#mean!august

“Baby.”

“August!” You screamed, snapping upright.

“It's all right, baby.”

A deep and sleepy voice whispered, a heavy and sluggish arm wrapped around your waist and slid you over to a heavy body, warm from sleep and the down winter blankets, to fend off the icy cold of the bedroom and the three feet of snow outside.

“Ssshh, lay down with me.”

A second arm coaxed you over the strong and muscular body, palm cupping the back of your head as you buried your face into a warm chest, a silent and choked sob muted in your throat, snot from your nose making a mess of the hair there, the solid and real thump of a heart against your cheek. A blanket was pulled over you, creating a cocoon, against the cold and the world outside of it, as strong and broad palms rubbed and pressed firm circles, up and down your back, fingers brushing through your hair, soothing your frightened and shell shocked body into relaxing.

“I'm right here.” August whispered, coddling you tenderly. “I haven't left you, Angel.”

August had grown accustomed to your night terrors by now, they'd been happening every night for the last three months, ever since the accident in Kashmir. He would stay awake for hours after you fell asleep, caressing your cheek and hair, keeping you tucked against his body, so you could feel the touch of his skin, the warmth of his body and the beat of his heart, making sure you knew he was still there with you, by your side, alive and healthy.

He was your Guardian Angel, he always had been and he always would be.

You rubbed your cheek against his snotty chest and let out a shaky breath, shivering against his body as you laid on top of August, the only place you really felt safe, in his arms. “I'm-I'm sorr--”

“Ssshh, Angel. It's all right, I keep telling you that.” August replied, kissing the top of your head and giving you a reassuring squeeze. “I can't have you being afraid. What kind of husband would I be, hm?” He cooed at you, the soft hairs of his mustache brushing your forehead.

“If I let you be afraid?”

August entered the spacious apartment you both shared, you had moved in with August a month after dating. It was a simple and minimalist apartment, the walls were a warm gray color, the floors, glazed concrete, a curved, seventy inch and mounted tv on the wall, in front of a lazy boy, big enough for two, you and August loved cuddling on the massive recliner, while watching your shows. The rest of the apartment was similar, other than August's decked out office for his business as a CIA Agent, and his even more secret work as the Chief Apostle, John Lark.

The room with the most attention to detail, was the bedroom, with a massive and elevated bed. You had slept in August's bed one night, before he tossed the mattress he had and bought the best and top of the line mattress to replace it. You had been severely injured on one of your first operative missions, which caused two pinched nerves in your left hip and bad lower back, so after that first night you woke up stiff and in agony. August wasn't going to stand for that, he didn't care how much money he had to spend on a mattress, as long as you were comfortable, pain-free and slept well.

“Angel?” He called out.

August had never called you by your name, first, last or middle for that matter. When you first met, he addressed you as You or Girl. After you started dating, August started calling you; baby, darling and sometimes, Bug. He'd call you, Sweet Buns, if he was in a mood, but, his go to was simply, Angel. You were his Angel, his beam of light, in a world that had been nothing but darkness and pain to him since he was four years old.

“Angel.” He called out again, brows creasing.

He knew you were home, your car was in its spot, your shoes by the front door and your favorite coat was hung up. He mounted the stairs to the second floor and carefully moved down the hallway, like a panther stalking its prey. August found the bedroom door for half open, the light on, but didn't hear anything on the other side, so he slowly pushed it open with one hand, while the other reached to the gun on his hip, expecting something bad. But, the bedroom was empty as well, his paranoid and suspicious nature starting to elevate, but he kept his usual calm and cool nature pristine.

“Angel?” He said in his normal tone of voice, carefully sliding the gun from its holster and thumbing open the safety.

“Gus?” You replied, coming out of the walk-in closet, holding something in your hand.

“What do you have there, Bug?” He asked, clicking the safety back on his gun and holstering it again, relaxing, seeing you were all right.

You held out your hand and August's face went slack. “Is this?” You looked up at him, jittery.

“You weren't supposed to find that.” August sighed, taking a box from you. “Were you snooping?” He asked, giving you a sly and mischievous smirk.

“No, I was packing.” You told him, blinking at him. “Moore contacted me an hour ago, with a contract for MI6, they're sending me to do some work in Belgium.” You explained to him, seeing that alerted look in his blue eyes.

August had well hidden and cultivated abandonment issues, from his father running out on him and his abusive mother, as a child. So, every time you told him you were packing to go somewhere for work, that little plant in his belly would bloom. You smiled at him, gripping his wrist and giving it three squeezes. That little blooming plant was never spoken about. You tried talking to August about it once, and it ended up with him flying into a rage and disappearing for a week, and when he came back he was a complete mess.

