someone we trust. We want someone we can be ourselves around.” Your reassuring smile soothed Frankie, as you smoothed over his gun calloused hand with your thumb. “Above all else, we want someone we care about, who cares about us too.”

You paused to take a sip of your drink and make sure Frankie’s eyes weren’t glazed over in panic, but you were pleased to find he was listening intently.

“Jack already knows this, but I’ve had feelings for you, I’ve loved you for a while now, Fish, and I think you know that too. Things just never worked out.”

Frankie looked down and fought back the shame he felt rising. He knew a lot of ‘things not working out’ had to do with his addiction. Jack leaned forward and reached out, his finger lifting Frankie’s chin and forcing their gaze to meet.

“Now listen here, son, it ain’t just been you. We’ve been figuring ourselves out, too. Hell, I told you how I almost cost us millions of lives ‘cause of my own demons.” Jack’s eyes and lips were twisted by an empathetic pain he felt deep in his chest. He had an intimate understanding of the self-hatred and shame that echoed in Frankie’s eyes and he wanted nothing more than to assuage it. “We had planned on going down to Texas for your friend’s fight.” His thumb brushed over Frankie’s cheek soothingly. “The idea was that you and Bourbon could reconnect and we could see if you and I had chemistry.”

Frankie broke eye contact and swallowed thickly, a burning filled his chest as he breathed in Jack’s comforting scent mixed with the whiskey on his breath. Your heart swelled as you watched them. It wasn’t often that you saw Jack’s grounding, gentle yet firm side come out with other people, but it seemed to come naturally with Frankie.

“If I’m honest, I wanted you that first night after the gala.” Whiskey continued, his gaze falling to Frankie’s lips.“All I could think about was everything we’d done, how easy it was, and how good it felt.”

Regardless of whether or not they were drugged by Agent Red then, Jack’s husky, thick tone now reaffirmed that he still felt that way.

“That night after, I was stunned to be the person you called, but I’m glad I was able to be there for you.” Jack’s voice was tinged with disbelief and you felt an overwhelming emotion wash over you. While Frankie’s trust in Jack had been unexpected, a blind person could have seen it in the way they were together. A nervous smile tugged at the corner of Jack’s lips and he scoffed as he remembered that night. “Yeah, I was scared as all hell, but waking up with you in my arms that morning… well, the only thing better would have been if Bourbon was there with us.”

Frankie nodded and inhaled, as he tried to ground himself from the shame he had almost spiraled into. His own lips quirking to mirror Jack’s nervous smile. You set down your silverware and cupped Frankie’s jaw.

“As for what we want and are expecting, well, we want you, Frankie,” Your gaze searched over his eyes and face, looking for any sign of his fight or flight instincts kicking in like they had the other morning. “We’re all going to have to communicate, but you would be just as important to me as Jack is, and just as important to Jack as I am. It’s simple, but not easy.” It was an oversimplification but at the end of the day, that’s what it amounted to. You bit your lip nervously, you were unsure of how Frankie would react to this part, especially now that you knew that he had a bad experience with a previous couple. “We would all care for, love, and support each other, which will take work, but you’re the only person I could see us doing that with, Frankie.”

“I want this,” Frankie’s voice was soft at first. “Part of me has felt like the last few days have been too good to be true. I didn’t expect...” Frankie paused and gestured in the space between him and Jack, “this or trust to be so… easy with you, Jack.”

Jack scooted closer to you then brought his hand to cup Frankie’s cheek and smiled when he leaned into the touch, the unspoken mutual feeling radiating off of them both. After a moment, Jack let his hand drop to your thigh as he kissed your temple. Frankie moved closer to you, and you took the opportunity to lean into him and rest your head on his shoulder.

“And you know I- I love you too Halcón, I’ve… I’ve always had feelings for you.” His eyes shone with emotion as he carded his fingers through his hair nervously. After years of tamping down the words, he had finally said them out loud and he couldn’t help the grin they brought to his face “Hell, I dropped our helo a few feet to get Tom to stop staring at you when you had to change that one time.”

