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deltas-writing-corner · 3 years

Text

Courtship: Invitation

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland (Malleus x GN!reader)

Warnings: mentions of blood | depictions of firearms/firearm handling | mentions of hunting

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AO3 version

Slight revisions and full version posted on: 5/4/2021

“Here,” Sam hands you a thick envelope. “Your pay, as usual.”

You trust Sam not to go behind your back and the mutual agreement set between you two, but you make sure to grab and stop him from walking away with all your produce just yet. You need to count the money he's handed over and ensure every last madol is where it should be. Thankfully, it is, but there are a few extra bills you know aren’t supposed to be in there.

You remove the extra money and hand it back to him. “You gave me too much.”

He pushes your hand back and shakes his head. “Consider this my holiday gift for you.”

You give him an incredulous look. “You sure? Because if you come back here next week telling me I owe you money I’m going to sick the wolves on you.”

Your threat is met with a hearty laugh from the shopkeeper. “Have I ever done you wrong, my friend?”

“Yes, you have actually.”

“Haha, good times indeed!” He casually waves at you as he hauls away your vegetables on a large wooden cart. “Happy holidays!”

You have half a mind to remind him that the holiday season is over. Instead, you decide that it’s best to just turn around and walk away. The money is in your hands and your produce is in his care and that's all there is to it. This season's harvest is now officially concluded and you can start prepping for the spring. After a long-deserved rest, of course. The few extra madols give you just a little more than what was needed to put down for a brand new generator for the dorm. You have a model already picked out ahead of time. All that's left is to order and wait for it to come in.

"Well?" Benji floats up to you as soon as you enter the front door. "Do we have enough?"

You proudly wave the envelope in the air. "We have enough and then some!"

Your housemates cheer and pull you into a group hug. Frankie takes the envelope from you and heads out, most likely heading to the safe you’ve hidden from Grim so he can put all the money together and deposit it at the nearest bank. Once the ghosts come down from their brief celebratory high, you excuse yourself and head to the backyard where Malleus is waiting for you.

"I'm back!" you happily announce your arrival.

"Welcome back," he smiles up at you. "Did you get your payment?"

"I did!" you nod. "Frankie's taking it to the bank, so I should be able to get that new generator before sunset."

"That's good. It'll be one less problem for you to worry about."

"You can say that again," you sigh. "Thanks for your help today. I'm surprised we managed to pick and clean everything up before noon!"

You situate yourself next to Malleus, who's sitting down on the low porch. Gunter's pups have been following him since breakfast and you don't think they'll be off his heels for some time. It's been like this since they were born. One might even be able to say that they like him more than they do you. Malleus doesn't show it or verbally express it, but you can tell he enjoys their attachment to him. He allows them to jump all over him and drench him in wet kisses without much of a fuss. Who knows, when they grow older they just might start following and taking orders from him rather than you. Maybe he won't need Sebek and Silver to follow him anymore if they stick around?

You can imagine Sebek being incredibly offended that a bunch of wild wolves took his job.

Malleus looks at you. "Have you given them names yet?"

"The pups?" you ask for clarification. "I've been meaning to, but my head can’t think of any. If you have any suggestions, I'd love to hear them."

Malleus mulls over your offer. He picks up one pup at a time, trying to think of an appropriate name to give them. After about 10 minutes his shoulders go slack and he looks back over to you with disappointment. "I'm afraid I'm drawing a blank as well."

"Well, you gave it a shot," you clap your hand on his shoulder. "Tell you what. Once we get that new generator, we can sit down and do a bit of name-brainstorming over some tea."

"Yes, that sounds lovely," he smiles again, and you start to realize that he has a damn good smile. "When do you want to get together?"

"Sometime next week. With the extra money Sam gave me I can get the generator in faster!"

Malleus seems momentarily excited, but it quickly dies as he suddenly realizes something. "Can we meet the week after next? I have something important coming up."

"Sure," you say. "What's happening next week?"

"It's…" he hesitates. "It's my birthday next week."

Your eyes pop wide open. "Oh shit, for real?"

"Indeed."

One of the pups desperately tries to jump up onto the porch, but his stubby legs and meager strength aren't enough to push him over the edge. As you reach down and help him up, you ask, "How come I'm only hearing about your birthday now?"

Malleus carefully lifts the other pups onto the porch as well. "You never asked me."

"No kidding", you snort. "To be honest, I thought that maybe you didn't celebrate it anymore since you're hundreds of years old. Don't birthdays lose their novelty after a few centuries?"

"They do,” he agrees “I haven't had a grandiose party since I was about your age."

"Wow," your eyebrows lift in shock. "That's just rude."

He suddenly looks so terrified. "I didn't mean it-"

"I'm kidding!" you quickly reassure him. "Lighten up Tsunotarou! I'm not going to shoot you for poking a bit of fun at me."

"So you say," he grumbles.

"I'm not!" you defensively shrill. "If you're talking about the time I shot at those sea worms, I had every right to! No way in hell was I gonna be intimidated into giving my dorm up. Not now. Not ever."

Those "sea worms" you're referring to are Jade and Floyd Leech from Octavinelle. During exams week, Ace Deuce and Grim as well as many other students who made a deal with Azul for his infamous study guides practically kissed the very ground you walked on in order to convince you to rescue them from their dubious contracts. Initially, you refused their request no matter how much they pleaded or bothered you. It wasn't until Jade and Floyd caught onto this bit of information (it’s hard to ignore a dozen students following you around like a bunch of chicks) that they began to set their sights on you. The two tried to squeeze you into a deal that would release everyone who signed a contract with Azul for his infamous cheat sheet, so long as you could keep up your end of the bargain.

It was clearly too good to be true or fair. Nevertheless, you decided to at least listen and attempt to negotiate some sort of proposal that would make both sides happy, if only to have your intruded space restored to normal. Unfortunately, Azul wouldn't settle for anything less than your dorm, which you refused to hand over despite Grim's OK to put it up for grabs. Jade and Floyd insisted you agree to the terms for the sake of your friends and fellow schoolmates, but you bluntly told them something that, to this day, never fails to make Malleus giggle even when he's in a foul mood.

"You're not getting my fucking dorm! Not now! Not ever!"

Unfortunately, Jade and Floyd began to follow you around too and even went as far as to visit your dorm during unconventional hours, on a regular basis. Their insistent arguments began to turn into veiled threats, and you aren't the type of person to take them all too well. Malleus remembers visiting you one day only to find you out on the roof, your hunting rifle in hand, keeping a vigilant eye out towards the gates for the Leech twins to make their expected visit. Malleus knew that your weapon is a dangerous one when used correctly, but he did not expect as much power behind it as it had until you shot a couple of live rounds near the merfolk's feet.

His ears still ring thinking about that powerful discharge.

"Where is your rifle?" he asks. "Also, where is your falcon?"

"Twilight? She's still upstairs in her cage." You make a vague gesture towards the second floor.

Twilight is a falcon that you found during one of your hunting trips, having suffered a nasty injury to her wing. You have some experience with falconry so you immediately recognized her mannerism as that of a hunting falcon as well as her breed, an Aplomado. You tried to find her original handler while you nursed her back to health, but unfortunately, no one came forward to claim her and you decided to keep her. You and her bonded very easily, so rehabilitating and training her to take commands from you was a breeze. While you expected her to maybe leave your side once she was able to properly fly again, she remains determined to stick with you.

You stand up and turn towards the back door. "I should probably wake her up before she gets mad at me.”

"I'll watch over these while you do that," Malleus grabs one of the pups who topples over another and refuses to get off of them.

"Thanks!" You bend down and give him a quick one-armed hug from behind. "You're the best!"

As you're about to head back into your home, you stop at the door and turn back around. "Are you sure you want me to bring my rifle?"

"Do you not want to bring it out?"

"I don't mind bringing it. It's just, not everyone likes to be around guns."

Malleus nods in understanding. "Well, I'm not like everyone," he playfully remarks.

"No, you're not," you smile. "I'll be right back then."

"Take your time," he assures you.

"Rise and shine pretty bird!"

You lift the dark sheet off of her cage so she can bask in the morning light. Twilight was busy preening herself, but now that you're in her sight she begins to happily screech and shuffles closer to the door, eagerly awaiting for you to open it so she can jump on you.

You quickly slip on your handling gloves and help her transfer from her perch to your hand. Her sharp talons tightly grip around the sides of your fingers, but the thick leather prevents them from piercing your raw flesh. You snap your fingers a couple of times to get her attention focused solely on you. When she maintains steady eye contact with you, you reach into your pocket and present your other gloved palm to her. In it are some bacon bits you managed to snag from the leftovers of this morning's breakfast. She eagerly pecks and munches down the small meal.

"It still isn't the best time to go hunting, but how's about I let you out anyways and you can stretch your wings for a bit?"

She expands her wings and flaps them a few times, a sign that she's eager to take you up on your offer. You haven't taken her out to hunt for about a month, mainly because you were gone half of the time. The winters here are especially harsh, even with a bunch of fire faeries keeping the campus somewhat warmer. The pickings are also dry since most of the wildlife on the island are sticking close to their burrows to stay warm and wait out the season.

You've been itching to head out into the forest recently, but winter is usually a bad hunting season for you. Luckily, you've met and befriended a few of the locals on the island who live off the bounty of the land as you do. They tend to look out for one another and offer help during difficult times, and the barren winter is no exception. You make a mental reminder to reach out and ask where some of the best hunting spots on the island are once this generator fiasco is all taken care of.

"Now, you wouldn't happen to know where my rifle is, do you?" you ask her. When she goes to nibble a piece of your hair, you know that she has no clue.

As you're about to head down to the foyer (you often leave it there), a sudden squeaking noise catches both Twilight and your attention. There, at the other end of the hall, a beady-eyed Jerboa bounces up and down in a steady rhythm in an attempt to grab your attention.

Scarabia wasn't entirely traumatizing. You met Gizmo, the Jerboa before you, during one of the exhausting desert marches, nearly dead from severe dehydration. The little guy brought you a bit of comfort throughout the entire ordeal. He also was able to bring you the enchanted envelope Malleus gave you before he went back home for the winter break. It immediately sends any letter you place inside it to him once you set it on fire. How else could you have contacted him after your phone was conveniently confiscated after your first escape attempt?

"Good morning, little guy," you smile down at him. "You wouldn't happen to know where my gun is, do you?"

It seems he does, as he turns and begins to race down the adjacent hall. He stops every so often to look back at you, making sure you're still keeping up with him. Eventually, he stops in front of a door to one of several lounging areas. This one, in particular, is more the ghosts' lounge than anyone else's. It's filled with all sorts of memorabilia and photos from the dorm's heyday. The ghosts have shared a few stories about the shenanigans they got in when they were both alive and students at NRC. Interestingly enough, the dorm was a sort of "halfway home" for students undergoing the difficult process that is switching to another dorm. The idea was to separate the student from those of their originally assigned dorm so they can better learn and adopt the characteristics of the dorm they wish to transfer into.

Soon enough, the dorm began to house more and more people. A common feeling amongst the residents of the past was a feeling of displacement or disconnection towards the other formal dorms and the ideals they upheld. While not approved by the headmaster, the residents began to form a sort of pseudo dorm with its own set of principles as well as assigning a dorm leader and vice leader just as the others did. Nothing was ever written in stone, but the ghosts vouched that the main “characteristics” amongst Ramshackle’s past residents was a desire to establish camaraderie with those around them, no matter their background or origins.

Listening and learning what the Ramshackle once meant to them and so many others hit home for you. You lived near a small rural town, surrounded by people who were willing to share their resources with their neighbors and even the occasional stranger simply because it was a kind thing to do for one another. The students of NRC are willing to put their heads together, sure, but there almost always has to be some sort of catch that benefits the individual.

Living with students like that is stressful as hell. Somedays you just skip school entirely, having already gone through the many woes and few wonders of high school back in your world. You have zero patience to deal with people who only view each other (and subsequently you) as inferior or a mere stepping stone to trample over. Ace and Deuce are your friends and have proven that they are "exceptions" so to speak. However, they're still just a couple of kids. No matter how well you three communicate and work well with each other, there's just a natural disconnection you feel with them that not even magic can fix.

��It makes your close connection with Malleus, someone who's centuries older than you, incredibly ironic. You've essentially had your life figured out back home, and in some strange serendipitous way, so does Malleus. He's going to become king of his home country immediately after or sometime after he graduates, while you were going to continue living that nice rural lifestyle you lived back home, alongside your 3 aunts and many cousins. At least, once Crowley finds a way to send you back.

Maybe that's why his confession felt so much more confusing and intensely when it happened. Everything seemed so linear before he uttered those three words to you. Now, it feels like the clear and concise timeline you've had pictured in your head for months is just one big blob of scribbles and nonsense.

"Am I doing something wrong?" you desperately ask Frankie. "Because it feels like I made some huge mistake and now it's coming back to bite me in the ass right now."

"Of course you haven't done anything wrong," he rubs your shoulder reassuringly.

"Then why does it feel like everything around me is slowly falling apart?" You're sobbing at this point. The cigar you took from him earlier is now abandoned, snuffed out in the ashtray. "Why does it feel like I'm falling apart?"

"Nu-uh," he shakes his head and gives you a stern look. "We're not gonna do none of that. Do you hear me? None."

"Then what the hell do I need to do?!" you shriek. "Frankie, I'm fucking losing it here. I'm one more backhanded dismissal away from kicking Crowley's teeth in. I swear, if one more overblot happens, so help me. I can't deal with someone else's problems when I can't even get a full night of rest anymore!"

"You've done nothing wrong, you hear me?" he reaffirms. "I get it, I do. Right now, life is handing you a bad hand and you don't have the people you usually rely on for support. I've been there kiddo. We all have. We may not be like your aunts or your loud-ass cousins,"

A smile finally cracks on your face. He's using your own words you've used to describe your younger family members. You love the little tykes, but they can be a handful sometimes.

Damn, you miss them, your aunts too. They're all that you have left after a messy custody battle with your parents. This garden. Your rifle. Hell, even your insistence at taking over many of the household chores have all been your desperate attempts of finding some sort of familiarity in this new and strange world.

"But remember, those in Ramshackle stick together and help each other out when they're in a pinch. We'll handle all the little stuff, the cooking, the cleaning, the occasional clogged pipe," he scoffs, annoyed just thinking about the pipes clogging up again. They've been doing it a lot lately and everyone in the house is incredibly over it. "Right now, your only priority is yourself. Okay?"

It takes you a moment to really take in his words, but eventually, you nod in understanding. "Alright," you affirm out loud.

He squeezes your shoulder. "Good."

A sharp and muffled whistle pulls your attention away. Johnny's voice is a little hard to make out, but you're able to make out "generator working" and "warm coffee".

"C'mon," Frankie holds open the glass door and ushers you outside. "I don't know about you, but I could use a cup of coffee."

"I could use two," you sigh.

He gives one last squeeze around your shoulder. For a moment, it feels like you're back home. You feel a little better too. A little bit more secure.

As you enter the room, you see that Benji, and Johnny are gathered for the usual late morning/early afternoon poker matches.

"Hey, prefect," Benji, the first one to notice your entrance, greets. "Need something?"

"Have you seen my rifle?" you look around the room for any immediate sign of it. "It's been a while since I used it and I've completely lost track of it."

"Should be under one of the floorboards here," Johnny, who is playing busy rearranging his cards, says. "If not, try the floorboards in the living room."

You thank him and begin carefully stepping and tapping your foot against the wooden floorboards, trying to find and search one of many secret spaces made back in Ramshackle's glory days. Nothing dangerous (you hope) was ever hidden. It was mainly used by the students who lived here during its heyday to hide bottles of alcohol and cigarettes. You know, the typical items a bunch of teenage outcasts would keep around.

There was actually a bottle of some rare and expensive wine that was left behind as the number of residents began to dwindle. You and the ghosts are waiting for the right occasion to crack it open and enjoy the vintage-like a bunch of fiends. Grim won't be having any. Hell no.

Twilight has temporarily detached herself from your side and perches comfortably on Benji's shoulder. Her talons dig into his white spectral body, but he doesn't wince or show any sign that he's in any pain. She nibbles on his worn scarf to pass the time until you call her. Gizmo busies himself by helping you find all the secret spaces. He finds one and begins jumping over it more enthusiastically. When you pry the wooden slat up, you perk up as the familiar scent of old gunpowder fills your nose.

"There you are!" you practically sing when you lift the board and see your trusty gun. "And here I was thinking Benji lost you."

"I heard that!" he shouts, deeply offended.

"I know," you reply. "Glad to know that your hearing hasn't gone out yet. Had me worried for a while, gramps."

Johnny erupts in a symphony of loud laughter. While community and mutual respect were a value shared between Ramshackle residents, a bit of teasing and the occasional prank is always welcomed. It's a great way to keep morale up. It's also satisfying to say a remark that makes everyone laugh or have a prank go as planned. So long as no one got hurt, it's all fair game between you all.

You lift the heavy rifle out of the space and do a routine check. The internal magazine is empty and when you probe the back of the chamber with your pinky you don't feel a loaded round inside. You flip the safety on and off and pull the trigger a few times to make sure the mechanisms are working correctly. You also do a quick count of your ammunition. While guns do exist in this world, coming across bullets is much harder than it is in your world. This is mainly due to the reliance on magically sourced bullets that help reduce the use of resources. Their rarity makes them expensive, and the few blacksmiths who do make them usually don't sell to anyone unless they feel the buyer is a genuine enthusiast of their craft. The buyer also needs to have a license to own them, which you thankfully earned after a few safety lessons and a short exam.

Lucky for you, the one and only smith on the island who makes bullets was more than happy to provide you with some bullets at an affordable price after you allowed him to ogle your rifle for a few hours. It's an old model, supposedly used by your great grandfather after he was enlisted into the army. When the war ended and he was sent back home, he customized it so it can be used for hunting deers instead of people. Your first aunt Gia was always handling it. Whether she was taking it apart and putting it back together or out in the backyard doing some recreational target practice.