So, you'd developed a reassuring tick with him, touching him three times in any way, a squeeze or a tap, even kisses, if the situation allowed it.

“How long are you going to be gone?” August asked, gripping the box in his hand.

“At least a month.” You informed him.

“Well, this isn't at all how I planned it.” He sighed, releasing it and flipping open the black suede lid. “Angel,” He smiled brightly at you, dropping to a knee. “Will you marry me?”

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach and you cupped his scruffy face in your hands. “August Walker, wants to get married? Who is this impostor?” You teased him.

He had told you flat out, on the first date, to never expect anything more than a boyfriend and girlfriend relationship, marriages were too messy and clingy, traceable and always fell apart.

“I know, I'm breaking my own code and rules on the matter.” He chuckled at you, turning his head to kiss one of your palms. “But, you've made me a changed man, Angel. I want to marry you, I want to keep you forever and ever.”

You felt giddy. “Yes, August. I'll marry you.” You giggled, excited at the prospect of being his wife.

The two of you married that afternoon, just the two of you, no one else in the world mattered. It was seven months after the Crimson Moon, and everything felt so good and peaceful.

It lasted like that for almost three years, three blissful years of marriage, kicking ass and taking names, for the CIA and MI6. But, both of you should have known better, having lived the lives you had, before and during undercover work.

It all started to crumble, when you got the missive at your accustomed drop off for them. Your hands shook and grew damp as you held the manila folder with the name, John Lark, type on the lip with a typewriter.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god.” You mumbled, stuck in a loop and shaking. “Oh fucking god.”

You couldn't bring yourself to open it.

Shoving the folder into your bag, you scrambled back home, August was away on his own mission with Ethan Hunt, somewhere in Paris. You paced the apartment, spiraling between the deepest despair, furious rage and blinding tears, screaming at the top of your lungs; luckily your neighbors were used to August making you scream, and a variety of other noises that came out of the apartment, when you were both home together.

Finally, you just melted into a sobbing mess on the kitchen floor, knowing you had no choice, but to track down your own husband.

Once you pulled yourself together, you opened the folder, still sitting on the kitchen floor. There were archive photos on the Apostles, all blurred and barred, but you quickly identified August in nearly all of them, it was a wonder how no one put two and two together already. His signature mustache was as immaculate as ever, even back then, his height and build, that made your body react despite being in severe shock and it being a photograph.

“Damn it, August.” You sighed, finally getting to the mission report.

'John Lark, radical leader of the Apostles, splinter group from Solomon Lane's now dismantled, Syndicate.' Read the start of the report. 'Lark is credited with what is called, the Manifesto.'

You flipped over the report and saw the declassified copy of the Manifesto and the first line alone made you shiver. 'There has never been peace without first a great suffering, the greater the suffering, the greater the peace.'

“What the fuck have you been up too, Gus.” You asked aloud, rubbing the side of your face and going back to the rest of the report.

'Lark and his Apostles have already released the deadly agent, Smallpox, to kick start their Manifesto for world peace. Intel has reported that John Lark would be seeking a person only known as, the white widow, in Paris, in an attempt to retrieve three Plutonium cores and fashion them into some of the strongest bombs, since the Atomic bomb, during World War II.'

Your eyes were fixed on the last line, August, your beloved husband, was trying to make bombs to destroy half of the world, all in the frightening name of peace. It felt like someone was pouring ice cold water down your back, remembering all those nights in bed, after rounds and rounds of mind blowing sex, how August always promised that he would make the world a better place for you, tenderly playing with you hair and kissing your forehead and temple, til you drifted off to sleep.

To think this was what he had been doing in those long nights holed up in his office. Making the world a better place..

“For me.” You dropped back against the door of the dishwasher and stared down at the stupidly expensive wedding ring on your finger, wondering how many people August had killed to buy it for you.

Sighing, you unclasped a gold necklace August had bought you for your last birthday and slipped your wedding onto it, before slipping it back around your neck. You always put it there, when you were about to go on a mission, for both security, if your enemy couldn't see a ring, then they wouldn't have something to leverage against you, and it still kept August close to your heart.

Going upstairs, you pulled out your carry size duffle bag and the locked case for your firearm, putting on your holster and securing your gun to your hip, checked the rest of the kit you took with you and packed it with a couple pairs of clothing. Before you headed out to hunt August down, you stopped, picked up the report on Walker and Lark, shredded it and burned it in the fire grate, covering up any traces of having the file.

