#sierra six and claire

[soupfiction]

Hi! I just finished In the Job Description and wanted to tell you how much I loved it. I was wondering if you would consider writing Six and Claire? Their relationship is one of my favorite things about the movie (other than mister hotness himself).

HEY— sorry for how long it took me to reply. i’m really glad you enjoyed it !! really makes writing worth it.

i’m planning to write some stuff for six and claire because their relationship is so wholesome. but for now, here’s a quick little drabble and a handful of headcanons.

three headcanons/random words:

claire gives him some honey and lemon airwave gum she got the maid to pick up when she notices he’s sick, going, “Our secret, robot.”

she keeps popping these stickers on his suit jacket. he doesn’t take them off.

six usually sleeps in the guest room, but after the hospital visit he’s got a pillow and blanket right outside her door. letting her keep it closed because she says having it open makes her scared (a childhood fear showing its ugly face in response to everything that’s happening).

little drabble:

Lack of sleep makes Six feel sick.

A consistent throbbing in his skull, a little hammer being banged up against his temples in the rhythm of some up-beat song that would be played at a night club. Full god damn blast, speakers thumping and making the floor rattle. His head feels like that, as if someone spun the dial on some beaten sound device and decided it was okay for ear drums to be at risk of rupturing each time the bass caused a mini earthquake.

He’d popped three low-grade pain pills in an attempt to lessen each blow, dry swallowing them because he already drained the water bottle on his bedside table and forgot to get another. That was this morning, before the sun had even risen because some stray cat had decided to sprint across the lawn and set off the sensors— a beep—beep—beep ringing and amplifying the pain in his head. Now he’s got his head buried in a bowl of some sweet, sugary cereal, eyes lidded and mouth barely opening to swallow the spoonfuls of the food.

Just past the dish sits his laptop, cameras running and everything looking good. Except it takes longer to process it all, like he’s got to consciously run his eyes over each and every nook and cranny before doing it all over again just to really say he’s really looked at it. Even biting down on the crunchy bits of breakfast makes another wave of dull ache run through head, now spreading from the front to the back. A full fucking circle all due to the fact he hasn’t been able to get a good few hours of sleep since arriving in Hong Kong.

Blaming it on jet lag because he can’t process that this job is actually worrying him— namely because of a girl who is just now getting up.

Floral pajamas that run a little long on the legs, dragging over her feet as she pads to the table, rubbing sleep out of her eyes before saying, “Can I have some of that?”

Six blinks and nearly shoves his own bowl of cereal towards her, first urge to oblige and give her food before realizing she meant the colorful box sitting on the table. “Yeah.” He slides it across the smooth wood while Claire grabs what she needs. Plopping down to the left of him and preparing the makeshift breakfast.

“Do you put the milk or cereal first?” She asks, spoon clinking inside the bowl when she goes to take her first bite.

A thick eyebrow raises up at the posed question, but she’s got a mouthful of colorful grains. Munching with the slightest hint of a smirk at how his face just blanks out. Mr. Serious, she always calls him. Can take out five guys in half that many minutes yet hesitates at the simplest of questions. “Cereal?”

Claire hums, a dribble of milk falling from her mouth. He pushes a napkin across the table. “Good answer, robot. You had me worried for a second.”

[kerriganwrites]

THE GRAY MAN, 2022.

BONUS:

[niobe-loreley]

Heaven Is In A Shortcake {xvii}

AND NOW~ IT WAS TIME~ FOR TUMBLR TO DROWN IN THE SWEET SORROW OF THIS FIC'S 17TH CHAPTER

disclaimer: The Gray Man and the characters are NOT mine, even the reader. I only own the plot and the reader's character lol. Pictures used in the fic are NOT MINE, but only the edited version (u can msg me if u ze owner); credits to the rightful owners and canva + weheartit. Additionally, I am not a Subic/Zambales native, so my apologies for any wrong locations, descriptions, or languages.

Six x F!Reader / Courtland Gentry x Female Reader

warnings: moderate amount of swear words. some filipino dialogues. slow burn. fluff. trust issues. dramaramramamama. comedy if you use a magnifying glass. culture shock. word count check. slightly proofread/revised.

CHAPTER SELECTION IS IN THE ✨Masterlist✨ Chapter 16 was the icon Chapter 17 is the legend

word count: 3.9k (N/N) = nickname *Kiara = Clare *Kurt = Court *cover names = reader doesn't know YET (except you do know #wreckthe4thwall)

This has got to be kidnapping.

Yet how can it be when you're not even verbally struggling to escape?

The only physical binding you have is your sprained ankle. If you didn't have that, you can easily jump out of the car.

But you dare not anger Court any further. He might not let you leave them until you ripen of old age.

Would that be so bad, though?

You blush, sharply averting your gaze out the window as if it would throw the thought away. Being with Court and Claire in less than three hours for thrice a week should be enough for friends hanging out.

Right?

So, why are you wishing for more time?

Why are you always at the edge of your seat waiting for them?

Why is it always hard to watch them walk out of the cafe without you?

The answers are obvious. You just don't want to indulge them again, especially after what happened tonight.

"Home runnnn!" Claire shouts happily as she races through the garage. She certainly looked like she batted a ball out of the field, arms raised overhead, open-mouthed grin, and keys dangling noisily.

You and Court stay silent as Claire unlocks the door. He has you in his arms again, but you don't breathe a complaint this time.

"Want to take a bath, (N/N)?" Claire asks when the three of you entered the guestroom.

You nod. "Sure, that'd be grand."

Court gently sets you down on the bed. "Do you, um, need help?" he questions with a red face, "Taking a bath?"

You laugh. "I'm not that incapacitated, dude. Just get me a chair, towel, and clothes."

"Here's a towel!" Claire gets one from the closet and deposits it on the bed in a flash, "I'll go get a plastic chair!"

She's out of the room before either of you can blink.

"What a proactive teen," you comment amusedly before the silence becomes awkward.

Court snorts in agreement, looks at you for a few seconds, and turns away. "Hey, listen, you can borrow my clothes for the time being."

"Do you have my kind of underwear this time?" you tease.

"About the underwear.. we can buy some tomorrow morning." Court awkwardly rubs his nape, "There's a— what do you call this.. a small market at the park tomorrow. It's always there every Saturday, from 6 AM to 10 AM."

"A tiangge?"

"Yeah, that!"

"Alright, it'd probably be good for me to walk around tomorrow."

"Who says you'll be walking around?"

"Uh, I did?"

"No, you're staying in the car."

"What?"

"My house, my car, my rules."

You chuckle. "Court, seriously.. what are you doing? This is rather sweet and all, but you're lowkey scaring me." you swiftly add to ease his growing anxiety, "It's scary in a funny way, actually. But I'm getting worried that you're over-worrying about me."

He glances down at the floor. "Isn't this what friends do?" and peers at you with eyes so dubious it's as though he doesn't know the meaning of friends.

"Yeah, it is.. and I would do the same for you, it's just that…" you look straight into his eyes, "This kind of overworrying feels different. I can't help but think it feels different. This, us, we.. feel different. But I don't want to think it does, I want to know." 

You're quick to realize what you just said, their weight and meaning, so you let out a loud laugh. Hopefully it will dispel your statements.

"Or maybe it's just me!— Me being silly ol' me," you snicker.

Yet Court is looking at you as though he understands the facade you're wearing.

"What's so funny?" Claire drags a monoblock chair into the room.

You shake your head. "I was just mimicking Flint Lockwood."

"You know Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs?!"

"Know it? I've watched it a hundred times!"

"There! Good as new!" Claire declares, satisfied.

After taking a bath, the father-daughter duo helped you with your wounds again. Claire has just finished bandaging your elbow. While Court went to get another compression bandage after leaving an ice pack on your ankle.

"Kiara.. may I ask you something?"

She snorts. "Of course. And no need to be all formal."

"How did you and Kurt find me?"

Claire freezes, the look on her face somewhat resembles a search engine loading continuously due to a weak internet. "Um, well.. we were going to invite you to watch a movie with us," she smiles sheepishly, "It's Friday. And it's been a while.

"Anyway, we knew you were going to Lillia's, so we turned around and drove to the hotel. We got there just as you were being chased."

You resist a shudder when you hear derisive howling in your ears. You wonder how long those guys will be in your mind, their laughs and hoots bouncing back and forth, reverberating your skull.

"I'm glad you two turned around," you smile at Claire with glassy eyes. "Thank you, Kiara."

She's stunned until tears brim her eyes. But Claire doesn't let them fall. "Don't just thank me. It's Six who beat their asses," she snickers.

"Who?" you ask.

"What?" Claire replies and freezes in realization.

"(Y/N), are you hungry?" Court inquires, sidling in the room.

"No, thank you." you glance at him from head to toe, "How about you? Didn't all that ass kicking got you starving?"

"Not really." Court sits on a chair at the edge of the bed. He takes off the ice pack from your ankle, which he towel-dries before he mindfully wraps a compression bandage around it.

He's too focused on your sprain while you're so engrossed watching him that neither of you notice Claire sneaking out of the room.

"Hey, can you come over here and hand me the ice pack?"

Court just finishes bandaging your sprain. Yet he wastes no time obliging you. This, again, neither of you notices.

"You found another welt on you?" he asks, sounding like he's half-joking (but he's not).

You snatch the ice pack from him and press it up against his left jaw. Court is monumentally unprepared for the "assault" that he winces in pain.

"Nope! Found a bruise on you, though." you say, snickering.

Court lets the astonishment wash over him. "You notice that?" he asks, somewhat amazed.

"At first, I thought it was a tattoo."

"Really?"

"No, I'm joking."

"Oh.."

You snort. "Doofus."

"Twerp," he fires back, flaring.

You double over, laughing. But you still have the ice pack steady on his jaw. "Sometimes you're a sore loser," you examine his face for any more injuries, but it's hard when he's scrunching it up to a scowl. "No, scratch that, you are one."

"And you're just infuriating. All. The. Time." he remarks with hardening emphasis.

"But you love me," you intone jokingly.

Court stares at you, astounded. And as the blood creep up his face, your laugh dies down in shame.

He knows you're joking, right?

You know you were joking.. right?

Sure, you like-like him, but you wouldn't call it love. Infatuation is more like it. Or stirrings, as Captain Jack Sparrow termed it.

Your inner self gives you an unimpressed look.

'Ok, fine.. feelings.'

Court calls your name.

"Huh? What?" you snap out of your stupor.

Court grabs the ice pack from you and off his jaw. "I asked if you want to call somebody." he says with genuine concern.

"Oh… I don't think I can talk to anybody about what happened just yet."

"Okay," he pauses, "Sorry.. I thought you'd feel better if you talked to Mindy. Or maybe Erick."

You chuckle. "I would if we were still dating."

Court blinks at you.

You elaborate. "I mean, we were only dating. He's not really my boyfriend in the first place."

"So… You two aren't dating anymore?" Court asks.

"That's right." you nod and pretend like your heart is not leaping up your throat because of what you plan to say next. "I told Erick I can't  date him anymore because I realized I already like someone else. Even before him."

"So," he hums inquisitively, "You're dating this someone now?"

You shake your head, smiling sadly. "No, I haven't told him I like him yet."

He gulps. "Why is that?"

"Because after what happened tonight, as much as I want him to know.. I don't want him to think it's because he saved me."

Court is looking at you like you're a thousand-piece puzzle.

You blush. "I know I've liked this guy for a long while now. And I know this isn't the right time, but.. I'm idiotically still trying to tell him. That I like him."

Silence spreads to every corner of the room. And if it weren't for the crickets serenading outside, the silence would be awkward the way it should be.

Court is still saying nothing. He has his eyes on the floor and you have no idea what's going on in his mind.

Typically, you're that friend who advises their other friends to just say it— do it!— Don't ride the merry-go-around.

Yet here you are, dangling on one of the carousel horses as it spins for all eternity.

"You should get some rest." Court says finally.

"Huh?"

"I said, you should get some rest."

"Oh… That's what I thought you said."

He hauls out something from his jacket pocket. "Here.. the channel is all set," he nods at the walkie-talkie, "Keep it open and call me as soon as you need me— or anything."

"Sure," you grab the device absentmindedly. "Good night."

"Good night."

And then he leaves, shutting the door behind him.

You look at the transceiver, place it on the bedside drawer, and expel a hefty sigh. "Ang tanga mo talaga," you tell yourself, forcibly lying down. "Stupid, stupid, stupid! You should've just told him!— Why didn't you tell him? Oh right, because I'm an idiotic, no good, shit for brains, twat!"

A sharp twinge rises up your leg as a scratching pain erupts from the rest of your body. "Ow, ow, ow," you stop thrashing, slowly placing your sprained ankle atop the pillow it was on. You sigh exasperatedly, "I'm such a dumbass."

"You're such a dumbass!"

"Excuse me?" Court glares at Claire over his shoulder as they climb up the stairs.

She rolls her eyes. "Her message was as clear as the archipelago sun!"

"Whose?"

"(N/N), duh!"

He furrows his brows. "What message?"

She snaps her fingers. "And that's why you're such a dumbass."

"Fine. Whatever. Just get to bed."

"Fine! Let's all see how this stupidity between you and (N/N) plays out!"

Claire storms in her room and noisily shuts the door before Court can retort. He ponders what she's got to be mad about.

He takes a short bath, sets another set of clothes aside for you, and checks the house's security.

No one's after you three.

That's not just why Court suggested you stay with them for a few days. This is better than you staying all night at the cafe alone. And like hell he'll ever leave you alone after what happened tonight.

Court checks the handgun under his pillow as he looks at the guestroom's feed.

If someone did come after them, he'll have no choice but to take you with him and Claire.

Suddenly, he recalls what you said earlier as he lays on the bed.

"...as much as I want him to know.. I don't want him to think it's because he saved me."

You're not talking about him, right?

"I know I've liked this guy for a long while now—"

There's just no way, right?

"—And I know this isn't the right time, but.. I'm idiotically still trying to tell him. That I like him."

Court abruptly sits upright. "Fuck!" he breathes out, wishing he can do the same to the heat in his cheeks. "Don't do this to yourself, man. You're 100% uncertain."

Maybe you were just delirious from the trauma.

Yeah, that's plausible. 

But also worrisome.

Court glances over to his desk, where the security feed is showing any events live inside, outside, and ten meters around the house. But he's focused on one feed: the guestroom.

You're fast asleep already. And how you're so unmoving sets paranoia ablaze in his veins. 

He has the right to worry, right?

So, it's okay for him to switch on the guestroom's camera audio and cranks it up until he hears your breathing, right?

He puts on one earbud and doesn't dwell on the fact that what he's doing is downright creepy.

Setting up a tablet beside him on the bed, Court finds the security feed on the device. He then lies back down and tries closing his ends. Not after a minute, he ends up watching you on the screen.

'Hopeless..'

He ignores his demons snickering at him.

As he continues eyeing the security feed of the premises, particularly you, Court doesn't realize he fell asleep.

Until he hears you scream.

"NO! NO! STOP— PLEASE!"

Court practically becomes The Flash. He bolts down to the guestroom before his eyes can fully open.

He shouts your name as he bursts in the room. Opening the lights, he finds that you have no (external) attacker.

You're sitting down, yet you looked like you ran a marathon. "Hey, Kurt," you wipe the cold sweat off your brow. "I'm so sorry for waking you."

He stammers. "No. Not really, I.. I just got up to get some water."

You glance at the time, 1:35 AM. "Still, sorry for disturbing you and shit."

Court sighs. "Stop apologizing. How many times do I have to tell you?"

"Maybe 99 more to get it through my thick skull?"

"That's probably not enough."

You laugh, shaking your head, and you scratch behind your ear. "Did I wake Claire up, too?"

Court glances out the door when he hears footsteps. Claire carefully rounds the corner, armed with a handgun dipped towards the floor. 

"No, she's still asleep." he blankly says as he turns back to you.

You heave a brow. "Why are you lying?"

Court is taken aback. Was he that obvious? No one can usually read him, not even Claire; although, Donald and Margaret used to.

"Oh, Claire!" you holler in a singsong voice.

The teen reluctantly peers in the room, hiding her weapon behind her. "H-Hiya," she smiles nervously.

You chuckle. "The two of you should get back to bed. I'm sorry for getting you out of there in the first place."

"It wasn't your fault you had a nightmare, (N/N)." says Claire. "Would—"

"Would you like some company?" Court asks just before the teen could. He looks at her in befuddlement, while she sneers maniacally at him.

"No, you two should rest." you give a small smile, "I'll be fine."

Except you didn't get to be.

For the past three hours, you've woken up from several nightmares. Only a few of them did you wake up screaming. Sometimes you can't even sleep immediately because it takes you back to the same bad dream. 

It takes all of Court's might not to barge back in the guestroom, lay down next to you, and kick all those nightmares in the ass.

After your first nightmare, Court hasn't slept a wink. He returned to his room and watched you through the security feed. When you've had your second nightmare, he quickly sets up the sandbag in his room and starts whaling on it.

But there's only so much that he can take from hearing your cries. He tried muting your security feed, yet for some reason, it's worse than before.

So, Court has selfishly decided that you need someone with you tonight. Whether you like it or not. 

He waited until you're back in deep sleep after a nightmare.

Without little to no sound, Court sneaks into the guestroom and places a chair beside the bed. And as he sits there, it just hits him that he doesn't know what the fuck to do. You'll probably have a heart attack when you wake up and find him staring at you.

