#✬ ◟ the boys. ⁞ 𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎.

[whitesuited]

she’s not sure when exactly she’d gone and dozed off ------- and while it’s easy ( and logical ) to blame it on the fact she hadn’t been able to close her eyes for barely more than a blink for the last fifty hours, it’s an excuse that never seems to get the sympathy it should. at least not when those fifty hours are meant to be spent with her eyes on the small array of screens aglow in front of of her; the ones that always cast everything around her in a less than pleasing light.

‘allo darlin'.’

the voice that wakes her ( and the light touch on her back that eases her towards consciousness instead of snapping her awake ) isn’t the one she expects --------- there’s no demand to know why she’d let herself nod off with her chin resting ( barely ) in the palm of her hand; no reprimand for disobeying orders. no ---------- it’s the one that hums the greeting just north of her ear before @huntsupe​​ tucks a fingertip’s worth of blonde behind it.

                “hiya handsome,” she murmurs through barely open eyes, a still sleep - muddled grin attempting to pull the corner of her mouth up that isn’t still hidden in the palm of her hand. he’s still fuzzy in the glow of the screens, half his face illuminated and the other half in shadow when she does finally lift up her head -------- sharon somehow managing to stifle a yawn as she taps the apple of the cheek that’s closest to him a few times before her fingertip decides to settle there. a request that doesn’t need a fairly detailed description.

and there’s the yawn, finally.

                “i’m gonna need a little bit more of pick - me - up i think,” not that she doesn’t adore the way he’s already attempted to wake her up ( successfully, to an extent ); she’s just curious what else she can influence before opening her eyes fully. “possibly two.”

[whitesuited]

she’s never been terribly good at goodbyes -------- which some might see as odd considering just how often she ends up being in a situation that calls for one, voluntary or otherwise. ( @huntsupe​ isn’t great with them either, from what she’s seen ---------- which is probably another one of the reasons why she gravitated towards him in the first place. the only problem now is it’s getting harder and harder to say one to him, too. )

maybe she’s not the only one feeling that way tonight; or maybe he really has nowhere else to be other than sitting there on the edge of her bed watching her move back and forth across the room while she throws together a to - go bag. assignments essentially falling out of the sky are nothing new; what they do was never meant to have a set schedule. and there’s a part of her that appreciates the spontaneity of it; never quite knowing where and when the next mission will come ( makes it a hell of a lot easier to have an excuse for not making plans ------- or keeping most people at arm’s length all the time ), but now these last minute orders only feel like a hinderance.

a few day’s worth of clothes, her toiletries bag, and her kit all tossed into the open duffle next to him all for what can only be described as a frustratingly short - notice flight with next - to - nothing in the way of a debrief before she sets foot on the plane. ( the fact that he hasn’t said all that much since she got the call means he’s less than thrilled about this development too. the fact he didn’t get the same call certainly doesn’t help things either. )

               “it’s supposedly just staying in madrid, so at least it can’t be anything too messy,” she says it aloud as she tosses her last balled up pair of socks in; not entirely sure she’s talking through what she does know again as a way to make him feel more at ease about this, or to convince herself. “two days tops? maybe three?” she makes the mistake of glancing over at him when she starts zipping up the bag, getting herself stuck on the combination of a furrowed brow and hazel - green eyes. “it’s gonna be fine.” what she means of course, is that she’s going to be fine.

that doesn’t stop him from standing up in tandem with her picking up the bag and hooking it over her shoulder, making a point to brush some hair behind her ear before leaning in to give her a gentle kiss to her lips. she hums, tilting her chin up in an attempt to make the kiss last as long as possible before she has to be the one to break it. 

              “you know,” a pause that comes with the beginnings of a grin just out of his sightline; the wheels in her head already turning, “no one said anything about you just ... showing up in madrid too. would be quite the coincidence.”

[whitesuited]

comms  have  been  silent  for  the  last  ten  minutes  or  so  ------------  which  means  butcher's  either  out  of  range,  or  he's  tucked  his  little  earpiece  in  his  pocket. (  the  latter  purely  because  he  knows  it  sends  her  up  a  wall  and  back  down  again. )    she's  at  least  stopped  nagging  him  about  it,  much  to  his  assumed  disappointment  ---------  biding  her  time  until  she  gets  to  gloat  and  tell  him  that  she  told  him  so. butcher  knowing  all  the  ways  to  ruffle  her  feathers  (  a  little  too  well  )  is  precisely  why  when  given  the  choice,  she  always  opts  to  snag  frenchie  before  anyone  else  can  -------  conversation’s  far  more  entertaining  too.

their  reason  for  sitting  here  on  the  roof  across  from  the  set  up  stage  and  grandstands  finally  makes  his  appearance  complete  with  that  signature  whoosh  -  crack  of  his  cape  and  broken  concrete. (  she  boos,  but  unfortunately  her  two  cents  gets  drowned  out  by  the  rest  of  the  crowd  below  them. their  loss.  )  the  target  disappears  momentarily,  the  pocket  of  fans  closing  in  right  on  cue. 