“Marco, it's me.” You said, getting into your car. “I'm going on vacation, can you make sure the plane's ready for me. Thanks.” You pulled out of your parking spot, looking up at the apartment that had been home for the last five years and wondered if you would ever see it again.

“How about a nice and warm cup of tea?” August asked, nuzzling your hair and knowing it was going to be a little while before you managed to fall back to sleep.

“Okay.” You whimpered, your voice distant and detached, the nightmare playing over and over in your mind.

Nodding and kissing your hair once more, August let you slip out of his embrace and got up, making sure your little blanket cocoon stayed intact as he did, knowing that being hidden in the blankets made the world feel smaller and less heavy for you. Biting his bottom lip against the hiss of icy needles shooting up his bare feet, the fire in the grate had long since died, so the raging blizzard outside had been able to reach its claws into the rest of the house as August padded his way downstairs to the modest kitchen. He pulled your favorite cup and tea down from the cabinet, filled the kettle and set it on the gas stove burner. He stood in the kitchen, staring out the huge breakfast nook window, seeing nothing but a blanket of snow on the ground and everything else blurred by the flurry of snow, whipping around the secluded house, it made August feel like he was trapped in a snow-globe.

He hated snow-globes.

Even though he was naked and his skin rippled with chills, August didn't move from his spot to find warmth. He felt that he didn't deserve it.

“I don't deserve it.” He answered his conscious back. “Not for what I've done to her.” He whispered into the white void in front of him.

Your words from Kashmir still echoed in his skull.

“August!”

He was making his way to the helicopter, he only had fifteen minutes to get away from the village, before it was too late, when he heard your voice. At first, he thought that it was just his imagination, it had a habit of conjuring your voice when he was about to do something dangerous, his little canary.

“August, stop!”

He froze, that wasn't his imagination.

His blue eyes steadily started to grow and a tight chill gripped his heart as he slowly started to turn around, praying under his breath that he was just hearing things, projecting your voice over Hunt's. But, no. There you were, standing a yard away, your gun trained on him and an utterly crushed expression on your exhausted face, you hadn't slept well, to not at all, for the week you had been tracking him down.

You could have just called him, like you always had, when you decided to join him on a mission, but you knew August all too well and he knew you even better. The moment he heard your voice, he would know something was up.

“What are you doing here?” He snapped at you, looking up the hill behind you, seeing Hunt appear on the crest. “Fuck.” He mumbled under his breath, then held his hand out to you. “Come on, you have to come with me.”

“No, August.” You shook your head at him, blinking the blinding tears out of your eyes. “Give me the fail safe, August.” You held out your own hand.

“I can't, Angel.” He replied, shaking his head back at you and gripping the device tighter.

“Please, August. Don't do this.” You begged him, your hands starting to shake. “You don't have to do this.”

“But I do, Angel.” August let out a shaky breath. “I'm doing this for you, for us.”

“I don't want this!” You barked at him, exasperated and wounded.

“I'm going to do it anyway, come with me. It's not safe here, Angel.” He tried convincing you.

“No, August.” You shook your head at him. “I won't be able to live with this. Is it more important for you to 'bring great suffering for the greater good' than my own conscious is?”

“No, Angel. It's not.” He gulped, thickly.

“Then, give me the fail safe, August.” You motioned for it. “Stop this, if not for the greater good, but for me. There's still time to fix this!”

August looked between you and the fail safe clutched tightly in his hand, you could see him starting to relax, slowly making up his mind about giving you the fail safe to the two bombs that were armed and ready to be set to their fifteen minute detonation countdown. He took a careful step towards you, and you let out a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding since getting the mission to take August down.

“Walker!” A voice behind you screamed, sounding very pissed.

“No.” You whimpered, watching the stubborn and cold expression wash over August's face and eyes. “August, no!” You yelled at him, as he turned on his heel and started marching towards the helicopter he was going for, when you stopped him.

He got into the helicopter and it was like he didn't see you anymore, his eyes glued to someone charging up behind you. You dropped your arms to your sides, defeated, and heartbroken as you watched the helicopter fly away. The person that snapped August into his John Lark alter-ego slid to a stop beside you, looking after his helicopter as well, huffing and puffing, then looked at you.

“Who are you?”

“Ethan Hunt, I'm assuming.” You asked, a steely coldness washing over you, purely a defense mechanism against the turmoil brewing and raging inside of you.

“The same.” He answered, frowning at you.

“I'm an agent for MI6, tasked with stopping one John Lark, also known as August Walker.” You told him, your voice toneless. “And you just fucked that up, along with my life.” You hissed, turning on a dime and marching back to the helicopter you had arrived in, resolved to go after August before he could start the countdown.