How should he comfort you?

He pinches himself when the first thought he has is to get in bed with you. There's got to be another way other than that— it'll be the last resort.

You suddenly let out a grunt, stirring, and Court flinches, readying to flee. But you're still asleep. It's another nightmare.

Court spots your clenched fist and tightens his jaw. He looks at your grimacing face, and for some reason, it's similar to your concentrating face. Now, here's a thought: what if you're suppressing yourself for him and Claire? So that you won't wake them up because of your nightmares.

He chuckles in both disbelief and admiration. That'd truly be you. Even when you're having trouble, you're still looking after them.

Breathing in and out, Court takes your balled hand in both of his. He strokes your fist, tracing patterns on your skin until he feels your muscles release their contraction. Gently, he unfurls your tightened fingers and soothes them one by one.

Compared to his, your appendages are small and smooth. It astonishes him how a hard worker such as yourself has dainty hands. But he stands corrected when he feels a few callouses. Nevertheless, your hand fascinates him.

What would it feel like to hold both of your hands in his own?

The thought is cut short when he feels crescent marks on your palm. Court frowns at that and then at you. "Idiot.. stop taking on everything by yourself," he whispers and carefully holds your hand in both of his. "I'll be here for you, (Y/N). I am here. You just.. gotta see me."

For the second time tonight, Court has fallen asleep watching you.

And once again, you're the one to wake him. But not with a scream this time.

"Court," you softly call, tugging on his hands.

With his name like a feather on your lips, everything within him stirs wildly into life. But he doesn't show that effect you have on him.

He slowly rises from slumping on the bed. "Hey, sorry, did I scare you?" he blurts out with one eye still closed.

You chuckle. "No, you didn't."

"Get back to sleep. I'll just be here."

"Why don't you..?"

"Hm?" Court blinks at you curiously.

You fight back the blush, scoot further in the bed, and pat the space beside you. "I don't think you're comfortable there. Why don't you sleep here instead?"

He gulps. "Aren't you gonna ask me what I'm doing here first?"

"Will you answer me honestly? Or tell me to shut up and rest?" you question amusedly.

"Both?" he stifles a grin.

You shortly laugh before you tug him towards you. It doesn't take long for him to fold. Just you holding his hand is enough to make Court roll over for you.

He worriedly climbs in the bed—

"Oh, wait!"

"What?!"

"Let's switch."

".. Why?"

You redden. "I don't want you sleeping on my sweat, man! Understand?!"

He looks at you for a few seconds and sputters out a laugh. "Alright, fine," he says before you can chastise him for laughing. You scoot over as he rounds the bed, "There. Happy?"

"Very," you nod and settle down.

"Oh, wait!" he exclaims this time.

"What?!"

Court returns to his room to retrieve his clothes that you were going to wear later in the morning. "Change. You stink." he chucks them to you, sneering.

"Go away, then." you snarl.

"Like hell I would."

"Just turn around, moron!"

He obliges, snickering, and when he faces away from you, horrific realization strikes like vicious lightning across his chest. 

You're undressing. With him still in the room. And it's just the two of you. Has he mentioned that you're currently undressing?

His demons are biting into the side of his neck, yanking at him to look over at you. This is bad. His self-control is losing a lot of blood.

"Need any help?"

Yup, that's significant blood loss right there.

"No, I got this. Thanks, Kurt."

After an eternity (minute) of suffering..

"Done!" you exhale, relieved.

And so did Court. 

He rigidly gets in the bed without glancing at you. His self-control needs recharging, it doesn't help that you're half-an-arms length away. But even just a visual on you is lethal.

The two of you are staring at the ceiling. Until you turn your head to Court, just as he risks a glance at you. His self-control can't charge anymore.

You grin apologetically. "Sorry for keeping you up. Let's get some rest," and roll on your side, facing away from him. "Good night."

"Yeah, night." he replies, staring at your back.

Before horrendous thoughts can start invading his mind, Court notices something amusing. 

He stifles a grin, his shirt is like a blanket on you. The way it hangs on you with too many folds screams that you're wearing an extremely baggy top. It'll never not be entertaining to have you in his clothes. What's more, only ⅓ of your feet are sticking out the hem of his joggers.

This time, Court doesn't fall asleep watching you. Because with you up close, he's granted visual acuity to scrutinize you evenly.

Your hair doesn't appear damp despite the cold sweat you're experiencing from the nightmares.

The curve of your shoulder somewhat displays tenacity and elegance simultaneously.

How can such a tiny body hold so much strength and carry such burdens?

Eventually, the nightmares are back. And Court is ready for them.

As soon as you're stirring abnormally and moaning in fear, Court props onto his elbow and carefully grabs your shoulder. He calls your name, shaking you gently.

You jolt awake, breathing heavily. "Court," you look at him, the fear in your wide eyes diminishing gradually. "Did I wake you?"

"No," says Court, steeling his resolve. "Come here."

You almost didn't understand what he said. Until he pulls you to him. And you move compliantly.

Court shimmies his arm under your head, while the other clutches your waist, pulling you closer until there's no space between your back and his chest.

You stifle a squeak when he slips a leg between yours. "Sorry," he says in your hair, "Just gotta get this.."

He clasps the edge of the pillow with his toes and carefully reels it. "Lift your left leg up," he tells you, and you oblige. He leaves the pillow between your legs and grabs the one you lifted. "You can put this down now."

He helps you in setting your sprained ankle down on the pillow.

"Good girl."

Oh, damn..

Thank the heavens you're not facing him right now. He'd probably mistake your face for a stove.

"No nightmare is getting to you now."

"Huh?"

You feel him moving his face against the back of your head.

"I said," he pauses, voice low, breaths fanning on your ear. "No nightmare is getting to you now. Because I'm protecting you."

Your heart finds it hard to go back to its place after cartwheeling up your throat. And when it's reminded of the position you and Court are presently in, your heart threatens to roll out your mouth.

"The nightmares are in my head, though." you chuckle, placing a hand on the arm you're resting your head on, you reach for his hand. "Thank you."

Court watches, with fireworks gleefully exploding in his chest, as you intertwine your hand with his. When the festivities calm down, he gives your hand a squeeze.

"You're always welcome, (Y/N)."

A/N: these chapters will be all FOR NOW~ I am continuing this fic y'all, albeit it'll be from time to time (ehem month to month huhuhuhu)

The door to Chapter 18 is blocked

✨TAGLIST✨

@kat-thepoet @queenofhellhasrisen @sierrasixswife @vallyb @lyuir @yvxcy @justareaderdude  @sortingharryshairclip

[renren-006]

The thought keeping my mind running at the moment is a Sierra Six x Sierra Seven blurb/quick one shot that's these two internationally known killers/spies/however we want to categorize them who can take out anyone flawlessly with no trace struggling to help Claire on some algebra homework or something. Like imagine these two trying to figure out how SAT prep works and how to use the quadratic formula, because I'm pretty sure there would be more frustration and absolutely confusion shared between the two of them than in this little teenagers mind.

Homework Problems | Sierra Seven x F! Reader

Word Count: 955 A/N: I really hope you like it! feel free to send me any request for myre Sierra Six stories id love to write them!!!

You were an international spy, not many things puzzled you. Today was when you learned that math was the one thing that would puzzle you. As you sat at the kitchen table next to Claire the numbers scribbled on the page were like a foreign language to you, and you knew many. 

“This...Claire what the hell is this” You asked, eyebrows furrowed together. Claire looked up at you with the most amused look on her face.

“Seven, this is...this is math,” Claire said, giving you a questioning look, “you do know..”

“Yes, i know what math is...I just haven't done it in a very long time”

“So you don't calculate an angle before you shoot?” Claire asked. 

“Claire be honest with me, do I look like I calculate things,” You asked. Claire thought for a moment before responding.  “When it comes to Six, yes,” She told you, glancing outside to the x-spy patiently waiting in the yard for Claire's dog, Fitz, to go to the bathroom.

“Besides Six,” I asked her, still looking back at the puzzling numbers on the page. 

“Umm I don't know, I mean when you and Six saved me it seemed like you did,” she told you, referring to the time you saved her and shot a guy just by looking into a mirror. You shook your head. 

“Honestly Claire Its muscle memory now, I fight because I know how to fight, this domestic life it’s different, its a new thing ill have to learn,” You told her honestly, “But this, me you, and Six that I know how to do that, but math and homework and school its all-new”

“I know,” She told you, “Thank you for being here for me”

“oh sweetheart, of course, I'm uh your mom now so I have got to take care of my family, and don't think Six doesn't check the house three times before we go to bed, just to make sure you safe,” You told her, “Now, tell me how to do this math”

“Well it's for this test called the SAT and I have to like solve it and find the answer” Claire explained after the smile left her face. 

“Textbook?” you asked. Claire nodded her head. 

“I have one” She exclaimed.

"Why don't you grab it,” You told her calmly

“Right,” She said and marched off to her room to find the math textbook. 

“Six?” You asked, Six strutted over to you his face lazy and he finally looked calm.  "Yes," he answered, a questioning look on his face.

“Do you know algebra?” You asked. 

“Not really, haven't done that in a few years,” Six said. 

“Well, Claire is studying for..the SAT I think and I have no idea what math is involved with it,” You told him. Six scratched his head.

“Shit i knew this was something we would have to do” He said.

“And this just slipped your mind?” You asked, He nodded.

“I was going to mention it but she never came to us...” Six replied a hand ran over his face and an exaggerated sigh left his lips.

“Wait, you're telling me, essentially our daughter didn't come to us for homework help?” You asked, “We are failing as parents Court,” You said. 

"Hey, y/n we are doing perfectly well under these....did you just say, parents?" He asked you.

"Well, I mean yea? Look at us Court? I care about Claire so much and all I want is a normal life for her and to not have to look over my shoulder anymore." you told him.

"I want that too," he said pulling you in. "Now, let's try and figure out these math homework things so that we can better help her," he said laughing and pulling away. Claire re-entered the room, with a knowing and happy look as she sat between the two of you.

"Now I have to solve this thing called the quadratic formula," Clair said flipping to the page with the unknown language you still wouldn't decipher.

"what the....Claire do you want my head to explode?" you asked her.

"haha I don't think Seven can comprehend math," Court said, laughing with Claire.

"And you can?" you ased your counter part.

"...no," he said, the silence before his answer made Clair bust out even more in laughter having tears spill from her eyes.

"Omg if I had known asking my parents to help with math would lead to none of us knowing I would have just gone to get tutoring," she said in between bursts of laughter.

"I'm sorry kiddo, I mean really I don't remember much math from that far back," you said, thinking back to the years when you were her age. You had been convicted of arson before graduating and math was the last thing on your mind in prison. You had met Court not too long afterward being around 20 or so, and math was the last thing on your mind at the academy.

"y and b.....wait why the hell are there letters I thought math was all numbers and shit?" Court asked Claire breaking you from your thoughts.

"oh...yea I guess they have letters as substitutes for numbers"

"that is not logical," Court said, he pushed the book away with a grumble, "You said you could go to tutoring?"

"Yea they have a tutoring center at school," she said.

"I think they will be better helped than us with this...quadrophonic equation shit"

"It's quadratic," she said snarkily.

"Whatever, it's bullshit," Court said with a grumble.

"Okay why don't we stop with math and move on to something else," you said directing the conversation away from the frustrations of math.

[drivinmeinsane]

Leap of Faith

※ Sierra Six ※

{ masterlist } ※ { ao3 }

※ Summary: What if the escape mission had gone a little differently? No outcomes are certain. No one is impervious to fault.

※ Rating: M for mature themes of suicidal idealization and death. 

※ Content/Tags: Suicidal Idealization, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt No Comfort, Found Family, Suicide Attempt, Character Death

※ Word count: 4,938

※ Status: Oneshot/Complete

※ Author's Notes: Lloyd's moves did not, in fact, fuck.

Sucking in a deep breath, closing his eyes for a brief moment, the Sierra Agent steels himself. The doorknob is firm under his hand, sturdier than he feels right now. He is not sure what he is going to find behind the double doors. Is he too late? Is he going to turn the knob and open the antique door to see the bodies of his family cast aside on the floor like abandoned dolls? Lloyd does not seem like the type to treat his toys with consideration. He did not exactly come across as a beacon of patience during this entire ordeal, more like another rich kid who breaks things when he gets mad because his gilded parents will get him another. 

Six does not allow himself to continue mentally circling the drain. He forces himself into a state of blind optimism. He has to believe he is going to succeed. A defeatist attitude will get them all killed. 

Pushing the door open, he is greeted by the sight of Fitz standing in the middle of the room and prepared for trouble. Six feels his knees go weak, and he winks in lieu of a verbal hello, not trusting himself to speak just yet. There is no time to relax, to take a breather. He has to get his family out of here before Lloyd realizes that the building has been breached. His own body is also a factor. It is an hourglass counting down the minutes. Instead of sand, he is keeping time with blood. Their would-be assassin had not been as much of an amateur as Six had let on to Agent Miranda. 

“Attaboy.” The retired handler praises, his relief palpable. 

Claire let out a laugh from where she is crouched at the side of the bed. The scrawny preteen stands up and Six’s eyes rapidly scan her. She is unharmed, Greasy and exhausted, yes, but unharmed. Fitz had kept her safe in the agent’s absence, now it is time for Six to take up the task and see them through to the end. 

“Fitz,” he says and brushes past to check the window. Dani is running Lloyd’s personal ragged outside. All eyes are on the woman racing across the grounds. He is unspeakably grateful for her. If she hadn’t picked his sorry ass up and taken him to Prague, he would have failed long ago.

“You able?” He asks Fitz, closing the curtain and turning away from the window. 

“Well, I can walk, but, uh, missing a wing,” he responds bitterly and raises his bandaged hand. Of course Lloyd would be a fingernail puller. 

“Can you wiggle your finger?”

“With this wing,” Fitz says and raises his right. Mercifully intact.

“That’ll do.” He pauses and looks at Claire, “You okay?”

“Took you long enough,” she grouses, watery despite the chiding words. 

“Sorry about that. My flight was delayed.” There is no heat to his voice. He would have gone down in countless burning planes if it ensured the girl’s safety.

“I knew you’d catch another one.” Fitz sounds apologetic. 

The sound of steps in the hallway outside gets his attention. They are no longer alone. Lloyd has caught onto the diversion that he and Dani cooked up before they ambushed the sentries. They are out of time.

“Put these in your ears,” he instructs Claire quietly, making sure she takes the offered pair of earplugs from his hand before lifting his gun into a ready position. He fires off a line of shots into the wall. Groans and heavy thuds signal that the bullets meet their mark. One of the assailants falls against the door, pushing it further ajar. 

“You ready?” 

Fitzroy nods and ushers their charge in front of himself. He will watch her while Six keeps the way clear. They have an unspoken agreement that regardless of the consequences, Claire must be escorted to safety. The two adults are disposable, she is not.

Hooking his gloved fingers around the door and pulling it open, Six cautiously sticks his head into the hallway. No sign of any living problems. He beckons for Claire and Fitz to follow him. They stay close to keep Claire sandwiched securely between them. Both of them tell her to not look down as they step over the bodies and creep through the building. Gunfire and shouts echo in the distance.

The agent nearly jumps out of his skin when feels Claire grip onto the back of his belt. He can feel her trembling despite the thin connection. Tremors aside, she is brave. He wishes that she did not have to be, that she was not even cast into this impossible situation to begin with. It is not fair. She is even younger than he was when he was arrested and charged as an adult for the murder of his father. 

They make it onto the bridge before things really start to go to shit. Six considers their options. The bridge does not afford them much choice. Lloyd and his cronies would be able to meet them at the bottom of the steps or else pick them off like animals in a trophy seeker’s canned hunt. The water is the only possible route. They will have to jump and swim for their freedom. He can see a boat in the distance. It can serve as their escape vehicle until they get to the edge of the moat and proceed on foot. 

“Okay. Do you have a plan, or are we improvising?” Fitz sounds a little labored. His hand must be hurting him. Who knows what else Lloyd did to him during his captivity. Six will have to wrestle the older man into an examination once they are out of here.

“Yeah, I got a plan. You got your swim trunks?” He smooths his worry with a joke. He has a bad feeling about all of this.

Gunfire from the bridge running parallel to theirs pushes them along. He hears Fitz telling their girl to keep going, to stay low. Six covers them, does his damnedest to make sure that neither member of his family gets injured. They take a rest against a pillar while Six checks their escape route again. No changes. Lloyd must be confident that he has them cornered. Conceited asshole, he thinks callously. 

Speak of the devil and he will make himself known. Six hears Lloyd scream from the other bridge. He is able to make out something about destroying a historical building. He is of the opinion that if Lloyd really wanted to keep the structure intact, he would not have made it the prison for the two people Six cares about the most in this world. There is not anything on this earth that he would not tear down if it meant saving them.

“All right. Let’s get ready to jump.” The water is deep, the walkway at a lower point. It would be the safest here. 

“I’m gonna have to take the stairs.”

“What are you talking about?” He asks, frustration creeping into his voice. He turns to look at Fitz. The other man is slumped against the pillar with his hand clutching at his abdomen. Blood has begun to soak into the bandage wrapping up his fingers. Six does not think it is from his nail beds.  

“It's not good,” Fitz gets out through gritted teeth. He pulls his hand away for a brief moment, offering Six a glimpse of a bullet wound.