She always looked strong yet elegant carrying it around, not that she isn’t without it. During your first year living with her, you tried to imitate her, slinging some large stick you found out in the woods to try to exude the same energy she did. When your second aunt Lucia moved in with your cousins after her divorce, she was quick to reprimand you and confiscate any of the newly found branches you brought back home and waved around as an imaginary rifle. Your aunt Gia eventually began to teach you how to properly and safely handle her firearm. By the time your third aunt Marisol moved in after graduating from university, you were one hell of a sharpshooter and a damn good hunter.

With the rifle now deemed safe to take to Malleus, you sling it over your shoulder and make your way out of the room. You whistle the signal for Twilight to return to your side and she immediately heeds your command. Her obedience earns her a few more bits of bacon. Gizmo also wishes for some compensation for helping you locate your rifle. You make a quick trip to the kitchen and give him a few raisins to snack on. He's the only one who eats raisins in the dorm, so you don't skimp out on him.

Blossom does try to snag a few for himself, but a threatening screech from Twilight scares the gluttonous fawn away. That deer sure loves to eat.

"I'm back, again!" you announce as you reclose the back door behind you.

"Welcome back, again," Malleus regreets you. "And a good morning to you, Twilight."

Twilight also loves Malleus. She eagerly shifts her feet, desperately wanting to fly onto his arm and properly say hello. You let her transfer onto him once he slips on the safety glove you provide. After a few minutes of giving her loving neck scratches and trying to stop her from nipping at Malleus's ears (she likes them a lot and, now that you’re thinking about it, you do too), you take her back and help send her off into the air for some much needed soaring time.

"I see you brought your weapon," Malleus looks at your rifle with an examining eye.

"I did," you bring it around and into your arms. "Now, why did you want me to bring it again?"

"No reason in particular," he admits. "I just...I'm quite used to seeing you with it. You're never without it unless you're attending classes."

A proud smirk finds its way onto your face no matter how hard you try to hide it. "I'll take that as a compliment."

A potentially stupid idea pops up in your head. "Do you want me to teach you how it works?"

"Truly?" Malleus looks extremely shocked at your offer. "You dislike it greatly when another person touches it."

"I dislike it when people who don't know the first thing about gun safety touch my gun," you correct. "But count yourself lucky, because I know everything there is to know about this one right here!"

"Very well,” he gives a conceding nod. “Have at it."

This is the most excited you've ever been since waking up in the floating coffin all those months ago. While you aren't the biggest gun enthusiast out there (you only ever use it for hunting), you do like it when people show interest to learn about your hobbies. Ace and Deuce are teenagers, so it's no surprise that they don't exactly find the long and grueling labor that goes into gardening all that exciting. Your firearm is nothing more than a toy in their minds, though Deuce is a bit more serious than Ace is when it comes to safety.

Speaking of gun safety. "Now, I don't mean to nag but it's important to remember that, under no circumstances, are you to ever point a gun at anyone. Loaded or unloaded."

Malleus makes a face of confusion. "Then how come you pointed and shot at the Leech twins?"

"Hey," you put your hands up in defense. "I wasn't shooting at them. I shot at the ground and it just so happens that their feet were near my line of shot."

"Ah, I see," he chuckles at your convenient excuse. "So shooting near an individual is ok, so long as the bullet doesn't hit them."

"Exactly," you wink at him. "But seriously, don't point it at or near anyone. And don't look down the barrel. Lilia nearly gave me a heart attack when I caught him doing just that."

He closes his eyes and gives a deep nod like you just bestowed upon him a great piece of wisdom. "Duly noted."

"Next is the magazine," you turn and pull back the bolt handle to show him the empty magazine hidden underneath the bolt itself. "This is where you put the bullets. The magazine holds up to 4 bullets, 5 if you keep one loaded in the chamber. Since my gun is an older model, you can’t pop in an external magazine. Unless you're in a desperate situation, it's best to"

You look up to make sure Malleus is following along with your explanation. Maybe he is, but it's hard to tell when his eyes completely ignore the rifle you have set between the two of you and instead keeps his eyes focused solely on you. Your throat immediately dries up and you feel your heart begin to beat just a bit faster after it skips a beat. The look he's giving you is the same one he gave you at Scarabia, a content, and dazed smile. There's a hint of melancholy in his expression, evident by how the inner corners of his eyebrows turn upward.

He looks so at peace, yet so sad.

"What's wrong?" you ask, though you know full well what's making him feel that way he does.

He shakes his head in denial. The visual sadness goes away once he settles. "Nevermind me. Keep talking, please."

"R-Right," you stutter. "Where was I again?"

"You said your gun is an older model."

"Right," you remember. "Since the model is old, it's best not to reload too quickly, otherwise you risk jamming the gun and in some cases, you might break a mechanism."

You feel a faint vibration underneath your leg. Thinking it's your phone (now set back to vibration mode) you start to pat down your clothes to try and find the device. Surprisingly, it actually came from Malleus's phone. It keeps pulsing in fixed intervals, likely from someone calling him. He quickly pulls it out and clicks on the red reticle, sending the caller to voicemail without batting an eyelash. You couldn't see who was calling, but you swear their name started with an 'S'. Could it be Silver or Sebek calling? You hope it's not Sebek because once Malleus starts to manually decline his calls, the next person he usually rings up is-

You feel another vibration, this time it's coming from your phone that you apparently left in your back pocket. Lo and behold, it's Sebek that's calling you. You show your screen to Malleus, who makes a dramatically loud sigh of exhaustion. Sebek...While he's well-intentioned and has his charming points, he can be a bit of a handful...

Ok, that's too nice a way of putting it. Really, as passionate as he is, he can be a bit annoying to deal with sometimes. You're trying to be polite as you can be with him because you've been told that Faes offended easily and you're not going to be that asshole. Though, you’ll be the first to admit that he’s such an easy and fun target to joke around with. Blame the ghosts, their behavior is gradually rubbing off on you.

His protectiveness and the deep admiration he has towards Malleus is a little quirky, even cute at times. It reminded you of a child vehemently protecting their parent from their lover, not that you and Malleus are dating or anything.

Why did that last part feel weird to say in your head?

"Go ahead and answer," Malleus concedes. "I’m not entirely in the mood to listen to his shouting in the middle of the day."

"Oh, his heart would break if he heard you," you place a hand over your fake-pained heart. "You are such a cruel man, Great and Benevolent Malleus!"

The two of you erupt into a brief fit of laughter. After calming yourself down, you answer the phone. "Hello, you've reached the Ramshackle dormitory."

You have to turn away and cup your free hand around your mouth so the phone doesn't pick up Malleus's uncontrollable giggles.

"Human!” he shouts into the phone and you have to pull it back to alleviate your overwhelmed eardrum. “ If you would kindly put Lord Malleus on the phone, I would greatly appreciate it."

You look over to Malleus, but Sebek was loud enough that you don’t have to mouth anything to him. He gestures for you to hand the phone over to him, but you put your hand up to tell him to give you a moment.

"If you want to talk to Malleus, press two,” you blankly say. “Those are the rules."

"Human! I don’t have time for your terrible jokes!"

Malleus then gestures for you to hand over your phone. "Do as they say, Sebek," he calmly commands.

Your hands slap against your mouth to cover the loud and ugly screech you make when you hear the loud dial noise come right after.

The two talk for a while. It’s mainly Malleus listening to whatever Sebek is passionately rambling about while giving the occasional hum and idle acknowledgments. At one point during the call, he looks over to you and frowns. You mouth “what’s wrong?” but he shakes his head and looks away. Once he hangs up, he lets out a very stressful sigh and slumps a bit. He’s upset.

“Hey,” you move your rifle and scoot closer to him, giving him a gentle shoulder bump once you’re near. “Talk to me. What did Sebek say?”

“It’s nothing important,” he continues to dismiss. “Just a trivial matter.”

“ Malleus,” your voice becomes stern. “C’mon, talk to me.”

He tends to downplay his troubles since he thinks they pale in comparison to the many other aspects going on in his life (being royalty can’t be easy). When it was clear that you were more than just an acquaintance, Lilia gave you a bit of advice about Fae behavior so you can better communicate with Malleus and get him to open up to you. Faes cannot lie, but they can give half-truths, and, depending on how powerful one is, they can tell white lies. It took a bit of work, but eventually, you gained enough of Malleus' trust as well as reassured him that you won't up and abandon him for simply voicing his opinions or feelings, even if you might disagree with him.

“You first,” he says insistently.

Also by the advice\of Lilia, you have a bit of an ongoing exchange with Malleus. For every instance he bears his inner thoughts and feelings to you, you have to tell him something about yourself that others don’t know about.

Have all your facts been embarrassing admittances? Yes, they have.

“No offense, but aren’t Fae notorious for being a bit...y’know?”

“Mischievous?” Lilia snickers.

“Right,” you cross your arms in an attempt to provide yourself with a bit of comfort. Lilia’s casual demeanor surely isn’t helping you. “Telling Malleus all my innermost secrets is surely going to come back and bite me in the future.”

“Well, in most circumstances you wouldn’t be wrong.” Suddenly his playful voice becomes firm and actually assuring for once. “However, there is no need for concern. I can say with certainty that whatever you tell Malleus, no matter how embarrassing or incriminating it is, will forever remain with him and him alone.”

The old Fae pats you on the head, despite being taller than him. “He cares deeply about, truly.”

That fuzzy feeling in your chest returns. Your hands have an itch to fidget with something to try and distract yourself. It ends up being a strand of your hair that gets blown in your face after an especially chilly gust of wind dishevels it. That’s when a small bulb lights up in your head.

“I hate the winter,” you admit. “The long nights throw me off and I have terrible luck running into wild game when I head out into the field. Really, it's cold weather that I hate in general.”

“Interesting,” Malleus clearly takes in and files away this new fact he’s learned in his head. “This likely isn’t a surprise, but I enjoy this time of the year.”

“What's winter in the Valley of Thorns like?”

Malleus, shocked at hearing your sudden interest in his home, begins to paint as detailed a picture as he can about the kingdom during the colder seasons. Greenery is a bit sparse given the Valley’s more mountainous terrain, but he insists that the thorn bushes you can find in nearly every corner of the land are beautiful in their own right. No matter the season, there’s always some amount of fog that dilutes the rays of the sun, so a day without one is often seen as a sign of good fortune by the people. Modern machinery is all but nonexistent as well, so there are no buildings, pollution, or lights to obscure the starry sky at night.

“Now it just sounds like I’m back home,” you let out a sad reminiscent sigh.

“What about your home? What is it like?”

“About the same as yours, except we got plenty of sunlight and we had lush forests instead of rocky cliffs. There was a small town about half an hour out, but most of the businesses there have been around since the ’50s.” You notice his confusion as your terminology, but a brief explanation of your world’s calendar clears it up.

“It sounds charming,” he says. “I’d love to visit it one day, should the opportunity present itself.”

“There’s an ice cream shop down the main avenue,” you mention, knowing how much he enjoys the cold treat. “The owners even change their selections every other day, but the rainbow sherbet is the best one they have!”

“Is that so?” he chuckles at your enthusiasm.

A sharp screech cuts your conversation into an abrupt close. That was without a doubt a signal from Twilight, letting you know that someone is walking up the pathway to the dorm. You aren’t expecting anyone, and Frankie is likely just arriving in town by now. You remember how Malleus seemed dejected after his call with Sebek.

Just as you connect the dots, Malleus stands up, brushing off any dirt and debris from his clothes. “I apologize, but I must head out now.”

“Already?” you ask with playful sadness. The fuzz in your chest dissipates into a dull ache. Weird.

“I need to go over my guest list for my birthday once more. Lilia insisted I send out handwritten invitations to immerse myself into the festivities.”

“That sounds about right.” After standing up yourself and insisting you’ll walk him out, you ask, “So when can I expect my invitation to come in?”

“You want to come? Even after,” he immediately stops himself from speaking.

Does he really think he messed up that badly with you?

“I do want to go,” you firmly tell him. “Even after everything that’s happened.”

There’s a brief silence between you two before he says, “You don’t have to force yourself.”

“I’m not,” you reassure him.

“So you say.”

“Malleus,” you sigh. “If there’s anyone scared about our friendship dissolving because of what happened, it’s me. I’m the one that’s keeping you in suspense, even now.”

The truth hurts, but no amount of shared laughs and the occasional antics between the two of you is going to magically dissolve the damage present. You’ve hurt him, and in a way, it’s hurting you as well. Life isn’t as linear as it was, but sulking and bringing the people around you down is a terribly selfish thing to do, especially towards someone you care a great deal about. You weren’t raised like that. You were taught to appreciate the little things and watch out for those around you. Not for personal gain, but because it was simply a kind thing to do.

This feeling of insecurity came before the winter break. Being around so many people whose ideals and actions clash with yours often succeeds at making you think that you’re the one in wrong, that you’re the helpless and naive one. That’s far from the truth. The community you’ve built with the ghost trio and the natives on Sage’s Island is proof that your values are shared with others.

It’s just like Frankie said, life is just serving you a bad hand right now. You can prevail and return to the better days. The better days when you and Malleus were the best of friends. But why does your heart hurt when you think about his confession for the umpteenth time? What’s making you so hesitant? More importantly, why couldn’t you tell him “yes”, yet you also knew you couldn’t tell him “no”?

As you watch Malleus and Sebek depart from your front door, making their way down the steps towards the front gates, you hastily announce that you’ll be back and begin running towards them.

You need to make things right.

Malleus noticed the way your hands sought something out to fidget with when you were feeling...he doesn’t know what that was. You weren’t feeling uncomfortable as far as he could tell.

Were you perhaps...flustered?

No, that can’t be it. You don’t think of him that way, he’s sure of now. When he quickly reassesses his behavior, he didn’t do anything that would warrant you to become nervous, other than look at you with a far too amorous gaze while you explained the ins and outs of your firearm. He couldn't help himself. Seeing you so passionate and animated, even if it's over something he has no knowledge or a particular interest in, made his heart flutter as well as ache yet again.

They fidget with the nearest object when they feel uncomfortable. Remember that.

“What was that, Lord Malleus?”

Sebek’s booming voice catches him off guard a bit, but he quickly recovers as if nothing disturbed him at all. “It’s nothing, just thinking aloud.”

“I see. In any case,” he quickly changes the subject. “The materials needed to write and send the invitation letters are all ready. Sir Lilia insists that you write each one on your own, but I am more than capable and willing to offer my assistance should you need it!”

“That’s quite alright. There aren’t a great many I need to send anyways,” Malleus gracefully rejects Sebek’s eager offer.

There really aren’t that many people who will be attending, just the residents of Diasomnia and that’s it. He initially had plans to invite you, but he’s caught between a rock and a hard place. You’ve expressed your desire to come, but he can’t help but feel that it’s only out of pity.

He doesn’t want that from you. At this point, he just wants things to return to how they once were before he opened his mouth and began to spew a bunch of one-sided nonsense. He just wants your friendship, pure and untainted like before.

Perhaps he’s destined to never have a friend after all.

“Malleus!” your distant voice calls out to him, causing him to stop in his tracks and turn around to search for you.

He doesn’t understand how you do it, but just hearing you call his name utterly burns away all the muddled thoughts circulating within his head. He is exceptional when it comes to defensive magic, yet whatever spell you manage to cast on him that makes him so taken by you, it exceeds even his own magical prowess.

But you don’t have any magic. Not even a speck courses through your veins. You’re just an average human. His nearly crippling infatuation is entirely his own doing.

"Oh, thank goodness you haven't made it past the front gates yet," you heaved out. Did you run all the way here? Did he forget something? He quickly pats his front pocket and feels a hard lump, his phone. It’s the only personal item he brought.

"Human," Sebek's voice sounds annoyed at your sudden presence. "What do you need from- AH!"

Sebek's scream hurts Malleus's ear, but the slight and momentary ring means little when you've wrapped your arms over his shoulders and pull him into a tight embrace. He immediately melts into your arms, smothering his face against the crook of your neck and taking in your scent like a desperate man. Despite the sweat you and he worked up from hours of labor, you still smell so nice, like fresh cotton and assorted herbs. It's unique. It's comforting.

It's you.

"One week," you whisper in his ear. "Give me one week. I'll have an answer for you then."

He pulls back and looks at you like you’ve grown a second head. "Pardon?"

"I've hurt you, badly." you look down in shame. "I still am, but I'm going to make it up to you. I promise"

"A promise made with a Fae is a dangerous thing, especially when you don't uphold your end of the deal," he says with a warning tone. "One week. Are you sure that's enough time?"

"It is," you say with certainty.

You're not one to lie or bite off more than you can stomach. You know when you've been beaten, that's why you called for his help over the break. His interpretation of trust differs greatly from yours, and it's not given to many, Fae or not.

"Very well,” he yields. “I will trust you to keep to your oath.”

“Thank you,” you squeeze him closer against you. “And I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright. Just please, don't break my heart any further," he whispers pleadingly into your ear.

Apologies are dangerous words to say to a Fae, even a bit demeaning to some. The same with words of thanks, which you often say to him regularly. Malleus has developed a habit of accepting them out of courtesy. It's an aspect of his culture that you struggle to adjust to since it's interpreted differently in human society. You've also told him something he finds humorous, how your aunts constantly enforced you (in your words “beat it into you”) to say "please", "thank you", and “sorry”, as they didn't want others to think they were living in a crude household. It's incredibly ironic considering you tend to swear every other sentence.

You explained that "Thank you"s are acknowledgments of the efforts one makes for another, no matter how small or grandiose the gesture is. Apologies are acknowledgments that one has wronged another and wishes to make amends.

It sounds like common sense, but he understands now what you mean when you tell him "It's the little things that matter most". His heart was hurt when you couldn’t tell him “yes” or even a simple “no”. He's still suffering from the aftermath of his confession, even as he signs off on the last of the invitations for his birthday party, his mind failing to commit to the enthusiastically written words. You've acknowledged that you see his pain and that you recognize that you're its source. Despite having other troubles of your own, you've made it clear that he's now been pushed up your long to-do list and that he's now your main priority.