'Is it more important for you to 'bring great suffering, for the greater good' than my own conscious.'

The whistle of the kettle pulled August out of his thoughts with a full body quiver of cold and guilt. He pulled the kettle off the fire and poured the steaming hot water into your prepared cup, then turned off the stove, setting the kettle on the cold back burner. He held your cup between his hands, driving out some of the cold from his chilled body; so cold now, that his cock felt like concrete. Sighing, August took the hot cup back upstairs to you, sitting your tea on the bed stand, then turned to the cold fireplace. Squatting down, August pulled out several logs from the firewood box, by the fireplace, and set about stacking them on the ashes of the previous fire, with an almost OCD-like precision. He stayed there for a minute or two, ensuring that the fire caught the oak logs, adding another log for good measure, before standing back up and sitting on the edge of the bed, where the lump of your body was in the mound of blankets.

“You can come out now, Angel.” He whispered, rubbing your leg through the blankets. “I got the fire going again, it'll be warm soon.”

Sighing, you fold back the blankets from over your head and look up at him, your eyes are dim, bloodshot, red rimmed and lashes wet with tears. It crushed August every time he saw your face, knowing he was the reason and cause of all your trauma, heartache and tears. He cupped your cheek in his hand, gently wiping away the stray tears before they could dampen your cheeks anymore than they had already.

“I'm sorry.” He muttered, for what could have easily been the trillionth time.

You frowned up at him, then cast your eyes away from him, at least you could look at him for a moment or two now and stand him touching you. For the first month after Kashmir, it was hard for you to look at him, or anything that even belonged to August, much less stand his touch or hear the sound of his voice. August took all of it, bearing his punishment, you shying away from him, the silent treatment and the long, cold nights of an empty bed, because being in the same bed, the same room, as him was just too much for you to take. You still barely uttered a word to him, going from head shakes, sighs and shoulder shrugs to single, monosyllabic words.

You hadn't even wanted to do that, you thought, sitting up in bed and reaching out for your tea.

It was the third night in a row.

That you woke up from the new reoccurring nightmare. August missed the first one you had, being downstairs, staring at the bright screen of his laptop. The second one, he just stood in the hallway outside the door of the guest room you hold yourself inside of, listening. You had woken up him, crying out his name. At first, he feared they had found you and were trying to take you, ripping blankets off his body, nearly tearing his pillow in half to grab his gun that lived under it now and raced down the hall to you. But, when his fingertips touched the door to your room, he stopped dead and cold, you were gasping for breath, like you'd been choked by a powerful hand, choking on your tears and snot, hugging yourself, nails digging into the skin of your shoulders and drawing blood, your mind's feeble attempt to prove you were awake, as you rocked yourself back and forth, back and forth.

The third one, some part of you no longer cared, you needed to be next to August, you needed the warmth of his skin against your cold skin, you needed to feel the soft waves of his breathing against your shoulder and neck as he spooned you into his real and intact body, you needed to feel the pounding of his heart against your back or cheek.

It was the only thing that chased the dream away.

The cold wind that blew against your face as you looked out the open door of your helicopter, August's own helicopter nothing, but a black dot, against the snowy peaks in front of you. You leaned forward and bumped your fist against the aircraft pilot's shoulder, a signal, to go faster. Nodding his head, the pilot picked up speed, pushing the craft as fast as it could go; which wasn't fast enough for you. You frowned, hearing the whoosh of another helicopter's blades getting close to yours. Leaning out and looking back, you saw the third helicopter in time to see someone get thrown out of it.

“What the fuck?” You snapped as it caught up with yours.

You met the determined eyes of Ethan Hunt, who stared blankly back at you. Growling, you flipped Ethan the finger and sat back.

“Ignore him.” You told the pilot over the headset. “We don't change course or directive.”

'I just hope we make it to August, first.' You thought, keeping your eyes out the front windshield of the helicopter, on the steadily growing dot of August's.

“Here.” He whispered, taking a soft throw blanket off the back of a chair in the corner and laid it over your bare shoulders, as you sat in bed, sipping your tea. “Better?” He asked, tilting his head to see your down turned face.

“Yeah.” You nodded around the rim of your cup.

“Good.” He half smiled, moving around to the other side of the bed and slipping under the covers with you, seeking the fragile warmth he knew was there.

The room was quiet, except for your careful sips of the hot and flavorful liquid; August had perfected how you liked your tea, what felt like a lifetime ago, and the crackle and pops of the fireplace, the heat of which was finally beating the snowy cold back outside the walls of the master bedroom. Your mind wandered off to the only other subject it wanted to think about, how long would you and August be in hiding, here in the cabin he had hidden in the deep, snowy woods of Siberia. It had already been three months, and August had told you it would only take four, before everything died down, thinking August was dead.