“What the hell is that?” He’s crowding into the older man’s space. Fear is creeping its icy touch up his spine. If any one of them were to die, it would be Six. That was the job of a good guard dog.

“What do you think it is?” Even now Fitz cannot show any vulnerabilities of his own. He doubles down. “Go, Six, get her out of here.”

The agent stands up with a growl. He fires off a few more shots at Lloyd, trying to buy them some more time. Time that he knows will not fix anything. He ducks back down next to the bleeding man.

Fitz speaks before he can. “Take the gun. Give me the grenade.”

“Let me see. Put your hand on it. Put some pressure. Get the gun out of my damn face.” Desperation is making him harsh. Things were not supposed to happen this way.

“Give me the gren-.”

Six cuts him off. “Shut up. I need to think.”

He can still fix this. Fitz does not have to die here. Six can carry him, Atlas the weight of both of their bodies. Claire is sobbing quietly beside them. He has to fix this. There is no other option. 

“You don’t have time to think. Six, look at me.” He keeps his eyes averted from the speaking man. He is running scenario after scenario in his mind. He was trained for this. He can make this work. 

“Look at me.” Six finally meets his eyes. They’re sad, understanding. Fitz knows what this means to the three of them. Knows that this is a devastating blow. “I’m out. Get her gone.”

“Sto-.” Six tries, agonized. 

“Take this. Give me a hand grenade. You understand me? Go!” He shoves the gun at Six’s chest. They are out of time and Six knows it. 

Woodenly, Six pushes a grenade into Fitz’s waiting hand and takes the gun. Claire is whimpering now, holding herself and rocking. He has to save her, even if it takes his final breath. He stands up and wraps his hand around her upper arm. Pins down Lloyd on the other bridge with a few more shots. He will have to grit his teeth and bear it like he did when he pulled the gun on his own father. He has to follow through no matter how much it hurts. Sometimes to save someone you care about, you have to sacrifice another. 

“C’mere,” he says softly to the trembling girl in his grasp.

“You go with Six, baby.” Fitz prompts. He is looking at them as though he is trying to take in every last detail. 

“We go in three, two, one.” He starts pulling her away, but she fights him, jerks out of his grip the moment she finally processes her uncle’s condition. 

“No, wait! He’s bleeding. Oh my god!” She falls onto her knees next to him, frantically grasping at him. Both men close their eyes and cringe at what has to be done. 

Six closes the gap between them and catches Claire in a vice grip. She cannot slip away from him again. It could easily be a death sentence for her too. He would not be able to live with himself if he lost both of them. They are all he has. 

“Come on.” The agent is nearly begging. 

“I love you, baby. Go with Six.” 

“No! Not you too!” She’s screaming, fighting against the man holding her. She is breaking their hearts.

“Go, go, go, go. Take her!” The last part is directed at his final recruit. 

“It’s okay,” Six mutters, trying to convince Claire as much as himself. There is nothing okay about this situation. Both his fathers will have died from a bullet to the gut if Fitz does not manage to trigger the grenade. He pulls the girl off of her uncle. 

She is hitting and clawing at him in her efforts to not abandon Fitz. He will carry the gouges of her nails in his arm for weeks. They will be a tangible reminder of his failure. 

“No! Six, stop! Stop it! Stop! Six, please!” She is choking on her words, sobbing hysterically. 

Donald Fitzroy’s “Oh, for Christ sakes.” lingers in his ears as he shoves Claire behind him and forces her down the walkway. He gives them just enough cover to duck behind another pillar before helping Claire onto the barrier. The man hesitates, he has a bad feeling about this but Fitz was right, he does not have time to think. They are out of options. 

“I’ll jump with you. I’ll be with you the whole way. I promise,” he tells her as he steps up next to her. She is crying and clinging to his hand now. There is no fight left in her.

They leap off the bridge, hand in hand until the impact of the water tears them apart. Six hits hard, the air knocked out of his lungs even though he went into the water feet first. Claire had flinched right before impact and had landed belly down. They sink beneath the surface, suspended in silence as a battle rages on overhead. Forcing himself into action, the agent grabs hold of Claire as he fights to get the both back to breathable conditions.. They break the surface, and he holds her for a moment, treading water. She is unmoving in his arms, deadweight. He reasons that she must have been knocked unconscious in the fall. Six will have to get them both to shore on his own. 

It is a hard swim. She does not so much as twitch as he struggles to keep them moving and afloat. She is slung across his broad back. Her arms are tucked through the shoulder straps of the bulletproof vest he is wearing. He could not risk her slipping under the surface in her unconscious state. Exhaustion threatens to drown them both. His arms move like they have weights hanging from them. The wound on his side has torn open further. If this were a cartoon, he would be leaving behind a winding trail of blood in the water. His vision sparks around the edges. Blood loss and fatigue are catching up to him. He feels as though there is a man standing over him with a hammer, waiting to strike.

The last time he slept was in the back of Agent Miranda’s silver Audi, head knocking aggressively against the interior of the trunk lid. Perhaps she could hit him with another dart once they catch up with each other at the meetup location. He does not think that he will be able to fall asleep naturally, not for a long while. Even now, he can hear Claire’s wheezing sobs rattling in the back of his mind as they leave Fitz alone to die.

Hauling them both over the edge of the retaining wall hurts . His stomach scrapes on the stone and he nearly blacks out from the pain. His fingers slacken and they pull free of the gravel. Only the thought of the girl he is carrying rallies him enough to drag the two of them the rest of the way out. He crouches, breathing through the lightning bolts of agony racing through his tired muscles, and extracts Claire from his back. He is forced to let go of her to eliminate a threat that catches up with them. Lloyd will be coming soon, he realizes. The man he just shot was the welcoming committee.

He turns back to Claire and pauses. The girl lays in a crumpled little heap on the gravel where he had dragged her out of the water. She has not moved. Six returns to her and kneels. Rolling her onto her side, he makes sure her airway isn't obstructed. It was a hard impact, difficult even for him. It is reasonable that she is taking more time to recover.

“Claire.” The way he says it is soft, panic has not set in. He knows that Claire is a strong kid.

She does not respond.

“Claire, we need to go. I need to get you out of here.” He tries again, an edge creeping into his voice.

Nothing. He strips off his glove and notches his bare fingers against her neck. He waits. Tries a different angle. Waits. Presses more firmly. Waits. There's no matching echo to his own beating heart. 

He feels an uncontrollable uptick in his breathing. Tension spreads in his nervous system. Her pulse is there, just too weak for him to feel it. She must have water in her lungs. He needs to get it out.

The agent shifts Claire onto her back. He gently opens her jaw and adjusts the angle of her head to ensure that there is a clear path from her lungs to her mouth. Her ribs feel as delicate as a bird's under his hands. She is just a child.

The first set of compressions jolts her, and for a shining moment, he thinks that she is coming to. That thought plummets when he realizes it is only the force of his hands puppeteering her. No water comes from her lungs, all he hears is the dry rasping of a chest cavity being forced to respond. Even still, he does not stop. He cannot bring himself to succumb to the truth, even as he feels her ribs shatter underneath his palms.

“I'm surprised that you're still here, sunshine. Thought you would have taken the girl and scrammed.” Lloyd's voice is an annoying buzz at the fringes of his awareness

Six drowns it out, swats it away like a mosquito. He is still trying to help Claire breathe. Stopping means giving up on her. 

“Oooh. I see. Looks like the girl didn't make it, huh? Guess you'll have to turn in your parenting license.”

There is a stinging sensation digging at his eyes. Six feels wetness streaking down his face. The likelihood of an unrealized facial injury is high. Much to his disbelief, however, the liquid that falls onto the backs of his hands is clear. It is not blood. He has not cried in over a decade. Nothing was ever worth it, not since he walked out of his father’s bedroom, gun clasped in a too small hand. His movements stutter to a stop as he muddles through the dawning grief. His body is more willing to accept the truth in front of him than his mind is. The man kneels, head bowed, finally still. A dog loyally by the side of his dearest companion.

Lloyd fires a shot off. It clips his left arm, tearing a long gouge as it passes. Blood immediately fills the newly vacated space. It drips onto Claire, soaking into her shirt in a scattershot of drops. The pain is an annoyance, the insult to his charge is far greater. He looks at Claire’s still face, the cost of his failure. He knows. Oh, he knows.

The cause of her death is running his mouth without a care in the world. “With her and your old man gone, why don’t we work together. Smooth this whole thing over.”

Six stands, spits. He faces Lloyd. “You made a mistake.”

The other man laughs, delighted. He tosses his gun into the moat and pulls out a knife. He does a trick as he releases the blade. Lloyd has always preferred to be hands on when it comes to torture. There is something more rewarding about it. 

“Let’s see if these moves fuck,” Lloyd crows. 

The agent is on him in seconds, primed to tear into him like an animal. Six no longer has any reservations about being the aggressor. With no reason to try to be a better man, who is there to care about what cruelty his hands inflict? Why bother with morals? They had been his downfall, start to finish.

He takes the knife to the shoulder without flinching. It plunges deep into the meat of his trapezius muscle, missing the bulletproof vest. It makes a place for itself a narrow distance away from his spine. The minute it is withdrawn in an arc of blood, his hand clamps onto Lloyd’s. They snarl and growl in each other’s faces. Six is stronger and he overpowers the other man. He gives Lloyd’s wrist no option but to turn. The blade is steadily angled away from Six’s already injured abdomen and towards the other man’s. He looks him in the eyes as he unyieldingly drives the knife home. Together, they gut Danny Carmichael’s golden boy. Lloyd’s skin snags and jerks around the sharp edge as it carves into the tender flesh of his belly. It should have been sharpened for a clean cut. It would have hurt less. Blood spills hot and thick over their clasped hands. A crimson wave of carnage. Six does not exactly relish the pained surprise in the other man’s eyes, but he is not upset about it either. He lets go, the folding knife falls from Lloyd’s suddenly limp fingers. Impassive, he observes as the interrogator take a few stumbling steps back. Lloyd hovers his hands uncertainly over his stomach.

“You shit… look what you did to me,” he groans. 

Six closes the scant distance. He does not want to hear the other man speak again. He fists one hand in the long hair at the top of Lloyd’s head. Like a steadfast, unthinking laborer, he drags his thrashing body over to the edge of the moat. Lloyd’s knees scrape across the gravel and he loses a shoe. He is clawing at Six’s gloved hand. It hurts less than Claire’s desperate attempts to break free had. 

Lloyd gives into primal animal fear. He squeals and flails like a rabbit caught in the jaws of a wolf. There is nothing he can do to gain the upper hand when Six overpowers him to his knees at the water’s edge. The agent does not hesitate the first time he smashes Lloyd’s face into the stone edge. He does not hesitate the second or third time either. He lets himself fall into the repetitive motion, repeats it until all he can hear over the increasingly wetter thuds are Lloyd’s pathetic attempts to draw in air.

Six straightens, drops the now unrecognizable man flat on his back to suffocate in his own blood, and turns to Claire. He picks her up and cradles her in his arms like something fragile, precious. He handles her as gently now as he did when she was alive. Gingerly, he lowers himself to the ground beside the vehicle Lloyd arrived in. The agent leans back against the tire, he adjusts the girl in his arms so she is cradled against his chest. He waits to die.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Death does not greet him by the time Suzanne arrives. The Sierra Agent cannot bring himself to care about her presence. He is floating somewhere above his body. He has long since tuned out the sludgy sound of Lloyd’s breathing. At some point the other man had tried to crawl across the ground towards him, towards the vehicle, but that had been some time ago. He vaguely wonders who will die first. Fitz had always said his inclination to survival was almost supernatural. He wishes it were not so. Maybe continuing to live was part of his penance for failing Fitzroy… for failing Claire. 

He hears a droning in his ears. He realizes that it is his own voice, hoarse and ragged. Apologies spill from his lips. He cannot make himself stop. Distantly, he is aware of a gun going off. The gurgling ends. 

“Get up,” a woman’s voice tells him. He pays her no mind. He does not even think he could stand if he wanted to. 

The rest of her words roll right over him. He comes back to himself when he registers that two men are trying to extract Claire from his hold. That provokes a reaction from him. His apologies turned into the feral growls and snarls of a wounded dog. A boot dug into his stab wound stuns him enough that they are able to pull the dead girl off of him. Despite the lack of motor functions, he makes himself struggle to rise. It is a series of starts and stops. His muscles will not obey. He feels cold. 

The bullet to his thigh feels more like a gesture of mercy than anything else. It takes the final dregs of fight out of him. The last thing he sees before his vision gives out is Claire’s arm dangling as she is carried away from him. He reaches out for her hand. He said he would be there with her. He promised.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Steadily beeping machines greet him as he gradually comes to, fighting his way through the cocktail of pain management and sedatives that serve to keep him compliant. For a blissful moment, he hazily drifts along before his mind sharpens and he remembers. The memories of that night in Croatia latch onto him and they do not let go. He makes a motion to sit up, to do anything to end the anguish, but he is handcuffed to the hospital bed that he woke up in. He is a prisoner in every way that counts.

───※ ·❆· ※───

The nurse tending to Six makes two mistakes. The first is that she does not tighten one of his wrist cuffs enough to keep him properly restrained after sponging him down. The second is that she does not notice him slipping her ballpoint pen from one of the hip pockets on her scrub top when she leans over him to check an IV bag.  She leaves the room none the wiser to his plan.

With the extra slack, it is easy to tug his hand free of the restraint. He angles his head to the side before locating his carotid artery with seeking fingers. It is a mirror of when he sought out Claire’s pulse in what feels like a lifetime ago. Unlike hers, his beats steadily against the pads of his fingers. His heart rate does not increase, even as he plunges the pen as deeply as he can into his own flesh. His hand trembles slightly. Six pulls the pen out, letting it fall to the floor as his blood begins to pump steadily from the hole he has made.

The heart rate monitor finally goes wild as he hemorrhages. He closes his eyes and coaxes his body into relaxing despite the instinctual urge to fight for self preservation. He will not fight what he assuredly deserves.

───※ ·❆· ※───

With a wild sense of déjà vu, he wakes up again to the sound of steadily working machines. Only this time, he is not alone. Suzanne is sitting in a chair at his bedside. She looks ruffled and bordering on irate. 

“You are too important of an asset to be acting up like this,” she says as an opener.

What is there for him to say? He knows his value to the CIA. Does not care. There was no longer anyone to tether him.

“Fine. Don’t speak. You have two weeks, and then I’m sending you to take care of a little problem.”

He does not spend a single moment alone for those two weeks. His hands are kept in sight at all times. The staff are not allowed to have anything in their pockets. They do not give him a single opportunity to disrupt Suzanne Brewer’s will.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Morning dawns without fanfare. Six rattles along down the road, seated between two handlers. He is not trusted enough to be unsupervised, even now. The man knows that he could wrestle a firearm from one of the agents on either side of him, put it in his mouth, and pull the trigger faster than anyone in the back of this vehicle could respond, but he is going to see this final mission through. He will put a bullet into the target and then his work will be done. If he makes his death look like an accident, then the majority of the blame will be off the shoulders of the people supervising him. It will be better that way.

The van rolls to a stop and he emerges into the early morning light. He goes through the motions of checking his equipment. He declines the bulletproof vest that is offered to him with the argument that he does not need it for a stealth mission. It would only serve to draw attention to him. The target might catch wind of the plot to take his life. 

A strict looking supervisor gives him the rundown on the operation like he could not do something this simple in his sleep. He had been Donald Fitzroy’s gray man for almost twenty years. He was the only surviving member of the Sierra program. The only real hitch in the plan would be drawing fire without someone else intervening until his personal goal was achieved. 

As anticipated, he retires the target without issue. By all accounts the man he put down was a terrible individual, nothing to mourn. He finds that relatable. It is no big effort to draw attention. He allows himself to be spotted leaving the scene. A particularly loyal bodyguard tails him back to the extraction site. Without the vest that he declined, there is nothing to protect him from the cartridge of rounds that pierce his back. 

Six falls forward, does not try to catch himself. The ground meets him like an embrace. He relaxes into the loose soil. The whooshing sound of the blood in his ears sounds like the ocean. If he lets himself pretend, he can imagine that he is laying on a distant shore, somewhere far away from here. Maybe they could have gotten a house near the beach. He had dreamed of open waters and palm trees while he was in prison. He thinks he can hear one of Claire's records in the distance. The crashing of the waves fades away with the music and silence sets in.

[daisymintt]

Just watched the Gray Man and I’m sorry if you like it but oh my gosh it was so boring. The only part I liked was Six and Claire’s relationship so I’m glad they got a happy ending. The movie was just really slow and dragged in a lot of places, it did not need to be 2 hours long. I definitely prefer Gosling in more comedic roles rather than these dramatic, serious roles. It did have a couple of fun one liners though.

[scorchedmazes]

hi hello pls give me all of your sierra six and/or claire fitzroy headcanons!!

i’ll go first:

-six always has his eyes on her to make sure she’s safe

-he taught her self defense so she could keep herself safe until he could get to her

-he buys her ice cream anytime he goes out

-they have weekly game nights and movie nights

-claire dances to “silver bird” all. the. time. and forces six to dance with her

-six almost never sleeps (claire slips melatonin into his coffee every once in a while so he’ll actually sleep)

-claire has a scrapbook full of polaroids (six has his own special section)

-six taught her how to drive when she was old enough

-six comforts her after any nightmares she has (she sneaks into his room at night)

-claire called six “dad” one time and he never corrected it

-six teaches her all about greek mythology (she loves it)

i have SO many more but i had to get on here and share them,, might be adding more when i remember to!!

additions:

-six let claire do his makeup once (she took polaroids of the aftermath)

-claire asks him ab his scars (he jokes and says he got them in prison with his tattoo)

-six can play the guitar and the piano,, he teaches claire how to play both

-six is a very anxious person but hides it very well (claire knows it though)

-claire made them matching bracelets

-six constantly checks on her to make sure she’s alright (i.e. loud noises, her heart rate, her pacemaker, etc.)

