#mccone

Perhaps it was the realization of the cold hard floor on which you were laying that woke you up, or maybe the harsh sound of a gun firing in the same room as you. Startled, you opened your eyes, trying to move. But as your wrists start to burn, your knees grinding against each other, all hope is lost. You’ve been tied up, and your head is wincing due to, it feels like, a painful hit you’ve taken earlier. 

You try to recollect your memory, as your heart pounds in your chest. Hair stick to your forehead, and a freezing breeze installs itself in your damp clothes. You soon figure out that you’re stuck in a small room, with no window, only a shitty vent on the ceiling. You can’t place where you’ve heard the gun, but you’d swear you didn’t imagine it. Just like many others, your situation wasn’t easy. You’ve been trying to enroll yourself in one of those dumb game show you’ve seen on Free-V ; you did quite okay in class and had a good memory for history subjects, so you’d hoped to get in one where you could simply use your brain and maybe, maybe, avoid getting yourself injured by running in the weird hamster-like roulette while answering questions. Worse case scenario, was to get placed into the Running Man. You’d try to enroll in any game, part of because a bet made with friends, part of because your family needed money to pay rent. In reality, despair for your situation is what made you wait in line for hours just to met a guy in a glass box yelling at you your own name, miserable moments of your life and failed job, but in the end get you a number for the elevator sending you off for the qualifications parts. You try to sit yourself up, and almost do when a sound echoes on a distance. The gun again ? You frown, trying to figure out in your mind where did it came from. A new sound, soon followed by metal clanging on the ground. It’s from a room next to yours, even a corridor maybe. As much as you can, you put your back against the rigid concrete wall behind you. The pain in your head is worrisome, as you feel you’re not really there as well. It’s all foggy, you’re barely understanding your surroundings, and a strong pressure in your abdomen keep growing, crushing your lungs, holding too much of your breath for you to breathe normally.

The last thing you were ready for was to inevitably, get chosen for the Running Man. You again did okay on the different exams they put you and a whole bunch of different person through, but never expected to end up on the one where you would get killed off by conceivably one day or two of running show. Maybe fate decided to crumble upon your shoulders for thinking of such dumb solution for your lack of money in life. 

You curse under your breath, remembering your family before its fall, all because one of your mother’s chief in hierarchy miscalculated his data and forced her demission. She wasn’t the most well paid exec, but it was enough for you three at that time. Your family had to move to the other side of town, and almost everyone you knew decided it was better to forget all about you.

As you try to observe your surroundings, you notice segments on the walls in front of you, determining a semblance of a door into its creases. You can’t see nor seem to understand if you can open it form the inside, but it’s the best you’ve got. Your body jolts while trying to keep itself wam, and you seem to remember that it’s been almost four days since the show and the run of your life started. And, last time you saw sunlights was, before getting caught by the Hunters pack. The thought makes you stop from trying to reach the knife in your left pocket behind your back, and you feel your face’s muscles grimace in understanding. You realize, weirdly enough, that you are actually, still alive.

Before getting there, you had an altercation with them ; not that you weren’t that bad at hiding, but the chances of getting out of this situation were quite low from the start. You remember running, in all places ; in long badly lighted street ; in an abandoned flat ; into a muddy basement full of inflammable products to by your chance with your lighter could light up ; and then into in the sewer, seconds before hearing a big BOOM above your head. The orange bracelet on your right wrist had send some light vibrations, indicating you that your family had won 1k of ND, as you must have killed at least one of them and some cops during the explosion. Mouth dry, you feel a headache coming in, so you decide to close your eyes for a brief instant before opting for the best thing to do next. There is only one light in the small room where you’re in, and it hasn’t stopped flickering since you have opened your now watery eyes.

Everything feels like a nightmare.

For a brief moment you though you could have some relief, but in the end destiny decided to get you first. You almost got your knife out of your pocket, when a new noise, a loud bang is shot right behind the weird looking door and makes your rip your finger on the sharp edge. Damn it. You can’t even put your finger in your mouth to ease the pain as your hands were still tied up in your back. You’re hopeless. This time you’re sure, the sound was from a gun. What else could've it been. But then there is another sound, more muffled this time, something heavy seems to hit the ground. Who’s getting killed out there?

You try to calm your breathing, some of your hair got in the way of your eyes, and you feel every ounce of textile on your skin. The nightmare fuel sensations could almost knock you out, you feel like you’re loosing yourself just as what seemed like a door, get opened violently.