But, that wouldn't stop what the agencies must be thinking about what happened to you, in the aftermath of Kashmir.

Hunt's helicopter managed to over take yours, much to your frustration and terror.

You were forced to hopelessly watch as Hunt tried dropping some type of payload on top of August's helicopter. Luckily, August's pilot was able to make an evasive maneuver and dodged it, sending the load crashing into a lake below. You had spots in your eyes from the levels of stress and migraines you had been suffering the last week of hunting your bull-headed husband down, always just one step behind him.

It wasn't until you ran into Ilsa, that you found out that August was heading to Kashmir, India, where he and Solomon Lane, who August helped break out and let loose, were planning on pulling off their coup de grâce, that the Syndicate had failed to finish, because of Hunt, and the Apostles were trying to finish, with the help of August and his damned Manifesto.

You slammed your tight fist down on your thigh, trying to control your temper as it bubbled up inside of you. You'd never forgive August Walker for putting you through this. You had begged him to keep you out of the Apostles' way. But, you had fallen on your own sword, when you fell in love with him and you had shot yourself in the foot, when you married him. You had broken the agency code and rules, 'don't fall for your enemy', and while August as himself wasn't your enemy, August as John Lark, was your enemy.

Why hadn't you just left him, when he told you the truth behind who John Lark really was? Why hadn't you had him cuffed, then and there, and taking in, to be interrogated and stopped, just like Lane had been?

The answer always came back the same, 'I love him.'

“Idiot.” You hissed out loud, catching the attention of the pilot. “Not you.” You barked at him, rolling your eyes.

You looked up and saw how close the three helicopters had gotten together, close enough for you to see tracer rounds and bullets flying out of the open door of August's helicopter and into Hunt's. It wasn't until almost too late, that the pilots realized how close to a mountain peak the three aircrafts were.

The pilot for August tried pulling back, which only caused Ethan to ram into the back of them, then domino into yours, all three colliding. Your helicopter nose dived, crashing into the other side of the peak and crushed the whole front of it, killing your pilot on impact. Hunt's flipped end over end, then rolled, while August's rolled and skidded to a stop, perilously close to the edge of the peak. He panted as his plane settled, and worked on trying to undo his seat belt, only to hear the rolling metal of Hunt's plane, still coming down the mountain side, slamming into his and sending them over the edge, to a shelf below.

Struggling for a moment and growling, you yanked the tactical switchblade out of your boot and cut yourself free of your seat belt, landing sideways on the roof of the upside down helicopter. Digging out some of the snow blocking the only way out of the wreck, you shimmied out of it and turned, blood running down the side of your face, your whole body throbbing and screaming, blood seeping through the shirt you were wearing, but you didn't bother looking at whatever the cause was. You had to get to August, just catching his and Hunt's helicopters colliding and slipping over the edge.

The cold was a blessing after all, as you trudged as quickly as you could to the edge, numbing away all your pain, psychically and emotionally, your mind too distracted on your target and mission to consider freezing or bleeding to death. Stumbling to the edge of the peak, you looked down and let out a breath of relief seeing August crawl out of his wreckage, mostly unharmed, but you also saw Ethan doing the same. You desperately tried to think of something to do, you couldn't yell, you were too far from them to hear you and the peak was too shear for you to try and rock climb down by hand.

So, you were forced to watch August and Ethan duke it out, fighting and fumbling in a dangerous game of cat and mouse, for the fail safe attached to August. You stopped breathing several times as you watched them get to the edge of the shelf, teetering, before righting themselves and moving away again. Ethan was finally able to grab the fail safe from August, both of them out of breath from their exertion and the high altitude. You watched them talk, too far to hear whatever it was they were discussing, no doubt trying to make a case for why each of them was right for what they were trying to do for the world. Ethan shook his head and August's body tensed with a rekindled rage, charging Hunt like a bull.

“August!”

You screamed, eyes huge as Ethan dodged out of the way and August went stumbling towards the edge, trying to stop himself, before he fell.

“August!” You screamed even louder.

He teetered for a moment, before the rock beneath him crumbled and he fell, your heart and stomach plummeting with him.

You had no idea how long you were out, or how long after watching August die, that you blacked out. But, when you woke up to an incessant and annoying beating sound in your ears, your exhausted mind became aware of how much pain you were in, a moment later, and whimpered, shifting and struggling.

“Hey now.” A soft voice called to you, a strong hand gripping yours. “You're all right now. You're safe, just calm down and rest.”