[abbatoirablaze]

His Sunshine, Chapter 12

Word Count:  1.5k

Warnings: murder, gun violence, angst, mentions of kidnapping, manipulation, mentions of rape, PTSD.

“And you’re sure?”

“Seven and a half weeks along Mr. Hansen,” the doctor nodded with a smile as he looked between Lloyd and myself, “she seems to be in good health.  Your soulmate looks like she is in excellent health, actually.  You said you had concerns about her being sick?  With what you’ve mentioned, it sounds like simple morning sickness.”

Lloyd smiled as he looked at me.  And I felt it across the bond.  Our love had multiplied and was growing in my belly.  I felt overwhelmed and overjoyed at the thought, and it was clear that Lloyd did too. 

“Our baby,” he cooed, rushing up to me.  His hand gently traced over the flat of my stomach, “our baby is inside of you, Sunshine.  And it’ll be here in just a few trimesters…”

“Our baby,” I repeated, my hand falling over his.  His grin only grew, and I leaned up from my spot on the bench to kiss him, “we’re going to have a baby.”

“Now, I would suggest coming in to a hospital for some more tests, Mrs. Hansen,” the doctor said quickly, “just so that we can get a full workup to make sure everything is alright.  That way we could put all of your anxieties to bed and prove that her illness was just morning sickness.”

Lloyd broke away from our kiss, his smile quickly turning into a frown, “she’s not going anywhere.  We’re going to our home in Croatia…where no one can hurt her.”

“Hurt her?” the doctor asked, his brows furrowing, “Mr. Hansen, no one will hurt your wife or your child.  I only suggested it bec-“

“Enough,” he growled, nearly in a feral state as he pulled his gun out, pointing it at the doctor’s head, “my wife isn’t going anywhere with you.  She’s coming home with me…where I know that she’s safe.”

“Lloyd,” I whispered gently, my hand reaching out to his free one.  Our fingers interlaced and he kept his eye on the doctor, “Lloyd…let’s just leave.”

The doctor stood stock-still as Lloyd swallowed, urging me to go behind him.  I placed myself between him and the doctor, but he only laughed.  My heart raced as the doctor went from nervous to cool and collected.  I gripped Lloyd’s hand a little tighter once I realized that the man was clearly working for someone, “they’ll find her you know…now that she’s pregnant, your little deal with Carmichael will be off.  They’ll all start coming for her like a pack of wolves.  It’ll be worse than the bounty out that’s on six.”

Lloyd’s voice was tight and angry as he spoke, his gun firmly aimed at the man’s head, “who sent you?”

“Doesn’t matter,” the doctor shrugged, “they’ll know the second that you pull that trigger, and I don’t report back…”

Lloyd angrily roared at the man, far too upset about giving in and taking me to a doctor after I’d been sick for nearly a week.  He pulled the trigger, unloading the gun’s clip in to him and he quickly turned to me, “sunshine…we need to get home, baby…I need to know that you’re safe…and that’s the only place.”

I only nodded in response, following my husband out of the secret office that we’d come to, knowing that he was right.

“The package is secure,” one of the men said firmly over his comm.  I frowned and he shot me a look before repeating it, “the package is secure in the nest.”

“I heave ears, you know,” I growled in reminder, “and I’m a decorated agent with more kills than you can imagine...just because Lloyd and I are hav-”

“Sorry Mrs. Hansen…it’s just a precaution,” the second man said with a tight lipped nod as he cut me off, “we don’t mean to-“

“Mrs. Hansen?” the first guy asked.  You smile as he swallows his nervousness, “I thought she was the girl…the niece.”

“Well, lucky for you, I’m more forgiving than the first Mrs. Hansen,” I smirked, thinking about the angry ex-wife downstairs, “but don’t cross me…and treat me like a human being.”

“Yes ma’am.”

I smiled, “now…can someone please tell me when she goes to her quarters so that I can go for my daily walk outside without her grating presence?”

“Y-yes ma’am.”

“You said you thought I was a niece,” I commented, my gaze shifting to the man on Lloyd’s team once more, “has she arrived?”

“She has, Mrs. Hansen…”

“Take me to her.”

“Mr. Hansen said-“

“My husband just wants me and our child safe in the compound,” I reminded the first man, “now...I know that he’s left to go after six…but you don’t have to act this way with me…I can still tell him things when he comes back.”

“Things?”

“Things,” I said simply, insinuating that I would tell Lloyd that they were less than cordial to me, “so take me to the girl.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“A girl…like you…”

“Y-you have a wedding ring on your finger?” she said nervously, “a-are you married?”

I nodded thinking back to the morning in Paris when Lloyd proposed. 

“Making love to my fiancé in a Parisian flat…showing her the world…I can’t wait to make you Mrs. Hansen.  We’ll have a big cele-“

“Let’s get married here, Lloyd.”

His brow rose, “what?”

“We’re in the most romantic city in the world,” I reminded him, “let’s go find someone to marry us.  I don’t want to spend another moment knowing I could be Mrs. Hansen.  I want to be your wife, Lloyd.”

I could feel the admiration across the bond.  He smiled at me, his calloused thumb grazing over my bottom lip.  I gently poked my tongue out and swirled it around the digit.  He gasped, shuddering as he lightly pressed his finger into my mouth. 

I moaned against it, and he shuddered again, his eyes fluttering closed.  I let his thumb slip from my mouth as I leaned up, pressing my own warm lips against his, “I want to be yours…completely, Lloyd.”

He nodded against my lips, and I rolled out of the bed away from him, “well come on, Lloyd…let’s go find a priest to marry us so that we’re not living in sin anymore.”

“I’d gladly commit that sin every day, pumpkin,” he growled seductively, reaching for me, “lets commit it one more time before we go?”

“Were you forced?”

My eyes snapped to hers, and I felt sad by the question.  I shook my head, “L-Lloyd would never force me to do anything.”

Her eyes widened and she took a step back, “y-you’re married to him?”

I nodded, proudly showing her my mark, “he’s, my soulmate.”

“He’s evil,” she spat, pushing my arm away.  But my own eyes widened when I caught sight of her mark.  I reached out, and grabbed her arm, the familiarity of it seared into my brain.  She tried desperately to wrench her arm out of my grip to no avail, “Let go of me!”

“L-let go of me,” I whimpered, trying to push him away.  His grip only tightened on my hair, pulling me even closer to him.  I cried out in pain as his hushed grunts were quieted only by the rhythmic slapping of the headboard against the wall, and his heavy balls hitting my tender southern regions.  I winced as he bucked his hips even harder.  My throat felt tight, and I could barely speak; the paralytic doing its job all too well.  I fought with every syllable, “s-stop.  P-please, stop!”

“Let me take care of you, Sunshine,” he groaned.  Tears slipped down my cheeks as I stared off blankly at the wall, his mark in my peripheral.  I felt his mouth nipping at my neck, creating the purple-blue bruises that would be there for days, “fuck…you feel phenomenal baby…keep sucking me back in.”

The sounds of the room started fading out and I focused not on the wall, but on his own soulmate mark, wondering how I had fucked up, believing that Six was going to help me, when all he was really doing was trying to find a way to rip my own soulmate apart.

“I said let go,” she whimpered, trying to pull away from me.  I gasped, letting go of her and backed away until my own back hit the wall.   She seemed to think something was wrong with me as her own scared look faded away and she began to look worried.  She took a step towards me, “he-hey…are you okay?”

“Get away from me!” I called firmly, slapping at her hands.  My eyes remained glued to her mark.  She immediately hid it beneath the sleeve of her shirt. 

“Y-you know my soulmate?”

I nodded, unable to find the words as I kept thinking back to when he’d hurt me.  She bit her lip and took another step forward. 

“W-why are you afraid of him?” she asked gently, “wh-why are you crying?”

I hadn’t noticed the tears that were running down my face.  Not until she pointed it out.  I reached up with my own sleeves and swiped at my face, trying to get rid of the evidence that I’d been crying, “my husband is going after him.  He stole something from the agency…and your uncle knows it.  But your soulmate…that’s not all he did.  You can think that Lloyd is evil all you want, but it’s not him that’s in the wrong…his name is Court Gentry…and he’s the man that raped me…”

Chapter 13

Tag list:  @lohnes16, @buckysteveloki-me, @tenaciousperfectionunknown, @valhalla-kristin, @danielle143, @noseyrosey1597, @marve2014, @littlemoistcarrot, @minaxcarter, @ohtobehappy, @ebonynextdoor, @dforever15, @bambamwolf87, @bigcreatorwombatdreamer, @multifandom-world8, @gh0stgirl33, @mrspaigeomega, @grimistangel, @mlekozpudrem

[proper-goodnight]

On The Run Part 2

On The Run (Part 2/3) "Lloyd Trash-Stache Hansen"

Fandom: The Gray Man (2022)

Pairings: N/A

Type: Gen, (Multi-Chap) (Part 2/3)

(Requests are currently open.)

Words: ~3.8K

Tags: @lady-of-nightmares-and-heartache, @torchbearerkyle

Six never startled awake. 

With the exception of those first few weeks adjusting to juvie, his dreams–mild or horrible–had never had an effect on how he reacted to it in the waking world. It gave him an advantage as The Gray Man, the ability to process information while no one thought that he was conscious. Sometimes, it was a skill imperative to his survival, and it had become something that he’d practiced to make habitual. As natural as any of the other habits that made him who he was.

So when he woke from another nightmare, Fitzroy’s blood clinging to his hand, sticky and coagulating, he woke quietly, flexing his fingers to remind himself that it was just a nightmare. A reminder of an even starker reality, but regardless, a nightmare. His lashes fluttered, then his vision shifted to his surroundings as his eyes opened, everything blurring into focus one corner at a time. He laid on the couch, one arm tucked behind his head, the other draped across his stomach. 

Six’s brows furrowed into a confused scowl. He didn’t remember falling asleep. 

His head shot up, whipped around. Claire appeared in the very center of his vision, sat at the table with a bowl of ice-cream, acknowledging him by waving her spoon after yanking it from her mouth. She looked bored, a fist pressed against her cheek, supporting her head.

“What did you do?” He cleared his throat, scratchy from sleep, squinting through the haze. Shuttered eyelids still felt heavy, blinking several times to clear the fog that blurred the living room into abnormal shades of color.

“Slipped Melatonin in your coffee,” she supplied easily, unperturbed. “You looked like you needed a little more than five hours.”

“Claire–”

“Stay ready so that you don’t have to get ready,” Claire dropped her voice a few octaves, an exaggerated mocking to her tone that he guessed was supposed to sound like him. “I have to stay vigilant in case the bad guys come to get us again. I can’t do that if you drug me.” She gave him a droll stare, raising her eyebrows. She went on, deadpan. “Great advice, Six. I’ll be sure to remember that.”

He heaved a heavy sigh. “I was going to say that you could have warned me.”

Her smile was cheeky. “I’m sure that’s exactly what you were doing to say.”

Wincing from the cramped confines of the loveseat that he’d quite literally tucked himself into all night, he rose into a languid stretch. He pushed against his knees to stand, grabbing Claire’s phone from the table to check the clock–that was all it was capable of doing besides running the game she liked to play. 

18:32. 

“Eighteen hours?” 

“It’s more than five.” 

“Yeah, I can see that.” He grimaced at his own lack of awareness, the fact that a twelve year old could drug him and still come up with a retort before he was completely self-aware. “Are you eating ice-cream for dinner?” 

“It’s all we have. We need to go to the store again. I wouldn’t argue against takeout, though.” Before he could speak, she’d already answered the obvious question for him. “Pizza, preferably Hawaiin with some pepperoni on the side. Breadsticks.” 

A pause.

“Yes, you are getting predictable.” She added.

Grimacing, he obliged her by walking into the kitchen, blindly grabbing for his keys on the counter, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. When he moved back into the living room, he found that Claire hadn’t moved, still in her pajamas, standing by the door. She wore slippers on her feet, shifting her weight from the front of her toes to her heels. He raised an eyebrow. “Are you going out dressed like… that?” He waved vaguely.

“Are you going out dressed like that?” Claire quipped, a more exaggerated wave thrown over him. “You’ve been wearing the same tracksuit for three days.” She reminded him. “If you can wear that, I can get pizza in my pajamas.” 

“Okay.” He yielded, and victoriously, she moved ahead of him, out into the driveway where his car was parked–not so much his car, but the license plate was legitimate at least. They slid into their respective sides, Six arguing time and time again that she sat in the back with her seatbelt on. Sometimes she listened, and other times she argued until he let her sit in the front so that she could mess with the radio. 

Asking that she keep the windows rolled up often went unheard. 

Air won’t stop a bullet, but a window has a better chance to lessen the impact.

You worry too much. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her hand make waves in the air, the wind from the open window brushing her hair out of her face. Six reluctantly rolled his down too. He’d known what confinement was like, at almost the same age, but he wondered just how different their situations differed. In a way, he acted like her warden, but it was to protect her from the world, rather than the other way around.

Somehow, he found that endearing, seeing her in a completely different light. It was almost like she was an actual kid again, back at Fitzroy’s house. The most she had to worry about was being in bed by a certain time and making sure he wasn’t eating gum in any place that wasn’t outside. It’d put him on the defensive, creating a habit of looking around as he carefully unfolded a piece from its wrapper. Sometimes he swore she had another sense, the way that she would pop up out of nowhere and ask him what he was doing.

And he was the one that was supposed to exist in the gray. 

“You’re doing that thing again.” 

Six’s eyes darted forward, resting his arm against the windowsill. The breeze touching his hand made his fingers flex, then open fully, palm out. “Doing what?”

“I don’t know,” her head pivoted to the side, looking at him critically, furrowing her brows. “It’s kind of a weird staring thing that you do when you’re thinking.”

“Is it weird?”

“For you. You’re usually looking down all the time.” When he didn’t supply an answer, she was quick to follow with: “I know you still think about Uncle Donald.” Her eyes made a trail across the suddenly cramped confines of the car, back to where her hand made arcs out the window. She exhaled a sigh through her nose. “I think about him too. All the time.” 

Six nodded slowly, not completely understanding where she was going with this.

“You think you’re not doing a good job, but you are.”  She continued when he didn’t offer a response. “He wouldn’t have done what he did if he didn’t think that you would be there to take care of me.”

Six’s heart flipped in his chest, somersaulting into barbs at the bottom of his stomach. Outside, he remained stoic and mellow, quiet in that unassuming way that he had. He didn’t know what to say, except: “I think it was more for my sake than yours, kid.”

“Someone’s gotta make sure that you get some sleep.” She agreed. 

“Okay,” his expression scrunched, but he was smiling, subtle but more heartfelt than what he’d given anyone in the last two decades. “Let’s… not do that again, okay?” 

She snorted. “No promises.” ~~~~~

When Six opened his eyes again, he did so silently; the first inclination that he was alive was that his head fucking hurt. The next was a fist colliding with his face first thing in the morning, his head snapping to the left and continuing for the next hour afterward. Pain was at least something that he could concentrate on, the dull throb against his cheek, a piercing sting above his eyebrow. It made it harder to think of Claire, of Lloyd fucking Hansen, and how long it’d been.

Time had passed while he was unconscious, and for once, Six cared a lot about how much. He’d been placed in a small room, brick enclosing him within four walls. Guards were stationed on every side, watching him out of the corner of their eyes as though they expected him to suddenly jump up and start kicking their asses, comforted only by the fact that he was restrained and there was more than one of them. Likely, Six was going to be pried for information, then he was going to die. 

That fact added a little kink in his already shitty day. 

“Look at him. Fuckin’ take a look.” His tormentor snickered, a broad shadow descending on his chair, and a chorus of chuckles erupted around him. He felt the man lean in nearer, Six’s eyes half-closed but his breath a pungent stench in his nose, sweat and perspiration wafting off of him like cheap cologne. “This is The Gray Man?”

“I’m having an off day,” Six answered, refraining from coughing up one of his lungs. He spit a puddle of blood off into a corner, heaving a raspy breath while he shifted into a more comfortable position. Zipties dug into his flesh, grinding a bloody indent that spilled blood down his arms.

He looked up.

His tormentor didn’t back off. The smart one’s did. 

“This has been… something, but can you get Hansen in here? If he’s going to kill me, I’d rather him just do it. If not, I have somewhere else to be.” Maybe it was the evenness in his tone, not a note of bragging despite his situation, just a recitation of facts that made them all quiet. Lips twitched. Eyes narrowed. The smarter ones took a step toward the door. 

“Fuck you.” His tormentor spat.

Six’s eyebrows shot up then settled into his neutral expression. “Wasn’t expecting that one.” The remark earned another punch, but he didn’t retaliate, even if he very badly wanted to.

If they knew about Claire, he would have to be prepared to offer his soul. Whatever was required, he’d pay it. Unaware of whether they were actually ignorant or not, he played the part of a prisoner, acting as if he hadn’t already planned his way out. Staying in his bindings was only common courtesy. All it would take was a single nod that they didn’t know, and he would be gone. Lloyd Hansen’s revival be damned. 