It brings much-needed relief to his pained heart, though just a bit.

He waits until Sebek is gone before he rummages around his desk for a beige-colored envelope, the one he enchanted and gave to you so you can speak to him over the break (he preferred this method over text messages). It still has your SOS letter in it, written with your now aged and darkened blood.

Malleus. I'm sorry for the smell, but it's all I have on hand. I'm in Scarabia's dorm and they're not letting me leave. I've been here for a few days to help the vice dorm leader with some sort of internal affair, but I think he did something to me that's making it impossible to refuse him anymore. I tried to bail, but they caught me and now they're locking me up and keeping a close eye on me.

If I may be a bit bold, I'm fucking scared out of my mind. I know it's rude of me to make demands without proper compensation, but I think I need some help. I don't want to cause a big fuss, so if you can could you come alone? If you can't that's fine. I'm sure I can pull through until the break ends.

I hope you're doing well. Again, sorry for the smell.

He makes a few more creases in the paper due to gripping it so harshly. He remembers opening it the first time and nearly ripping it in half because of how utterly livid he was. Your fresh blood also didn't help at the time. You didn't state what your current condition was when you drafted the letter and his mind immediately thought of you being injured and that was the reason you wrote it in your blood.

The time between him sneaking past his castle's security once he received your letter to arriving on Sage's Island via his own magic (curse the dark mirror for being inactive during the winter) is a bit of a blur. All he can remember is that he was just so worried for you, a magicless human against an entire dorm of wizards in training. Even someone with subpar control over their magic can do you a great deal of damage.

If sneaking out of his home without telling a soul, potentially causing one of the largest search hunts to commence had someone noticed and reported to his grandmother, doesn't prove how much you mean to him, he doesn't know what will.

One week. If it takes you one more week for you to realize this, then he will wait.

He trusts you, just as you trusted him when you sent him that letter.

He grabs his quill and dips the tip into a jar of ink, writing something quick and straightforward on a spare piece of parchment.

"Please come to my party. It would mean the world to me."

After the ink dries, he folds it and places it in the envelope, sealing it with wax bearing the crest of his family. He needs not utter a single incantation to have it erupt in a blaze of green fire. He waits. One minute. Two. Suddenly, a spark of blue fire erupts on his desk before dissipating, leaving behind the same envelope he burned minus a wax seal.

He opens it.

"Of course I will!"

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #malleus draconia #malleus x reader #twst malleus #twst sebek #sebek zigvolt #twst writing #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #gender neutral reader #fanfic: courtship

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worryinglyinnocent · 7 years

Text

Fic: Extraction (15/16)

Summary: Intelligence Agent Belle French has been given her most challenging assignment yet – one that will provide her agency with absolutely vital information on a practically untouchable arms dealer.

In addition to all the usual dangers any assignment carries, Belle also faces the edifying task of convincing Rum Gold to return to help the agency one last time. Agent Gold left the world of international espionage years ago, after an assignment went terribly wrong and ended in his imprisonment and torture, and he vowed never to return, but the agency cannot complete their mission without him…

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Read the previous chapters here on AO3.

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Fifteen

Belle couldn’t quite believe that it was over. She was still having trouble processing the fact that not only was she still alive, but that everyone else involved in the case was still alive, and that she was back home a free woman and not rotting somewhere underground in an Avalon prison. Even more astonishing was the fact that Regina was safe and sound as well. Graham was recovering well from his injuries and was back in the safehouse, and although Mal’s message about Daniel had been guarded, Belle got the impression that he was well on the way to making a full recovery as well. They had snatched victory from the jaws of defeat; so much had happened in so few seconds to turn the tables, and now here they were.

Blue, needless to say, was absolutely furious.

“Honestly,” Emma moaned from her desk in the bullpen, laying down her pen and paperwork and resting her head on the desk with a groan. “You’d think that she’d be happy that none of us are dead, at least.”

“Emma, you’ve read the Foresight file,” Belle pointed out. “You know how little respect for human life Blue has. It’s all about the intelligence. Now that Cora’s dead, there’s nothing to be gained. The entire assignment was a huge waste of time and resources in her eyes, and Cora’s now unable to answer for her crimes or stand trial.”

“But she’ll never cause any more trouble again!” Emma exclaimed. “I don’t understand how she can’t think that this is a good thing. If everything had gone off without a hitch and we’d extracted Regina as we’d planned and got all the information out of her during debrief, then it could still have taken years for us actually to bring down Cora, even with the inside source.” She paused, finally lifting her head off her paperwork and detaching the post-it note that had become adhered to her cheek. “I mean, I understand that it’s always bad when lives are lost during an assignment, be they our own people or the other side. I know that we strive to do everything with the minimum of bloodshed, but really, sometimes these things are the only way. Even with Regina’s evidence I don’t think that we could have broken Cora. I think that killing her was the only way to do it.”

“I think it’s more that the decision was taken out of Blue’s hands that’s making her so angry.” Belle leaned back in her chair, chewing on the end of her pen as she pondered. It was not unheard of for the agency to order assassinations of marks, but there was a separate team dedicated to those kinds of assignments, the ‘cleaners’ who got all the messy jobs. As it was, the agency had not made that decision. It had been made for them, by a terrified young woman in fear of both her own life and the lives of people she cared about. “And I think that she wanted to get Zelena grilled on some of her torture and interrogation methods so that we can get the human rights lawyers involved. Or use them ourselves, that’s possible.”

Emma glanced over to Blue’s office, the other woman was talking on the phone and looking her usual calm, unruffled self. “More likely, if you ask me,” she muttered darkly. “We completed our objective. We extracted Regina. Why we have to go through so much debrief for an assignment that succeeded…” She threw her squashy duck stress reliever at the wall; it bounced off and hit Blue’s office window, and their superior gave Emma a filthy look. Emma, for her part, merely rolled her eyes and went to retrieve the duck, whilst David Nolan tried and failed to stop himself from bursting out laughing.

“Shut up,” Emma snapped. “Or I’ll throw Floyd at you.”

David did not stop laughing, and he soon found himself under attack from a small duck. It was at that point that Blue finished her phone call and came out of her office.

“Swan! Nolan! You’re in the middle of a complex debrief and I need those reports before the end of the day! There’s no time for you to be acting like children!”

Emma just glowered, going back to her desk and making a show of spreading out all her papers in front of her. Blue’s nostrils flared and she turned to go back into her office.

“French!”

Belle rolled her eyes, suppressed a sigh and gathered up the operation file, following Blue into the claustrophobic room that served as her office. The door had barely swung shut when there came an almighty commotion from outside the bullpen, and the entire team turned in the direction of the door as the raised voices came ever closer.

“Sir, really, you can’t go…” someone was saying frantically, to which a wonderfully familiar Scottish brogue replied.

“Until they lockdown my security access I can go wherever I damn well please.”

Blue went rather pale. “Why does Gold still have security access?” she asked faintly of no-one in particular.

“Because we’re still in debrief,” Belle replied sweetly. “He’s still got access whilst you’re still asking him for reports.”

Blue gave a long-suffering sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose, going to sit back behind her desk. Belle saw her pop a couple of aspirin, and she smiled. The bitch deserved whatever was coming her way, headache included.

There was the electronic clunk of the bullpen door unlocking, and it slammed open with ferocious force. Gold was standing in the frame, sharp suited, cane in one hand, plastic wallet of paperwork clenched almost beyond recognition in the other, and the sight he presented was one of beautifully incandescent rage. It was like the moment in a film where the presumed-dead hero picks himself up and comes striding in to save the day. The junior officer hovering in the door behind him decided it was best to cut her losses and she scampered away. If Gold had clearance to be in this bullpen then she wasn’t going to stop him using it, and she wasn’t going to cross Blue if at all possible.

“Fae!” Gold growled. “Fae, you’d bloody better be in here!”

He strode into the room, a larger than life figure despite his small stature, the healing wounds on his face and neck just lending ever more gravitas and strength to his appearance, and Belle side-stepped to allow him into Blue’s office, closing the door behind them to give the illusion of privacy, although knowing Gold as she did, she was certain that in the confrontation to come, the others outside would be able to hear exactly what was going on.

He slammed the wallet down on the desk and pushed it towards Blue, looming over her across the polished wood. Blue’s hand inched across her desk towards her phone and Gold swept the receiver off his desk with the handle of his cane. For a moment, Belle’s hand twitched, almost going to her service weapon. Gold was fuming, a state that she hadn’t seen him in before, and in that moment, he looked downright dangerous. When he spoke at last, his voice was a sharp whisper, hissed through his teeth.

“You told me she was mine.”

Blue looked from the plastic wallet to Gold, her cool, emotionless eyes meeting his impassioned ones.

“Yes,” she said coldly. “I did.”

Gold took a step back, not sitting down but no longer the looming, predatory figure that he had been before, and Belle’s hand relaxed. He leaned heavily on his cane, as if that initial burst of anger had taken it out of him and he no longer had the will to fight furiously in the face of Blue’s immoveable steel.

“You told me that she was mine because you knew that I would drop everything and go to her,” he growled. “You knew that after what you did to my son, I would jump at the chance to make sure that nothing happened to my daughter. You used me, Blue. You used my son against me before and you used him against me again now!”

“I did what I had to do to make you accept the assignment,” Blue replied. “And nothing you can bluster and shout and threaten me with will make me regret what I did. Although the assignment could have been completed a lot more cleanly,” here she looked at Belle, “it achieved its aim, one that would not have been achieved without your co-operation. Of course I manipulated you. I had a job to do, and in a line of work such as ours, we cannot afford to let emotions get in the way of that. I would have thought that was a lesson you would have learned well after your last assignment in Avalon. Wasn’t it your tender feelings for Cora Mills that got you into this entire mess in the first place?”

“Don’t try to pretend that wasn’t your idea, Blue,” Gold snarled, and he smacked his fist against the plastic wallet again. “You told me that she was mine, you sent me out there to what was almost my death on false pretences. You knew.”

Belle came closer to the table and saw the top sheet of the paperwork in the crumpled wallet. It was Regina’s medical notes from the House, including DNA. It was there in damning black and white; Regina and Gold were not related by blood.

Gold gave a harsh bark of laughter. “You’re a first class bitch, Fae, but then you always were. As long as you get what you want, it doesn’t matter who you screw over.”

“We’re in international intelligence,” Blue replied levelly. “Screwing people over is our job.”

“We don’t screw over our own,” Gold snapped. “We don’t leave our own agents in the hands of sadistic psychopaths for two fucking years because it’s not convenient for us to have them back. We don’t take away everything that one of our own has left and then use that loss to make them do the one thing they promised they would never do again, to send them back to the place that took so much away from them, to send them out to die under false pretences. We don’t do that to our own people.”

Blue’s hard expression was unwavering in the face of Gold’s ire. “We do what we have to in the name of national security,” she said. “Anything that we have to.”

“You and your godforsaken greater good.” Gold picked his security access card out of his jacket pocket and tossed it onto the desk; it skittered across and fell into Blue’s lap. “Since you’ll have my access revoked as soon as I’m out of the building after this little stunt, you might as well have it. I’m done, Fae. Done with your lies, done with you trying to rip me and my family apart in the name of international security. But you’re going to do one thing for me. One last little favour after everything that I’ve done for you.”

“What might that be?” Blue asked.

“Bae. You’re going to give me Bae’s files.”

“They’re locked down, Gold. You can’t just walk out of here with them.”

“I’m not intending to. But I’ll keep reminding you, until you give me what I want. As I’m sure you’ll remember from those good old days, I can be very persuasive.”

He turned on his heel, and gave Belle a polite nod. “Agent French, perhaps you would care to escort me from the building.”

“I would be glad to, Agent Gold.”

“French, get back here!” Blue snapped as Belle left her office, gathering up her coat and handbag from her desk and locking up her workstation.

“I’m cashing in my overtime,” Belle called over her shoulder as she swiped Gold out of the bullpen.

Once they were in the elevator going down to the entrance, Gold sagged, leaning heavily on his cane and the lift wall, flexing his bad ankle. The beating he’d taken in Avalon had aggravated old wounds best left unopened, and Belle could tell that the display of force in Blue’s office had really taken it out of him.

“She’s going to make your life hell for this,” he said, looking up at Belle from his slumped position. “Nobody walks out on Fae Blue.”

“It was worth whatever she throws at me,” Belle said.

“I don’t really know what it’s achieved,” Gold said. “Other than the determination to get Bae’s files by any means necessary. It’s information that should have been released to me before, so there’s no reason why I can’t have it now. She’ll try and fudge it in some way, but she’ll have to give up in the end. Patience is a virtue.”

They reached reception and Belle swiped him out of the building entirely, stepping out into the November afternoon after him.

“So what happens now?” she asked him.

“Now I go back to Scotland, and try to forget that all this ever happened.” Gold sighed. “But before then, I have a package to collect, and I was wondering if you would care to accompany me.”

Belle raised an eyebrow. “What kind of package?”

“Regina’s debrief is complete,” Gold replied. “I’m going to collect her from the House and take her home.”

Belle smiled. “In that case, I would love to come.”

They made the drive to the House in silence for the most part, but as they were pulling up to the gates and Belle was showing her credentials to the security guard, she felt that she had to ask the question that had been burning at the back of her mind throughout the journey, ever since the revelation of Regina’s true parentage.

“Did you suspect that Regina wasn’t yours at any point?” she asked as they continued up the driveway towards the complex.

Gold shook his head. “No. Not even when Cora was taunting me. I knew that she just wanted to get under my skin and rile me, and I thought that she was just saying it for my reaction. To be honest, I think it would have been quite hard for her to tell whose child Regina was; I don’t think she knew herself unless she’d got her hands on DNA results. It was only after we got back here that the slight doubt started to creep into my mind. I know what Blue’s like, and I know that this information would have been gold dust to her, no pun intended. All of a sudden, once I was back here, it struck me just how convenient it was that she’d got her hands on this intel just at the time when she needed it. I hadn’t questioned it at the time because I’d always suspected Regina was mine. She just played all the right cards and I played right into her hands, like I always do.” Gold sighed, flexing his fingers on the steering wheel as they crept up the drive. “There’s something about Blue that’s always been able to get under my skin, even before everything happened twenty years ago. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t have anyone of her own that she cares about like we care about our loved ones. She doesn’t understand the ferocity of the bonds that we share. She’s married to the service and always has been. It’s not a choice that I can criticise; that’s what she wants to do. But I do think that it affects the way she views other people’s relationships, as if love and companionship is somehow beneath her.”

Belle nodded, she could understand exactly where he was coming from. They reached the House carpark and Gold looked up at the magnificent building with a sigh.

“With any luck, this will be the last time that I see the place. It’s a shame. There are some good memories here in among all the bad ones.”

“Granny said that you and Mal were quite the team when it came to making trouble whilst you were training,” Belle said.

“Oh, we ran her absolutely ragged.” Gold chuckled. “Sometimes she couldn’t believe that we were grown adults rather than teenagers. You’d never think it to look at us now, of course, both the picture of respectability.”

It wasn’t respectability as such, more just the fact that life had caught up with them. After everything that had happened over the past twenty years, neither Mal nor Gold looked like they had been pranksters in their younger days, but sometimes, when Gold smiled, Belle could see the traces of the man that he had once been fight their way through to the surface. He smiled more readily now, she noticed as they moved around the House building to the entrance. Handing in his security clearance and cutting his ties with Blue and the service seemed to have done him the world of good and taken a weight off his mind.

Ruby greeted them as they entered the House. When they had first arrived back with Regina, bruised and battered and barely having made it, the other woman had been unable to let go of Belle for about five minutes, so glad to see her alive and well after everything that had happened.

“It’s all quiet on the western front,” she said. “Mal’s been sending us regular direct updates in addition to the reports she’s sending to Blue. She says that everything’s normal, the police bought the story of Cora’s death and are sweeping the whole thing under the rug. Although everyone over there knew that she was involved in some very suspect activities, they don’t exactly want to advertise it. They’ve got some people sniffing around about Regina’s absence, but nothing they can’t handle. The inquisitors have finished, she was perfectly co-operative and they don’t think that there’s anything more to be gained from mining her for more information now that Cora is out of the picture; her network will have gone underground, but the Avalon office will be ready to pounce on them when they do emerge. Considering what happened, I’d say that it was a very successful assignment, but no doubt Blue feels differently. I’m amazed she let you out of the office, to be honest.”

Belle snorted. She knew that she’d get so much flack when she returned later, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Some things were more important.

“She’s through here.”

Ruby led them out into the quad, a central courtyard that the sprawling house complex was built around, with the main stately home as its front façade and other more modern extensions covering the other three sides. The space was made into a small garden so that those who were under lockdown in the house and not able to leave the building could still enjoy the sunshine and fresh air. Regina was sitting on a bench, her rucksack at her feet. The dye had long since washed out of her hair and it curled around her face where Belle had cut it. She smiled when she saw the two agents coming towards her.

“Ruby says I’m free,” she said. “I guess you’re my escort out of here.”

“That we are.” Gold crossed the quad and sat down beside her. “How’ve they been treating you?”

“Good. I’m not going to lie, I was half-expecting thumbscrews and waterboarding, but we just talked. It’ll be nice to get out of here though, it’s a lovely building but I’m used to the open air. Stupid really, the thing I miss most about home is my horse.” She grinned and turned to Gold. “Mal sent me a message this morning, Daniel’s doing well and they’re going to get him moved over here at the end of next week.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

There was a long pause then, and Belle felt a little awkward, like a third wheel hovering by the doors, and she feigned interest in her phone. This was a moment between two people who had built such a close bond over so few days without really knowing each other, and who had just had the rug pulled out from under their feet.

“Regina,” Gold began presently, his voice gentle, “I’m not quite sure of the most delicate way to put this, but you’ve got to know that I’m not your father.”

Regina nodded. “I know. I’ve always known. Ever since Mama told me about you and I started suspecting that you were, she set the record straight.”