“August.” You mewled, the images of him falling flashing in your mind, like an old film reel. “Oh god, August.”

The hand holding yours let go, the sound of hard soled shoes clacking against linoleum, moving away, and a door opened, before the voice whispered to someone outside the room. “She's awake and calling for him.”

You lost consciousness again, only to wake a few minutes later, a warm palm cupping your bruised cheek, making you reach out and wrap a weak hand around a thick wrist. The room was quiet for a while, the only thing you were aware of was that warm hand cupping your face and the strong pulse against your own palm.

“August.” You whined, having drifted back off to sleep and dreaming about him again.

“Ssshh.” The owner of the hand replied. “I'm right here. Don't fret, Angel.”

Your eyes snapped open and you looked up to see August standing by your bedside, a soft and tired smile on his face. He had a black eye and a split lip, but other than that, he looked perfectly fine. You frowned, wincing at you did, and shook your head, not understanding.

How was he there with you, you had watched him fall, there was no way he could have survived.

Could he?

“August?” You choked around a lump of tearful confusion.

“Yeah, Angel.” He smiled at you, gingerly sitting down beside you.

“Ho-how?” You licked your split and chapped lips. “I watched you di--”

“No, Angel. I didn't die.” He chuckled at you, then winced, pressing a hand to his ribs. “I managed to catch myself on a small ledge, not too far down from the shelf.” He explained, reaching out to pick up a paper cup with a bendy straw in it, tenderly holding it to your lips, so you could wet your throat.

“Hunt thought I was dead, and got picked up by his crew.” He went on to explain to you. “You know how much of a cautious man I am, bug. All I had to do was hold on long enough for them to leave, then I took this handy little thing out of my pocket.”

He removed a small, square device out of his pocket, it had a button on it and a blinking red light above that, it looked like a car fob.

“It's a GPS locator.” August answered your silent question. “I press it and my Apostles will show up, wherever I am.” He told you, putting it back into his pocket. “It's a lucky thing for you too. They saw you laying out in the snow as they flew over to land on the shelf. Two of them climbed up and got you, while the others pulled me up. I didn't have anything more than a busted lip, black eye and a couple of broken ribs.”

You laid there listening to him, trying to connect all the information he was giving you.

“You, on the other hand, have a pretty nasty cut on your head.” He, very gingerly, touched his fingertips to the twelve stitches along your hairline. “You have a concussion and been out for a couple of days. But, this was the injury that made me fear for you.” He said, pulling down the hospital blankets and moving your hospital gown aside, revealing a ugly gash on your side and stomach, just above your hip, closed with a line of staples.

“Part of the door handle to your helicopter got dislodged in the wreck and went through your side.” He frowned at the wound, feeling overwhelming guilt. “You lost consciousness from the blood loss, and would have bled to death, if it wasn't for all the snow you were laying in, and the boys getting to you, when they did.”

That cast your net of alarm farther than just August being alive. “Where are we?” You asked, eyes darting around the dark room.

“Somewhere safe, don't you worry about that, Angel.” August assured you, fixing your gown and blankets. “It's the home base of the Apostles, we have one of the top doctors in the world in our fold. He's the one that stitched you up.” He said, sounding incredibly grateful for it.

“What about Hunt?” You asked, not reassured at all. “The CIA, MI6, everyone else? They know you're Lark, August. When they find out...”

“Ssshh.” He hushed you, shaking his head and patting your leg. “Don't worry about any of that, Angel. Let me worry about it. You just worry about resting and healing up. I have somewhere we can go, for a few months. Then, everything will calm down, in four or five months, and we'll go from there.”

“All right?” He smiled at you, leaning in to kiss you on the lips, but you turned your head, his lips meeting your cheek; it cut August to the quick.

“I know you're upset with me, for doing what I did.”

You stared out the half shaded window in your room, taking a deep breath of the overly clean air, and nodded your head. You needed time to think and process everything, the man you loved, that you bound yourself to with an 'I do', three years before, and had broken your trust. You knew, you weren't innocent in the matter, you had known who August really was and ignored it, bottling it up and pretending it wasn't real. A part of you, deep down inside, also knew that August would one day step over that line that would force you to choose.

Would you step away from August, still loving him, but unable to live with his actions and move on? Maybe, even turn him in.

Or

Would you decide to step over that line with him? You had promised and vowed, 'for better or for worse', and you had been through both with August.

You didn't know.