The guards continued to watch him from their positions around the room. Five altogether, wearing blank expressions aside from the one that had been beating on him. He wasn’t fooled. Any time that he coughed or tugged at his restraints, they’d jerk forward, on edge. He leaned his head back, stretching out the kink in his neck from the position that he’d been forced into, somehow still more comfortable than the couch.

Off to his right, the only part of the room that wasn’t brick, instead a harsh and hefty metal door creaked open as Lloyd’s familiar form stepped over the threshold. His sense of style was still enough to embed an expression of disgust across Six’s already dour expression, the trash-stache doing very little favors for his face. He almost made a remark about him shaving it. Actually, his mouth opened to do just that before he was punched again. His neck cracked from the force, and he damn near thanked the bastard for sorting that out for him.

He heaved, another spluttering of blood spat out next to his chair, looking up at Lloyd.

“Come on, dumbasses,” Lloyd tutted. “What the fuck are you doin’? That’s my job.”

“He’s been running his mouth all fucking day,” his tormentor responded. It wasn’t the man from the elevator he realized, but someone who had it out for him all the same. 

“Well guess what? So have you, dumb fuck.” Leaving the door open, the suggestion was there, and some were smart enough to leave. The ones that weren’t were gifted with a harsh gesture thrown at the door, a piercing glare with Lloyd’s loud timber bouncing off the walls. “Read the room and get the fuck out!”

The room was immediately emptied, no one taking any chances of bumping into Lloyd directly, albeit Six thought that he stood closer to the doorway to evoke the challenge, or as a reason to lash out if they did. “Fucking morons,” he muttered, his hand grappling the back of a chair and dragging it none-too-quietly across the concrete floor. The legs scraped, a piercing screech following its journey from a spot beside the door and in front of Six. 

Lloyd plopped down across from him, leaned back into a slouched position, crossing one leg over the other. “What’s up sunshine? You’ve seen better days.”

“Seen better faces too.” He quipped. 

“Yes!” Lloyd’s hands clenched into fists in front of him, a visible show of excitement as he sat a little taller, leaned a little more forward. His smile was broad, all teeth. “There it is. “You know what I love about you, Six? It’s your sense of humor. It’s got the right amounts of sass and still somehow manages to be annoying. I almost thought that we weren’t friends anymore. Thinking that I was going to have to throw out the bracelet.”

The corner of Six’s mouth twitched, expression folding over. 

“Guess what I’m thinking now.”

“That you’ve overshared.”

Lloyd scoffed a laugh. “I’m thinking–actually I know you’re also a wanted fugitive. I got off easy seeing as everyone thinks I’m dead, but you? You, my friend, are not just wanted in the U.S. Apparently, you took the downfall for Carmichael and are the excuse behind all of the FBI’s bullshit, and for my murder. You’re an international fugitive. So?”

“So?” Six raised an eyebrow. “Looks like I fucked up.” 

He hummed, tilting his head left then right, acknowledging that he was right, but also wasn’t. “You did fuck up, but–” The chair scraped against the ground as it was yanked forward, their knees nearly touching. “Bacon. Dough! Dinero! Millions for your head. Lucky for you, I don’t need money. I have money. I think we can help each other out with something else.” 

“I don’t need your help.” 

“Alright, bad choice of phrasing.” Lloyd held up his hands, backpedaling on his earlier words. “You can help me, and in return, I promise not to put a bullet in Fitzroy’s little scrap.” He raised his hands, palms forward, sounding almost apologetic. As apologetic as this fucking sociopath could be. “I know. It’s not the best news–” As if the idea of killing a kid was a minor inconvenience in the grand scheme of things, easily excusable. As if Six wouldn’t leap out of his chair and kill him for suggesting it. 

And make sure that he was dead this time.

“You found Claire?”

Lloyd sighed. “Sound advice for you Six, if you’re going to be on the run, don’t bring the only thing that can bring you back with you.” He tsked, a glimpse of Six’s face which, while wasn’t murderous, got the point across all the same. “Don’t be pissed off. It’s not a good look for you. Might make me think you actually care.”

His fists flexed against his restraints, a subtle tug that wouldn’t give. “I want to see her.”

“Oh! Don’t worry about her. She’s got a new ticker and is excited to see you.” 

“Lloyd–”

“Oh, right! Right. I didn’t even tell you the best part!” Lloyd threw his hands out in a grandiose show with his next announcement, a shit-eating grin growing more broad with the anticipation of a confession that made Six’s heart drop into the center of his stomach. 

“I know all about you, Courtland Gentry.” 

It was so much worse. This had to be another nightmare. 

“It doesn’t give me as many chills as Sierra Six,” Lloyd pressed a finger to his forearm, rotating it to assess the lack of goosebumps. “See? Hardly nothing. But!” His lips smacked together, raising an index finger. “What it does give me is leverage. Despite your clear daddy issues that you got goin’ on, you’ve also got a brother. Who the hell would have thought that? Not me.” 

“How do you know about that?” 

Lloyd ignored him, his excitement bordering on juvenile. He sunk in and drowned in this victory while he had it. While he had it. “Isn’t it great to know each other’s secrets, Court? You know I’m alive, and we’re officially on a first name basis. That’s what friends do naturally, which is why I know that you’re going to be more than willing to help me if you want your life to stay under wraps and not crash into flames inside a fucking abyss.”

Six’s lips pressed together in a taut line, the tension in his muscles keeping him from lashing out. His eyes searched Lloyd’s face, devoid of any remorse or reasoning. In this situation, he really didn’t have a choice. There was no other way out.

He immediately regretted asking, seeing Lloyd grin with giddy, childlike glee at the temporary, and very fragile alliance. “What’s the job?” ~~~~~

Lloyd Hansen.

Lloyd fucking Hansen. 

He was underneath the thumb of Lloyd ‘Trash-Stache’ Hansen. 

Not because of his old life, not because of Claire, but because of his own choices; because of his own inability to let things go. He’d become weaker over time; since Fitzroy, since Claire, since Sierra Four–relying less on the upsides of killing and more on the upsides of caring and protecting. It sounded like something straight from a self-care pamphlet for assassins and murderers, and it was that thought that made him want to punch a whole through the goddamn wall. 

It was because of him that everyone he knew, the few that he knew that weren’t dead, were in the sights of a sociopath. A target was painted on their backs unless he did everything that Lloyd wanted, and damn the consequences that would put him in the ground whether he complied or not. The butt of his rifle hit the wooden table with more force than necessary, shaking it at its foundation and threatening to crumble. 

Outside the brick confines of the room was just a dingy safehouse, much more rough looking on the outside than the inside. Lloyd had a habit of maintaining a clean appearance, and noticeably, his choice of torture places followed the same general set of rules. The same guards from before were there, albeit they drunk themselves stupid on cheap alcohol because they didn’t have to keep an eye on him anymore. 

Whatever happened next was ultimately up to him. 

He’d searched the safehouse from top to bottom, checking every small crevice that he could fit into, but Claire was nowhere to be found. Not that he expected her to be. Lloyd was many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. 

Other than the drunken stupor of the guards, he had no choice but to sit at a table and prep his guns while he listened to the sound of Lloyd fucking some prostitute stupid in an adjacent room. Killing him while he was balls deep in a foreigner was a possibility, but he couldn’t do anything until he knew where Claire was and figure out who he extended the information about his past life to. 

That alone was the only thing that kept him heeled and not yanking on his leash. 

“Could you sound any more pissed off, Court?” Lloyd came out of the adjacent room, dabbing at his face with a towel and clad in nothing but his boxers. The lack of anyone else reacting to it suggested that this was a normal occurrence. Regardless, Six dragged his eyes away. He didn’t take the bait. 

Lloyd whistled as though he were addressing a dog, snapping his fingers directly beside his face. “Hello? Courtland? Courtney? Gentry-Geriatric?” 

“That’s not my name, Hansen.” Six corrected him, running a cloth over the barrel of his rifle, taking the clip from the table and shoving it back in. 

“But it is.”

“Not anymore.”

“I didn’t realize you were going to get your panties in a twist over it.” Lloyd slumped down into a chair sitting opposite, running a hand through his sweat soaked hair. He tilted his head to catch Six’s eye, but he was focused on the rifle, prepping it for the mission ahead. “You know the difference between you and I, Court? I’ve come to realize that you hide behind a moniker. At least when I kill somebody, I give them the benefit of knowing my name.”

The rifle hit the table, laying sideways with the barrel pointing directly at Lloyd. Across the room, heads turned, hands moving for guns at sides, but the look that Six fixed them with kept them in place. That razor sharp glare turned on Lloyd, and he went on, deadpan “That’s the only way we’re the same. You’ll know mine when I kill you.”

Lloyd whistled low. “Bite and snark. When’s the last time you’ve gotten laid? You’re stressed. I can give you a round with my girl. Not the best fuck, but she probably won’t be conscious for most of it if that’s your kink.” 

Six’s expression pinched at his bluntness, although even only knowing Lloyd for a few months, he entertained that there was nothing that came out of his mouth that could or should surprise him anymore. Yet, it did. A mold of disgust had settled into a permanent scowl across his face, raising his hand in complete denial of the suggestion. “No. I do not want anything that your dick has been in.” He retrieved the rifle, swinging it over his shoulder as he rose from the table.

Lloyd had the decency to appear surprised. Taken aback. “Why?”

“Because I don’t like you,” he answered flatly without missing a beat. “We’re kind of on the same page with that, remember?”

“Actually, I think you’re growing on me.” Lloyd confessed, and even as Six took that little tidbit as a sign that he should walk away, Lloyd was there, directly in tow. Appearing nearly naked in front of six grown men unphased him, apparently. “You always have a stick up your ass, but I don’t think we’re that different.”

As Six whipped around, it forced Lloyd to come to a dead stop. They weren’t much different in height, and yet somehow, he was still looking down on the bastard. “We’re not the same.” He half-snapped, unable to take him seriously looking like a half-naked toddler with a lip rug. “Go put some clothes on. There’s still a job to do.”

“You’re such a fucking boyscout. How hard did you suck Fitzroy’s dick in the agency?” He was walking away before Six could answer, not even sparing him a glance. “You really shouldn’t spend so much time on your knees, Court. It’s bad for your age.”

Six raised his rifle, aiming the barrel right down the line of Lloyd’s back. He fingered the trigger, back and forth before Lloyd disappeared in the other room, suddenly regretting the consequences of his actions.

[the-purest-wolf]

I swear. I read each volume trying to latch on to a bit of comfort for Court 🤷

Justine, who treats Six as one of her canine patients and cooing over a crying man?

She feeds him. She serves a croissant and coffee. She lets him take a nap 🥺

Don, the cunning old man who used Claire to motivate Gray Man on the verge of death to go to the rescue of his family. And Court has a soft spot for this girl, so on the verge of a breakdown, he promises to save her.

And Claire worries so much about Jim, doesn't want to leave him, and helps him when he barely walks about his own🥺

Sierra One calls Court "young" even though he is an adult? And he insists on killing him, but he doesn't.

Ellena... She's just convinced that she can fix Gray Man. They have this great chemistry and just want to give Gentry some warmth. (WHERE IS MY SCENE IN THE HOTEL, WHERE AFTER A LOVELY NIGHT COURT CUDDLES UP TO A PRETTY WOMAN???) Ellen has so much faith and trust in Court 🥺

And Eddie. Oh Eddie... What kind of guy he was. You've known each other for so short a time, and Court was willing to die for you! This guy has shown more goodwill throughout Gentry's career than anyone else. Eddie he was imprisoned and was to be rescued by a man with malaria. Irony. Indeed, Gentry was quite unlucky *laughter*.

Eddie He was so affected by leaving a sick Court in the jungle that I thought my heart was going to break. Two weeks?

They made the two men die for each other.

Those gentle touches, checking temperatures, giving their own rations, beating down fevers , rubbing limbs when Court was trembling and Eddi's steadfastness that they would escape from prison together, even if he had to lumber Gentry on his back made me want to cry.

And in the end, he had to abandon a barely conscious Gray Man, who tried to convince a concerned Eddie that once he was safe, the CIA would rescue the ailing Court.

And then that scene when Gray Man, who was left in the mud - ready to die, though terrified by the vision of drowning in a puddle because he couldn't move - finally saw Eddie and almost started to cry. Until then, I have not seen Court laugh as many times as he did then in prison with Eddie. And that code name "Sally" given by Eddie *Laughter*.

When , so Court finally saw the little sister Eddie had talked so much about…. She was beautiful , so similar to Eddie, and yet different, not of this world. Mark Greaney, the Gamboa siblings, Eddie and Laura would take excellent care of Court. Maybe I am biased because I love threesomes , but that chemistry between Eddie and Court and his sister is beautiful and tragic.

[feral-fae-writes]

As The World Caves In || Follow Tongue and Hold My Breath

A/N: This chapter is arriving a bit delayed due to personal reasons, but it’s a longer one. Hope that makes up for it in some way, and I hope I remember how to do this. Tissues may or may not be needed for this one; though it’s quippy and cute, it’s a bit sombre, as well. References to the film abound, see if you can spot them all. As always, like if you like, the support is very appreciated.

Fandom: The Gray Man Pairing: Courtland Gentry x Gender Neutral!Reader, Sierra Six x Gender Neutral!Reader Wordcount: 4,902 Type: Multi-Chaptered. Read Chapter 1 here, Chapter 2 here, and Chapter 3 here. Chapter Summary: Mutual revelations allow our reader to finally come to terms with their past, at least in some respect. Behind the banter, the two of them unfold, not complacent, but finally beginning to tread fallow ground. However, 99942 Apophis is getting closer and closer, so Six decides it’s time to move on. It’s only after following his intuition -- after letting go under the cleansing rain -- that everyone finds respite.

Follow Tongue and Hold My Breath

“This is your file,” Six said, holding up a thinly-filled manila in his right hand, “and this is mine.” The second folder was completely empty. You frowned. “I thought you were going to to tell me--” “I didn’t say that.” “So, you were just going to let me think you were?” “Probably.” “Were you going to tell me if I didn’t call you out on it?”

“Probably not.” 

“You’re mouthy for an asshole.” “I’ve been accused of worse. Can you toss me some gum?”

You threw the gum at his face. He caught it as easily as a lie between teeth, one manila folder still in-hand, before giving you a wink, like it was nothing. “Thanks,” he replied, already unwrapping his catch. Popping it in his mouth, he crumpled up the wrapper, put it in his pocket, and then met your glaring eyes. You were focused on burning a hole right between his blue-grey gaze. “What?” He asked, voice muffled around gum. “Nothing, I just…” You trailed off, mildly caught off guard as your gaze fell apart, but managed to focus on his right hand. “Can you toss me my file?” You asked, echoing his quip. “No, but I’ll hand it to you.” 

You spluttered for a second, indignant, eyeing the file that he was now offering out. You weren’t sure if you wanted to take it, but if you didn’t, you’d never be able to know anything at all. And while you weren’t sure if you cared to know about yourself, you knew you definitely wanted to know about Six. There was a smile in his eyes; he was teasing you. “What’s your problem, dude?” “Don’t have one, but you seem to have one with me. What does my kiss taste like?” He mused, countering. “Not answering that,” you replied immediately, half without thinking, half-scathing. A beat of pause, and then you cautiously took your file for yourself. Tearing your eyes away to glance at your own buried secrets, in the back of your mind you resolved to thank the man in front of you. It would happen later, at some point in the future, if any of the above ever became true: when pigs flew, when wishes came true, or when you knew who you were. As much as you’d gotten frustrated at him— with him, earlier, you couldn’t blame him now. You opened the file, bracing yourself. 

And then you closed it again.

"You know what? No. I'm not doing this shit. You found out about me, now you're going to spill." You looked up from your file to see him staring at you, brows raised somewhat in disbelief. Were you really going there? Yes. Yes, you fucking were. “Why do you ask? Besides quid pro quo.” He asked, tone mock-distracted as his eyes roved over the file in your hands. “Because--” You broke off, took a deep breath. You glanced around the room, eyes looking for an escape route. Everything suddenly felt like too much; the lights of the hotel room across from you morphed into a garish white that seemed to haze instead of shine. You couldn’t look at Six anymore, instead refocusing on your hands. You didn’t know what to do with your hands, besides hoisting yourself off the balcony railing. The crickets were the only sound between you two. He certainly knew how to give you space to speak yourself into oblivion. Like hell you’d take the bait. Instead, you mentally ran in circles.

You hadn’t even looked through the damn thing. So why did you feel the need to explain? It’s not like you were in confessional. But this felt like a betrayal all the same, because even though you meant the words you were about to say, they weren’t just for him. They were selfish, blanketing your feelings so you didn’t have to face them for what they were. It was the truth though, and you weren’t going to shy away from being honest with him.

Swallow your pride, c’mon. Say it!

“Because it doesn’t matter. I want to get to know you. Not… not a number. You’re not a number to me.” You finished. Your voice came out more steady than you expected but you still felt yourself floundering in the ensuing silence, desperate to get your thoughts across. But you weren’t going to fold. Yeah, you were conflicted as all hell, but this wasn’t about you. You knew you could look at the damn file later. You knew he knew that, too.  

He sighed, then looked up at you with those puppy-like blue greys. He sounded so resigned, his voice dropping an octave in disagreement, as if his very veins were refusing this emotional bloodletting. It made a cool, coppery shiver go up your spine. “What do you want to know?” 