There was a wistful tone in the way he recounted the memory, and you let out a hearty chuckle, then slapped his arm.

“Fish, you still dropped the helo and scared the shit out of everyone!”

“You know, even then, I didn’t like people staring too long, hermosa. Tom was with Molly, and she was expecting. I just wanted to give the captain a little reminder, cariño.”

Frankie was the spitting image of the Cheshire Cat, and Jack chuckled into his whiskey glass at the sight.

“Now, I gotta side with Flyboy on this one, sweetheart, that’s fair.”

The three of you laughed, the heavy feeling at the table long gone, excitement filling its place. You all returned your attention to your respective dishes, the savory flavors pulling soft contented moans from all of you.

Your food had been devoured and your drinks were just about gone when you felt a shift in Frankie’s demeanor. His fingers trailed along your thigh under the table and his lips lingered on your neck in between kisses as he nuzzled you. A moan escaped your lips when his teeth grazed your tender skin, and you were grateful for the seclusion of the booth.

“I wanted you all day, Halcón,” Frankie murmured as he breathed you in, and Jack chuckled, then gave the waiter his card. You hadn’t even realized the waiter had returned.

“Easy, Flyboy, we should at least make it out of here before you make a mess of our girl. We can save that for another dinner.”

Jack smirked at Frankie while he pouted his lip out a bit, and your head spun when you realized what Jack was referring to. You and Jack had fooled around a bit in restaurants before, but the thought of both of them on you, teasing you, was torture.

The waiter came back with Jack’s card blessedly fast. He must have understood that the three of you had urgent plans to attend to after seeing Frankie attempting to practically devour you.

“C’mon, honey, if we don’t leave soon, I think our Flyboy is going to try to have you right here.”

Jack slid out of the booth and held his hand out for you, then chuckled while Frankie clambered out of the booth and adjusted himself as discreetly as he could.

Stan was leaning against the car, waiting with a smile on his face at the sight of the three of you, huddled close, both Jack and Frankie holding your hands.

Frankie barely restrained himself in the car. The three of you refused to send someone up to sit in the passenger seat, but the proximity meant that it was tantalizing how easy it would be to tease you.

Any remnants of self-control Frankie had disappeared after the three of you bid Stan a good night, and they had you in the elevator.

Frankie descended on you hungrily, crowding you against the elevator wall, his hand cradled your neck and jaw as he kissed you deeply. Your moans echoed off of the walls and it was like Frankie was trying to replace your oxygen with his need for you.

“Easy, Flyboy, take your time.” Jack growled as he came up behind Frankie and kissed his neck, making him shudder.

“I was in charge this morning, but tonight, we’ll follow your lead, Flyboy.”

Jack’s words pulled a moan and then a growled “fuck” from Frankie as he reached around and palmed the bulge in Frankie’s slacks. Your hand brushed against Jack’s as you brought your hands to start unbuttoning Frankie’s shirt. The elevator doors dinged before you could get further than a few buttons. Frankie’s kisses were ruinous on your fine motor control.

The three of you were a mess of tangled limbs and need as you made your way from the elevator and into Jack’s condo.

You barely made it inside before Frankie was on you again, his hands just as greedy in their exploration of your body as his tongue was of your mouth. Everything was new, yet familiar.

You had already felt his touch, heard his moans, and come undone for him, but it was like you were experiencing it all for the first time again. Unfiltered and unadulterated, it was somehow even better than when you were under the haze of Agent Red.

Frankie rested his forehead against yours, your shared breath hot and heavy against each other. Jack grunted, and Frankie smiled as he turned to kiss Jack with just as much passion and enthusiasm as he had you.

You took advantage of their distracted state and resumed unbuttoning Frankie’s shirt, the need to feel more of his hot skin beneath your fingertips driving your movements. Jack’s whine brought your attention back to them just in time to see Frankie thread his fingers through Jack’s hair. He tugged back sharply, exposing his neck where you finally saw more of the hickey you had caught glimpses of throughout the day. The sight of Frankie adding another to Jack’s neck, bending your cowboy to his will, sent heady arousal straight to your belly.

