#thexanderzone

It’s almost been two months since they’ve spoken more than passing words, shared fleeting looks, and then Xiang vanished like smoke. Not even Serena would know where he’d run but it was as though he never existed. Days. Weeks. And now it’s here, in the vibrant bursts of color across the sky that he finally emerges and turns his face towards the fireworks dancing across the sky. He sees different memories -- thoughts of a naive boy laughing while running alongside his sister despite their mother’s words of caution -- than most who are celebrating something else. Freedom, independence, he could recite the angry words flung at him about liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

Distantly he still hears the grating country music even though he’d long since smashed the phone in the man’s jaw effectively breaking it.

Now though, now Xiang is alone, looking up at a dark sky with his feet placed on the cool grass. It feels akin to the calm rolling in before the storm, the thundering fire of crackling lights drumming in the air in time with his heart. No doubt Xander has eyes and ears here -- distantly he wonders how long it will take until he’s found, trapped in a cage of strong arms he knows he could escape if only he could raise his hands to fight against them.

A deep breath slips free, his eyes following drifting embers. The tempo of the show is on the decline and Xiang can read the crowd well enough to know the finale is soon to come.

He counts, keeping time with the thunder of his heartbeat in his ears. Run, his thoughts bade, run and never look back. Because Xander was the quiet blade sinking deeper between his ribs, burning his lungs, drowning him slowly, and the things he wants are terrifying. Words would make it real. They would take away everything real and Xiang knows if that knife is ever removed from it’s place buried deep, he won’t survive.

Eyes follow the vivid trail of another firework as it spirals high in the sky, erupting in a shower of golds and greens.

John had been waiting off to the side, patiently- gave the desk clerk some excuse if waiting for his boss so they could check a few things before he drew money- while their number went about his business in the bank. From there, he could watch for the duration he was inside, listening to the faint click of Finch's keyboard in his ears.

The guys were packing heavily enough when they walked in, prompting startled and very frightened sounds from people as they noticed them, and Reese couldn't keep himself from standing and closing the distance. [ for a moment, he wasn't thinking about their number, although he didn't write off the possibility he was loosely involved. ]

"Come on, fellas," he said in as amicable a tone as he could, hands up to show he wasn't visibly carrying. John Rooney didn't own the gun he felt holstered at his back and he didn't want to play all his cards yet. "Those guns look expensive; I'm sure you don't need-"

He saw the raise of the gun and he knew innately what was going to follow. For one split second his muscles tensed, reflexes trained into him over years in service to his country almost kicking in and disarming the man before he stopped himself, forced suddenly wound muscles to relax a fraction of a second before the gun struck his temple and he went down like a ton of bricks.

For a moment, he really was dazed, stunned into half-consciousness, but he distantly registered the sound of a fight as one of the clerks tentatively came to his side. Reese was barely conscious of murmuring he was all right, turning to see the tail end of the conflict, then their number leaving. He was unsteady, at first, when he climbed to his feet, but recovering quickly as he wiped the trail of blood on his sleeve. It wasn't the first time he'd been pistol whipped, probably wouldn't be the last time. Instead of lingering on it, he followed the man outside.

"Hey!" He called before he'd managed to close the distance I'm the crowd. His suit - the one reserved for this specific alias, that looked every part like a banker - was disheveled from the fall, his tie crooked. [ from a tactical point of view, he hated the thing; he'd killed a man wearing one once, during his time in the CIA. With the tie. ] "Hey. Didn’t get a chance to thank you for stopping those guys back there."

      “ You look like a narc.” The snap of her gum fills the gap between slowly spoken words , like she’s uncertain whether or not she’s gonna actually speak them aloud . 

 “ Whatever it is , I didn’t do it ?” Her brows raise , and she spits the hubba-bubba out and onto the ground , replacing it with a cigarette which she’s quick to light, a long drag , smoke hazing anxious eyes , and she looks away , hoping he might leave . 

She forgot how big he was, sitting on the couch with his feet stretched out in front of him somehow washed away the fact that he nearly towered over her on any given day. But, it was obvious now. He had nestled closer to her, shoulder to shoulder. She felt him growing heavy though as his body gave into sleep.

She shifted a bit, nudging his shoulder. “Hey, you gotta lay on my lap – my whole side is gonna go numb if you keep leaning like that,” she scoffed. He flashed her that big grin he wore when he found a pushable button of hers (and there were so many). Lucky for her, Xander laid down as requested, but not before Rosie set a pillow down first. He was still heavy and she wondered if all that bragging did make his head bigger. She snickered at the thought, but was happy for her shoulder’s sake which she rolled to loosen back up.

There’s been whispers, rumors, Cage has gone soft. Cage has gone legit. Course he thinks it’s all shit but Nicks is a creature that has his ear to the pulse of the underground. He’s sitting waiting like a dumb ass with his hoodie making him look too small in the half shadows of the shit hole Xander is hiding out in calling a home. He’s chewing his nails, eyes dancing around the shithole neighborhood almost definitely sure that he’s going to get shot if he looks just a little more white than he already does curled up checking his phone. Xander doesn’t choose the Ritz that’s for fucking sure.

So maybe he’s a little paranoid since they’d all put their names into the fucking incinerator. Tennyson is in the wind, paranoid piece of shit that he is, and the rest of their team? Nicks doesn’t know cause the world doesn’t give a shit about people like him. Nah, they’ve got hard-ons for the big fish like Xiang and Xander (speaking of Xiang he’s pretty sure he’s going crazy when he looks up at the tall warehouse and imagines he sees those feral eyes peeking out).

Nicks pulls his jacket tighter around his body and mutters out a string of irritable curse words. Of course Xander is too busy getting his dick wet, asshole was always weak where tail was concerned. Nicks just didn’t think it’d be Xiang that Cage was hounding after like a dog in heat. So maybe he’s focusing on his phone just a little harder and puffing out a breath of annoyance while he continues to play FlappyBird because no one, no one, was going to beat his high score.

The mobile rings and he answers it as he hears the warehouse door creak open, “Man, stop being such a bitch.” Nicks scoffs and listens to the man on the other end. “Nah man, you need to stop with your government bullshit and come back down to Earth,” a pause and he’s rolling his eyes as he gets to his feet swearing again about the cold, “Yeah Ten it’s fucking cold and you ain’t here to do shit so stop bitching. Yeah whatever, bye.” Pocketing his phone, he jogs the rest of the way and shoulders past Xander with a scowl.