The brutal sound echoes strongly in the tiny room, and the first thing you get to sense is the smell of hot blood around. You try to curl on yourself, you’re definitely incapable of defending yourself so the only thing you’re thinking off is protecting your organs, shielding yourself as much as you can while trying to rise your knees to your face. You feel your efforts getting vain as a forceful hand grasp your hair, yanking you up. 

Scream. You cry out a strident sound, but it doesn’t startle the man, because you can figure out his stature, vaguely but still, and he doesn’t flinch at all. 

Footsteps are heard outside the room, other people are approaching. You seems to hear voices, but the pain from your scalp prevents you to get attentive to anything happening around you. Another stature comes, and you can’t seem to understand where the punch is coming from but all your body convulses as you got a strong fist right into your stomach.

Maybe this is it. Maybe that’s how the Running Man ends up for you, by everything but running. « They asked to get her in one piece ya know »

You heart is slamming in your ribcage. It hurts.

« Come on, you know we get to play a little before McCone can give it the last shot. Not everyday they pull up such easy targ’, let me have my fun. »

You shut your eyes. It is happening. The remaining hunters got you, and now it’s just hopeless. « P-Please.. », you try to say, but another slap got you in the face.

The smell of blood again. The thick liquid spills in your mouth. You scrapped the inside of your mouth with your teeth under the impact.

Its metallic taste making you nauseous.

So you spit it on the nearest face you can get.

The man holding your head runts, seeming angry. Good. For a second you feel relieved, until you hear more footsteps echoing. 

Before you can anticipate any other hit, the man holding you jolts in place, letting go of your hair. You hit the ground and it knocks you out for some minutes. You recall noises of fighting, knives and punches, persons growling and sounds of surprise, before two other bangs and you’re blacking out.

**

When you open your eyes again, you’re not on a greasy concrete floor again. Still not so confortable, but now you’re in a much warmer place. And, it’s moving. You hear engines, feel the air moving around you. It’s much calmer, until you notice your head is hurting you so badly. You’d do anything to lie down on a real mattress and a soft pillow, but the bittersweet thought leave a hole in your chest. You might never get that confortable ever again.

Sadness comes over you, until you realize your sore knees are now free. You extend your legs in relief, and a breath of satisfaction escapes your lips. You’re about to pass your hands into your hair, as they are no longer tied behind your back as well, but strings tighten at your wrists again. It is an amelioration nonetheless, but you quickly feel an emptiness in your pockets. You’ve been searched, and the mere thought of it disgusts you. Your knife is no longer here.

Panic seizes you, and when you’re about to approach the back doors of the vehicle, it stops. 

Hurrying, you shift position and move closer to them. You’re close to open the right door when both opens at the same time and the sight stops you right there in your actions. 

A tall, broad, and masked, figure opens them with one big motion. The figure is quite recognizable, with the known sewing pattern on the cowl, the army-like hat, and wearing sunglasses during the night time

Mc Cone? The hunters’ leader?

Quick quick you think of escape, but your poorly condition slows you down.

« I wouldn't try it if I were you. »

You whine. There is no escape, he is here to finish the job the hunters were talking about earlier. Your eyes scans for the camera sphere, but the man stops you with an act of his hand.

« There is only you, and me, here. »

The voice is grave, and the tone strangely indecipherable. It makes you feel bizarre, in an odd way. You’ve heard him talk before, on the many screens at you late house, and then ill new apartment. Hell, you’ve heard him the night they sent you free before the beginning of the show. Yet now, there was a little something, you couldn’t quite place your mind on.

You stay static, on the qui-vive, because there is no way you’re getting out of here alive. You shiver at the thought, and mostly because it’s freezing outside and your clothes are still damp.

He take off his coat, and approaches you with it. Instinctively you retreat, but the man is much bigger and faster.

Again you shut your eyes, refusing to see your frightened and miserable face in his sunglasses. 

A soft touch on you shoulder, and they feel suddenly much heavier. A warmth embrace you, and you frown, not really getting where all of this is heading. You lift your gaze to meet his, incomprehension washing over you. You don’t want to thank him, you don’t know what kind of game he is playing. None of this is normal, you suppose.

He glares at you. Perhaps it is the cold night, maybe the quiet noises of the city are finally soothing you down, and you seem to perceive his eyes behind the pair of glasses. The look he gives you is icicle, yet you see a battle getting fought behind it.

He hands you over a water bottle, and you let your hands reach out for it. He gets closer, and opens it on a swift movement. As you take it, he freezes as well before letting it go. You drink as if you’ve been lost in a desert for so long, and you put some drops all over your chin. You nod to him in his direction, still not wanting to thank him. All of it feels odd.

« Where.. where are you taking me ? » you ask, prudently.