You sank to your knees, the last button of Frankie’s shirt undone, and you pushed it out of your way so you could kiss your way over his soft tummy.

Jack’s hand found your hair and pushed you down further. Smirking, and taking the less than subtle hint, you mouthed Frankie’s hard cock, still trapped in his slacks.

“Shit!” Frankie choked out from above you, making you preen and moan into the wet spot that outlined his arousal. Frankie’s hand joined Jack’s in your hair, gripping it while he ground the rough fabric of his trousers against your tongue and cheek.

A whimper left your lips. As much as you loved this, the feeling of their hands in your hair, Frankie’s self-control hanging by a thread. You needed more. You looked up to see Frankie and Jack staring down at you. Both of their gazes were hungry and dark.

Frankie’s grip on your hair tightened then slackened and he took a step back. “Bedroom, cariño, now.” His voice was raw with need, and you loved the authority in his tone.

You stood up and made your way to Jack’s room, looking back to see Frankie and Jack, hand-in-hand, not far behind you. The change in scenery refocused Frankie. His movements were no longer feverish as he let go of Jack’s hand and shrugged his shirt off. Jack steadied you from behind, hands cupping your hips while Frankie went about unbuttoning your blouse with deft fingers.

The moment Frankie tugged your blouse off, Jack kissed and nibbled on the newly exposed skin of your shoulder. Jack’s hands ghosted around to your back and undid your black lace bra, tossing it to the side. Frankie moaned appreciatively and cupped your breast. His mouth teased your nipple while Jack tweaked the other with his fingers. The sensations of Jack’s lips, his fingers, and Frankie’s mouth were simultaneously overwhelming yet comforting, and you felt like you were floating.

“Lay down on the bed, sweetheart,” Jack murmured. His honeyed voice sang through your bliss and into your awareness. Your eyes fluttered open, and you hummed in acknowledgment, then laid down towards the middle of the bed. Frankie tsked and gripped your thighs, then tugged you closer to the edge with one strong pull so that your legs dangled off the side.

You yelped in surprise, and your boys smiled adoringly down at you.

Jack quickly unbuttoned your pants, then tugged them down your legs and off, along with your panties. The soft kisses he planted from the tops of your thighs down to your knees paired deliciously with the coarseness of his mustache as he took his time, showing his adoration of you. You sighed contentedly, then looked down at him and found his eyes shining back at you in awe, a breath-taking, loving smile on his lips. He’s gorgeous, and you’re made painfully aware of the fact that he’s wearing the most of the three of you.

“You’re overdressed, cowboy,” you tease.

Frankie had shucked the rest of his clothes while Jack was tending to you, your eyes flickered to him when he took Jack’s hand in his own and tugged Jack to face him. He kissed Jack tenderly as his hand slipped beneath the waistband of Jack’s trousers and palmed him greedily. Jack’s breath hitched, and Frankie held him close with a firm hand at the back of his neck. The room was heavy with sexual tension and you ran a finger through your folds in an attempt to relieve the ache there. You were surprised at how wet you were already.

“She’s right, get undressed. I want your cock in our girl’s mouth while I fuck her tonight.”

A fresh wave of arousal hit you and went straight to your cunt when you heard Jack’s sharp intake of breath. The contrast between the tender kiss he and Frankie shared and the way sinful commands and promises rolled off of Frankie’s tongue with ease and authority made him moan.

Your whine brought their attention back to you, and Frankie took Jack’s place between your legs with a small smirk.

“Did I say you could touch yourself, Halcón?”

Your fingers halted in their movements and fell to your sides, intertwining in the sheets.

“Patience, mi amor.” Frankie murmured as he sank to his knees while his fingers ghosted over your thighs, following the same trail Jack had kissed his way down. He nuzzled your curls, drinking in your scent, his hot breath tantalizingly close to where you wanted him.

