#fightknife

“ i’m not leaving you here . ”        ♡        @fightknife​.

“We’re not kids anymore. There’s no such thing as good guys and bad guys.”

His weapon has long since run out of ammunition, nothing but an empty click to answer the hail of bullets that slam into the wall they’re crouched behind, sending a spray of plaster and wood to rain upon their heads. Frustration rises like the swelling tide in the agent’s hollow chest, a brief flicker of flame licking the edge of his heart as it threatens to build into a destructive inferno. “Hold them off while I look for some other way out of this.”

 Another spray of fire hits the wall, one coming far too close to being a perfect headshot for his liking and Lucas glances briefly at Diego, coming up short at what appears to be the other man’s answer to the fight before them ... the worst answer the mi5 agent has ever seen. Fingers close around the other man’s wrist, yanking him backwards with a cold fury until they’re only a mere breadth apart, voice a rumble of thunder between them.  “Did you bring bloody knives to a gunfight?!” If the prospect of a human shield to get out alive wasn’t so tempting, he’d kill Diego himself right then and there.

@fightknife​​ sent:  ‘   i’ll    take    him    out    myself.   ’  

          SHE’D GONE BACK TO PATRICK’S.  She didn’t know what she was expecting.  Claire wasn’t there, of course she wasn’t.  A new child that wasn’t her own occupied that room now,  but maybe some small part of her thought she could go back and explain — go back and at least get a moment to properly mourn everything she’d lost.  No.  Of course not.  When did they ever get time for that?  She stumbled out the door as she was promptly pushed out by her once husband.   

          there is no true quiet in the hotel obsidian. not in hotel rooms, and not in this lonely corner of the bar where the sound of the radio penetrates the persistent beating in her chest, demanding to be let in when all she wants is peace. it’s the end of the world, again. or at least, it will be. maybe she should be getting absolutely hammered right now, but instead, she’s quiet. contemplative. tending to a whiskey the way a connoisseur might, but without tasting a single drop. it’s all sand. all water. all fear, and exhaustion, and the pounding in her head screaming for peace. peace. peace ! but there is none to be had. she wonders if hails felt this way the night the world ended, or if the curtains were drawn tight and it was too late to feel a single thing. too late to wonder where her mom was. she shakes the thoughts off, takes another sip. picks at the thread that dangles off the edge of her sling.

@fightknife​

“ I have a drawer now ? ”

Another late night , another quiet routine. Though no longer in the same office , their jobs ( if Diego’s could really be called that ) ran similar hours. When they were finally able to return home , it was to Percival’s apartment. They ate in comfortable small talk , both tired and weary. They washed up and got ready for bed to do the same things all over again tomorrow. But there was one difference.

When Diego started folding his clothes , Percy opened one of his dresser drawers and pointed. It was emptied so he had a place to put his things  instead of on a chair or on the floor. He hadn’t meant anything by it but deep down he knew the sentiment was MORE than sentiment and so when he asked what should have been a simple question with a simple answer , Percy found himself suddenly very unable to meet Diego’s eyes.