McCone looks over his shoulder, before turning to you. He adjusts the coat around you and tighten it around your neck. You feel your cheeks redden at the gesture, although yet again not so sure on what is happening here.

« Plans’ changed. I’m moving you to a Free-V estate, Killian has some other ideas for the audience. »

As he takes back the now empty bottle, you reach for his gloved hand. Hesitant, almost shyly, you inquire.

« You’re not killing me today ? »

You see a brow lifting behind the textile of his cowl. McCone towers you, as he takes your chin with his much bigger hand, and reply with a somber delivery. Almost regretful.

« Plans’ changed. »

He leaves you in the trunk, and the engines starts again. You have no idea of what is happening, and clearly quite far to guess anything of what’s to come. You bundle up in the large coat, only source of softness in the trunk, and weirdly enough, the only thing that can ground you for the moment. It smells of strong detergent, heavy smokes, and a weak tint of mint.

As you find yourself drifting off to a turbulent sleep, your fingers glides on a wet patch on the coat. The texture is easily identifiable. Blood.

The whole room is filled with hot mist, long panels of beige and sage green tiles wet from the steam. A few moonlight gleams pierce through a solid window, up on the wall. The bathroom feels out of time, a bubble in the midst of a big corporate city, full of of neon lights, people rushing, screaming, begging for a change. The contrast is stark, the room is situated in a loft within a big building high in the sky, where you could almost see a whole cloud of pollution from the windows when looking down.

You’re standing in the middle of the, rather large, shower place, and you’ve been rushing hot water down your head and shoulders for some minutes now. The droplets slowly descending from your frame, their warmth a pleasant feeling after a day of going all over the place. Working for a company in which you didn’t accept their values, but had no other places to find a job, was an effort that could be weary at time.

Lately you’d been feeling quite down, and those moments alone in the shower where a relief from the exhaustion of the day. You could almost feel the fatigue of the day running down on your body just like the hot water has been doing so. You take a deep breath, filling your lungs with a fresher air. Finally being in a place where you knew no harm could nor would come to you, left you in a cloudy state of mind but well appreciated nonetheless. Feeling almost serene. The buzzy day is slowly, completely escaping yourself. As your mind is in someplace, your body quite numb, and all your senses focusing on the liquid slipping on every surface of the shower, you don’t realize that there is some movement in the room. 

A quiet figure makes it entrance in the bathroom, shutting without making a sound the main door. His footsteps are heavy, and when he stops in the middle of the room to undress himself he is not unaware of the person standing in the shower. Quietly still, he deposes his clothes, messily folded, and lifts his hands to his head. He removes the cowl covering his face. For an instant he waits, testing his own patience, holding his last piece of clothing in his hands. Hesitating. It’s been some years now since he hides behind the thin, grey and greenish fabric, last item that separates himself from the outside world. Hesitant, he puts it with the rest of the pile, and runs a broad hand through his hair. 

Just as it is, the man notices his own figure on the grand mirror, adjacent to the shower place. His body is covered in scars, some wounds recently healed, and others a few shadows over his body now. Brooding, his ice-like eyes catches the few strands of his hair gradually getting grayer at some places, along the strands on the middle of his head.

For a man around his forties, it didn’t seem that strange, but the feeling still stayed weird. His anxiety always finding a way to turn up to him. That damn job of his was really marking him in every ways it could find.

He shakes his head, body stiffened. He’s seen enough of it, way too much.

Languidly, as a hunter approaches his prey, one he knows it cannot escapes from him, he arrives to the shower. For a minute the man peers through the transparent glass, devoring with his look the silhouette from the other side. He relaxes a bit, stretching his fingers along him.

You are quite indifferent to your surrounding until you notice a touch on your hips. The sensation sends lightnings to your whole body and you jolt, surprised you aren’t the only person left on this planet for a brief moment.

Fingers dip on your flesh, and you don’t fight it. You’re about to turn around when your back is flushed against a still-dry torso, way taller than you, in an unforeseen gentle manner. You reach for the stranger’s hands, and you places them all around your core. Unsure, the strong arms don’t move right away, but with a light squeeze from your part on them is enough to make them squeeze your body in return. A chin is placed on the crook of your neck, and you softly lay your temple against the newly appeared head. The two of you wait in silence, sharing the intimate moment. On the other side of the window, down below the high clouds of the building, the world ceases again to turn.

Faintly, the man spokes. « Sorry for scaring you ». You scrunch your nose in response, « I know you aren’t a bit ».

You don’t need to look away to understand he’s smiling in response. A faint one, expressed in a louder expiration, and the fine line of his mouth almost not moving. But you knew how much so little of this action could cost him when displayed with sincerity.