“Everything. What’s your name? Your history? Your favourite colour? Genre of music?” You were aware you were barraging him with questions, but you didn’t really care. Answers felt long overdue, and honestly, all you wanted to do was hear him talk.

Six fell silent at your eagerness, expression looking burned when you said history. It occurred to you, distantly, that there were most likely multiple reasons for his reserved nature, and in that same second that it took you to connect the dots, you felt very, very ashamed. But he didn’t outwardly react — for a second, you worried you went too far — either that, he was thinking about how to approach the situation of being poked and prodded for information he didn’t want to give. “Gentry. Courtland Gentry. Not as smooth as James Bond, but we’re in the same line of work, so…” Six trailed off in amusement, chuckling bitterly almost to himself. It sounded smoky and hurt, as if he were hiding himself away at the same time he gave his own name. “Don’t have a favourite colour. Jazz. Vinyls over digital, or Claire would kill me,” he said, shaking his head in amusement. “How’d you meet her? I’m guessing you’re not family.” “She’s the closest thing I’ve got to it,” Six -- Courtland -- replied, expression turning sombre. “Her uncle was the closest thing I had to a father. He was also the one that recruited me. And now he’s upstairs.” 

“Recruited you?”

“To work for the CIA, as Sierra. Value add.” His reply was short. He blew a small bubble, snapped his gum; it punctuated the ensuing silence with a pop. “His words, not mine.”

“You seem almost… sarcastic about that last part.”

“Hah, he said the same thing: ‘I get it. You’re glib.’” Six said, letting out a dry bark of amusement. You watched as he sat down, almost preparing himself for what he was about to unpack next. You didn’t need or want to say anything else -- you were just following tongue and holding your breath. You hadn’t missed what he’d said about Claire’s uncle, but now wasn’t the time to inquire further about that. Six had enough to comb through for you to ask more than you really deserved to know.

“Your mother?” You asked softly, knowing you were already treading ground he wasn’t comfortable with.

“Died when I was young.”

“Right,” you replied, sensing he didn’t want to talk about her further. You hesitated to press further about his other parent. “Should I ask?”

“You’ve already started the conversation,” Six pointed out. “No point in stopping now.”

“Tell me about him. Please?” “Okay.”

Six let out a growly sigh, dragging one hand down his face in exhaustion. It seemed like this had happened before, just a moment of deja vu that wasn’t yours, but he shook it off. “My father thought he was tough. Fancied himself a real macho man. He was hell-bent on turning me and my brother into the same, and… And, one day, I realised--” Six broke off, to  steel himself to continue. When he spoke again, it wasn’t to you. It was to the cigarette burn peeking out of his sleeve. “I realised it was going to be either my brother or him. I decided it was going to be him.” Six let out a sniffle, eyes following your gaze. Almost in response, the burn went back into hiding as he continued. His voice covered for it -- a distraction, a wingman against prying eyes. “I thought, ‘how noble of me,’ and everyone else thought I should be in jail.” He finished, and though his voice was steady, you could see it in his eyes. 

He was clearly in pain, even now, and there was nothing you could do to help it. You could see why he felt like he was Sisyphus: he’d never been allowed to heal-- the gods kept punishing him, and punishing him, and punishing him, and he deserved none of it. You wanted to say something, but didn’t know what you could. It wasn’t about you. It never was.

“Anything else you wanna know?” He asked, eyes on yours. It was like he was looking for answers, as if the question was more for himself than you, but he said it so nonchalantly you’d think nothing was wrong. “How many years?” You asked, voice a whisper. “Eight,” he replied. “Fitz found me eight years into a thirty-six year sentence. I would’ve been out at a cool fifty-one if not for him.”

You fell silent, swallowing the lump in your throat. The math meant that he was incarcerated at 15. He had to have been tried as an adult, there was no other way to explain why the sentence was that long. You supposed he could’ve gone to a juvenile correctional facility, but he would’ve aged out within three years… that, and you had no idea when he was born, just the year. You felt guilty. And stupid -- so very stupid. All you could do was shake your head; you wanted to say something but all that came out was a strange little gasp, and then you felt wetness on your cheeks. “You’re crying.” He said, a robotic observation, softened by his tone. “May I?”

No shit, Sherlock. 

You never cried. Then again, you’d never had a reason to cry before the events of the past few months. You really weren’t cut out for this, you realised, as you stood there, trying to breathe, trying to get yourself under control. You didn’t know what he meant by the question, but nothing he could do would upset you -- it was how he was treated that upset you -- but you knew he knew that. Still, he was asking permission. He’d been through so much, and he was asking you permission for the simplest things, and that stabbed you through the heart. You finally let out a shaky breath. “May you what?” You croaked, voice hoarse. “Wipe away your tears,” he replied, closing the gap between you two in one stride. He took the manila from you and set it aside; you’d forgotten it was in your hands. He was so close now, emotionally and physically, and you swore no one would ever see you like this since the first time, but Six had seen both. “Please,” you whispered. The word came out without even thinking.

“You’re too beautiful to cry,” he replied, his voice just as quiet. “Not over me. Don’t cry over me,” he chuckled, shaking his head. A hand rose to cup your jaw, his thumbs ghosting over your skin, his touch as light as a feather as he brushed your tears away. You couldn’t look away from him, and looking into the grey, you felt all your walls finally fall. You’d been lying to yourself, telling yourself that this was just misplaced affection. He’d saved you, so, of course, you’d be infatuated -- but everything you felt was unconsciously growing like weeds, tangled and confused, all-consuming if you didn’t keep an eye on them. And you’d allowed your weeds to grow, encouraged them, even. You couldn’t hide from yourself anymore.

At least your weeds were made of wishes. 

-------------------------------------------------------

You wondered, on some level, if Six felt the same, if his mental garden had gotten the best of him, too — if weeds he thought he’d eradicated suddenly reappeared between cracked lines of stoic concrete. You knew better than to ask. He knew how to disappear, and if he felt the need, he would. You stared down at your file, and the dandelion in your hand. It made you want to disappear, too.

You weren’t supposed to be outside, but you needed the air. You needed to think. “You’re not supposed to be out here,” Six chirped. “I know. Just… Looking at the folder.” You turned around, only to meet his eyes, lifted the dandelion, and without blinking, blew it into his impassive expression, getting no reaction barring the slightest rise of his right brow. He spat out a few dandelion fuzzies from between his lips in annoyance, as more than a few settled in his hair. 

“I’m guessing you haven’t opened it yet,” he said.

“Nope,” you replied. Like hell you were going to crack, but you couldn’t help but bite your lip. He hadn’t noticed. “I almost don’t want to.”

“It’s there if you do. Regardless, we have to keep moving.” He said, already turning back towards the hotel’s automatic double doors. “We’ve stayed here too long.”

“I know— wait, what?” You grabbed his shoulder. He froze, then turned back towards you with a sigh. The fuzzies embedded themselves further into blonde. Leaving the hotel room you’d been in for the past several months felt like a type of treason. Even though you couldn’t quite name it, you felt the anxiety flush into your system — but you’d done nothing wrong. You found yourself at a loss for words, his right brow now further up his forehead like a wannabe elevator. You could tell he was frustrated at himself, that he wanted to say, ‘You heard me,’ but was biting his tongue.

Needless to say, you wanted to change the subject.

“May I?” “What? “You have, um, dandelion wi-- seeds in your hair. Can I…?”

He just nodded, eyes on yours. “By all means,” he murmured. You reached up to run your hands through his hair, cautious and tentative. You didn’t expect it to be so soft, and paused for a second. All the fuzzies in his hair, scattered around, looked a bit like a flower crown, and it made you smile. “Sorry, I… You look like you’ve got a crown.” His lips flinched into his signature smile, and for a moment, he seemed shy. You noticed that his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

“That’d be a novel concept, wouldn’t it?” He asked.

“I guess so,” you replied softly, gently running your fingers through his hair, combing out dandelion seeds along the way, before ruffling his hair back into its signature dirty-blonde banged fringe. It almost looked like rusted gold in the sunlight, and as you stepped back to admire your work, dandelion seeds in your right palm, you were tempted to blow them back into his face just so you could do it all over again. “There,” you said approvingly. A second passed; you wanted to say something more, but wasn’t sure what.

“Thanks.” A beat of comfortable silence, before he thumbed back towards the entrance. “Shall we? Claire’s already packing.”

-------------------------------------------------------

You walked in on Claire rolling her clothes up, still holding the dandelion seeds. She looked up at the sound of the door closing. Seeing her confirmed what Six had said earlier, and now that the information had time to settle, you couldn’t disagree it was the right move. You’d stayed in the hotel for far too long, practically speaking, and it was time to move on. “Hey, the lovebirds are back,” she quipped, voice just mildly sarcastic. “Took ya long enough. Remind me what’s going on?” Her eyes drifted to the dandelion seeds in your hand in curiosity, but she didn’t prod. “I already told you: we’re dropping you off at Agent Miranda’s,” Six replied. “At least until I get this situation sorted out. I don’t want you in danger we can avoid, if I can help it.”

Claire’s face flickered with frustration, turned to betrayal, and then hurt all in one breath. But she didn’t voice her feelings, not at first. Even she knew there were bigger fish to fry. And it was all because of you. Then the dam burst.

“Why?! I didn’t think you were serious, Six! And you know I didn’t mean that,” Claire finally said, affronted. “I’m not just gonna leave you--” “I know what you meant and you’re not getting an answer. It’s not mine to give. You’ll have Dani with you, okay?” Claire’s expression crumpled, turned slightly desperate, a ghost of what you guessed she’d experienced in the past. She didn’t want to lose him again, that much was obvious, and you suspected she’d said those exact words before. Claire looked away from Six, who’d already started packing, to you. You hadn’t moved a muscle since you’d heard the words Agent Miranda, but took a breath and headed to the closet to pull your clothes down -- both to think and collect yourself. There wasn’t any time to feel hurt, and it would be childish to feel hurt in the first place over something like this. And you’d already hurt Claire, stolen her only family away from her -- even if it was a temporary arrangement. It only made sense to stay quiet, hold your breath. You didn’t hold anything against her. You just weren’t sure how to feel. You scattered the dandelion seeds around the floor of the closet. They’d be swept up eventually, but at least, for now, they’d bear witness to the wishes in your head.

-------------------------------------------------------

After checking out, the three of you surreptitiously made your way to the hotel’s parking garage, under the dim light of early morning the following day. You were both surprised and unsurprised to see your getaway car was a military-grade black van. It was hidden away from most, if not all the cameras, in a corner near one of the exits. No one would miss one black car out of hundreds, or so you hoped.

The trip was surreal and silent. Six was driving, Claire was asleep in the backseat, and you were passenger-side, watching the trees speed past, as if they were running like the wind blew. “Something on your mind?” The question surprised you. Six wasn’t the type to ask questions -- and you were usually the one asking him questions. Pestering him, really. You looked away from the side window to focus on the road, and as you turned, you caught him watching you curiously.

“Why do you ask?”

“You’re not usually this quiet.” “You don’t usually ask questions.”

“Touché,” he replied. More silence. “What’s she like? Agent Miranda?” “She’s a friend of mine. You can trust her.”

That told you nothing. His tone told you everything else, that he’d already known what you were thinking about and simply wanted to confirm, and, to be honest, you were pretty shit at hiding your emotions. Something told you this wasn’t up for debate, and you hated that.

“How do I know that for sure?”

“Because she saved my life,” he said, his tone coming out sharp, a dog’s bite without the bark. 

She’d saved his life, and he’d saved yours. You had that in common. Kind of.

“That’s a fair point.” You fell silent, mollified for now, but you were also undeterred. You’d just have to talk to her yourself. It was almost funny how you could trust him and Claire so easily, but the minute anyone else came in the picture, your hackles raised. You shrank back against the window, averting your eyes toward the rising sun through the trees. “Hey, what’s going on?” Claire asked, mid-yawn, her arms dangling over both of your seats. You jumped in your seat, not enough for her to notice in her half-awake state, but definitely enough for Six to give you amused side-eye. He answered for both of you. “Nothing. We were just talking to keep me awake. Gum, please?” “Sure thing,” Claire replied, with her usual disbelieving, sarcastic tone. “You want me to sit here and stare at my shoes while you two pantomime communication, too?” You noticed she still handed him a stick of watermelon Bubblicious. As always, she was unfazed by his gruff and grumpy demeanour. It made you smile. “You should go back to bed. It’s 7 A.M. and another eleven hours before we get to Dani’s,” Six replied, voice muffled around watermelon gum. He stuffed the crumpled up wrapper into his pocket. “Nah. Can we get ice cream for breakfast?” Claire asked. 

-------------------------------------------------------

You finally arrived at Agent Miranda’s apartment the following day, sometime around 6 P.M. under a light shower of rain and mist. By that point, you were too exhausted for much of anything, despite the fact that this was the first time in a long time you’d gone outside for more than five minutes. You were not at all surprised to see the cameras near the front door, nor the intercom, but you did want to stay back just in case. However, Six didn’t give you that option. “Let her see your face,” he’d said, an asleep Claire in his arms. He’d sheltered her from the rain; consequently, both his bangs and his beard dripped with rainwater every so often. “Ring the doorbell. I’ll do the talking.” “Okay,” you’d replied, feeling like a fish out of water, which was rather ironic because you were getting mildly soaked. For a few long minutes, there was nothing but the soft pitter-patter of rain.

When the buzzer went, you jumped. “Yes?” Her accent was thick, but not unintelligible. Something about her voice put you at ease, despite her direct tone.“Have you tried aluminium siding?” Six asked. You could tell it was a code. You didn’t know what to do with yourself. You glanced nervously between Six and the blinking camera. “I prefer filigree.”

“Hey, at least you don’t have to paint,” Six replied, tone mildly amused.

“What is it, Six?”

Six let out a long breath, glancing down at Claire for a second, before eyeing the camera. “Mind keeping an eye on the kid?” “No, but for how long?”

“Just until I get something sorted out.”

A few minutes passed, before you heard a few clicks and beeps from within. The door unlocked. “Get in.”

“As long as it’s not the trunk,” he chuckled, weary. You gave him a confused look, but he didn’t answer, instead stepped inside the opening door. Dani’s hand was only just visible. She took care of her nails. You followed Six meekly, a pace behind, and as soon as all three of you were out of the rain, she shut the door. It locked itself.

“Shoes off, please. Tea? Coffee?” “Hot chocolate,” Six replied, already barefoot by the time she was done with her questions. He headed towards the nearby mauve couch to lay Claire down and took off her shoes, one Nike off after the other. “When Claire wakes up, she’ll want some. Blankets?” “Closet,” she replied, not looking away from the bright red kettle of milk on her gas stove, cocoa powder and four mugs on the counter beside. Her hair was a dark brown that rested a bit past her shoulders, straight but curled at its ends. The kitchenette was varying spots of red and black and white and chrome, and you got the sense that Agent Dani Miranda was one classy woman, a take-no-shit-for-answers type. You decided that you liked her.

Setting your shoes beside Six’s, you fully stepped into the semi-open concept apartment. You passed him on his way back to set Claire’s shoes down, now similarly barefoot and chilled. His fingertips alighted on your shoulder. You stopped in your tracks in response, a drenched Pavlov's bitch.

“Do you want a blanket, too?” You only nodded, shivering. Dani’s apartment wasn’t cold, but moving from being outside in the rain to indoors was apparently a difficult transition. You stood there, at the threshold between a shut door and an open room, unsure of what to do, before Six came back a few minutes later. He put a soft white blanket around your shoulders, which you pulled in closer. For his part, he had just a towel around his own. His hair was still damp, but no longer dripping. 

-------------------------------------------------------

“You grew your hair out,” Six quipped. “I did.” Agent Miranda -- Dani -- went quiet. She had a heart-shaped face, and big brown eyes, and if it weren’t for the sharp mind behind them, you’d have thought her a doe. You knew that look: it was filled with annoyance, calculation and curiosity, all at once. Six took a sip of his hot chocolate, both hands around the warmth of his cup, but kept his eyes on hers. It was like he was trying to read her thoughts.

“What are you thinking?” Six asked. 

“I’m thinking about what to do with you.”

“Think about it this way: Claire didn’t ask for this, neither did I. And neither did--” “Get comfortable,” Dani said, cutting him off with a raised hand.

“‘Get comfortable’ like we’re making a plan, or… or, like, ‘cushy prison cell’ comfortable?” He asked, tentative. Agent Miranda rolled her eyes. You couldn’t help but snort at that, which prompted a look from the newly met agent. “You and I need to talk. Tell me what’s happened. I want to hear it from you,” she said softly. “I don’t bite. Unless you’re Denny Carmichael.”

-------------------------------------------------------

About half an hour later, you were in Agent Miranda’s tiny self-renovated home office. She’d been kind enough to sequester you away from Six and Claire, both to give you a breather and them some time to recover from the long drive. She’d put marshmallows in Claire’s mug, the jumbo ones, at Six’s request. She’d taken your mugs with her, and was now reheating them in the microwave. You sat in one of her fuzzy office chairs, knees pulled to your chest. It was white, and you sunk into it. There were shelved files on the opposite wall, and a sleek silver laptop on her desk.

“Careful, it’s hot,” she warned, handing you your mug.

“Thanks,” you whispered, wrapping your hands around it.