“I’ve wanted this, wanted you for so long, Halcón.”

You squirmed, needing more than just the whisper of a promise of his touch. Your sharp gasp and Jack's moan filled the air when Frankie gave your cunt a quick slap.

“Stay still, you’ll take what we give you, hermosa.”

Frankie looked up at you with a mischievous light in his eyes, then glanced to his side where Jack stood, and jerked his chin.

“Jack, get behind her and make sure she behaves.”

Jack smiled and sat behind you, framing your thighs with his own. His cock twitched against your back, one of his hands splayed over your stomach and the other cupped your breast possessively as he held you against his chest.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

Frankie’s voice was thick with emotion as his eyes met yours, and you both moaned when he dragged a finger through your slick.

“Damn, baby, you’re so fucking wet already.”

Frankie dipped his finger inside of you, then flattened his tongue against your clit, and you cried out, sweet desperate relief to finally feel his mouth on your core. You desperately wanted to grip Frankie’s hair and hold him to you, to take your pleasure from him as his tongue replaced his finger and delved inside of you. His moan was a low guttural thing as he tasted you, and Jack chuckled, knowing what was going through Frankie’s mind.

“Fuck, you taste so good, Halcón.”

“Sweeter than a Georgia peach, and damn if she ain’t the best I’ve ever tasted, Flyboy.”

Frankie hummed in agreement and pumped his finger back inside you, adding a second, then he surged forward to kiss Jack. Their moans as Jack tasted you on Frankie’s lips glistening with your arousal made the coil in your belly tighten impossibly further. Frankie kissed you, letting you taste yourself too, then kissed his way back down your body until he was on his knees before you. Each kiss was reverent as he silently worshipped you and your body.

Frankie and Jack seemed to be on the same wavelength as Jack’s fingers teased your nipples in tandem with Frankie’s mouth and fingers.

“You wanna cum, sweetheart?”

Jack’s voice was husky in your ear as you strained against his grip on your hip. You were very nearly beyond forming words, but managed to pull yourself together enough to answer.

“Yes!”

“I’ll bet if you ask him real nice, our Flyboy might let you cum.”

Your moan was sinful, and a rambling fountain of words spilled from your mouth.

“Please, Frankie! Please, I need-”

“Please what? ¿Qué quieres? Dime.”

“You, Frankie! Need you both to fuck me!”

Your pleading was music to Jack and Frankie’s ears.

“Mmm, that’s it darlin’, begging for us all pretty like a good girl.” Jack’s mustache teased at your ear as he nipped at your earlobe.

“Soon, baby,” Frankie promised, then kissed your thigh. “I’m gonna make you cum on my tongue first.”

Jack and Frankie’s words were like liquid fire in your veins. Frankie’s fingers drew another moan from you and stoked the fire that was consuming you even higher.

“Listen to yourself, Halcón. All of those pretty little noises you’re making, your gorgeous cunt, they’re ours. Just for me and Jack, isn’t that right, baby?”

“Yes! Both of yours!”

Frankie’s fingers found the spot inside you that tugged at your soul, and made you see stars. Your own supernova.

“That’s it, querida. C’mon, cum for us, soak my fingers. Wanna taste you when you cum.”

The three of you were absolutely drunk on the sexual energy in the room, and Frankie’s words were your undoing. Jack’s mouth captured yours and devoured your cry of pleasure when you came. Frankie’s moan was obscene as you soaked him, and he drank as much of you as he could while he coaxed you through your high. He didn’t stop until you whined, oversensitive and limp in Jack’s strong, comforting arms. Jack cooed praises in your ear and nuzzled your cheek. Frankie stood up with a bit of a groan and took your face in his hands gently.

“Are you okay, baby?”

The love and adoration in Frankie’s eyes made your heart sing. You were more than ok. The essence of your heart was pressed firmly against your back and cupping your cheeks. It was as if you were soaring, and there, in that moment, with your heart, your boys, on either side of you, you felt whole, complete.