« Hey », you whisper, a weak sound compared to the water still pouring on you. « Hey », he answers back, tightening his embrace. You trace meaningless forms on his forearms. « Long day for you too ? » You ask, turning your head and pressing you nose to his cheek. He hums in response, and you feel the pressure on your back getting heavier. 

Shyly you try to turn around, but he is way stronger and holds his position on his two feet in a force you cannot move with your determination only. He stops you in your action. His hands tense. You know this mechanism. You’ve been together for quite some time now, but he wasn’t used to it yet. Exposing his face still meant being at his most vulnerable self, and sharing it wasn’t an easy task. You’ve learnt how to live with it, but also how to make him open himself to you. Communication was always key, right ?

« Evan, may I ? »

You don’t brusk him, nor rush him. You simply make a request, and he knows deep down you have no malice hidden in your words. Still it requires trust, and patience.

He’s lived a whole other life before knowing you.

Showing anything that could relate to this, was dangerous.

Still you persevered. 

You hear him take a deep breath, and releasing you, inch after inch, in a calculated demeanor. Carefully, you twist to face him, and lift your head to meet his gaze. His cerulean eyes are bitter for an instant, but slowly, his stare melts into yours and you discern a slight change in his stance. His drained look softens. You reach for his face, which once would’ve looked peaceful and handsome in ways you couldn’t describe, but was now trimmed with scars. In the shower, with his head covering the light of the room and making a halo behind him due to the hot mist, they looked faint and the whole atmosphere painted him as a tragic hero now wearing the consequences of his perilous journey. To your eyes, that's what he was anyway.

You observe, and caress. You trace his features, smooth his brows with your thumbs. His look is tired now, with bags under his eyes. He did put everything he had left in him for the Network, but you also knew it was mostly to protect you from any danger it might comes with it. 

You can’t hold back the words that slip from your mouth, as you do feel them most profoundly. « You’re beautiful ».

Briefly his eyes seems to accept the phrase. You see them light up, shimmering at the mention of a word so powerful, and chasing its honesty. But this hope is soon replaced with an emotionless look. You know deep down that he is fighting against it. A battle he has once more to win, but his conscience is always reminding him of a past he can’t forget. The scars he bears are here for a reason.

The water seems to be boiling, consequence of the warm water and the air around you, and you feel a tension growing between you. With your hands, now wrinkled because of the water, you gently place them on his broad chest.

The movement stirs something in him, it seems.

Yet, he crouches to your own face, and capture your lips with his. Your fingers make their ways to the back of his neck, and you tip toe to deepen the embrace. You feel his hands timidly touching you, reaching for your back, and you dare to join your tongue with his. You don’t want to restrain yourself to him. Even with him being as vulnerable as he is now. He hushes a hand to the middle of your back torso, and his other one finds its way to your backside, massaging the upper side of your cheek. You notice him growing back his need of control, but his confidence his newfound now. It makes your cheeks turn red, and the top of your ears boil.

Both of you tangle yourself in a mix of pressed kisses, soft touches and vivid moans. His hands roam over your body, wanting to imprint every curve of it in his palms. You kiss his whole face, smooching hard his lips, giving care to all of him by placing loving touches on his forehead, cheekbones, his nose, chin, and descending to his neck. He groans in your ears, and you can’t see much anymore as there is so much steam in the enclosure.

At some point you both separates a bit, short on breath and saliva. Evan smiles, and it reaches his eyes this time. Your stomach is full of butterflies at the sight.

He takes a step back, and closes the faucet to extend his arm, as to take the bottle of soap near it.

You blink a bit, disoriented after the intense make-out, but understand quickly his motive. He helps you stand correctly, and starts washing you. Each movement is liberate, and demonstrates care. It still baffles you how hands used for so many vile things due to his job could be ever so gentle with you. Once he’s done, you return the favor, and press light pecks with your mouth in the middle of his torso before putting the soap here as well. He opens up the shower again, and bubbles start to float in the bathroom.

The mood has changed, and you two are now on your own bubble. There is nothing else separating each other, no obligation at this late hour in this room. Both content and clean, you get out of the compartment. Evan grabs an over sized towel and wraps you in it. Vigorously, yet tenderly, he dries you up, and puts you on the counter next the sinks when there is no more drops visible on your body. As well, he dries himself quickly.

He takes his time, and you use it to contemplate his stature. His lean body with strong muscles, arms flexing as he moves the towel, and you are considerately eating him with your gaze. And while you’d think you’d go unnoticed, a smirk emerges on his lips. He stands, and spins toward you in a swift motion. In his turn, holds your face with his hands as well now.