You wondered, if MI6 thought you also died in the crash on the mountain. But, they would investigate the area, they had to make sure August was dead, and would be suspicious, if they didn't find his body, and would probably start drawing speculations, when they didn't find yours, or when you didn't report in afterwards; telling them that you had miraculously survived and gotten off the mountain, somehow, on your own.

It all made your head hurt and made you feel like you were being slowly dragged down to hell.

Could you feign amnesia? Stockholm Syndrome? Blackmailed or kidnapped? If you did decide to leave August, and let him pay for all the wrongs he made, in the name of 'greater peace'. You probably could, everyone knew how dominant, imposing and persuasive August could be. He had almost fooled Sloane into thinking Hunt was really Lark, not naming the countless others he had manipulated and turned for his own uses and purposes.

'Holy shit,' You suddenly thought. 'Had August been manipulating me, for his own reasons?'

You looked at Walker from the corner of your eyes, he was resting back against the headboard, his eyes closed as he lounged, probably taking a quick cat nap, you kept him up most nights with your nightmares, so he was just as tired as you were. August had also been holding secret and down low meetings with nearly every member of the Apostles and other contacts he had out in the world. You were never privy to those discussions, he didn't want to drag you any deeper into his dark world than he hadn't already.

'But, what did that matter?' You considered yourself.

True enough, you had tried to carry out your mission, to stop August from blowing up half the world for his crazy notion of peace and harmony, but you had also failed at it. You had unwittingly helped August as well, you covered his tracks, keeping his secret life and dealings to yourself, ignoring every hint and spot of evidence that could send Walker to jail for the rest of his natural life, and his afterlife for that matter. Your bosses and colleagues had several briefings and meetings about the Syndicate, Solomon Lane, the Apostles and John Lark, and even though your palms sweat through all of them, you kept your lips zipped.

You would more than likely share the same dark cell August would, in the end.

“August?” You whispered, your voice rough from such little use and screaming out in your dreams.

August startled awake, blue eyes wide and searching the room, before they rested on you, the alarm turning into shock, it was the first time you had said his name, in the last three months, that wasn't from you dreaming. He gulped and sat up beside you, arm loosely wrapped around your waist.

“What is it, Angel?” He whispered back, brushing your hair behind your ear.

“Why?” You rasped, blinking at him, softly. “Why did you tell me about being Lark?” You asked him, clutching onto the little remaining heat of your tea, like a life preserver in the seamless ocean you were stranded in. “Why did you...” You paused and cleared your throat.

“Why do you love me, yet tear me apart with all of this?”

He sighed and pressed his lips to your forehead, squeezing his eyes shut. “I never meant to fall in love with you, Angel. I tried my hardest not to, please believe that.” He rested his fingertips under your chin and tipped your head to look up at him. “I never meant or wanted to drag you into this fucked up world I inhabit. I wanted to protect my sweet Angel, with everything I have.”

“But, I'm a selfish and greedy man. When I want something, I want it and nothing, no one, not even myself, can stop me from getting it. I desire you above all else.”

“Yet, you still tried blowing up the world, when I begged you not too.” You replied, bottom lip quivering, it hurt so much. “Why? Because it was Hunt?”

“Yes.” August sighed, nodded his head. “He stopped Lane from acting out his plans and I didn't want him doing the same to me. Though, he did, in the end. I can't take back leaving you there, I wanted you to come with me. But, I knew you wouldn't, not my Angel.”

“That I've started to corrupt, like the demon that I am.” He hissed into your ear, angry only at himself.

You closed your eyes and rested your temple against his forehead, tucking your almost empty cup between your legs. “Part of me hates you, for what you've done to our lives, what you tried to do to the lives of so many others.”

“I deserve that.” He whimpered, biting his lip. “And more.”

“But,” You mumbled, finger circling the rim of your cup.

“But—what, Angel?”

“All I really want.” You sniffled, tears dripping down your cheeks and August kissing them away. “Is to be with you.” You said it, so softly, it took a moment for August to be sure it's what you said.

August smiled, nuzzling your hair and face, his nose rubbing against your cheek and nose, pressing sweet and small kisses to your neck. He was shy about kissing and touching you intimately again, it had been nearly six months since the last time you both made love, the night before he left for Paris, with Hunt. He took it slow, in case you changed your mind and repulsed him, but so far, you had gently reacted to him, nudging your face against his.

Smirking, August took your cup and set it aside on your night stand and tugged the blanket off your shoulders, the heat from the roaring fire had made the room toasty, leaving you and August sweaty. You wrapped an arm around his shoulders, turning into his body as his small kisses grew to open kisses, leaving love bites on your neck and throat, as he trailed down your chest, tasting your skin and the salt of your sweat. He moaned, closing his mouth around your nipple, flicking his tongue at it until it pebbled, then started biting and sucking at it, squeezing and palming the other one, so it didn't feel left out.