“If you knew, why did you want me to be the one to come and get you?” Gold asked. There was a little edge in his voice now, a hint of steel at the idea that Regina had used his feelings for her in the same way that Blue had.

“Because you were the only person I knew who’d gone up against Cora.”

“I lost,” Gold pointed out. “If you were looking for a stellar example of intelligence operations, that wasn’t one.”

“I don’t mean it like that. I don’t really know what I mean. I mean, she’d screwed you over just like she kept screwing me over. I kind of felt like we were kindred spirits, in a way. And I know it’s stupid but I’d always thought of you more as a father figure than my actual father. I never met either of you, but you were always the one I had in mind when I imagined someone coming to rescue me from the nightmare I was living. My real father was dead, I knew that there was nothing he could do. But you were still out there, you still had the same kind of feelings towards Cora as I did… I felt certain that if anyone would help and want to get some kind of revenge on her, you would.”

There was a long pause, and Gold’s hand closed over Regina’s on the bench beside him.

“The blood of the covenant runs thicker than the water of the womb,” he said. “I don’t regret coming to get you, Regina. I never will. And I promise that I will continue to keep you safe. And Daniel when he gets here, although I’m sure he can do a better job of protecting you than I can. Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

Regina picked up her bag and they both got to their feet, coming back towards Belle.

“I’ll stay here a while,” she said, conscious of the fact that she really needed to leave the two of them alone together to get themselves sorted out and work out where their strange little friendship was going. “Ruby can give me a lift back to HQ later.”

This was it, the parting of the ways. She shook hands with Regina, who took a pointed look between the two of them and ducked inside the house to give them some time alone.

“Thank you for everything, Belle,” Gold said. “I could not have hoped for a better, more resilient or more caring partner than you.”

He shook her hand, pressing his lips against her cheek in a gesture of farewell. For a long moment, looking into his eyes as they broke apart, Belle wondered what he was thinking, if he wanted to kiss her as badly as she wanted to kiss him.

“You’re very welcome,” she said eventually.

There was another moment of silence screaming with unsaid words, and then Gold gave her a wan smile and moved into the house. Belle remained standing in the doorway, her fingers pressed against her cheek, feeling the memory of his lips there.

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle #Spies!AU #Regina Mills #Fic: Extraction

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jaynaneeya · 7 years

Text

The Haberdasher’s Wife

As I may have mentioned, my faves at Shipwrecked Comedy are kickstarting a film noir short called The Case of the Gilded Lily that I am RIDICULOUSLY stoked about, so you should probably definitely check that out here, and at the very least watch their epic Kickstarter video, and possibly consider pledging, since there are only a few days left and every dollar helps!

Below the break is a scene from the beginning of the classic film The Haberdasher’s Wife, staring Wilhelmina Vanderjetski as Alice and Cliff Calloway as Floyd, and featuring several moderately famous character actors.

[Side note: Tumblr is good for many things, but writing screenplays is not one of them, so the formatting got a little messed up...oh well]

INT. WYNN’S HABERDASHERY – DAY

Various customers mill about, shopping.

FLOYD WYNN stands behind the counter, handing CUSTOMER 1 his change.

ALICE WYNN enters from the back room, carrying a large box.

FLOYD

Have a great day!

CUSTOMER 1 smiles and exits.

Alice approaches counter.

ALICE

Good morning, Floyd, darling.

FLOYD

Good morning, Alice, dear.

What’s in the box?

ALICE

(setting box on counter)

The new shipment of fedoras.

FLOYD

Just in time, too. We were nearly sold out.

ALICE

I can’t believe how fast we’re selling them!

Were all the hats in town stolen or something?

Alice is distracted by MR. WORTHING, who is examining a necktie nearby.

ALICE

Oh, Mr. Worthing, don’t even think of buying that tie!

MR. WORTHING

(startled) What’s wrong with it, Mrs. Wynn?

ALICE

Well, nothing if you have the right suit for it.

But you’d do much better with…

Alice rummages through the ties on display for a few seconds, then triumphantly pulls out the one she was looking for.

ALICE

This one! Complements both your suit and your eyes.

MR. WORTHING

(skeptically) It does?

ALICE

Trust me. Guaranteed to impress both your

boss and your wife. Here, take two just in

case. And if you want to be even more chic,

we have some very nice tie clips over there

for 50% off.

Mr. Worthing heads to the tie clips, looking slightly dazed.

Alice turns back to Floyd, who has been watching her amusedly.

FLOYD

If I’d known how good you were going

to be for business, I’d have married

you several years earlier.

ALICE

If I’d known how much fun it was going

to be, I’d have proposed to you myself.

But just think how much better business

could be if you’d get over yourself and

hire a few more like me to help out.

FLOYD

As I keep reminding you, my dear, this

business has been exclusively family-owned

and -operated since my great-grandfather

opened it way back in-

ALICE

(sighs, interrupts) Yes, yes, I know.

FLOYD

Besides, I could never hire “a few more

like you”. You’re one of a kind.

Alice rolls her eyes but looks pleased as she picks up the box of fedoras again.

ALICE

Oh, stop it. I’m going to put these

on display before we have a hat riot.

Alice carries the box toward the fedora display, which currently consists of two hats. Before she reaches it, two thuggish, shady-looking men, JACK and ERNIE, each grabs one of them and tries it on.

Jack and Ernie examine themselves in a mirror against the wall. They take no notice as Alice opens the box and begins to arrange the new fedoras. Facing the mirror, they speak to each other in hushed tones, but Alice can clearly hear them.

ERNIE

I don’t like it, Jack. Tommy said 10 a.m.

sharp, and it’s almost a quarter after.

Still no contact. What gives?

JACK

Keep it down, will you, Ernie? He also

said there might be trouble getting it.

ERNIE

You mean whoever it is chickened out?

They’re not going to give it to us after all?

JACK

Looks that way.

ERNIE

So, they’re not even here?

JACK

Oh, they’re here all right. Tommy said

that was a sure thing. They just might

take a little persuasion is all.

ERNIE

Oh, no, Jack, you don’t mean…

JACK

(dangerously) I sure do.

You’re with me, ain’t you?

ERNIE

Sure I am, Jack, of course, only…

Alice has been listening with increasing alarm to this conversation. She can’t take it any longer.

ALICE

Can I help you gentlemen with something?

Both Jack and Ernie jump and whirl around to face her. Ernie looks terrified, but Jack recovers quickly.

JACK

We can’t decide if these are the right

hats for us. What do you think, ma’am?

ALICE

(as casually as possible) Oh, yes,

they’re the latest thing. We simply

can’t keep them on our shelves.

JACK

See, Ernie, I told you! Now, where

would we find cufflinks?

Alice points, and Jack and Ernie head in the direction she indicates.

Abandoning the half-finished fedora display, Alice returns to the counter. Floyd immediately notices her distress.

FLOYD

What’s the matter?

ALICE

We need to get everyone out of here now.

FLOYD

What do you mean? Why? How?

ALICE

I’ve just overheard the most terrifying

conversation. I don’t know how, maybe

we could start a fire.

FLOYD

(alarmed) Alice, you’re not making any sense.

What are you talking about?

ALICE

Two men-

She is interrupted by a loud BANG.

Jack and Ernie stand blocking the front door, both holding guns. Jack’s is still smoking from the round he just discharged into the ceiling.

There is chaos as everyone else in the haberdashery panics.

JACK

(yelling over the crowd)

EVERYBODY QUIET!

Silence falls as everyone freezes.

JACK

That’s better. Now, here’s the deal.

One of you has something that we want.

Nobody leaves this store until we get it.

Got it?

#figandford #fig and ford #shipwrecked comedy #the case of the gilded lily #wilhelmina vanderjetski #fanfic

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reivenesque · 7 years

Text

Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap CH7

Chapter 7: Girls Got Rhythm (17390 words) KC seems to be taking advantage of being able to order any kind of food he wants, and by any kind Floyd means absolutely every kind. He’s pretty sure he heard someone actually say ‘alligator nuggets’ which is some messed up boondocks, furthest most backwards shithole of the Louisiana bayou he’s ever heard of. But doubly creepy considering KC might be eating a distant cousin or a long lost niece or something.

“I’m a fucking crocodile, asshole. It even fucking says so in the title sequence,” KC says when Floyd for some reason brings it up.

[ch1] [ch2] [ch3] [ch4] [ch5] [ch6]

(ao3)

It’s been 2 days, 17 hours, 43 minutes and 13 seconds since he last saw the other members of the squad.

It’s been 2 days, 20 hours, 23 minutes and 4 seconds since he last saw Flag, GQ, June and his precious baby, but…not like he was keeping count or anything lame like that.

5 seconds… 6 seconds… 7 seconds…

“Hey Lawton, ya’ decent?”

The sudden loud bang on his metal door sends his mind lurching out of his thoughts. The new guard in charge was already way better than Griggs—who had all of a sudden taken an extended leave of absence out of the blue. Floyd pretends not to know why but since he and Harley are pretty close, he considers himself in the know, on the D.L, hip to be square or whatever it is kids were saying nowadays. He’s sure that the little GQ sitting on his shoulder speaking words of wisdom into his ear would beg to differ.

That didn’t mean that the new guy was any less of an asshole. He was just less ruthless and demeaning about it.

“I know you want sum’ma this, Wilcox, but I’d kindly ask you to keep it in your pressed khakis. You’re not my type.”

The hinges of the door creak and whine and whinge as it opens with an almost painful screech before the big burly man steps into view.

“You should change your nickname to The Comedian, since you think you’re so funny, Lawton.”

He reminds Floyd of Commander Jeffries in a way. He was unapologetically uptight and by the book, but he proved himself entertaining in his own cynical way and Floyd didn’t outright hate his guts, which was always a bonus.

“Pretty sure that would be copyright infringement, but whatever you say. Get to the damn point; you’re making me late for my appointment.”

“Appointment, really?”

“Yeah, really, appointment. Over on that side of the room,” Floyd points towards the far left of his 10 by 10 foot cubicle. “As you can see, I have a hot date.”

“You need to stop cracking me up, Lawton,” he says, with the sternest, strictest expression ever. “But your date will have to wait till after breakfast.”

“You say breakfast, but I see none. There’s one person with an overreaching imagination here and surprisingly it isn’t me.”

But Wilcox pays him no heed, instead motions to the two guards flanking him on either side; the fact that he came over to Floyd’s cell with only two guards (who were both armed) but absolutely nothing else immediately lifted him straight out of Floyd’s shit list. “Biggits, Banks,” he motions with his chin for them to stand at attention on either side of the door. “Lawton. I’ve come here as a courtesy with these two family men who have families they want to go back home to at night. I would appreciate it if you showed as much in return and don’t make a problem for all of us.”

Floyd does like him. A lot. He’s already head and shoulders above that git, Griggs in dignity and composure. At over 6 foot tall, he’s literally head and shoulders above Griggs physically as well.

“Well, far be it for me to keep these men from their families,” Floyd says, trying to mask the twinge of his own sadness at his statement with humour. He raises both hands above his head in a show of peace and steps out of the cell. He feels Wilcox’s eyes looking at him up and down and he tries not to flinch at the intensity in the gaze. Surprisingly Wilcox nods towards the two guards behind him and beckons for him to follow with a nudge of his head. No cuffs, no gurney or straps, no wheelchair; just the three guards and Floyd.

Floyd tries not to let his surprise show outright on his face as he walks in step with the big man down the cold and dreary hall.

He really has no clue what’s happening or where they’re going, usually this situation would have invoked some kind of fight or flight instinct in him, but somehow Floyd felt safe enough, trustful enough of this man he didn’t know to follow him towards uncertainty. Somehow he had a feeling that it had something to do with Flag. This man, Commander Jeffries and Flag, they all had the same type of aura about them, something that felt very military. Floyd didn’t know how to explain it. It was like a scent, but not one you smelled, just one that wafted of their person like an invisible sensation. It commanded respect, but not out of fear, just out of reverence. And this man had it in spades. Floyd had a feeling Flag had a hand in this.

It wasn’t just with what happened with Griggs who gave his 7 day notice but then skipped the whole 7 days of work; 90 percent of the personnel and staff at Belle Reve had been different when they returned.

If not Flag, Floyd was certain it had something to do with Waller.

They end up in a part of the wing that Floyd had never been in before. This area actually had white paint on the walls that were still white and unstained, and better yet, still on the wall; not dried, broken chips on the ground. Even the air in the place felt different; cleaner, lighter somehow. It made Floyd feel less down than he had been just a few minutes ago.

They stop suddenly in front of a metal, double flap door. Hell even the door looked slightly less metal and imposing than they looked over in his personal side of hell. There were no large bolts or welding marks or peculiar, humanoid looking scratches in the surface. This door actually looked new. The whole corridor looked new. What the hell was going on?

“What the fuck is going on?”

Wilcox doesn’t answer; he only gives Floyd a lopsided smirk that Floyd really wanted to punch off his person, regardless of whether or not he liked the man.

“After you,” he motions towards the door as he takes a casual step back.

All of a sudden Floyd is nervous again, in a way he hadn’t felt in a long while. What if this was some sort of test, or a trap? Was there a bomb inside that room that was set to go off when he opened the door?

Wilcox was far too relaxed and casual about it, arms crossed over his chest and an easy going look on his face. Even the two guards flanking him were currently engaged in small talk between themselves which was not the casualness Floyd expected to see from guards at Belle Reve. He was used to getting punched and kicked and tased and stabbed even, but getting this kind of nonchalance from people who should be terrified of him, who should hate him, it was thoroughly unnerving.

But he throws open the door regardless—

And gets bowled over by a figure moving too fast to see.

“Dadshot! I missed you so much! How have you been, darlin’? Well? I’ve been well. We’ve all been well, we’ve been better, but being well isn’t exactly a step down.”

“Harley?”

But Harley’s speaking a mile a minute and pays absolutely no attention to the person she’s tossing the grenade of words at.

Floyd manages to push himself into a sitting position with Harley still latching onto him like a baby monkey and looks out at the room he just entered.

It looks suspiciously like a cafeteria, but again, it’s large and clean and new—

And KC is seated at the far end chowing down on what seemed to be remnants of whole roast cow. Not roast beef. Like an actual cow, head, hoofs and all.

Diablo is seated across from him with a posh looking cup of tea that he’s tipping in Floyd’s direction.

On the next table there’s a mountain of fast food paper bags and food wrappers strewn about and the sound of an animal hungrily chomping down on the carcass of prey it just killed. On the side there’s also 2 half empty six-packs of beer that immediately gave the person’s identity away.

“You just gonna lie there all day, Lawton?”

Floyd knows he’s looking a bit like an idiot sitting there with his legs stretched out in front of him on the floor, but his brain feels too incoherent and confused to send the necessary signals to his body in order to make it move up off said floor.

“What the hell is going on?”

“Breakfast, dumb ass. Even criminals know what that means, right? Now get the fuck up and get the fuck over there. I have better things to do than wait around for you sitting there like the blackest beached whale in the entire ocean.”

Floyd feels his body move of its own accord as he gets up into a standing position. Harley finally gets the hint and lets go though she’s still talking shit to him that he has absolutely no clue what about. The moment he’s up and out of the way the doors immediately slam shut and he hears the sound of the locks being bolted from the outside.

“Floydkins? Only two days away from us and you’ve already reverted back to your Neanderthal ways?”

“Shut up, Quinn.”

“Now there’s the grumpy old assassin we all know and love.”

Floyd doesn’t hit girls, but sometimes he wonders if Harley actually qualifies as one, especially after the shit she just spouted.

He’s not that old.

“Floyd,” Diablo greets him cheerily.

Diablo, greets and cheery are not three words Floyd ever thought he’d ever use in a sentence together, but there he was before him, looking like he finally got rid of the burden of the world he was carrying around on his back.

Floyd doesn’t dislike it. It’s just strange.

And KC just swallowed an entire cow hoof. Whole.

“Boom, did you eat yourself to death already?” KC bellows out when Floyd approaches.

Out of the mountain of trash, Floyd hears a mumble and a quake before the vibrations shake all the Happy Jack’s paper wrappers and paper bags onto the floor, leaving a very giddy, very well-fed Australian in its place lying flat on his back on the table.

“Keep eating man, I like my meals well fed,” he adds with a guffaw.

“Piss on ya’, KC. I’m too full to even fucking care right now, mate.”

“Can someone tell me what the fuck is going on?” Floyd says finally. Why the hell do none of these people seem as concerned as he is about this whole bizarre turn of events? Where are they? Why are they there?

“We’ve got good food, amazing coffee and a gorgeous fucking place all to ourselves that doesn’t smell like the inside of Boomerangs’ disgusting coat. Who fucking cares?”

Harley makes a good point, but Floyd isn’t as easily mollified as she is. “I fucking care, that’s who. I did not just spend 3 fucking days locked up by myself with no news of the outside, no news of you guys and now we’re all here in this nice decent cafeteria with actual edible food, it’s like they’re fattening us up before leading us out to slaughter.”

“For the record, man, I have no problem with that as of this moment.”

“Shut up, Boom. No one fucking asked you.”

Frankly, Floyd is fucking pissed at their nonchalance. But he’s abruptly cut off when there’s a clicking sound of a door being unlocked from the opposite end of the room and all of them finally decide to take this fucking seriously.

Floyd follows the slowly opening door with his eyes; fingers subconsciously reaching out for the nearest object he could use for protection. That object happened to be a recently chewed cow thigh bone which was both gross, but currently needed.

The door opens almost comically slow like some kind of horror movie parody, complete with dramatic squeaking as it slows to a halt and a figure suddenly jumps out of the darkness.

“Surprise!”

“Jesus Christ,” Floyd rolls his eyes exasperatedly and immediately relinquishes his grip on the disgustingly greasy and moist piece of bone.

“No guys, it’s me, GQ. It’s only been 2 days; don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me already.”

“You’re about to become a distant memory, GQ. What the fuck were you thinking?”

GQ shrugs his shoulders casually, making it clear that in true GQ fashion, he really wasn’t thinking anything.