This time they are completely framing your head, and yet he touches your traits with a surprising softness. Calloused fingers following your cheeks, descending on your neck and he holds it in a secure way, both his thumbs on your cheeks. He presses a kiss on the top of your head, smelling your hair in the meantime. His nose on your scalp sends shivers down your spine, and the moment feels surreal by the tenderness of the act. You lift your head to meet his eyes, but quickly you end up observing his lips. As much as you’d love them back on yours, you can’t help but realize, they’re a bit chapped.

« Want me to put some chapstick on them? »

Evan frowns at the request, but shrugs anyway, nodding in acceptance of the proposition.

You shift a bit, and turn to take a lip balm on your side of the sinks. Evan bends down a bit to be at your level, and your heart pounds in your chest. He cages you with his frame, putting both his hands on either side of your body on the counter. The effects he has on you are still undeniable, even so when he gets so compliant to you with a towel around his waist. Then the man puts his hands on your hips to ground himself, and you notices his hands trembling. Delicately you pass some of the balm on his lips, taking way too much time for doing so. Mindlessly, you wrap one of your ankle around his waist, and stabilize yourself as well by holding his face. He is close, you feel his breath on you. You also seem to notice the towel tightening at the middle of his legs. 

You bit your lips, knowingly. In your chest you feel you heart starting to race again.

You urge him closer, pressing your ankle lower, on his ass, and pushing him towards you.

He obeys, and doing so, his hands rises to your sides, making you giggle a bit, stroking your skin up to your breast.

The room is still filled with fervent steam.

The air feels even heavier now, condensation clinging to your bodies. Something click in your head and you let the lip balm fall on the ground, rushing your fingers to his hair. He draws you nearer, and your lips meet each other again. The kisses are impulsives this time, hurried, and you press each other impossibly close. Both your hair sticks to your forehead as they are still damp, and he often pushes strands from your face to smooch you even more. You feel yourself smiling into the kisses, no wanting to stop them anyway. 

As your make out session keeps going, one of his hands goes down in the middle of your legs, and as you nod to approve his action, he presses his fingers to your bare core. The movement makes you hold your breath, and he grins in return, a mischievous look in his eyes.

« Already so wet again hm ? »

His voice is sultry, deliciously teasing. 

Before you can even answer him back, he descend this hand behind your knees and secure your upper body with his other hand. You gasp, surprised, and put your hands at his neck for support.

« Oh but don’t worry darlin’, we’re just getting started here », he says as he bridal-carry you onto your shared chamber, next to the bathroom, while your towel falls into the ground..

It was around 2 o’clock in the morning, or maybe 3, you couldn’t be able to tell with how much wine and champagne you just had. You were in a very classy party, and been enjoying much more than usually. As one of Dan Killian’s assistant, you had been of course invited and put on a VIP list. It was a hell of a job, with a tight schedule to follow that needed a hard mental sometimes, and a strong grip. It wasn’t easy everyday, Killian was quite the asshole sometimes, and others made you questioning yourself a lot about what you were doing. But those feisty nights made the whole a lot better. Those parties, full of glitters and mischiefs, closeted from the outside and harsh world, were one of the perks of your employment, even though the hungovers the next day tended to be challenging every time. 

This time the reception was hold on a quite high rooftop, with lots of celebrity guests, top Network hierarchy and other type of execs. Alcohol was pouring at every side, appetizers getting served on excessive large trays, and people mingling with each other. You’d been here for some hours now, and it had been one or two since you did lost track of time. Or your own balance. Most of your friends had already gone back to their apartments, and suggested to take you home. But you wanted the party to last longer, and stayed, lying about a meeting with some guy in the end. You were tip toeing your way to another table, where multitudes of filled up glasses stood still in the chaos of the event. Your feet aching in your heels, and for a second you thought of leaving them under the tablecloth. The party was buzzing, there were people everywhere. Most were dancing around, under strong flashlights of different colors ; some were already on the floor in the corners of the room ; and others whispering secrets in more secretive areas, on plump couches and with questionnable company. In a brief moment of lucidity, you felt a pair of eyes spying on you. The feeling was bizarre, and oddly familiar, as if you’d experienced it before. Not today perhaps, but a few times since you’ve started working for Killian.

You shrug, you couldn’t have a reason to worry for this. Maybe there were people engaged to make sure no important information slipped out of your mouth. But most people here didn’t even know you existed, or had a clue about what you were doing for a living. It didn’t mattered to them, and neither to you at this instant.

Skimming your hand above a large table, the tip of your fingers catches a light cup of champagne. As you turn around you seem to forget how much you’ve had already and almost slip on the ground. Almost, because someone is kind enough to catch you just in time before the fateful moment. Doing so and while being a lot unbalanced on your two feet, you spill the cup on your attire. You curse.