“August.” You panted, carding your fingers through his damp curls. “Ah, fuck.” You hissed as his fingers slipped into the waistband of your panties and started petting your neglected clit.

“You're so sensitive, Angel.” He cooed around your breast, his eyes a stormy-blue with lust. “You haven't been touching yourself, while I was away.” He teased you, giving your clit a couple of flicks of his finger, making you cry out.

“It's not the same.” You panted, your head falling back and fingers gripping his hair.

“Oh, then I definitely want that delectable pussy around my cock.” He laughed, finger teasing your entrance. “You are going to gush so hard around me, Angel. You're already a dripping mess.” He said, removing his hand from your panties and spreading his thick fingers, seeing the thick string and film of your arousal between them, sparkling in the firelight.

“Fuck, I've missed this.” He rumbled, sucking his soaked fingers into his mouth and moaning around them, your taste overpowering his tastebuds.

Your pupils blew out watching him suckle his fingers, eyes closed, in ecstasy. Growling, you laid back and lifted your hips, yanking your ruined panties off impatiently and tossed them to the floor. Sliding a hand up and down August's back, you coaxed him to lay down with you, moving your hand over his chest, caressing his cowboy beard, then trailed down his stomach, circled his naval, then dripped between his legs, finding his hard member, that never really softened. August slowly licked his lips and moaned, rocking his hips into your hand as you stroked his shaft, swiveling and rubbing your thumb over his purple tip, smearing pre-come all over your hand and his cock.

Letting his penis go, your hand ventured a little bit lower, cupping those egg-sized balls, squeezing and rolling them in your hand, like a pair of dice. August's body shivered in response, smirking at him, you kicked all the blankets to the floor and moved between August's legs, pushing his legs up, so his knees bent and snuggled down on your belly.

“It seems you haven't been neglecting yourself, Walker.” You told him, nipping the inside of his thick thigh.

It seemed, even though you both were in hiding, his scrotum stood out from the rest of his body at this angle, neatly man-scaped, while the rest of his body tended to be hairy.

“Rules are rules.” August panted, lifting his head to look down his torso at you.

You chuckled at him, taking a long lick over his sack and giving one of them a delicate suck. He had asked you to suck his balls not long after you both started having sex, they were exceptionally sensitive, and you had caused August to come by playing with them, more than once. But, before you agreed to do the deed, you told him you weren't putting them in your mouth, while they looked like two hairy gerbils. So, from then on, August meticulously groomed them, even when he was away from months on end, it had become a habit.

“I shave my balls more, for you, than I shave my face.” August moaned, as you swallowed one of them and teased his cock, feathering your fingertips up and down its shaft.

You laughed around his ball, the vibration made him gasp and tossed him very close to the edge, so you pulled back, edging the hell out of him. August looked down at you, a serene calm washed over both of you, a calm and peacefulness that hadn't been around for several weeks, the fear of being found loomed over the house.

“This isn't right.” August sighed, grabbing you by the shoulders and pulling you up to him.

“What?” You blinked back.

“You shouldn't be pleasuring me.” He told you, wrapping his arms around your waist and turning you both on your sides. “I've wronged and hurt you, I've nearly cost you your life. I cost your job, and so much more.” He spoke softly.

Taking your leg and slinging it over his own hip, so the pair of you facing each other, chests pressed together and staring into each other's eyes, August's hips slowly rubbed against you, his hand pressed flat against your lower back.

“I should be pleasing you, making up for what I've done.” He said, moving just enough to slip the head of his cock between your folds. “Let me do this for you, Angel.” He hummed, fingers brushing your hair.

“Please.” He begged, looking so vulnerable.

All you could do was nod, your throat tight around a lump, and pressed your forehead against his, clinging onto him as he rocked into you. All fear, anger and even lusty desire, were gone from you and August now, all that was left was raw emotions and the need to find each other again. You hugged your leg around August's hip and waist, pulling him closer and deeper into you, flexing your walls around his shaft. Both of you grew warm and sweaty from the heat in the room and your bodies were so close together, the slickness of your skin made it easier to thrust into you; sharing the same hot breath.

“I love you, Angel.” He whispered, cupping your neck and thrusting more steadily into you.

“I love you too, August.” You moaned back, biting your lip.

Coming in tandem felt sublime and refreshing, melting all the stress and worries out of your bodies. Even as you both fell asleep, you were still connected and wrapped around each other. You let go of your questions and worries, it would be fine, you and August would figure out how to put your lives back together some other time