Floyd actually really missed the dumbass. He was like the annoying little brother Floyd never had, never needed, never would have wanted but got stuck with anyway. Plus he isn’t the worst company, so there’s that.

“Bet you didn’t see this coming, did ya’?” He says, a little too enthusiastically for Floyd’s ever waning patience, motioning to the room. “We’ve scheduled it so that you guys will get to have breakfast, lunch or dinner here together once a day. Which meal time on which day is completely up to you guys. That’s why none of us were around the last couple of days. It’s been complicated shit, but you know, you’ve got me on the team and handling all this complicated political stuff—”

“So you mean Waller did all this?”

GQ deflates a little. “Well—yeah. Waller gave the okay but Flag was the one hounding her into submission. If you can imagine the word submission and Waller in the same sentence. And you can imagine that Flag’s still not 100 percent and looks only slightly better than someone who’s actually dead, so that was doubly astounding seeing Waller actually cave.”

“How is our favourite Colonel doing?” Diablo asks, beating Floyd to the proverbial punch.

“Oh you know, being very Flag with the doctors and all the medical personnel. And by that I mean pissing the shit out of everyone by acting like the world’s worst, most disgruntled old man. Which by the way, I’m not sure he isn’t at heart.”

“Sounds like Flag,” Diablo lets out a small chuckle. “But seriously, how is he?”

GQ sobers up almost immediately. The grin fades from his face and the difference is almost astounding.

“He isn’t paralysed if that’s what you’re asking, but only because he’s literally the luckiest son of a bitch this side of the solar system. The bullets didn’t hit his heart because of Lawton’s cross and it barely missed his spine, but there is damage to the nerves and the doctors say that he probably won’t be able to do most of the things he used to, or at least, not without difficulty.”

The statement causes the entire room to sober up the same way GQ did not two minutes ago.

“What does that mean for the squad though? If Flag can’t go out on missions anymore?”

GQ looks almost hesitant to answer. This is the serious version of GQ they’ve only seen a handful of times and his appearance here and now is unnerving.

“Just tell it to us straight, GQ. No bullshit,” Floyd knows that whatever GQ has to say will not be what any of them want to hear. But like a band aid, better rip it off quickly and get the pain over with.

“The truth is…uh, I don’t really know the workings of the higher ups and this is just what I’ve heard people saying. There’s talk that the military wants to give Flag an honourable discharge for his services in the military in the past and for his role as leader of this squad. But Waller hasn’t confirmed or denied anything yet so…I don’t know. We’ll just have to see, I guess.”

Silence swallows the room.

Floyd doesn’t really know what to say. Of all the things he expected, that was absolutely the last thing. He knew that if the bosses deemed Flag unfit to lead the squad on ground missions that he wouldn’t be with them, actively, but he’s sure that he’d at least still be there working with the squad from behind the scenes or something.

The military wanting to discharge him, honourably or otherwise wouldn’t mean that he’d have nothing to do with the project or the squad anymore, right?

The squad without Flag, without GQ or Katana or any single one of them—well…it just wasn’t the complete squad then.

The day that ended up being pretty good turned out to be worse than what Floyd had expected.

GQ stayed a couple more hours after that, just talking. But the mood in the whole room was sombre. Even Harley didn’t make any inappropriate jokes or give them any new pastry-related nicknames. In fact, she looked the most sombre of them all.

The next few days pass in a blur. The daily meals with the squad at the cafeteria did wonders for morale.

Wilcox actually turned out to be a pretty swell guy. Somewhere along the way, he even stopped bringing backup when he came to escort Floyd to the cafeteria. The walk usually took about 10 minutes that they actually spent talking. Floyd discovered that Wilcox (though he declined to provide a first name. “Think of me like Drake,” he said) is married with two kids. Floyd actually talks to him about Zoe and Wilcox to his credit actually seems genuinely sympathetic by his situation. Floyd guesses that it’s just a universal thing that fathers would understand.

The first week rolls around in the blink of an eye. Katana stopped by a few days after GQ came. She didn’t say anything. She just sat morosely in the corner sharpening her sword but her mere presence provided a familiar sense of comfort. At one point Diablo actually walked over with two plates of food, one for him and one for her and silently took seat on the empty spot beside her. Neither of them said anything or even made eye contact, but that was the most relaxed Floyd had ever seen either of them.

June stopped by the following week and for some reason after being acquainted with them for just those couple of days in the hospital—excluding the time they as a collective team banished the evil ancient spirit that was embodying her soul—somehow she’d decided to take up the mantle of Squad Mom. Asking everyone if they’d eaten, making sure KC got an extra serving of cake and everything else. Brewing both Harley and Diablo coffee, which they later declared to be the best cup of coffee they’d ever had. June made the coffee the old fashioned way, not with one of those fancy espresso machines Harley had.

Floyd wasn’t sure whether Boomerang liked her, or liked her liked her, but since she was officially Flag’s old lady, Floyd knew even Boomerang was aware that meant that she was irrevocably off limits. Floyd wasn’t sure whether Harley liked her, or liked her liked her, either. But that was an entirely different ballgame, one he absolutely did not want to get involved with. He loved Flag like a brother and he’d die for the guy, but he would not get between that for any amount of money or familial bond.

June tells her about Zoe which simultaneously cheers him up and weighs him down. How well she’s doing in school and ‘no, she doesn’t have a boyfriend’ and that she stays over at June’s at least a few times a week. Whenever Darnell or her mom are away for extended periods of time, June will come and stay over or Zoe will come and stay over at June’s, since June hadn’t officially moved back into Flag’s apartment yet since he wasn’t there.

Flag was out of the ICU and had been moved into a regular room. He still needed a few days of rest before the doctor would consider himself fit to start physical therapy; a fact that according to June really brought him down and Floyd was sympathetic. He knew how tough Flag was; they’d all seen proof of that with their own two eyes, and to end up in this vulnerable position with still such a long road ahead after all the fighting he’d been doing, it must be devastating. Floyd knows the kind of person Flag is, how going out into a raging battlefield with bullets whizzing past his ear and the heat of bombs going off in his face must seem like a cake walk compared to having to deal with stupid things such as emotions and feelings.

Floyd was the same way. Not to the crazy jarhead extent of Flag, but he understood enough.

At the very least though, he was glad that June, Zoe, GQ and Katana were all there for him. Hell, even Waller, cause if there was anyone knew how to kick an ass into gear, it was Amanda Waller.

It wasn’t until the third week of what they’d describe as a much appreciated relaxation yet repetitive amount of complacency that Floyd feels like things were truly starting to change. He’d even go as far as to describe where he was at this point in his life as contented, maybe even happy.

Wilcox calls for him early after lunch that day. Usually they have a couple of hours for lunch and by 4.30 P.M. they’d be called by the head guards of their respective sections to escort them back to their cells. Harley actually has a female guard in charge of her wing of Belle Reve this time and someone she never fails to make suggestive remarks towards and flirts incessantly with as they leave.

Floyd always thought he knew Harley, or at least knew enough of her, but at one point during the last couple of weeks he realized that he didn’t really know her at all.

It’s only 3 P.M. and Wilcox is already hollering at him from the door and Floyd controls the urge to use a small carton of uneaten yoghurt as a projectile aimed straight at the man’s fat black head.

“Let’s go, Lawton. We got a hot date for you today.”

“I knew you were lonely without me, Wilcox, you could have just told me outright instead of planning this extravagant proposal,” he says with an eye roll as he irritably gets to his feet.

“Tone down the egotism, Lawton. Even in a room with former Latino gangbangers, basket cases, humanoid reptiles and Australians, you’re absolutely the last person I’d pick for my dodgeball team in a zombie apocalypse.”

Everyone seemed way too amused by Wilcox’s words than Floyd really thought was necessary, they were after all supposed to be his squad.

“See you guys tomorrow,” he says, but no one bids him goodbye. They were all still too busy laughing and truth be told, Floyd felt a little betrayed by their reaction.

“You poisoned them, didn’t you? To get them on your side.” He confronts Wilcox as they’re walking down the now familiar path, the sound of their footsteps echoing against the corridor walls.

“Just with my charm and wit.”

Floyd takes back what he said in the past. He hates this fucking guy and his stupid smug smirk.

They take a different bend than the one that leads back to Floyd’s cell today.

“You taking me out back to kill me, man? Now that you’ve won over the loyalty of my squad.”

Wilcox actually seems genuinely amused by the whole exchange. The asshole. “I wasn’t. But that’s actually not a bad plan. One less asshole I need to deal with on a day to day basis. It isn’t enough that I have this annoying as shit whack job former billionaire on the upper level crying about Batman every night, I’ve got to get down in this hell hole and deal with you too.”

Floyd is curious about this whack job former billionaire with a Batman-phobia, but not enough to actually inquire.

“My heart weeps for you, man.”

Wilcox responds to Floyd’s last quip with a slight upturn of the lips before he motions for Floyd to stop.

This is it, Floyd think. He’s about to get murdered in cold blood and his squad probably wouldn’t even notice. They already got their replacement black guy to fill the minority quota and he’s just as witty as Floyd and a big enough asshole but obviously nowhere near as good looking. He and Flag would probably get along great, if they don’t already.

“Why’re you looking like someone’s about to murder your three legged puppy, Lawton?”

That shakes Floyd immediately out of his reverie. “What monster would try and kill an innocent three legged puppy?” he responds disgustedly and slightly taken aback.

“It’s a figure of speech, man,” Wilcox says, looking at Floyd like he was talking to a petulant two-year old. “Now if you’re done doing an impeccable impersonation of an angst ridden teen, I have placed to be and people to see. It does not say ‘professional babysitter’ on my job description.”

Wilcox just punched a code into the keypad beside the large imposing door in front of Floyd and both of them step back and watch silently as the metal door slides to an open.

They seem to be in the more high tech section of Belle Reve, a place Floyd didn’t even know existed. Hell, he didn’t even know they had a cafeteria, much less one that actually looks like a cafeteria where people actually eat in and not an underground butcher shop in some uncivilized third world country. Although on KC’s section of the room, people might actually make that assumption.

They’ve spent meals together there every day for the past three weeks, and while they spend most of it just chilling, sometimes without even having to say a word to each other. Once in a while Harley or Boom starts telling one absurd story or another, sometimes to them, most of the time at them. Diablo has unsurprisingly the lowest word count of the squad if they don’t count in Katana. But then again, Floyd’s pretty sure the amount of times they’ve heard Katana speak since the day they met her he’d be able to count on the fingers on one hand. KC seems to be taking advantage of being able to order any kind of food he wants, and by any kind Floyd means absolutely every kind. He’s pretty sure he heard someone actually say ‘alligator nuggets’ which is some messed up boondocks, furthest most backwards shithole of the Louisiana bayou he’s ever heard of. But doubly creepy considering KC might be eating a distant cousin or a long lost niece or something.

“I’m a fucking crocodile, asshole. It even fucking says so in the title sequence,” KC says when Floyd for some reason brings it up.

But during those three weeks, they’ve all sort of gravitated towards their own section of the cafeteria. KC’s original spot ended up being KC’s permanent spot since it already smelled of roasted animal carcass and no one even put up a fight for it even thought it was closest to the doors that lead to the kitchens, or whatever room was there that the food came out from.

Diablo took the section closest to the entrance door, for reasons Floyd’s confident he can guess.

Harley has her coffeemaker, a giant mirror and a couple of makeup shit she somehow conned one of the guards into getting her all arranged nicely on the table pushed up against the door. No one says anything during the times she chooses to do some suggestive yoga poses in her section after eating. Harley’s an attractive lady but Floyd can’t even think to look at her in that way or in that direction whenever that happens. It felt too much like a father walking in on his daughter doing something no father should ever walk in on their daughter doing, like making out with a poster…or a boy, but preferably a poster of a boy, or a girl. Floyd doesn’t really care. In fact, he’d prefer a girl since guys should never be trusted.

Boomerang with his ratty coat drinking beer like it was oxygen but never actually getting drunk would always be Boomerang. He has his pink unicorn plushie by his side and a poster of some jacked up mutated kangaroo on his wall.

“After you, Lawton,” Wilcox says, motioning to the open door.

Floyd is by no means afraid. He really isn’t. He has no reason to be considering all he knows about Wilcox. But vigilance is something that’s been ingrained in him; it has to be given his occupation. This line of work affords him many enemies, most of them crazy, all of them dangerous. He can’t afford to let his guard down ever, especially since he has his beloved daughter to think about. He admits he’s grown a bit lax in his own caution since becoming a member the squad. They were called the Suicide Squad for a reason, and Floyd hates to admit it but he’s grown used to having other people there to watch his six. Between Flag and Diablo and KC punching through the enemies front line like the soggiest paper bag in existence, Harley and Boomerang’s comforting brand of crazy and knowing that GQ and Katana are around picking off the stragglers like pathetic flightless birds, Floyd admits that he doesn’t look over his shoulder as much as he did or as much as he still should.

“I’m not trying to kill you, Lawton, Jesus H. Christ and Mary, so would you please stop sulking. I don’t have all day to wait for you to put on your big boy panties.”

Floyd is offended by that comment but tries not to show it.

He squares his shoulder, readjusts his adult size male pants, large enough to hold his giant cojones and steps into the room with one last glare at Wilcox and is met by…

…nothing.

The stupid room is fucking empty except for a couple of rows of chairs by the wall and the large wooden table at the far end.

Floyd is pissed. And kind of relieved, but mostly pissed.

He squares his shoulders, pulls up steel plated man pants and marches across the room; hearing only the sound of his own footsteps reverberating against the wall. Only when he comes with a few meters of the wooden desk does he notice the white, old school turn dial phone sitting innocuously in the middle of it.

Floyd has not fucking clue what’s going on and it only does piss him off.

He doesn’t even get to dwell on his annoyance or his anger because all of a sudden the phone starts ringing; one of those shrill tones from a mobster movie set in the 40’s.

He approaches the table and the phone tentatively and with one last look behind him at the now closed door, deep down waiting for someone (like GQ) to leap out of the woodwork and tell him that he’s on Candid Camera.

No one shows up.

Floyd squares his shoulders and answers.

The word that flows through and the voice that reaches his ear feel like a burning stab right through the gut.

‘Daddy?’

Floyd cries.

Floyd Lawton was a killer. He’s still a killer. He kills people for a living if not for the reason to continue to stay alive. He stays alive for Zoe, his baby, his daughter, his life and his whole universe. He stays alive because he’s the only person Zoe has. Sure there’s her mom and the non-entity that is Darnell, but he’s the only person he trusts to protect Zoe and to care for her and to always put her needs first.

He realizes now that he hadn’t been putting her first, if he had he would have stopped killing a long time ago. The blame for his current predicament falls solely on his shoulders.

They talk and talk and talk and talk, for an hour, for hours. Floyd just listens to Zoe talk about everything, about June and Flag, about her mom, even about Darnell and it doesn’t even evoke a murderous feeling deep inside his soul. Zoe tells him about school and her teachers and how good she’s gotten in math even though her teacher would still prefer if she stopped using bullet trajectory and assassination blue prints as an example. Zoe tells him about a boy in her class that she has a crush on, and even that doesn’t incite Floyd to go on a killing spree, he’s just so happy and so glad to be able to hear her voice. Everything else is just appetizer.

He’s happy to hear Zoe talk about June; it’s evident how much Zoe likes her. Flag still hasn’t been discharged from the hospital despite his vehement argument about how he doesn’t need to be there any longer. June takes Zoe to see him a few times a week and she says he’s doing much better, he’s still having problems because of the nerve damage in his back but Flag being Flag thinks he can work his way through this problem the way he doesn’t everything else, by grunting through it and refusing to accept anything less as an outcome. Floyd can only laugh at that. His laughing makes Zoe laugh and Floyd doesn’t think he’s ever heard a sweeter sound.

He’s sitting there listening to Zoe talk, looking around at the empty room and he can only ask whatever higher being’s out there if this is actually real. It doesn’t feel it. But like with the cafeteria and the change in personnel that actually treat them all like human beings, Floyd feels like he has fallen into that crevice of complacency and he’s pretty fucking happy to stay there. He knows, like a feeling deep inside his gut that Flag definitely has something to do with everything. Like he was some sort of Jarhead Secret Santa for Floyd and the squad, except that he isn’t expecting a present in return. But Floyd supposes that the knowledge that they all had his back in return, that they proved it on more than one occasion over the course of the last couple of month was gift enough for Flag.

He’s grateful.

If someone had said to him, or KC and Diablo and Harley and Boom, so many months ago that there would come a day where they’d find themselves in a squad with four other criminals, a couple do-gooder military types and some freaky Japanese lady—well, that person would probably have woken up dead. If that same person would have said that they’d end up in that situation with this unlikely group of people and actually like it? That person would definitely have woken up dead. If that same dumbass person would have said that there would come a point where Floyd or KC or Diablo or Harley and maybe Boom if he were in generous mood, would willingly die for each and every one of these people? Then that person would have wished they were dead.

“Lawton?”

It’s Wilcox.

Floyd knew that this wasn’t going to last forever, but still the end came far too soon.

“I have to go, baby,” he says reluctantly into the receiver, feeling his own heart shatter with those five simple words.

“Oh, okay, daddy,” Zoe sounds disappointed but not as disappointed as Floyd expected her to be. Maybe Wilcox got to her too the same way he got to the squad.

“I miss you, Zo-bear and I love you. I want you to always remember that okay?”

“I love you too, daddy and—ooh, June’s here. We’re going to see Uncle Rick again today.”

“Say hi to him for me,” Floyd says, feeling a pang of sadness hit him right in the chest. Flag and June are both out there, free and able to see Zoe any time they want, while he’s stuck there caged like an animal and probably will never get to see her when he wants to again. He feels both sad and jealous and angry; angry at himself for every choice he ever made, everything he’s ever done that landed him in that position. But also feels grateful for Flag and June being there for Zoe when he couldn’t.

“Okay, daddy. Take care okay, and I’ll talk to you in a few days. Love you!” and with that Zoe hangs up, before Floyd’s mind could even really register the second part of the sentence. The dial tone and lingering silence from the other end of the line only leaves him perplexed.