« Damn it. I loved this dress. » You don’t bother trying to watch out your tone, nor wonder how much noise you’re making because the music in the room is blasting in your ears, and every one of your senses is smudged by the alcohol. Only your outfit is concerning you at the moment, and you try to push away the liquid, already settling in the fabric, with a brush of your free hand.

Unabsently, you squeeze the hand that holds yours, while trying to steady yourself. You aren’t paying attention to your surroundings at all, you’re not even trying to see who is helping you. You just feel a presence enveloping you, and that you can -maybe caused by your inhibited sense of social cues due to the enormous amount of wine you drank- somehow monopolize their whole attention.

Blinking a bit, you lift up your head and squint to see and comprehend the form at your side. The person is tall, quite tall in fact. They are standing in a strange demeanor. There is this stance, you’ve seen it before you’re sure of that, poised yet calculated, that triggers, tickles the side of your brain. Surely this person couldn’t be a stranger, right ?

« Oh, hum.. », you start saying, stumbling on your words. « Thank you.. sir, ma’am.. menacing figure… »

You’re not sure what is really happening. You feel like your mysterious helper, which you can’t quite decipher what they really look like due to the lights flickering and shimmering everywhere, drawing big and hazardous shadows over them, is tensing. But as you try to focus on their face, or where it seems to be because that is quite a tall specimen as you say to yourself, you can almost see a pair of glasses, where lights reflect from time to time, standing in the middle of the face.

Around you, you hear some giggles, which quickly fade away with the strong sounds of the music. Your ears are buzzing now. The hand that was holding yours goes away, and you notice some people looking at you. You don’t really understand the emotions their faces display. They are both scared, and somehow entertained altogether. You don’t really get why, and a heavy feeling starts to grow in your chest. Dizzy, you turn around to go anywhere but here, except your feet are struggling to keep up with your demand. You blink, and suddenly there is a pressure on the small of your back. It grounds you. As you try to turn to see the new person touching you, and this time in such close space, the pressure urge you to go faster toward another direction. So you follow the movement, and try as best as you can to walk toward the lobby in front of the many elevators of the building. You don’t see the looks of the new people you cross by, too busy trying to take each new step in a straight line.

Once you’ve pushed some guys standing in front of the lobby’s door, there is a hand that stretches in front of you and opens it. Still in a weird haze, you don’t remark the hand is gloved. Or that the bunch of guys did move only, when they saw who was behind you. You don’t question anything, and maybe you should, but you’re on autopilot now. The alcohol is draining you bit by bit, and somehow you straight up follow any direction the person you’re with is giving you. Maybe you should be more concerned by the glares you’re getting by the people around you. Or maybe those plants in the lobby are really distracting and way too much itching your nose. 

When an elevator opens, after what feels an eternity, you enter, staggering in your pace. The light of the enclosure is strangely dimmed, maybe to not assault visually any customer who often goes here at this hour. There is a soft music playing, and maybe it’s because your ears are still accustomed to the loud one behind the door that it feels soft. Its rhythm is calming, actually. A bulky pair of boots enters the space, and you guess that person who’s been behind you before follows you again. Your eyes catch a movement, an arm reaching towards the button that leads on the building’s main floor. There is something imposing, impressive, about your mysterious helper. You don’t dare to look up, feeling your gag reflexes acting themselves. It would be a shame to throw up on those shiny big tiles. And, your heels. You love those heels, they are shiny too.

Eyes half closed, you feel the tiredness of the day settling on your shoulder. You reach for your arms and rub, trying to get your body still moving. You rest your head on the wall behind you, the atmosphere thickening. You’re still weak on your two feet, and if you move too fast you know the world will end up falling on your steps. You slowly turn, looking for something in your bag. Your bag. Where is your bag.

The idea that you left your stuff behind in the mist of the crowd stresses you. It makes you stand up quite abruptly, and seeing that you are already going down sends a wave of spikes in your body. There are important stuff in your bag, and you know your boss will never forget your mistake if you’d lost any of his items. Suddenly breathless, you state, mostly to yourself.

« Oh god, I need to go back »

As you shift toward the many, way too many, buttons of the elevator, you feel a light pressure on your side. And when you turn, your mysterious attendant is handing you both your bag and coat.

You exhale soundly, relieved. Almost too joyful because of the liquid still running in your veins. You’re about to give a little hug to them, when recognition hits you.