Agent Miranda walked around her desk, sat down in an identical chair. For a second, she just observed, and it made you want to squirm. You merely gripped the mug tighter, stared into its dark chocolatey depths.

“Who are you?” She asked.

“I can-- I can tell you. Or, um, show you. One second.” You placed your mug on the office desk, opened Six’s jacket -- he’d made you wear it because of the waterproof pockets on the inside -- and took out your file. You slid it in her direction. “I haven’t read it myself yet.”

“Okay,” she replied cautiously. She took a sip of her hot chocolate, lifted the file off the desk, put her mug down, then began to read. You felt like a misbehaving student in front of the school principal. You picked your mug back up.

It took her a few long minutes, eyes scanning the page. She’d forgotten her hot chocolate in favour of whatever was in your file. You kept sipping your own. By the time you were finished, she was, too.

“I see,” she murmured. “Why haven't you read it?” “I don’t want to anymore. Apparently my entire life has been a lie, so… why should anything on those pages matter?” You asked, shrugging. Her expression turned from curious to one of sympathetic understanding, and she went quiet for a second. You continued, glancing down at your empty mug. You couldn’t look her in the eyes. “I was kidnapped, held hostage in a basement for months, Six saved me, and now I just wanna start over. I wanna lose myself. Is that so bad?”

“No, it’s not.” She didn’t say anything after that — for what felt like a very long time. You could tell she was thinking things over. Maybe she was thinking about what to do with you, too.

“Can I ask you something?” You asked, tentatively. “Of course,” she replied, her head tilting slightly. She hadn’t expected that from you, as far as you could tell, but she wasn’t showing it. “Did you really save his life?” You whispered. You had an inkling, slightly, that he’d been telling the truth, that he wouldn’t lie about something like that. But you wanted to confirm for yourself. “Twice,” she replied. A faint, flinching smile appeared on her expression, before she let out a small breath, collecting herself. “I need to talk to Six, if you don’t mind,” she said, taking up both of your empty mugs.

“Okay,” you replied. “Thank you, Agent Miranda.” 

“You can call me Dani, if you want.”

“Okay.”

And then she was gone, and you were left staring at the black wall divider. There was only silence on the other side. You couldn’t tell how long it’d been, but eventually, the wall divider opened again, and Dani peeked into the office — only one eye was visible. When she spoke, her voice was painfully soft.

“You can come back into the living room now, love. Claire’s awake, as well. We’ve made a plan.”

[lolitastories]

Chapter 3:

Chapter 3

Just a couple months went by and I can safely say that I am not prone to heart attack anymore. Not funny. My body has never felt more relaxed. I open my eyes, feeling a shadow over me. “I told you only if your dying” I let out a groan sitting up.

“Yeah well my life is in danger and I thought instead of being close to death you can help me before I get there” Her clothes were dirty and it seemed she was panicky.

“Get inside” I tell her. I grab my stuff getting myself out of the sun chair I was in and into the house. “Whats going on?” I close the windows and start making coffee.

“A couple days ago I was on an assignment. One of the Sierras escaped and now the Carmicheal is doing everything to find him” She sits down pulling out her phone. “I need you to help me look for him before they get to him first. Carmichael threaten me and I am not going down for his mistake”

I stir my coffee. Dark with 5 spoonfuls of sugar. “So you need me to find him?’ I sit on the chair infront of her.

“Yes. Whatever he knows, Carmichael will kill to have. Whatever that might be” Still on her phone she speaks moving her fingers quickly across the screen. “I know you left but I am here to collect the favor you owe” I roll my eyes knowing exactly what she meant. A couple years ago before I came in for the CIA I met her. She was one of the person I didn’t tell the whole truth but the only one who I trusted on helping me. She didn’t asked question.

“Dani.” I sit up pushing my coffee aside and taking ahold of the phone she extended to me. “After this I repaid my debt” her smirk was clearly shown as she nods.

“That is his file. He is one of the top most trained agent in the operation. After our mission he ran and I don’t know why yet.”That face. Six. “I need a location and help to capture him so I know what the hell is going on so my ass is not on the line” As much as I want to say no, I owe her. Just like she is afraid for her life, I was afraid for mine when she saved me. I get up and connect her phone to my computer.

“I will track down the phone he was last tracked on. If he is one of the best he will run without any technology but I can hack into the CIA system and figure out anything they might have on him.” I get up grabbing my stuff. This was the last thing I am doing when it comes to this life. After this is over, I am over for good.

“I got it. Lets go” Once I finished everything was pulled up and she grabbed her phone making her way to the car she had outside. A couple hours later we arrived in Vienna. “Seems like Lloyd got orders to kill too” We got out the vehicle making our way up some stair of the building. Hearing an explosion we stayed put.

“Whos Lloyd?” She turns to me as I see dust clouding up the side of the building. I point over to the man pointing the gun and Six. “Fuck” She rushed over shooting out a dart to his leg. It made a smile seeing fall over. He deserves so much worse, but who am I to judge right?

“It sounded like a question” Once I arrived next to them she already had his wrist zip tied and faceing the direction of the car. “How did you find me?” Following closely behind but not making myself known. Last thing I want is to look at him. I know that is going to be impossible but now that Dani had what she wanted we can go to a safe place and I can leave once again. But only if things were that easy.

“Had a little help” He turns his head around as I stop behind the car. “Get in the trunk” She motions it with the gun as I open it up his eyes are on me.

“Not the trunk. I could use a comfortable seat” Before I could say anything he fell forward with the dart going straight into his leg. “Can you help me?” I grabbed a hold of him. Dani helped me place him into the back closing it. She kept on driving. It was an awkward silence.

“Whats on your mind” I say leaning the seat back to rest my eyes.

“How do you know him?”

“Never met him in the office. A friend of ours needed help so we worked together then, outside the field. Just a couple weeks”

“How long ago was this?” she started blankly at the road. Following straight to the place where I swore never to set foot in unless I needed to.

“2, 3 months ago” She only nodded. I don’t know but it got even more akwards. A couple hours go by and I turn to see the back seat kicked down.

“You look like shit” She speaks. I turn my eyes on the road again. Not wanting to show how much he affected me. How could he?. Damn it.

“This is the most sleep I’ve hand in 36 hours” Bruise in his face. Track suit that didn’t go well with him. Leg stabbed and fatigue.

“They pulled me from the field. They think I have something to do with you and you are going to tell them that I don’t”

“Why do you think they are going to believe me?”

“You are an asset. This is my career on the line.” her words stinged. His silence might seemed like he didn’t care but If I learned anything from the couple weeks we were close, is that he thinks critically of everything.”What did you steal?”

“Technically I didn’t steal anything. Four handed it to me”

“And why didn’t you give it HQ?” I feel her patience breaking and his sarcasm too.

“Four gave it to me” I almost let out a laugh but I hold it in looking out the window.

“What was it?”

“An encrypted drive”

“What does it have in it?”

“Its encrypted”

“I want to see it where is it?”

“Why should I trust you?” This going back and forth is real giving me a migraine

“Becasue I just saved your life!”

“Fair point” He sighs. “I sent it to Margaret Cahill the U.K Agency Chief” I sit up removing my seat belt. My mind went blank for a second. Fuck why does everything have to haunt me.

“Seems like we are going to Prague” I came back to the real world feeling the car speed up. “We get the drive and figure out what the hell is in it, use it to save my career and then you get to go home.” We drive close enough the Maggie.

“You don’t need me to help with this part. You’re a big girl.” I say grabbing my stuff. “Stop the car” She presses on the brake pedal. I open my door as she gets out aswell. “You can call me if you’re in trouble but I can’t put myself so close to their radar, you understand”

“I do. I’ll have you on speed dial” she smiles and I walk away. I don’t look back hearing the car drive away. I go into the nearest store and grab a phone.

“Where can I use a computer?”

“A couple streets down you will find a public show room.” I thank the clerk and head down the street. I have to figure out what Lloyd was doing going after Six. I have never seen him going after another agent. Not creating such a chaos. Carmichael might need this bad and he is deemed to make a mistake. I need to find out what it is a finally put an end to the trickery Lloyd is into to, just like Maggie and Fitz tried to do for so long. I log into the system again. Going into any indication of Lloyd.

“Bingo” I smile. Cameras pop up. Multiple body cams. Lloyds voice could be heard. They surrounded a house, opening fire on Lloyds command. My heart sank. The next minute I hear the phone ring.

“I never wanted to betray your trust” Tears were coming out. I watch them moving in throught the dust and damages of the building. “They are lucky to have you. I have an envelope, you know where to find it. It is a free pass to start over with no problem, like I know you always wanted.”

“I thought you werent the sentimental type” I tried to be strong but I know she heard my voice break.

“Give them hell. And after you are done, go and be happy” My eyes focus back on the cameras seeing the men standing before her and everything disconnects.

“Fuck. no” I pull out of everything rushing out the door. The dilemma was there. I could fininish what she started like I have been planning or I could walk and start the life I always wanted, like I was planning. I see swat car moving down creating chaos. “Lloyd” I rush down the street going towards the rackous. Multiple guys surrounded the center plaza infront of maggies home. They were shooting at a bench. I take out my gun shooting to get close but there was to many people. “Sorry” I say to the officer down on the ground as I get into his car. “Alright you go this” I push the accelerator and before it could go into the statue of the man I jump out.

“Having fun?” I cover my head feeling the assault vehicle being blown up.

“Seriously?” he looked at me while pointing over to him being handcuffed to the bench. Oh of course. I roll my eyes. I point my gun up. “Wait-”

“You’re welcome” I smile. He stood up grabbing my arm and pulling me out the way before a van hit the bench. We rush into the train hiding behind the some seats.

“You’re welcome”

“Don’t count victory yet” I grabbed a hold of his jacket rolling us over to the next section avoiding the bullets. Straddling his hips I sit up shooting the gun men.

“I can count this as a victory” I roll out seeing a man rushing towards us.

“Shoot at him” I scream off, tossing my gun to hit another guy in the head.

“Thats not how you use a gun!” Well no shit dumbass. The train is hit by police cars knocking us to the ground.

“If we survive you can give me a lesson!” I get up running towards the back of the train while Six covered my back. “Our ride is here” Dani gets close to the train allowing me to jump and get into the passenger side. But a harsh blow to the side of a train knocks the car over.

“Take my gun!” I grab a hold of take out the swat car shooting at us

“Watch out” I stick my head back inside embracing the force of a car hitting us on the passenger side, Making us go out of course. “Step on it!” We watch Six running on top of the train.

“Hold on” Dani said putting the car is reverese. The pain in my ribs becomes worse I closed my eyes not wanting to see the train derailing hitting the building. Suddenly the car stops and I hear her let out a sigh. “Are you ok”

“Yep” I whimper sending her a smile. I look back seeing the remains of the big building barely missing the car. The back door open and six throws himself in.

“Thanks”

“You’re welcome” Dani puts the car in drive and we are off. “Maggie said you would come back. She said you always finished the job” I nod. To be truthful I didn’t know what to say. “Are you hurt?” She looks at the rear view mirror as the car stops.

“My ego is a little bruise but am ok.” I crack my neck trying to take the focus away from him. “I would like to repay you two one day, not that I want any harm to come to-“

“You mention a girl” jealousy of curse Jealousy was the first thing that hit when Dani mentioned a girl. Now is not the time, I thought to myself. “How do we find her?”

“She has a pacemaker” I eyes shot open turning my whole weight to him. “Lloyd had her a random as well as Fitzroy” first Maggie now The girls?

“Wait she said girl?”

He nods, sitting up right in the back seat. “Claire. Victoria is out somewhere safe. The next day after you left she escaped. Maggie helped find her and giver her a new life. The free life she always wanted. But not Claire”

“She could never leave Fitzroy” I sigh looking back to the road. “Get us to a hospital” Dani nods, starting to drive again.

“You don’t have a handcuff key by any chance do you?” I shake my head hearing the rattle in the chain. The day became dark once we arrived in a location far away so we didn't look suspicious. The emergency room was full. Six was leaning against Dani for support trying to get into a room but were ignored. I see them walk back and I just turn around finding and employee.

“Am so sorry” I say mistakenly walking into the nurse. “Am just in pain” I move my left hand to my rib and he shows his concern

“How long have you been waiting?” He starts helping to a room. I grabbed his ID and unnoticed by anyone Dani grabbed it from my hand. He took me straight for some scans and the first chance I got I left. I walk out the building and cops are outside and people are scattering.

“Who throws a loaded gun?”

“I asked for a loaded gun” I laugh seeing them argue.

“No one throws a loaded weapon, okay?” I just shake my head at six pushing him aside from the drivers door of the police car.

“You look like shit” Their head turn to look at me like I had two.

“While you were busy with the nurse man, I got stabbed two times” he grunts putting his hand up so I can see the damage.

“Oh poor baby” Dani unfazed moves towards the car. “Get in the car” I start the car and drive once Six is in. “Where is she?”

“Croatia” from the rearview mirror I see him struggle to get comfortable “Also this man attacked us and got the drive” I look over to Dani and she only nods leaning back in her seat. “I think he is working with Lloyd”

“You think” I whisper to myself not wanting to feel irritated. I park a couple feet back from some establishments. While Dani shoots the cameras outside I break open the window of the vet place. “Here” I thow a bottle to Six. He looks at me weirdly. “I got it from the man nurse” he opens the painkillers and takes a few.

“I will just wrap it up and leave” I stand by the door waiting for him to scavenge whatever he needs.

“Why did you go to prison?” I turn my head wanting to get an answer to.

“Why do you ask?”

“Becasue I want to know?” He continues to grab things from the cabinet

“Will it affect if you help me or not?”

We turn to look at eachother only nodding. “Maybe” We both say at the same time.

“Fair enough” he sighs finally turning around. “Puppy mouth wash” He walks over to sit in a stool. I walk over quickly before he can put that on his wound. I break the lock on a cabinet and take out alchol. “You saw me struggle” he whispers to me as I grab some cotton and pour the alcohol straright in. “Fuck” he hisses

“You were saying?” No matter what he said I needed to go with him to save claire. But it will answer the questions I have in my head running around.

[kerriganwrites]

THE GRAY MAN, 2022.

[niobe-loreley]

Heaven Is In A Shortcake {xv}

three words plus one = I HAVE RETURNED.. temporarily lol

disclaimer: The Gray Man and the characters are NOT mine, even the reader. I only own the plot and the reader's character lol. Pictures used in the fic are NOT MINE, but only the edited version (u can msg me if u ze owner); credits to the rightful owners and canva + weheartit. Additionally, I am not a Subic/Zambales native, so my apologies for any wrong locations, descriptions, or languages.

Six x F!Reader / Courtland Gentry x Female Reader

warnings: moderate amount of swear words. some filipino dialogues. slow burn. fluff. trust issues. dramaramramamama. comedy if you use a magnifying glass. culture shock. word count check. slightly proofread/revised.

CHAPTER SELECTION IS IN THE ✨Masterlist✨ Chapter 14 is prolly a deer now Chapter 15 is the moment

word count: 2.7k (N/N) = nickname *Kiara = Clare *Kurt = Court *cover names = reader doesn't know YET (except you do know #wreckthe4thwall)

"Shit."

That's one way to put it.

You glance over your shoulder. "Puta."

That's another way to put it.

Cuss all you want, you deserve to— especially with two cars hurtling right behind you, as though with the intent to make you crash.

"Tangina!" you shout when one of the cars, the white SUV, speeds up to your left and prevents you from driving towards the Hotel Interpark.

You take a wild gander around the street, where there’s not a single soul in sight. Probably because of this fucking rain!

As though the thunderclouds heard your insult, the downpour becomes stronger; a little more and the thick raindrops will be like waves crashing down from above.

You drive faster now, maintaining your balance, and you turn right, weaving into a street that’s partially being remade. You switch to the lane that’s under construction and you’re thankful for your experience in riding motorcycles on tough roads. 

There’s a nearby restaurant— with workers still inside!

You're about to honk to gain their attention but a bump from behind threatens your equilibrium. You swiftly steady the motorcycle and veer left into a street. You take a gander, despite the parked cars and opened lights in the building, no one is witnessing you fleeing for your life.

"Fucking hell!" you roar, harshly twisting the accelerator.

Just as you burst out of the street, you're about to turn left when headlights swallow you. Luckily, your instincts kick in and you haven't released the accelerator. If you had slowed down then, the black Honda Civic would've crashed into you. Instead, it hits your rear wheel; you attempt to balance once again, but the force this time is too much.

Lightning strikes the earth at the time your motorcycle pummels into the ground. You're thrown off into the curb, ignoring the pain flaring across your body, you shuffle up and head for your motorcycle. But you stop when you see your pursuers are already out of their cars. You hastily swivel away and hurtle into the trees. 

You then realize your location: Waterfront Park. Even in the evening, this park is typically spotted with people; but the rain has metaphorically washed them away indoors. Just your luck. However, before despair can shackle you, you will yourself to fight and use your head. You know there's a lot of establishments nearby, but only a few of them are still open at this hour. You see it even from afar, the ray of light— The Reef Hotel & Residences. 

You hightail towards the treeline. Just cross the park— that's your success to escape, because once you're out on the street, the guard at the hotel will surely notice you.

You're about to exit the treeline when someone tackles you back beneath the shadow of the woods. Everything spins, disorienting you for a second until a biting pain courses through your nerves. You let out a cry when you feel as though your elbow has split open. The guy who tackled you is trying to grab your arms. Thankfully the streetlights still manage to reach into the darkness of the park, you find yourself on the ground and spot the guy's knee, which you give your mightiest kick, and when he doubles over, you cut off his pained squeal with a kick to his face.