“Lawton. Making enemies with innocent phone receivers now are we? Maybe you do need a hobby.”

The entire walk back to the cell block is in silence after that phone call, but especially after that last comment. Floyd can feel Wilcox’s questioning eyes on him on more than one occasion but he doesn’t feel in the mood to entertain him with an explanation. He’s desperately missing his baby who seemed far too eager to hang up the phone, not to mention the thing she said about talking to him in a few days. Was that just a figure of speech? He’s pretty sure the phone call would be a one-time thing to give him closure of some sort. He’s resigned himself to that fact. Maybe he’d be able to go see Zoe after they’re out on a mission or something. Or maybe he’ll get to talk to her again if Flag ever stopped by.

If he’s even able to anyway.

Floyd remembers how grave his injuries were and the tough times in the hospital not knowing if he was even going to make it through the night. They thought he was at least out of the woods by the time they left for Belle Reve, but from what Zoe and GQ said it seemed like Flag was dealing with a more permanent bunch of problems because of the shooting.

“Hey, you still with me, Lawton?”

The nudge on his shoulder indicates that that may not have been the first time Wilcox’s asked that question within the last 5 minutes or so as they come to a stop in front of his cell.

Floyd likes the man, he really does. He’d even go as far as to say that he respects him, and that’s much bigger a deal. The amount of people he’s genuinely respected in his life he could count on the fingers of one hand. But now because of Wilcox, hell even because of Banks and Briggs, he might even have to start utilizing his second hand to count.

“Yeah. Just missed my baby something terrible,” Floyd says. This time without a witty comeback or even a hint of irony in his voice and he appreciates Wilcox’s just accepting it without comment.

He unlocks the large metal door without word and when Floyd steps into his familiar 10 by 10 cubicle of desolation and despair, Wilcox surprises him by stepping in after him; grabbing a couple of cardboard boxes he hadn’t noticed sitting beside the door and shoving them into Floyd’s arms.

“You have 15 minutes to get your shit packed. I’d say use it wisely and keep the daydreaming to a bare minimum this time if you could. I’m not your personal chauffeur to keep dragging your ass back down to earth and across the compound.”

“What?” For the umpteenth time that day, Floyd is left completely flabbergasted.

“Your shit—” he makes circular motions towards Floyd’s scarce personal belongings scattered around room—“In box.” He points towards the box in Floyd’s arms like he was talking to the world’s dumbest 48 year old toddler.

For the second time in approximately 15 minutes, Floyd feels like the world’s dumbest 48 year old toddler.

“You need me to draw you a diagram?”

“Fuck you, Wilcox.”

“That’s the spirit,” Wilcox says a little too enthusiastically. “Fifteen minutes,” he repeats, this time while making a sign for one and five with his fingers.

Floyd takes back what he said about respecting the man. The ass hole was insufferable but he cleans out his stuff nonetheless. There’s not much they could do to him that hasn’t been done to him in that place already. He knows when a beating’s coming and he’s already mentally and physically prepared for it when it does. But all these uncertainties and the shiftiness of Wilcox and the guys there, all these strange orders and comments that just don’t add up. That Floyd can’t deal with. He can deal with shooting a target he can’t directly see, but it’s much harder shooting a target when you don’t even fucking know which one is the real target. Right here at this moment though, Floyd kind of feels like he’s actually the target.

It isn’t a good feeling. All of a sudden he feels kind of sorry for the people he’s killed though the years.

Except—nope, he’s not really. They were all scumbags who deserved whatever they got.

Moment of repentance over and done with, now back to the present.

“Are we there yet?” Floyd asks for the third time, two minutes into the walk from his jail cell. His previous jail cell now he supposes.

“I consider myself a man of many positive attributes, patience being one of them, and you’re testing nearly all of them Lawton, so if you would kindly shut the hell up.”

Floyd reluctantly lapses into silence, allowing the click-clacking sounds of their footsteps to resound against the wall.

Another day another new corridor explored, another new wing uncovered. If Floyd had been gathering information for a layout blueprint of a place for his escape, they were making it far too easy.

Walking past rows and rows of heavy bolted cell doors only adds to Floyd’s confusion and feeling of not knowing what the hell was going on. The screaming emanating from inside the cells and the pounding noise does nothing to help it either. He kind of misses the guys at this moment. Hell even fucking GQ. He would actually pay money to have Katana there to back him up just in case his probably unfounded worry turns out to not be unfounded. If the last couple of weeks have taught Floyd anything, it’s to expect the unexpected.

He and the squad haven’t seen Flag at all during that time. The only thing they know about what’s going on with him is from whatever second-hand news they get from whoever’s visiting. Though just the fact that they actually get people visiting is a luxury none of them ever expected. Becoming this close to each other, to a point where they would perhaps even without hesitance refer to each other as friends, maybe even family, was an unexpected turn of events. Not to mention the fact that they actually have people on the outside not only with clearance to come and go from Belle Reve almost as much as they please, who also take advantage of that ability to actually come and see them, hang out with them, bring them actual things from the outside and generally seem actually pleased to be in their presence. In GQ’s case, it seems like often times he’s almost more reluctant to leave. Floyd has no doubt that given the choice GQ might even decide to move into one of the cells. It doesn’t seem to be a decision out of character for GQ.

June on the other hand is one character that Floyd just can’t get a grasp on. She seems nice enough most of the time and to the naked eye it would seem like she’s truly nothing more than your run-of-the-mill, dewy eyed archaeologist.

A terrible archaeologist, if Floyd has to be honest, considering her abysmal track record, what with releasing some evil ancient being and getting possessed and everything. But Floyd and the rest of the squad (except maybe Boomerang) have noticed on more than one occasion that there’s so much more to her than meets the eye. It’s nothing outright obvious, he doesn’t think anyone else would really notice, just more of a feeling. Not a dangerous feeling, not like the Enchantress, more like remnants of power that keeps of wafting off her unintentionally. Mostly it feels benign if not outright friendly. But then again it’s pretty hard to be intimidated by a person no matter how powerful they might be when they’re talking so excitedly about the discovery of a 3000 year old golden bong while trying to force feed you chicken broth. Floyd’s pretty sure that actually happened even though he seems to be the only one who remembers.

If June did indeed have powers as Floyd suspects, he thinks that she either doesn’t even realize when she’s using those powers or she’s aware and gotten really, really good at pretending otherwise. Knowing how well June knows Waller, Floyd suspects the latter. He wonders what Wallers makes of the situation, since he’s 100 percent sure that Waller knows about June. Waller knows everything.

It’s only then that Floyd realizes that they actually went up a level without him noticing. It feels weird being in an area of Belle Reve that seemed like it housed actual people. Even the air in the place felt different, less stagnant and stale somehow, if that even made sense.

“You may unclench your sphincter now, Lawton. We’re here.”

Floyd and Wilcox come to a stop in front of, surprise, surprise, another heavily bolted metal door. The people who designed Belle Reve really needed to think outside the box once in a while.

He sees a smattering of guards lined up sparingly along the corridor, but other than that he guesses that they’re in a less secure part of Belle Reve than he was previously. At this point he’s almost completely sure that between his recuperation and organizing all this, that’s what Flag is busy doing behind the scenes that’s preventing him from coming to visit. He’d never admit to feeling hurt about it, though he’s slightly less hesitant to admit that he kind of misses the asshole. He’s glad Flag is doing better though and he thinks Zoe mentioned that Flag was getting discharged from the hospital tomorrow. Thoughts of Zoe manage to drag Floyd back down to the pits of despair so he stops.

Wilcox is eyeing him strangely when he looks at the man.

“What?”

The look gives way to a small smirk but the man says nothing.

Floyd really, really doesn’t like him. It’s confirmed.

“Welcome to your new home,” Wilcox says and pushes open the door like the host of some stupid game show unveiling the stupid prize behind door number one.

The prize it turned out, to not be a jail cell but something more of a mass hall. It wasn’t especially large, but huge compared to his 10 by 10 cell, with stairs leading into an upper level and he sees a few cell bar door lining the side.

“Dadshot!”

It’s like a painful déjà vu when he feels a figure slamming into him from the side sending him sprawling to the floor on his stomach. He skids about a foot before squeaking to a stop, the figure like a heavy lump sitting way too comfortably on his back.

“A handshake next time, Harley,” he says exasperatedly. “A handshake would be enough.”

“But that’s no fun. I missed you, grandpa.”

Once again Floyd resists the urge to let punches fly. He’s only in his forties for fucks sake.

“We were only together like 2 hours ago, woman.”

“Feels like ages.”

“Hey, Lawton, you two need some privacy, esse?”

It’s much less politically incorrect to punch Diablo than Harley, since they’re both men and they’re both the obligatory minorities. But Floyd keeps his fists to himself and pushes himself back up into a standing position; something much easier in theory if Harley wasn’t currently latched onto his back like the world’s most annoying gangly koala.

“What the hell is going on?” he asks when he finally grunts to his feet.

“I thought you were gonna tell us. We’ve been waiting here for about an hour. No one’s telling us anything.”

Floyd looks past Diablo to KC sitting at the edge of the one of tables in the middle of the hall like some underworld boss waiting for his lackey.

He waves happily when he notices Floyd looking at him.

“Considering his flair for the dramatics, I guess we should just wait for GQ to make some hammy entrance to explain this shit to us.”

Both of them lapse into silence, as if preparing themselves for GQ to leap out of the woodwork the way he’d done during the cafeteria thing.

Alas no GQ.

“Well, this has been fun,” Wilcox says after an awkward silence. “But I’m sure someone will be along shortly to entertain you, since last I checked, that still isn’t my job.”

Floyd and Diablo don’t really notice when Wilcox leaves, the door slamming shut behind him and leaving them all to their confused devices.

“Is it time you stopped hanging off my back, Harley?”

“Why?” she whinges. “You’re warm and squishy and comfy. Have you put on weight, Floyd?”

Floyd can only splutter. He most definitely has not put on weight. He does a thousand sit-ups and a thousand push ups a day without fail and he’s about to point out the beat up old punching bag he just hauled across two-thirds of Belle Reve when a sudden sound of metal slamming into metal interrupts them out of the blue.

KC and Boomerang both leap to their feet. Harley is off his back and in a defensive position before Floyd can even blink and Diablo’s got his heckles up like a startled cat. Everyone is primed and ready to meet (and defeat) whatever surprise the higher ups of Belle Reve have decided to toss in their direction. The sound is coming from one of the cells on the upper level; the cell bars thrown open callously and out from the shadows of the unlit cell comes—

“Fucking hell, GQ,” Boomerang curses, verbalising the general thoughts of everyone in the room as they all continue watching the most unlikely of members of their rag tag bunch; yawning and arms stretched out wide like he’d just taken the deepest sleep of the century.

“Oh hay, guys,” GQ says nonchalantly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand, as if his presence there and the entire situation was nothing out of the ordinary. “Surprise, wheee…” he says with about 2 percent enthusiasm as the world’s saddest exclamation of joy trails off into another loud yawn.

“What the fuck is going on GQ? More importantly have—have you been there the entire time? We’ve been sitting here for more than an hour and no one’s come or gone besides us.”

GQ stops in his tracks as he slowly makes his way towards the stairwell leading to the ground floor. “Fuck, I must have fallen asleep. Well—oops.”

Floyd’s not sure whether that’s supposed to be some sort of apology in GQ speak, but regardless, it was a piss poor one. “Cut the crap and the GQ-ness and just explain what the fuck is going on this time.”

To GQ’s credit he actually cuts the chit chat and gets to the point almost immediately. “I thought that part might be obvious. Don’t make me utilize my collection of Homer Simpson quotes on you. You’ve been moved to new quarters. One that’s much better at quote unquote, maintaining squad morale, or some sort of shit like that. That was the line Flag sold to Waller anyway and I don’t know if the Missus is getting all naïve in her advancing age but for some reason she bought it without too much resistance. She probably just wanted Flag to stop talking at her with those sad puppy dog eyes. I think Flag’s getting real good at this manipulation game…unless that’s Waller’s plan all along; manipulating Flag into manipulating her when she’s the mastermind controlling the whole manipula—”

“GQ shut up.”

“Roger that,” he says, almost as is he himself realized that he was rambling incoherently.

“Fucking Flag,” Floyd says but it isn’t in a malicious way and he can’t stop the stupid grin from peeking out at the thought of their fearless leader who was still having their backs from behind the scenes. All of a sudden Floyd’s imagining the squad without Flag there to lead them and it’s a terrible prospect to even consider. But if the military was going to discharge him than that’s what it spelled for their squad, unless Waller could pull a string or two and somehow keep him on, but would she even do that?

Floyd thinks he should give himself a proverbial pat on the back for managing to make himself feel all depressed again when the already topsy turvy day was actually turning out quite positive. That’s why he never dwelled too much on stupid things like emotions and getting attached, eventually everyone leaves.

“You guys should come and check out your new digs,” GQ says when the silence starts weighing everyone down, almost like the whole squad was having the same disconcerting thoughts about their favourite half-Viking colonel.

Almost reluctantly all of them make their way up the stairs towards the upper level. The stairs is in the middle of the room leading up towards the far end wall of the cell block hall where it diverges into two opposite L shaped corridors lined with 3 cells on each side. GQ is waiting for them at the top of the stairs as they make their way up one by one; Harley skips up the steps with spryness that Floyd can only dream of. Floyd comes up behind her and his knees seem to creak and pop just to spite him. Diablo and Boomerang comes up behind him and KC brings up the rear, shaking and rattling the steps under his giant reptilian feet.

“Welcome, friends,” GQ greets dramatically when they all reach the top step. “Mr. Lawton, Ms. Quinn, if you would head in this direction,” he motions to his right, towards the three cells along the right side of where they were standing. “And the three of you of one name notoriety—”

“I don’t know if they taught math at that white trash school you went to, GQ, but Killer Crocodile is two words.”

“But it might as well just be one word. Isn’t crocodile a killer by definition? Isn’t that like oxymoron or something?”

“The only moron in question here is you,” Harley interrupts suddenly, turning around quickly from where she was about to go skipping off towards her cell. “I think the term you’re looking for is tautology. It means the use of redundant words, not unlike everything you say ever.” And like that Harley drops the mic. Floyd doesn’t know whether to be impressed or to hand GQ some ice for that devastating burn.

“Damn, man,” Diablo says amusedly.

“Geez, Harley. We’re all on the same team here,” GQ says, but he doesn’t look especially hurt or offended by her words.

Harley blows him a kiss from half across the walkway.

“Well, better just get to it. Don’t want to say anything redundant or anything,” GQ says almost dolefully. KC just guffaws and reaches over to ruffle his hair fondly. Diablo also has a look of fondness on his face as he reaches over to circle him arm around GQ’s shoulders and drags him off towards the left side cell block.

Floyd reaches his cell first since it’s the very first one in the line. He’s not sure whether to be grateful or offended. Harley’s in next to his and the one at the farthest end is left uninhabited. At first glance it seems like a regular prison cell, single bed with a standard issue crisp mattress. There’s no toilet seat in the middle of the room though which is always a plus, but begs the question how and where? Or did they expect them to hold it in till someone decides they’re in desperate enough need to use the joint bathroom downstairs and lets them out?

There’s a nice wooden book shelf on one side of the bed and a small table with a picture frame on the other. A writing desk sits innocently enough against the wall opposite the bed and on closer inspection there’s a book sitting in the middle as if waiting for him. On even closer inspection Floyd sees that the cover is an illustration of a sad bunny and the title is ‘The Night Dad Went to Jail’.

Floyd’s 200 percent confident that particular gift is courtesy of Rick Flag. He tries not to let how pleased he feels on the inside show outright on his face. He doesn’t think he succeeds. Instead he tears his gaze away from the sight before him and goes over to Harley’s cell. The first sight he sees is her doing a split while hanging upside down on the stripper pole that’s been mounted right in the middle of her fucking room. Floyd could not look away quicker had it been a sight of naked Boomerang doing a split instead. It just wasn’t right.

Instead he goes to check on the other guys; Boomerang’s cell is the first one immediately opposite his own and much like his cell, it seemed like a regular cell with a bed and a desk (rather redundant addition if he had to be honest) only instead of a bookshelf, Boom’s held a fridge instead. Surprise, surprise. The Australian inside was sprawled out on the bed, equally unsurprisingly asleep.

Next to his is KC who has a large screen TV mounted to the wall and a surround sound system and a shelf full off terrible comedies, most of them starring Adam Sandler. Floyd was internally grateful to not be sleeping next to that mess.

“How you like your new place, KC?” he asks KC’s back from where he’s currently admiring his new DVD collection.

“Finally feeling appreciated man. Not gonna lie ‘bout that.”

“Yeah, I get what you mean,” Floyd answers, seeing for the first time ever KC showing his sombre side.

“You should check what Diablo’s got in his cell tho. Flag really pulled out the stops looks like.”

That rouses Floyd’s curiosity as he makes his way to the cell at the farthest end, opposite the empty cell on his side. Immediate first sight he sees is GQ lounging way to casually on Diablo’s bed. Like his own cell, Diablo has a shelf full of books with undoubtedly a much finer choice of reading material. Flag was always biased like that. Diablo is sitting cross-legged on the floor in the corner among what seems to be a bunch of soft toys, a few bowls and what seems to be a grey, fuzzy ball of fur purring comfortably on his lap.

“Diablo gets a cat? Really? Biased much?” Floyd says when he enters.

Diablo is actually smiling and it’s an unnerving sight to behold. Floyd doesn’t dislike it; it just looks so out of place on Mr. Sombre himself. What’s next? Katana smiling? That would just be too bizarre a sight to imagine.

“Don’t be jealous, amigo,” Diablo says way too gleefully. “We always knew who was Flag’s favourite. This is just proof I guess.”

“I think I miss the old gloomy Diablo more, can he come back instead.”

Diablo laughs and Floyd feels happy despite his forced annoyance.

“This is pretty awesome thought right, guys?”