The tall man, is still heavy dressed even in interiors ; with combat boots, long leather coat, dark gloves ; and masked face. That was his transparent glasses you saw earlier. There is a spark that flashes before his eyes, those deep, icy blue eyes. You could almost got yourself lost in them, if it wasn’t for the severe look he was giving you right now. He tenses again when he feels your eyes meeting his, and it's like he was himself reminding that he is holding his breath. But why would he, as stoic man as he was, closeted from everything due to his line of work, and the uptight mood he settled in every places he entered, be at your side ? Why such a man would even be there to help you ? He was a reserved man. A busy, very reserved man. Always hired for the Network’s dirty work. Known for his repressed emotions, and rejecting anyone getting too close..

And yet here he was, giving back a piece of clothing way too much colorful than what he could ever wore, with a bag looking ridiculously small in his big, sturdy hands.

McCone.

You stop abruptly in your motion. Bashfully, returning your eyes to the floor, you accept your own belongings, which look really quite over the place comparing to his full attire and aesthetic. Maybe you’re feeling a bit ashamed, and sense your cheeks burning instantly. You start fidgeting with the handle of your bag, and he puts a hand on yours to stop you.

You two stand in silence. The few piano notes of the elevator music has stopped for some times now, and you’re almost getting on the last floor before going out to take your ride home. It feels, strange, but strangely, intimate too. You’ve both met each other a good handful of times, and even as much as he impressed you and, to say the least, scared you with everything he represented, you’ve always had a sort of crush on him. He did also, somehow, always managed to get your back. Always discreet, in secretive manners. You could recalls some times where Killian had been a clear pain in your ass, asking of you to always offer much more than you could, and McCone had given you support. Often in indirect ways, which made you wonder if that was directed to you, but in the end you knew you could in someways, always rely on him.

This time the proximity just felt familiar.

Like it was a common situation to be in.

And it felt good.

But also, you were a bit too drunk to question yourself on his motives. His presence was oddly grounding in this situation ; you couldn’t fear him. You didn’t want to be impressed by the multi tv-star that worked for your boss just as much as you. 

« I suppose I should, thank you ? » you start, not really knowing where to go with this. 

He exhaled. « You clearly needed help, out there. »

His tone was nonchalant, but you could smell a hint of concern.

« I guess. But it was a party night, that’s on me to get the fun like I want it to be »

« Hhm. »

He wasn’t convinced from your answer, but you swore you could see some wrinkles appearing on the cowl, toward the place of his mouth. Was he smirking ?

You talk back, thinking of your latest assignment with Killian concerning the next show of Running Man. « Didn’t expect to see you there, you and your hunters don’t have a show to prepare ? »

« I could ask you the same, dear Free-V’s big head assistant » he countered, crossing his strong arms in front of him. Gosh you wish it was your head here.

He turns towards you, leaning on the wall. The elevator is almost arrived. A fold appears on the mask, up where his brows are.

« Did you say something ? »

Surely you didn’t say that aloud ?

You scoff. Better play it cool, right ? 

« What, you’re hearing voices now ? Though you’d left the party for this », and vaguely gesture at yourself, somehow exposing your minor crush out of the blue. Though, was it even minor at this point ?

An instant passes. As if you’d missed your cue, or forgot your line when you had it impregnated in your mind. Anxiety creeps up in the back of your mind, and you feel nauseous. At least if you, in fact, do end up vomiting on the floor or dumbly on his boots, it would be easier to blame it on the alcohol. 

You head is spinning. What are you thinking ? There is no way you can make it to work the next morning, you'd be so ashamed of yourself after this, and there will be still too much wine in you. 

You can almost see his brows furrow.

There is a ding, coming from the doors, and they open to an empty hall. This place is almost too uncanny, being bare of all the people that usually arpents it during the day. It makes you shiver, and you notice McCone getting closer to you. 

You frown as well and you struggle to put your coat on. The fabric is soft on your skin, and you’re happy of its fur-collar with the premise of a cold night outside. It calms you a bit. You do your best to get out of the elevator, and almost trip on the floor once again. Your dress is weirdly sticking to your form now, and smell of too good champagne to be wasted on such garment.

Even after your awkward interaction, Evan quickly follows-up behind you, his steps heavy on the hard floor. He’s not leaving your side, like a faithful dog with his owner. Or a predator surveying its prey. A hunter, then. 

You don’t bother asking why, you just let it be. It’s already an hard task to focus on your pace, and you decide to wonder why he decided to help you out during tomorrow’s new boring meeting. Maybe Killian really hired him for it, you think again. The thought of having you spied by this man was enticing, actually. You’d never seen his face yet, but you were sure he wasn’t hiding something frightening. No, it was surely because of something else. There was such an aura around him, he was a man displaying authority and an unperturbed demeanor. No, he was hiding himself because of a much bigger stake than possibly a scarred face.