Upon rising up to your feet, another guy clutches at your arm. You spin to face him, jabbing his throat with your free hand. He releases you, and you run—

THWACK!

—into a fist. Pain explodes across your temple, where the hit forcibly landed, and you're reeled into blackness. There's a ringing in your ears, it's somewhat scolding you for not taking the rape whistle that Mindy gifted you. You ponder on where you put it and realize it's in your locker in the cafe's staffroom.

If you had it with you, you could've gotten some attention.

Your inner self smacks her lips— So, why didn't you press the motorcycle's horn instead?

As your stupidity dawns on you, your bearings slowly rebuild itself. You then find yourself restrained; mouth stuffed with a cloth and hands tied behind your back. And you're draped on some guy's shoulder. You thrash as you try to peer where they're taking you— to their cars parked at a spot where no one was around. Your strength doubles as panic and adrenaline surges through your nerves.

You try to scream, but it's muffled. 

Despair begins to leisurely brim your eyes.

"Patulugin niyo muna nga siya! Masyadong maingay at malikot!" 

(Knock her out! She's too noisy and squirming a lot!)

They roughly set you down with your back on the ground; the guy who was carrying you is now holding your ankles down. Another guy then crouches above your stomach and pulls out a switchblade; you freeze, shock slowly morphing into fear, and you try to relax as you ponder on how to get out.

"Tama 'yan, wag ka na magulo o masasaktan ka pa." the guy atop you says and, lightly tracing the side of the blade on your neck, he unzips your jacket. 

(That's right, don't be naughty or you'll get hurt.)

He lifts the hem of your shirt with the blade and they all whistle at your bare skin.

You squeeze your eyes, tears flowing through.

"Nasa'n ngayon ang tapang mo?"

(Where's your courage now?)

They all share a laugh, the hyena kind, and thunder claps across the heavens. No one will hear them. But that isn't what scares you, what scares you more is the fact that—

No one will hear you.

You struggle, he taps the blade on your stomach, and you stop. He then raises your shirt over your bra and your eyes snap open. You begin talking through your gag, which the guy finds annoying, so he pulls it out of your mouth.

"M-May pera ako," you blurt out, breathing erratically.

(I have money,)

"Don't worry, we already have it." one guy holds your backpack up.

"But what we want more is you."

"Aren't you lucky?"

They all start yammering how giddy you must be feeling. Wanted by one too many guys. But they know very well it's quite the opposite.

Before you can plead, they gag you again. You're about to put up a fight when the guy slides the knife sideways beneath your bra. The blade's coolness decorates your flesh with bumps as fear wrings your throat shut. He flips the knife with the sharp edge cutting against the cloth; still, the blunt side pricks into your skin.

He slowly moves the knife, pushing upwards. "It's probably hard to breathe, right? Let us help you.."

You scream, cry, and wail simultaneously. Not just because your bra is about to be cut off, but also because the other guys are unbuttoning your shorts and pulling them down. One of them is also taking pictures, you hope someone will spot the flashes.

Another guy harshly grabs your face when you start getting louder than normally muffled. "Shut—!" he cut himself off as he looks at something behind his pals. "PUTANGINA!"

A sort of banging sound echoes around the woods. It's repetitive with a few cracks, grunts, and cries here and there. Your should-be-rapists shuffle up and run to the same direction, yelling as though they're charging into war. You quickly roll on your side and sit up to find someone fighting against five guys.

You now realize that your should-be-rapists were eight guys when you notice three of them are already on the floor. And despite the dimness shrouding the woods, you begin to recognize your cap-wearing savior.

"Kurt?" you breathe out, shocked and confused.

But he doesn't hear you with the gag. That is until the guy who straddled you is slowly approaching Court from behind. You spot the switchblade he's holding and scream with all your might.

"LOOK OUT!"

Despite your muffled voice, Court somewhat understands you. He whirls around in the blink of an eye, ramming an elbow on the guy's temple. The switchblade drops with its unconscious owner.

Immediately, someone else picks it up. You're about to shout at Court again when you realize the guy with the knife is charging at you.

You don't even have to ask why, because whatever his intentions are, as long as he's coming at you with a knife, it can't be good. Scrambling up to your feet, you curse when the shorts at your ankles nearly made you fall; your bounds aren't helping either.

In such a state of panic, and insufficient lighting, you miscalculate the thick root for soil. You trip, face-planting into the ground, but you don't let that stop you and try to get back up.

"Come here!" the guy chasing you clutches at your ankle and reels you to him.

You'll probably feel the scrapes later, because your fight response brawls against the intense fear flooding throughout your body. "Let go!" you scream, kicking at him successfully on his shoulder and stomach.

"Tangina, tumigil ka nga!" he yells and grabs both your ankles, pulling you closer.

You're about to boot his face this time, but he smacks yours first, stunning you. He rises, roughly hauling you up, but someone gets in between you two. The guy gasps when a fist heavily jabs into his chest and throat; he's instantly knocked out when the same fist strikes his temple.

Still in a daze, you think the world is falling away. Trees dancing into a swirl with streams of light. But in actuality, you're just falling down.

You're on the ground, you think as your perspective steadies itself.

Someone calls your name, you think it's the Kapre on the trees— maybe your perspective isn't right just yet.

You hear your name again and a face appears. You recognize him.

"Kurt?"

"Hey," he breathes out, relieved.

You fight back a wince when your chest tightens. "W-Why.." you stammer, "How are you here?"

"I'll tell you later. First," he pauses, scanning you from head to toe, "are you okay? Where does it hurt?"

Your head is buzzing. The last several minutes replays in it as a myriad of emotions washes over you. Terror, relief, panic, concern, happiness, gratefulness, anxiety, sadness, shame—

It's overwhelming.

And because of it, you're starting to think you're hallucinating. Maybe the one holding you isn't your friend.

"Kurt," you say, shakily.

"Yes?" he replies, steadily.

The strong arm wrapped around you and the rough yet gentle hand holding you conveys everything else. 

It's him. 

It's Court. 

He's here.

He saved you.

You have an abundance of questions. However, you want to address first why your face is somewhat damped and stinging. You think you have a gash and you're heavily bleeding, that is until you taste salt. Warm, liquid salt.

Oh.. you're crying.

You try to stop, but that only makes you cry harder. Like all the emotions pouring out your eyes, your body melts against Court's. But unlike your cascading tears, you're held firmly by him.

"Hey, what is it?" he asks, worriedly calling your name. "Where does it hurt?"

You manage to stifle your sobs for a second. "I'm so-sorry."

He scowls. "You're not the one who should be apologizing."

"N-No.. I'm sorry fo-for.." you gasp in between sobs,"for crying."

Court is astonished.

You continue. "I-I-I'm so-sorry you had to sav-save me.."

His hold on you tightens. "I'll always save you, (Y/N).. no matter what."

"Y-You don't always have to," you say, "I don't want you hurt."

Court holds the side of your face, gently pushing it up so he's looking into your teary eyes. "And I don't want you hurt, too." he declares, "So I'll save you. I'll protect you. I'll take care of you… Whether you like that or not."

There's an ache in your heart, yet it's somehow comforting rather than agonizing.

"And I'll beat the shit out of anyone who makes you cry."

You hide your face on his shoulder, but it doesn't stop you from laughing and sniffling at the same time.

The two of you stay there until your tears slow down to a halt. Then you finally allow yourself to wrap your arms around him. Because you didn't think you deserve it, you always thought you're unworthy to be saved. But then you don't know what else to do to express your gratitude at the moment.

So, you hug him with all your feeble might. Simultaneously trying not to let your feelings overpower you.

"Th-Thank you.." you sigh, "Thank you."

He returns the embrace, and for a second, you think he's kissing you on the head. "You're welcome." he whispers into your hair, "And thank you, too."

"For what?"

He stays silent for a moment.

"For.. you."

".. You want to thank me for me?"

"Yes..?"

You snicker. "That's stupid."

He breathes out a laugh. "Sorry."

"No worries. You got an unlimited savior coupon for the rest of my life."

"Well, then.. thank you."

"You're welcome."

first off~ I AM SO SORRY! VERY MUCH, I AM SORRY SORRY!!!!! AND PLEASE ACCEPT MY APOLOGIES WITH THREE NEW CHAPTERSSS I will explain my abrupt hiatus in another blog after posting the chapters. Thank you so much for waiting, enjoying, and messaging me about this fic! I hope y'all still enjoy it (*_ _)人 The portal to Chapter 16 will open momentarily starting now!

✨TAGLIST✨

@kat-thepoet @queenofhellhasrisen @sierrasixswife @vallyb @lyuir @yvxcy @justareaderdude @sortingharryshairclip

[stefanmikaleson1864]

Is the Gray Man coming back for a second movie ? Cause honestly I wanna know how life would be like for six and Claire on the road ? Like I have an idea of a story for what I would think it would happen 👀

[the-marshals-wife]

Refuge (Sierra Six x Reader)

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⋅☆⋅ 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

A/N: It's official: I'm obsessed with The Gray Man. I've watch it 3 times so far in under 2 months, and I really wanted to write something sweet for my current favorite Goose character.

Description: Sierra Six/Courtland Gentry x Fem!Reader, established (secret) relationship; flirty, steamy fluff + angst if you squint | Warnings: suggestive themes, kissing, alcohol | Setting: post-movie | Word count: 1,746

Gif credit: user magnusedom

Imagine Six returning to you, his best kept secret, and asking you to come away with him

There was only one thing in the world that could make you open the front door of your apartment after midnight. The instant you recognize the familiar, distinct sequence of knocking, you shoot upright from your slumber and scramble off of the sofa, the book on your chest flying across the floor from where you had dozed off. Having almost tripped on the rug, you release the dead bolt and frantically fumble with the chain lock. Heart pounding, you slide it loose and jerk open the door.

Waiting on the other side like an apparition was a smiling face you weren't sure you'd ever lay eyes on again.

"Sorry for the late hour, ma'am. Could I trouble you for a cup of sugar?"

"Court!"

You couldn't help it. His name, the name only you could use, escapes your lips like a cry.

"May I come in?" he gestures.

You grab his arm and usher him inside.

"Where have you been?" you asked in a hushed voice, looking over him.

"Here, there, everywhere," he answers, leaning back against the closed door. "Spent a little time in nowhere too."

"I've been so worried about you! I haven't heard from you in months. I know that's the job, but it's been so long without a sign or anything. I was afraid something happened to you. I didn't know what to think," you say all at once.

"I know, I'm sorry. I'll explain everything, I promise. Just, let me look at you first," he says, gazing on you softly, "Wow. How is that possible?"

"What?"

"How are you more beautiful than the last time I saw you?"

You feel your cheeks turn red, but it doesn't keep you from pointing a finger to his chest.

"If you think being a smoothie is going to get you out an explanation, think again, buster."

He wraps his arms around your waist.

"Fair enough," he nods, "It's still true though. You're even prettier when you're angry."

"I must be stunning then," you smirk.

He brings his hand up to lift your chin, leaning in close, "Incredibly."

The waning space between you vanishes as he captures your lips. You lean into his touch, savoring every sensation you'd missed so much. From the warm, smokiness of his scent to the gentle scratch of his beard on your skin. When he finally pulls away, you're nearly breathless.

"Why don't you make yourself at home, stranger?" you propose, composing yourself, "You want a drink?"

"I wouldn't say no to a beer," he replies.

"Coming right up," you say, turning towards the kitchen, "They feed you in 'nowhere'? I got half of a leftover sub here, and some really leftover pizza I can nuke in the microwave."

"Tempting, but I'm good for now, thanks. Just the beer," you hear him say as you grab two bottles from the fridge.

"Good call, honestly. We can just order take out or something."

He doesn't respond, and it immediately catches your attention. You grab the bottle opener from the drawer and make quick work of the caps. With a faraway look in his eye, he stands on the other side of the modest island that separates the kitchen area from the living area. You extend the bottle towards him, and even when he takes it from your grasp, he's barely shaken from his silent reverie.

Too worried to imbibe, you set your own drink down on the counter. "Court, what's wrong? I can tell something is bothering you."

He takes a drink, which is followed by a long pause.

"Do you remember Fitzroy's niece, Claire?"

You nod. "Of course. Is she alright?"

"She is now," he sighs, setting his jaw, "Fitzroy is gone."

"What?" you say, rounding the island to be at his side.

"It's a long story, but some bad people got ahold of Claire to get to him, because of something that I did. We took care of it in the end, but...he didn't make it."

He takes another hefty drink and puts down the bottle.

"Court, I'm so sorry," you say, touching his arm, "I know how much he meant to you."

He turns to face you. "He did. Now Claire has no one, except me. And that's what I came here to talk to you about."

Your pulse quickens at the seriousness in his voice.

"Her and I have been on the run the past couple weeks. Staying ahead of Carmichael and his goon squad."

"Wait, you escaped the agency?" you ask, shocked.

"Didn't have a choice after they tried to use her as leverage to get me to keep doing their dirty work. I got her out, which means I'm out too, for good," he confirms solemnly, "I've found a place for us where we might actually have a shot at a normal-ish life."

You stare at him wide-eyed.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying...I'm all she has left. She needs me. And I need you," he says, gently rubbing your upper arms, "Before, I couldn't give you the life you deserved. But this could be my second chance. I think I might have finally gotten to the top of the hill, and I want you there with me."

"Oh Court, I don't know..." you hesitate, mind reeling, "I don't know anything about raising a kid."

He grins. "Neither do I. We can figure it out together. I mean there's gotta be a manual or something, right?"

You can't help but snort at the idea. Just as more protests are forming on your tongue, he gives you a look so disarming that you forget the words entirely.

"Come away with me, Y/N."

He takes your hand in his.

"It won't be easy, and it definitely won't be perfect. I know I've got no right to ask you to leave everything behind. But I've loved you from the very beginning, and I will protect you with everything I have."

His vow brings tears to your eyes. He laid his heart bare, and in doing so, he'd banished the last of your meager doubts.

"Well, when you put it that way," you say.

You grab the collar of his jacket in your fists and pull him into a kiss. He hums in pleasant surprise and laces his fingers through your hair. After another heated moment of rediscovery, you at last loosen your grip and surface from the embrace.

"Is that a yes?" he chuckles.

"It is," you answer, your smile becoming nervous as your thoughts turn to the future, "Do you think Claire will like me?"

"Oh, don't worry, she's going to love you," he smirks, letting you go and walking over to the window. "Honestly, I'm not sure I'm going to survive you two. This was probably a bad idea."

"Now I really I can't wait to meet her," you tease.

Your amusement fades, however, as you watch him part the curtain and cautiously peer up at the surrounding rooftops.

Dread stirs in the pit of your stomach.

"How much time do we have?" you ask.

"We should probably get you packed up," he says over his shoulder.

"Really? I thought we'd at least have tonight. Are you being followed right now?"

"Not yet. No one knows about this place. But the longer I'm here, the greater the possibility that changes," he frowns, "I need to get back to Claire. I took a risk coming here. She can't be alone for long."

You mind begins to race as your gaze darts around your apartment and belongings. The framed pictures scattered across the walls of old friends and family you hardly see suddenly meant more than anything tucked away in the safe beneath your bed. But could you even take them? Would having any ties to your old life be too dangerous?

Old life. The thought makes your head spin.

"This is happening so fast," you say as you rub your temples, "I never thought I'd just leave everything. I don't even know what to take with me."

"Hey," he says, stepping back over to you, "It's alright. Listen, I know I got caught up in pouring out my dumb old heart a minute ago, but you don't have to do this, Y/N. If you want to stay, I understand."

"No, I'm coming with you," you deny, "I want to be with you, no matter where we have to go. I've never wanted anything more. You have made it to the top, Court, and I wouldn't miss the view for anything."

All this time, you had been the only refuge in the world for "Sierra Six". Now, more than ever, he was becoming yours.

He kisses your forehead softly and smiles down on you.

"How about we just start small, and go from there. Baby steps. Like, maybe a suitcase?" he suggests.

"Sounds good," you agree, "Guess I don't need to pack the kitchen sink for wherever we're going?"

He snickers, "No, we have one of those. Got one in the bathroom too. We even have a toilet."

"I wasn't expecting such luxury," you smirk.

"I mean you have to hold the handle down a little to get it to flush, but other than that," he quips.

"Well, I suppose I'll survive," you say in mock exasperation.

"We do have a TV, so that kinda makes up for it. Plus, I got queen bed all to myself. I might could be persuaded into sharing, though."

You cross your arms, eyeing his suggestive look.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, but you'll have to sleep on top of the covers. I don't wanna get your girl germs on my sheets."

"Courtland Gentry," you grunt, smacking his arm.

You take off down the hall to your room, and he follows after you laughing.

"What? What'd I say?" he asks, knowing full well.

"Why don't I just sleep on the floor?" you pose.

You bolt over to your dresser and start rummaging through your clothes, keeping your back to him.

"Okay, you're right. That was unfair of me," he concedes.

Biting your lip, you spin around with your eyebrows raised.

He stands in the doorway, pulling a stick of gum from his pocket and unwrapping it, "You can get under the comforter."

You throw a shirt at him, shaking your head.

"Shut up and help me pack."

He pops the gum in his mouth and smiles.

"Yes ma'am."