“I have to reluctantly agree with you, GQ,” Diablo says. “So, you moving into the empty cell there or what?” he adds, motioning towards the vacant cell across from his.

“Unfortunately not,” and GQ looks genuinely upset by that. As if it were such a disappointing thing that he wasn’t moving into a jail cell in the most tightly guarded prison in America with them. GQ must live a much emptier life than Floyd could even imagine. He kind of feels bad for the kid. “I heard that someone might be moving in there, but that information is way above my paygrade.”

As much as that new information tickles Floyd’s curiosity, it’s too low on his priority list to focus on at the moment.

“Oh, by the way, the ceremony for Colonel Flag’s discharge is in a couple of days.”

The statement brings another bout of heavy silence to the room. Floyd doesn’t know how to process that information. Frankly, he’s a little hurt that Flag didn’t at least come to tell them himself, but the rational side of him reasons that Flag might have been too busy between physical therapy and going through with the whole ceremony. He’s confident that Flag would have absolutely been there to tell him if he could. He has faith in that and if being in the squad has done nothing for him, it’s given him back his faith in other people. Flag especially because he’s proven time and time again that he’s always had Floyd and the squad’s back and they’ve all proved that they have his back in return.

“Oh,” is the only thing Diablo can say and Floyd seconds that sentiment.

“The colonel says to apologize for not coming by to visit you guys. He’s been having a tough time with PT and this whole thing with the ceremony. He’d totally be here if he could though. Just wanted you guys to know that.”

“What’s going to happen with the squad? Who’s going to be in charge?” it seems like Diablo spontaneously turned into the voice of reason in the squad and at this point Floyd can only be grateful for that.

“I don’t know. They haven’t exactly filled me in on the finer detail of the plan. They might bring in some super cool, big shot military guy to lead the squad on the ground. But I have no idea who that’s going to be either.”

“What about Flag? What’s he going to do after all this? I don’t exactly see him and June retiring to the Poconos.” At least Floyd certainly hopes not, unless they take Zoe with them. But Floyd is confident that even if Flag wasn’t involved with squad business anymore, he would still continue looking after Zoe. He’s confident that both Flag and June care about Zoe as much as he does.

Eventually Floyd and Diablo feel like they’ve had time to process the information enough and call the rest of the squad back down to the seating hall downstairs. The silence that falls once they finish filling the rest of the team in is familiar. KC and Boomerang are both uncharacteristically silent and Harley looks genuinely upset. She doesn’t say anything in return and after a few introspective moments to herself, she walks back up the stairs, closing the door behind her as she disappears into her cell.

Everyone watches her leave without word. Honestly, no one knows what to say to comfort her anyway.

“In a couple of days you said?” Diablo asks, if only to break the awkward silence.

“Yeah,” GQ replies equally sombrely.

Floyd tries to search his face for any sign that any of this is some sort of stupid joke, but his face his hard and grave. GQ couldn’t be that good a pretender if he tried.

“That sucks,” KC says and the general consensus is agreement.

The next couple of days pass by in an almost repetitive, monotone routine: get up in the morning, walk out the unlocked door of their cell (a fact that surprised Floyd even though he was still in faux-mourning), eat breakfast and get some rec time. Wilcox comes by with a couple of guards to escort them to and from the field. Wilcox is still an asshole, but Floyd is thankful for that. It takes his mind off everything that’s happening, or rather everything that isn’t happening and the date that’s rapidly approaching.

The day of Flag’s retirement from the military and the squad.

He feels he has the right to be as disgruntled as Wilcox says he is.

He wakes up one morning and all of sudden it’s the day of Flag’s discharge ceremony and the day could not start any crappier.

“Rise and shine, squad.”

Floyd stands corrected.

“Isn’t it a little early for you to start your shift guarding the bridge, Wilcox,” Floyd says from over a spoonful of scrambled eggs.

“Oh come on, Lawton. You gonna make me say that line?”

“What’s happening?” Diablo asks as he takes a seat across from Floyd at the table.

Wilcox just smirks and steps aside. About half a dozen military men come clattering in, taking up position at the ready along the wall beside the door.

Floyd senses his aura before he even steps through the front door. It smells like rule-abiding, sphincter clenching responsibility.

“Commander Jörmungandr!” Floyd states happily when the stern faced man walks through the door.

“It’s Commander Jeffries, pee-on.”

By this time the commotion down in the mess hall has attracted the rest of the squad, who are watching the entire scene unfold from above the second floor rail.

“You guys have 5 minutes to get your gear and get ready.”

“What’s going on?” Floyd stupidly asks.

“4 minutes and 55 seconds, people. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Floyd and the rest wisely keep their questions and comments to themselves. There’s time for all that after. Floyd feels at home once he slips into his red suit and he’s sure everyone feels the same. It’s been too long since they’ve put on anything other than the terrible orange prison jumpsuit. In the four minutes or so they took to get ready—in Boom, Diablo and KC’s case though the only thing they had to do was change trousers and put on a jacket, since Diablo was always wearing that same fucking white wife beater even in prison. Boomerang brings out his trusty yet ratty coat from where he undoubtedly kept it fermented under a dirty mattress because Floyd can smell him coming before he even walks out of his cell. Harley on the other hand managed to change outfits, do her hair in two neat pigtail braids cascading down the front of her chest, a checked red and black pair of leather pants with a matching top that showed off her midriff. In those four or so minutes she’d even managed to do her make up which Floyd found absolutely mind blowing. Talk about multi-tasking.

“You look nice, Harley,” Diablo says.

Harley beams at the compliment. “Thank you, miguelito.”

Diablo laughs at that. “Miguelito, really?”

“You know, crispy and toasty on the outside, soft on the inside.”

“I guess I can live with that.”

They follow Commander Jeffries and his factory-setting team of uptight G.I. Joes out the cell block and down the all too familiar corridor of Belle Reve; four of the military guys on either side of them or two flanking them from behind. Wilcox and his team bringing up the rear.

They leave Wilcox and the Belle Reve guards behind. Floyd keeps his eyes on the man as the armed vehicle they get into pull out of the compound and into the deserted road headed away from the prison. The ride out is in silence; no one asks the questions they have in their heads. Commander Jeffries sitting across from Floyd doesn’t make eye contact through the whole ride.

Floyd doesn’t really know what’s about to happen. Were they actually invited to Flag’s retirement ceremony? If they were was it out of courtesy or just to rub the shit in deeper. It wouldn’t bode well for the squad regardless.

Floyd has a terrible sense of déjà vu all of a sudden of an almost similar car ride taken barely even a month ago; Flag and GQ nowhere to be seen and this stoic new, unfamiliar commander in their place.

“Just answer me this, Commander; Flag didn’t get shot again did he?”

Commander Jeffries levels him with a stern look, but he answers with a simple ‘no’ which at least eliminates that particular worry from Floyds mind.

They pull into the familiar parking compound and the squad files out of the vehicle into the warmth of the outdoor sunlight. Floyd never thought he’d miss being outside this much.

Katana meets them the moment they step into the building and silently accompanies them the whole way up to the tenth floor where Waller’s office and the command center are situated. The same place they go for mission briefings and all that political shit; the same place they first received news of Flag’s attack in what seemed to be ages ago.

The whole squad is uncharacteristically silent.

If Floyd had to be honest, if they were indeed holding the retirement ceremony there they could have at least chipped in for some balloons or a few streamers or something. This was drab even by military standard.

“Do you know what’s going on?” Floyd tries his luck asking Katana, but the stoic lady just shrugs her shoulder in negative. “Don’t know why I expected any different,” Floyd whispers under his breath to himself. GQ’s still nowhere in sight and at this point Floyd’s constantly preparing himself for the man to suddenly jump out from behind a closed door unannounced.

GQ is actually inside the commander center when they enter; standing stoically in the middle of the aisle and looking so uncharacteristically un-GQ like that Floyd is taken aback for a solid second.

“I hate to repeat myself so often but what in the blue hell is going on, GQ?”

GQ clears his throat; an unnerving and uncharacteristic frown on his face and his arms clasped firmly behind his back. Floyd has never seen GQ look so stern and professional in his life and he misses the chatty, fallen puppy-dog eyed GQ they’d all come to know and love.

“That’s Captain GQ Edwards to you, soldier,” he says, dropping his voice an octave but not dropping the façade whatsoever; “Commanding officer of the New Suicide Squad. These hands raised you from perdition and it can throw you back in. So y’all better start showing me some damn respect.”

Floyd doesn’t know how to react, but KC lets out an amused snort from beside him and bursts into laughter. Floyd glances over at GQ just in time to see bits of the stoic façade get chipped away little by little until the regular Cheshire cat grin of GQ’s makes its triumphant comeback.

“Man, Floyd!” he says between bouts of laughter, “You should have seen your face. I think you may have crapped your pants a little.”

“You son-of-a-bi—” but Floyd doesn’t finish that statement cause he lets out the breath he’d been subconsciously holding and allows the relieved smile to curl at his lips.

“Captain GQ?” Diablo repeats as he sidles up to GQ who has dropped every last bit of the put on professionalism and stoicism and reverted back to his devil-may-care attitude and stance.

“Yeah, man. Got a nice ring to it don’t you think?”

“Are you gonna elaborate more on that tho, mate? Cause I still don’t know head nor tails of what the fuck is going on here.”

“To be fair, Boom, you don’t know what the fuck is going on at any given time, but I’m going to explain it anyway cause I’m nice like that,” GQ says, stepping over to one of the electronic counters on the side and perching on the edge. It seemed like the command center had a day off cause besides them there was no one else actually around. “Here’s the explanation, so y’all better listen closely,” he draws out the pause for drama and seriously testing Floyd’s very slim patience level. “I got promoted.”

The confused silence in the room is palpable as Floyd looks at Diablo who looks at Floyd and KC looks at Harley who’s looking at GQ and Boomerang’s looking for something deep inside his ratty pocket, seemingly not paying any attention to the conversation whatsoever.

“And? We were listening,” Floyd says.

“I got promoted. That’s it. Not everything has to be some big dramatic moment, you know, this isn’t some B-rate superhero movie.”

“And what the hell did you mean Commander of the New Suicide Squad?”

“Umm, I didn’t know you guys were this slow. And you thought I was the dumb one. Exactly what it said on the box. Captain GQ Edwards, commanding officer of the squad from today on.”

“And when the hell did that happen?”

“Umm, it’s been in the works for a couple weeks. Didn’t I tell you guys that.”

“No you did not think to include that bit of information, you asshole.” Floyd is happy by the news contrary to his reaction. It just took him by surprise and he hates fucking surprises.

“Well, whoops,” GQ shrugs, but there’s a glint in his eye that makes it obvious to Floyd and everyone in the room that it was no mistake whatsoever.

“What are you scheming, GQ?”

“What—lil’ ol’ me?”

“Yes you, no one in this room trusts you a damn bit starting from this moment. Our trust-o-meter has officially been reset.”

“But, guys!” he whines and to his credit he looks genuinely distraught at the prospect of losing the fragile trust they’ve built.

Floyd takes pity on the guy. “Fine, GQ. But you’re threading on thin ice at this point. We hate fucking surprises and let me reminds you that all of us here used to kill people for lesser offences.”

“Your concerns and warnings are duly noted,” he says with a salute. “But—uhh, can we maybe pinky promise on at that the end of the day? Cause, uh…”

“What is it now? And where the fuck is Waller? And Flag for that matter. We’re here for his ceremony at least, right? Don’t tell us you lied about that one too.”

“Well in my defence, I did not actually tell any lies. I only told selected truths, which is not the same as lying.”

“GQ!”

“Okay, okay—geez, guys. Chill. I didn’t lie about Flag getting discharged from the military though,” GQ says and at this point Floyd doesn’t know if he can truly trust the guy anymore. He feels a little bit betrayed to be honest.

“What about Waller?”

“Hmmm, Waller huh. Good question.” He makes a point to look confusedly around the room until KC makes a point to look like he’s about to rush him and beat him to a mushy GQ shaped pulp. “Fine, guys seriously. You’re no fun. Waller got promoted. After the whole Agent Gumby thing and stopping what the higher ups deemed ‘domestic terrorism against members of our military’ quote unquote,” he does the last bit in some overly exaggerated deep monotone voice.

Floyd reaches up to massage the bridge of his nose. “And you were planning on telling us all this…when?”

“I’m telling you guys now,” even the perpetually unruffled GQ seemed slightly annoyed at this point. “It’s a surprise, guys.”

“When did we ever give you the impression that any of us in any way liked surprises, GQ?”

“Oh,” GQ says, looking like the thought genuinely had never occurred to him before.

“Speak for yourself, Floyd. I love surprises,” Harley says, interjecting into the conversation and sidling up seductively beside GQ. “Also I take back what I said. You’re weaselling your way out of redundancy one little white lie at a time, GQ. I approve,” she adds, reaching over to run her fingers through his hair playfully.

“Thanks, Harley,” GQ replies, looking more than a little pleased at the odd compliment. But this was Harley, so it wasn’t really anything out of the ordinary.”

Floyd can just exhale exasperatedly. KC and Boomerang have taken seat in a few of the empty chairs on the side and Diablo is perched at the edge of the table in a mirror position of GQ’s pose. It’s eerily similar to the situation they were in the last time they were in that room, missing only Waller herself.

“Anything else we might need to know? Any more surprises?”

GQ makes a face indicating that there indeed was more surprises instore.

“This was all Waller’s plan, since she’s been promoted; you’re also getting a new handler. Obviously your new squad leader is yours truly.”

Floyd’s not sure whether he likes where this seemed to be going. Considering GQ’s recently discovered aversion to telling the whole truth, he’s not sure what to really expect at this point.

“Not sure if I like the sound of this, mate,” Boomerang says and Floyd is inclined to agree.

“Need I remind you that you’re playing with fire right now, GQ, and I don’t mean Diablo. Cut the crap and these little half-truths cause I’m about one surprise away from stomping over there and whooping your sad little white boy ass.”

It shows really just how complacent they’ve become that for the second time in the span of a couple of months, a person managed to waltz all the way into the room and all the way up to them before they even realize there was someone standing right there.

“You’re talking a lot of crap for such an old man, Floyd.”

And it’s that voice. For a second Floyd doesn’t know if he’s imagining it or if he was actually hearing wrong or projecting his deepest desires into reality where everyone can see and mock him for it. It feels like he hasn’t heard that voice in fucking ages, and he didn’t even notice the existence of that ache in his chest until that very moment, hearing that painfully familiar voice making a painfully familiar jab and all of a sudden the memories of the last couple of months come rushing back to him like a speeding train.

The reaction is immediate even though everything is playing out like a bad slow motion black and white movie in Floyd’s point of view.

Harley leaps off the table she was perched precariously on and rushes forwards with a cry of ‘Colonel Cupcake’ that is one third excitement, one third happiness and one third relief.

Diablo, KC and Boomerangs almost in-sync cry of ‘Flag’ resounding in his ear like it was part of his own heartbeat.

Floyd still hasn’t turned around to look; he’s almost too scared to. A fear that’s mostly ridiculous and probably unfounded but turning around and looking at Flag and seeing him there in person in front of his eyes, that would ground everything in reality and Floyd’s not sure if he wants to let that happen yet.

One by one Diablo, KC and Boomerang push past him to get to where Flag is probably standing, undoubtedly with that stupid white boy smirk plastered on his stupid white boy face with that stupid white boy crew cut on his stupid white boy head. Speaking of stupid white boys, GQ is still grinning something awful right in his line of sight.

Pleasantries are exchanged. Laughter rings out. Even fucking Boomerang sounds like he started tearing up at some point and still Floyd has yet to turn around. Like a petulant child being asked to do something he doesn’t want to, Floyd’s inclined to whine out, “But I don’t wanna,” at the first person to ask him to. But no one does, at least until he feels the warm breaths of someone who seems to have walked up and is standing right behind him. He’s about to mutter out something about personal space when the voice speaks again.

“Did you age so much in the meantime that it’s already starting to affect your hearing?”

Fucking Flag.

Floyd doesn’t know whether to turn around and punch him in his dumb face or turn around and hug the asshole for making it seem like he abandoned them.

His brain decides on the former but his heart seems to have developed a mind of its own because the moment Floyd turns around and his eyes fall on Flag, actually living breathing Flag, upright and not dressed in a crisp white hospital gown being surrounded by too many tubes and wires to count; at that moment, Floyd loses all impulse control and rational thought. He reaches out, grabs Flag sternly by the shoulder and pulls him into a hug usually only reserved for Zoe and a bolster pillow absolutely no one knows he sleeps with. He doesn’t know how long he latches on. He feels Flag’s own arms circle him around the chest and returns the hug with equal amount of comfort.

For like the first time since the shooting, Floyd feels like he can finally truly breathe and if he holds on to Flag for a few seconds longer than is absolutely necessary, no one says anything.

At this point Floyd knows that Flag is holding on mostly for his benefit so eventually he manages to gets his emotions in check and peels out of the embrace almost hesitantly. The immediate first thing he does is punch Flag unceremoniously in the arm.

“That’s for leaving us in the dark the whole time, asshole.”

“Wait a minute,” Boomerang says suddenly. “Does this mean that you’re our new handler, mate?”

Flag looks confused for a hot minute as he regards Boomerang and turns back to Floyd. “You didn’t know? I sent GQ to the prison to let you guys in on what was happening and why I wasn’t able to come visit.”

All eyes snap immediately in GQ’s direction. GQ to his credit looks absolutely unapologetic, if anything, just mildly annoyed.

“It was a fucking surprise!”

Flag all of a sudden looks like he just aged about 2 years in the span of 2 seconds.

Floyd takes in his appearance for a moment, between feeling half annoyed at GQ (cause no one can be a hundred percent annoyed at GQ ever, the guy just had that quality about him that was just incorrigible but in an endearing way) and feeling like he finally had a partner that related to his perpetual exasperation, it felt like Floyd finally had a moment to process everything.