As you are both making your way toward the exit door, nearing the parking part of the building, he suggest something that has you completely stopping yourself at the thought.

« I'll get you home. »

This time your feet failed you, and if he wasn’t someone who moved promptly at any given moment, you’re sure you’d broke your ankle. He steadies you easily, holding one of your hand, and your back with his other arm.

With a soft voice, almost too embarrassed of yourself, you give him an answer, that feels a bit too guilty escaping from your lips : « I guess it would be stupid to say no »

His tone is assured, voice low. But, reassuring. « It would. » You let him guide you to the parking, and then he walks you up to a dark car in the back of the first floor. He lets go of your hand, to open the passenger’s door, easing you in the seat. You’d pinch yourself hard if you could understand the strangeness of the situation. It wasn’t everyday, that the biggest and deadliest TV star of the planet would be helping you seat in his own car, while you were utterly drunk on a week night.

He quickly closes the door when he’s sure you’re well put, and goes to the driver’s place. You don’t bother giving your address, you’ve got a feeling he already knows it. 

The drive starts, and you slowly doze to sleep. The engine’s sounds lull you, and your mind went quiet when your heated seat lit up. You weren’t sure you activated it yourself, but were glad it was anyway. There is no other noise in the car, other than both of your breathings, and hearing his soothe you. Without noticing, you tighten your grip on your coat. You let your head rests itself on the window, following with your eyes the lights outside. The city never seemed to sleep, always vibrant and crowded with energy. Between almost closed lids, you glance at McCone. He is concentrated, aiming for the right course on the road. You suppose he wouldn’t be the kind to use the autopilot of his car, being more confident in his own reflexes than a machine. Plus, you’ve seen him quite a lot of time always using different kind of vehicles on the Free-V, so it would match the character. He’s quite skilled with his hands, after all.

Quicker than you thought, the car makes its way to a more lushed area, leaving behind high concrete buildings, to more cozy and tinier ones . You were lucky to have an apartment next to a park, one of your job’s perk. Your way-too-skilled-for-this-driver parks near the entrance, and you don’t question whether or not he is allowed to do it. Supposedly he has a secret permit with written « Authorized to park anywhere I the fuck I want » and just glares at anyone who’d contradict him. The idea makes you giggle, and a hiccup slips out of your mouth. 

Evan sighs. « You should’ve drink more water earlier. This isn’t good for you ».

You arch one of your brows, turning your head to him. Teasingly, or just for the love of the game, you interrogate him. « And why do you care, may. I. Ask ? » 

You watch him stops in his movement, and feel an invisible string between you two snap. The air thicken, and there is a fleeting moment between you.

But he restrains himself. The hunter doesn’t answer. Instead, he steps out of the car and closes his door. You huff, annoyed. You’re too tired to play this game instead. You’re settling down a bit more on your seat, crossing your arms, when he arrives to open the door at your side. 

For a split second you thought of staying where you are, being too comfortable and refusing to do anything without any further explications of his behavior. He stares at you, eyes throwing daggers at for your attitude. You expire soundly, and get out of the car. You walk to the entrance of the building, leading to a hall with other elevators to be stuck with. Your steps are clumsy, but his presence calms you. The feeling is peculiar. His closeness, soothing again.

So you accept his escort. 

You guide him to your apartment, and he accompanies you still in the elevator, and to your front door. You’re looking messily for your keys in your bag, when the words come out of your lips.

« Stay the night ? »

You’ve pronounced them so softly, it might have been a wish in a bottle left at sea. An almost, silent plea. A prayer profoundly buried in your chest finally tasting the air of the outside world, the longing for another person to remain by your side willingly expressed aloud for a rare moment in your life.

A click is heard. Your door is unlocked, and ever so lightly you open it, while staying at your front door rug. Your feet are refusing to move, knees touching each other, waiting for his answer. Anxiously.

There is a siren heard outside the window of your living room, the one overlooking the sight of the city. Your hand stretches the handle, and your cheeks are burning at the realization of the request. You’re about to turn and push him away once and for all with your bare hands, to put an end to this play in a forceful way, when you feel leather on your face. McCone lift your chin with his gloved hand, obliging your eyes to meet. A storm is stirring in them, but soon enough his look soften. He rubs his thumb on your jaw, and the touch is electric. His tone is protective when he spokes.

« Go on. I’ll watch over you tonight. »

And since a long time, when you finally close your eyes after getting under your silky blanket and perceive his presence on the velvety armchair of your chamber ; his strong gaze watching over you ; you know deep down that you are safe tonight.