“I’m more than okay, Frankie.” You sighed then tugged on his shoulders and pulled him down for a kiss with a bliss-drunk smile.

“Can we have you?”

There was a deep tenderness in his eyes, and you sighed when Jack kissed your temple. It made you fall in love with both of them all over again.

“Please,” you murmured, and Jack scooted back further on the bed until his back rested against the headboard. He moaned as he gave his neglected cock a few quick strokes.

“C’mere sweetheart, been thinking about that pretty mouth all day.”

You turned and crawled over to him, and heard Frankie mutter behind you.

“Mierda, you’re beautiful, baby.”

“Our beautiful baby girl,” Jack echoed as you took him in your mouth, tongue fluttering around the head of his cock and teasing the weeping slit.

The bed dipped as Frankie knelt and positioned himself behind you. He ran the head of his cock along your folds, lubricating himself with your cum before he slowly started to inch inside of you. Your moan vibrated around Jack’s cock, wrenching a curse from Jack’s lips.

Frankie leaned over your back and enveloped you with his presence while he waited for you to adjust to his size. Your velvet warmth gripped him tight as he rested his forehead on your shoulder and began to slowly grind into you. Jack grunted, then moaned when you started to bob up and down his cock.

“Do you know how long I waited, how much I wanted you… fuck, how much I want you, Halcón? How scared I was after that night?” Frankie wrapped an arm underneath you, his forearm braced against your chest and gripped your shoulder to support you and hold you in place.

“And somehow, you’re ours, but fuck, I’m yours too, baby. Yours and Jack’s… Shit.”

His voice was a raspy moan, thick with need, devotion, and love. He slides in and out of you slowly, trying to make it last, but after all of his teasing and edging you, neither he nor Jack were going to make it for much longer.

It felt like Frankie was trying to plant himself deep in your soul with each slow, powerful snap of his hips; as if he didn’t already have a permanent place there.

To anyone else it might have looked obscene, Frankie clinging to your frame as he slowly rutted into you while his love drunk gaze was locked with Jack’s. Your throat accommodated Jack’s girth, and your tongue swirled around him while you cradled his balls in your hand. Jack moaned while he cupped Frankie’s cheek, his chest wound tight with the emotion that hung above the three of you and connected you.

To anyone else, it was vulgar, but to you, to the three of you, it was like finally finding home.

Whiskey came with a muttered curse and a low groan. You swallowed as much of his load as you could as Jack rode out his high, his eyes rolled back, brow furrowed and lip pulled in between his teeth.

Frankie was desperate to make you cum again before he did. His fingers found your clit, and he set a pace slightly faster than his thrusts. He turned your head so that your lips could meet and he licked and kissed away what you missed of Jack’s cum.

The salty taste on your lips, still sweet from your drinks at dinner, were what finally pushed Frankie over the edge. He came with a guttural cry and bit your shoulder. The bite caught you by surprise and sent you hurtling off the ledge with him, his hips continuing to thrust lightly into you as he filled you.

You pulsed around his oversensitive cock in the aftershocks of your orgasm and pulled soft, pained whimpers from his lips, but he did his best to stay inside you so you could ride out your high.

Frankie slipped out of you with a quiet groan, and you flopped to one side of Jack while Frankie took the other, the three of you completely spent. With a groan you rolled out of bed, ignoring the displeased grunts of your boys, and mumbled that you needed to go to the bathroom.

When you walked back into the room you couldn’t help but smile. Frankie looked like he was fast asleep, tucked under Jack’s arm, and Jack’s heavy lidded eyes looked like they were losing the battle against sleep as he turned off the other condo lights with his phone. You turned your bedside lamp off, then took your spot on Jack’s free side and sighed.

“Love you both.”

Your voice was a whisper in the darkness, met by Jack’s own soft echo. There was quiet for a moment, and you figured Frankie had fallen asleep, only to hear his own mumbled response before you fell asleep.

“Les amo.”

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