Flag still looks like Flag; strangely Nordic looking, whiter than a baby seal. Hair still closely cropped but obviously growing out. He’s actually wearing a suit and a decent one at that, which was an unnerving sight on its own. It had a tie and a fucking pocket square and everything and also a silver tipped black cane that Floyd was positive held at least 2 concealed knives. He would have been sorely disappointed if it didn’t.

“You’re looking very suave, Colonel,” Diablo says, saving Floyd from actually having to pay Flag that compliment.

Flag rolls his eyes and groans disgustedly. Now there’s the Flag Floyd knew and loved. “It’s not my choice and you better take a fucking picture to commemorate cause this is the first and last time this will happen. It feels like stupid ass tie has a mind of its own and is trying to off me for good this time,” he says, tugging at the material around his neck with two fingers. “Waller insisted on it and god knows that woman knows how to get her way.”

“But seriously, how you doing, Flag?” KC asks.

Flag exhales loudly, the cane thumping on the ground in an almost comforting rhythm as he walks over to a seat GQ just pulled out for him. Floyd notices the way his face contorted slightly when he went to sit down and he’s sure the whole squad noticed the same thing.

“I’ve been better,” Flag answers, “and I’ve been worse. So I guess I really shouldn’t complain.”

“How’s uh—you back? We heard some…less than encouraging things.”

“Yeah,” he answers, leaning back in the seat and allowing the cane to rest against the chair by his knee, “bullets are fucking nasty sons of bitches. It fucks up a lot of shit before it even gets to the actual damage. Us humans create some really nasty shit. But I guess I can still walk, so it isn’t the worst outcome. It sucks that I can’t go out in the field anymore. It’ll be pretty hard trying to run around dodging bad guys when you can barely walk a straight meter without feeling like it’s actually 3 miles of hot coal,” He trails off to a pause. “But enough of this depressing shit. I’m alive at least and I guess that’s pretty good. Also—uh,” It’s a little unnerving to see Flag look so nervous and at a loss of word, but that’s exactly what seems to be taking place. “I never really got to thank you guys for—uh, what you did back there. At the hospital and taking down the guys who shot me and bringing the double agent to justice. I don’t think I can ever tell you how much I appreciate everything you guys did and staying at the hospital. I—I guess—what I’m trying to say is uh—Thank you.”

The whole squad looks like a fine mix of sheepish pride and joy, except Harley who is outright beaming. “Our pleasure, Cupcake. You know we’re always game for a little murder, and it’s a bonus if they actually deserve it,” Harley says and Floyd thinks that they’ve unlocked a new level in their friendship that he finds that statement genuinely touching.

“You’re welcome, Flag,” KC says in a much saner show of appreciation.

“You know, we’d do it all again, cause we know you’d do it for us,” Diablo says. “Todo para la familia,” he adds, shooting a small grin in Floyd’s direction after he said that, “It means ‘everything for the family’.”

“Isn’t that the Nickelodeon show?” GQ says, more of an observation than an actual question.

“Cause you’re our family,” Floyd says, feeling like the sappiest motherfucker in all the land immediately after those words left his mouth. He tries the word on for size, feeling it roll unfamiliarly off his tongue before he comes out of his mouth; “Rick.”

Rick Flag actually smiles one of the few genuine smiles anyone has ever seen on his face that wasn’t a grimace, a half grin at someone’s expense or an outright smirk. It relieves a majority of the tense feeling still lingering between them in the room.

“Christ when did you assholes get so sappy?” he asks, but more of as a deflection than anything else.

“We’re only representing the people in charge of us, esse.”

Without missing a beat, Flag looks disapprovingly over at GQ. “Well then GQ should have set a better example.”

“Me? I have literally been team leader for thirteen whole minutes.”

“Well, first rule of leading the team, Captain Edwards, is that the leader is always responsible for the actions of his squad, no matter how long they’ve been under his command.”

Flag has a smug look on his face that’s far too self-indulgent than is truly necessary. He reminds Floyd of Waller so much in this moment which begs the still unanswered question.

“Speaking of command tho, where is Waller exactly? And does this mean that you’ll still be in charge of the squad? Cause I don’t know if my vote would count at this point but I’m totally down for that.”

“I’m about to tell you. Yes and thank you, I appreciate the vote of support,” Flag answers immediately. “Firstly, yes, I’ll be taking over Waller’s position at command center, since I can’t be down in the field anymore and Waller insisted that if I left her alone in charge of this, and I quote, ‘group of uncouth assholes with absolutely no respect for their superior officer’, then she was going to, and I quote, ‘hunt me down to the nethermost region of the earths asshole and kill me’.”

“Colonel Flag’s going to be the Zordon to our Power Rangers,” GQ elaborates further.

“I thought they gave you early retirement from the military, or was that another of GQ’s little white boy lies?” KC asks and Floyd seconds the question.

“That is true, but it was just a formality. Waller insisted on it because she wanted me loyal only to her command, not something I’m really keen on but only cause it keeps me on the squad in some extent. I wouldn’t just abandon you guys without making sure you’re taken care of. I owe you guys more than that,” he thinks hard on the subject before he adds. “There wasn’t a ceremony or anything extravagant like that if you’re wondering. I guess it just would be complete without my whole squad there.”

In that moment Floyd knows that Flag isn’t just taking about the squad before him, but also the squad of good men that didn’t make it to this point. It grounds everything in a much sombre reality for a minute. The first day he met those men out on the airstrip just hours after the creation of the squad, he could never have imagined a future where there would be a point he’d genuinely mourn for their loss. He never had a chance to become acquainted with them the way he had with Flag, GQ and Katana, but just the fact that these were people Flag and GQ still spoke of with reverence and fondness made Floyd believe that he too would have shared that sentiment.

“And Waller?”

That question gives Flag pause and he reaches over to whisper something to GQ, sending the younger man reaching over to fiddle with something on the computer keyboard at his side.

“I think I should let her answer that question herself,” he says, turning the seat slightly to the side and motioning with one outstretched arm to the large monitor at the end of the room. “Behold, the face of god.”

It’s reminiscent of that moment on that airfield when they first learned about the squad and about their mission and the fact that not all of them were going to make it out of that mission alive.

And on the humongous monitor mounted on the wall at the far end of the room, taking up the entire span of the wall, came up the single most terrifying sight any one of them has ever witnessed.

Amanda Waller in a blood red pantsuit, mimicking the bloodthirsty colour of her very soul, addressing them from a far too familiar podium, flanked by two flags of the United States and the emblem of the White House mounted on the wall in the background.

Holy fuck.

That was the general consensus of everyone in the room, Flag included.

‘Squad,’ she says, her voice booming out the surround sound speakers and drowning all other noises in the room.

Floyd didn’t know whether to laugh or feel absolutely terrified at the sight and the idea that this terrifying woman was now in the single most important house in the entire U.S of A, if not the world, no doubt calling the shots in the background of the entire government. But at that moment, looking at the all too familiar face looking down at them and glancing over at Flag looking at Waller on the screen with barely concealed fondness and awe, Floyd can’t help but think that these two people who have done so much for them are exactly where they both deserve to be.

‘I will forgo the pleasantries, squad and just get right down to the point. Everything has changed, but nothing has changed. The management may have changed hands, but function of the squad has not. You all are still tasked with eliminating threats to the government and to the safety and livelihood of our citizens. You are the sword that defends us from the enemies that ordinary forces cannot stop and if required, you will give your life to fulfil that duty. That’s the reason you’re here, that’s the reason you’ve been chosen.’

“In the meantime though,” Flag interjects quickly, showing more balls in that one moment than the entire time Floyd’s seen him in actual missions, “We will do our best to treat you like human beings and make sure that you are compensated in full for your contribution to the safety of our nation.” Flag finishes his statement and glances over at Waller, having an entire private conversation with that look alone giving Floyd the impression that this is a topic they’re argued intensely over in the past.

Waller eventually relents with a pointed glare at Flag that Floyd interpreted as fifty percent annoyance and fifty percent actual respect.

‘Well, I suppose all that is up to your now, Colonel. Or should I call you Zordon.’

The unexpectedness of that statement takes everyone by complete surprise so none of them could stop the snort of laughter before it slipped out into the open.

‘Well then people, I have our entire fair nation depending on me to protect them from the forces of evil, so I will leave the mission briefing in Colonel Flag’s more than capable hands,’ before the camera flickers out, Waller has just enough time to spare a look at Flag and a couple of words of warning; ‘Don’t disappoint me.’

“No, ma’am,” Flag answers to the static noise of the cut out screen.

“So we’re actually going on a mission today, boss?” asks Diablo, always the most level headed one in the group. Floyd thinks that it really should be his job since he is the faux-leader of the squad on an average day.

“In a way,” Flag answers cryptically, making it clear that he inherited more than Waller’s job, also her penchant for answering questions with non-answers. “You’re not just here to listen to GQ talk crap or see me in this monkey suit, there’s actually someone else you’re here to meet; a new member of the squad.”

A tense silence falls over the group. Floyd shares a look with Diablo and the meaning that passes between them is that this will either turn out really good, or catastrophically terrible. Both of them are leaning towards the latter.

The door in the background behind GQ suddenly opens and all of them notice movement in the dark as GQ walks over to greet this new arrival.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Flag starts before his eyes fall on KC and he adds almost automatically, “And gentlecrocodiles.”

“Damn right I’m gentle.”

They see the outline of GQ walking towards their direction and into the light, one arm reaching to the newcomer. Floyd can’t see who or what it is, only the outline of a petite, lithe figure.

“May I introduce you to the new member of your team,” Flag announces as the figure steps gracefully into the light and into their line of sight. Floyd’s immediate first response is: flaming red hair—a bit too much hair than is truly necessary on a human being, he thinks. The woman, as they just discovered, sidles up behind Flag with an almost seductive kind of sashay, her fingers creeping across his chest like a vine as she embraces him affectionately from behind. Flag looks too unruffled by the act for it to be an unexpected occurrence. “Pamela Isley,” he says as he grabs one of the hands that’s getting a bit too intimate with his chest area and guides the person forward, “Also known as, Poison Ivy.”

The lady folds herself into a rather exaggerated bow, one leg crossed behind the other and both arms, including the hand still held by Flag, spread out at her side. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, boys,” she says; her voice coming out almost a purr.

Besides Floyd, Harley is bristling. After all, no one cuddles members of the squad except her.

Floyd doesn’t know whether it’s the murderous aura currently rolling off Harley in waves or the heated glare she she’s shooting like laser beams that attracts the newcomers eyes to Harley, but they fall on her almost immediately with an astonished ‘oh.’

“Boys and ladies,” Pamela corrects, her eyes never straying from Harley; in fact studying her up and down with a hawk like gaze. She’s staring a bit too intently in Floyd’s opinion, it almost feels like he’s infringing on what should be an intimate moment. “I do like what I see,” she says and for the first time ever, Floyd sees Harley completely at a loss for words.

The rest of the squad on the other hand obviously approve, if the appreciative glint they all had in their eye was anything to go by.

“So, Isley,” Diablo starts, once again taking over as team leader from Floyd who just needed more time process this shit. “What do you do? Or rather what can you do?”

“Well, ma Cherie—”

Besides Floyd, Harley is almost shaking with rage at this point. After all no one gives members of her squad nicknames besides her.

“—Let’s just say that I have an affinity for flora.”

Floyd doesn’t know what exactly that’s supposed to mean, until Pamela raises her hand, palm up, in front of Diablo and a small rose bud rises up out of the very skin of her hand and blossoms into a gorgeous purple rose.

“Holy shit!” KC nearly jumps out of his scales at the sight.

“Fuck, mate. That’s the coolest shit I’ve ever seen!”

Even Katana’s eyes widened from behind the mask and Floyd hears GQ letting out a whistle from somewhere in the background.

Diablo looks more than a little impressed by what he saw.

“What about you, papi?”

Diablo smirks, and raises his hand, palm up, in front of Pamela and a spark of flame ignites right in the middle of his hand; burning red embers of flame taking shape of a fiery orange rose.

Floyd looks at Flag looking at the scene in front of him and the asshole looks far too smug by the exchange happening in front of him.

“Nice,” Pamela says equally as impressed. “I do think we’ll all get along just fine.” She tears her eyes away from Diablo suddenly, taking a couple of steps further into the middle of the assembled group and stops right in front of the still bristling Harley.

Harley opens her mouth to say something when Pamela raises the hand that’s holding the flower and offers it to Harley.

“A beautiful flower for a beautiful lady,” she says and Harley’s mouth snaps shut as she looked confusedly between Pamela and the rose being offered to her.

It’s Katana who nudges her gently with her shoulder, snapping her out of her befuddled thoughts and brings her back down to reality. Harley hesitantly reaches up to take the offered flower from Pamela’s hand with a muttered, ‘thanks’ as all the indignation and rage that was seeping off her being immediately drains away. Pamela moves quickly just as Harley’s just about to the rose out of her offering grasp, grabbing the outstretched hand gently and planting a soft kiss on the back of it, visibly startling the still befuddled Harley.

“A single purple rose means love at first sight,” Pamela adds and for the first time ever, Harley is both blushing and at a complete loss of words.

Floyd thinks that they actually seem to be off to a good start; Harley no longer looks like she wants to kill the new girl on sight. The new girl looks like she has other plans for Harley, if the seductive gaze she keeps shooting at her is any indication. The only downside if the fact that Floyd only just remembered that he’s in the cell right next to Harleys and the one he assumes now belongs to Pamela.

Maybe there’s still time to ask for his old cell back.

He shares a look with Flag sitting directly in front of him as the rest of the squad converge on the new member, throwing around questions and a couple of inappropriate comments. Floyd hears a desperate choking sound that sounds suspiciously like Boomerang and he doesn’t even have to turn around to know that the new girl is more than capable of protecting herself from Boom’s crude advances. He walks over to where Flag is still sitting on the office seat in the middle of the command center aisle.

“So…”

“So,” Flag mimics his statement as he turns around to perch on the closest table beside Flag, watching the scene unfolding before them with an amused eye. “What do you think of the new girl?”

“Seems like another scary ass woman who can more than kick out asses, figuratively and literally.” Flag chuckles and Floyd doesn’t know how much he’s missed hearing that sound. “Better question is what does the new girl think of Harley? Cause I can tell you the answer, it’s nothing appropriate.”

“Yeah, she’s a piece of work, but so is Harley. And they’re both smart, consenting adults. Also the alternative…”

Flag trails off but Floyd completely understands the unsaid comment. He’s sure they’re both thinking of Harley’s less than proper and very unhealthy ex. Instead both of them look over to where Pamela is still openly staring at Harley and Harley in return actually looks shy at the attention, but doesn’t look like she’s about to stab the other woman in the eye with the rose stem. Instead she’s holding onto the rose like it’s the most precious thing in the world.

“June’s spending the day with Zoe, by the way. I tried bringing her here but, with the new member and Waller and everything, I think it’s better for when things aren’t so frantic. Pamela’s still in the testing process. I mean, we’ve been looking at candidates for months and we still have to get to know her on the field and how she’s handle it. She’s more than capable to neutralize threats on her own, but like with you guys the first time. Being in a squad is something she’s going to have to get used to.”

Floyd tries not to let his disappointment show at the mention of Zoe. But he remembers the phone call and decides to ask Flag about it. “So, Zoe called me the other day,” Flag looks like he knows exactly what Floyd is talking about, “and she said something strange, that she’ll talk to me again another time?”

“Yeah,” Flag answers, looking up to meet Floyd eyes. “I got her a cell phone that makes calls only to me, June and GQ, and also to the phone in Belle Reve. But it’s just for a set time once every few days, since it’s still a prison with rules. But I am working on getting a phone for you that can just make calls to Zoe and me. That one’s proving to be a bit of a challenge. Waller’s grown immune to my charms in the last couple of weeks.”

Floyd is touched, and he doesn’t even attempt to speak when Flag finishes because he knows the only sounds he’ll be able to make are gurgled sobbing sounds. He knew that Flag was still working to set things up for them behind the scenes, as demonstrated by the cafeteria and their new digs, but he didn’t know it extended this far. It’s more than material things Flag is handling for them from the outside; it’s also the emotional aspects and taking care of everything near and dear to them. He’s sure that the choice of adding Pamela’s particularly to the squad wasn’t something accidental.

Flag, June, GQ and Katana, all of them are the family none of them ever really had; even more than that. It’s a relationship built and forged in fire and something that can never be truly severed. They see in Floyd and Harley and KC and Diablo and Boomerang what everyone else in the world has given up trying to look for; humanity, importance and love; three things that Floyd never saw of himself until this very moment. Looking out to the squad laughing; GQ and Boomerang are outright ogling Pamela who just made vines creep up her arms and spout out little white buds. KC who is guffawing loudly seemingly at something Katana had said and the usually stoic Katana is actually smiling.

And Harley who’s looking at the scene taking place in front of her and at the woman who can’t seem to tear her eyes away from her; eyes that shine with awe and the unfamiliar glint of admiration. Harley’s used to looking at others with that gaze, but has never had that look or those emotions being directed at her.

Its mind blowing, she thinks.

“You’re breath-taking,” Pamela says to her.

And in background Flag and Floyd both look on, grinning like the proudest and dorkiest parents in all the land.

tbc.

This chapter is 17390 words long like daaaamn. So hopefully it makes up for the super long wait. Also everything I write will have a happy ending, the happiest ending if I have anything to say about it and I hope it lived to up everyone’s expectations. For the record, I knew I wanted to end the story by adding Poison Ivy, so finally getting to write that scene makes me very happy and very pleased.

Wilcox, Biggits and Banks are actual Belle Reve Penitentiary guards in the Young Justice series.

Also I said that this was going to be the last chapter, and for all intents and purposes, it is. But then I realized that how can I finish this story without bring it full circle and end it with everyone’s favourite disgruntled colonel. And so, we will have one last short epilogue to end things and tie off the few lose ends I have hanging.

#suicide squad #rick flag #floyd lawton #harley quinn #poison ivy #killer croc #el diablo #captain boomerang #suicide squad fics #reiven fics #fic: dirty deeds done dirt cheap #harley quinn x poison ivy

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