 ❝  that’s  him. head  of  the  crowd. the  one  they  flock  to. ❞      /      @developedniche​.

              "i  see  him,"  with  the  binoculars  pulling  her  focus,  she  doesn't  even  attempt  to  hide  the  way  her  nose  crunches  the  longer  she  watches  that  red,  white,  and  blue  -  clad  peacock  strut  his  way  through  the  crowd  and  towards  the  stage. "always  thought  his  suit  was  the  most  unimaginative  POS,"  she  lowers  the  binoculars. still,  the  squinting  continues,  "why  not  just  stick  some  hot  dogs  or  a  slice  of  apple  pie  on  there  too  while  you're  at  it."  (  there's  a  good  dick  joke  in  there  somewhere,  but  she's  trying  to  be  at  least  a  little  professional;  after  all,  what  they're  doing  is  supposed  to  be  serious.  ) 

                "and  i'm  pretty  sure  he's  a  walking  flag  protection  act  violation  with  that  cape  of  his,  too. on  top  of  the  blight  thing." 

[whitesuited]

the  clock  on  the  wall  might  say  it's  just  shy  of  three  am,  but  the  way  frenchie's  moving  around  her  kitchen  it  felt  more  like  the  late  breakfast  rush  down  at  that  little  hole  -  in  -  the  -  wall  place  she  likes  to  do  go. music  on  and  up,  counter  spaces  claimed  --------  and  her  up  until  this  very  moment  extremely  ironic  'kiss  the  cook'  apron  on  full  display  as  he  bustles  back  and  forth  between  the  refrigerator  and  the  stove.

(  at  least  this  time  she'd  had  the  foresight  to  actually  have  something  for  him  to  find  in  there  other  than  a  half  bottle  of  mustard  and  a  mostly  intact  six  pack  of  beer  -----------  the  visual  offense  he'd  had  at  seeing  a  bare  fridge  the  last  time  he  was  over  meant  a  trip  to  the  grocery  store,  as  much  as  she'd  hated  it.  )  and  she  isn't  there  to  simply  watch  from  her  perch  on  the  stool  by  the  countertop;  he's  put  her  to  work  on  slicing  up  strawberries  despite  her  coming  off  of  an  almost  three  day  clip  of  no  sleep. she  isn't  sure  if  she  should  be  concerned  or  impressed  at  her  knife  skills  after  this  long  a  stretch  of  nothing  but  staying  awake  -------  but  her  frequent  breaks  to  taste  test  might  have  something  to  do  with  it.

           "is  this  enough?  this  is  enough,  right?  this  is  like  the  entire  field  the  beatles  sang  about."  she  holds  up  her  bowl  for  inspection,  brighter  -  eyed  than  she  has  any  right  to  be  considering  the  hour,  and  waiting  for  his  approval. (  which  means  another  few  slices  go  missing  off  the  top  of  the  bowl  ------  an  act  that  finally  gets  her  caught.  )

he  scolds  her  with  a  smile,  sweeping  in  to  take  the  bowl  away  from  her  before  she  can  do  more  damage. "i'm  taste  testing!  it's  important!"  she  protests  when  @developedniche​  leans  in  and  gives  her  a  kiss  on  the  forehead  -----  while  still  scolding  her  in  the  sweetest  of  ways  -----  but  she  knows  she's  not  getting  that  bowl  back. at  least  not  full.

[whitesuited]

it's  a  reunion  that's  quickly  moved  on  from  pleasantries  ---------  (  not  that  they've  ever  really  been  all  that  keen  on  that  kind  of  banter  to  begin  with;  but  distance  and  time  apart  tend  to  speed  up  the  pivot  to  physicality  even  more  than  usual  ). all  she  has  to  do  is  give  him  a  hint  of  that  wolfish  grin  -----  the  one  she's  picked  up  from  him  over  the  years  (  and  learned  to  exploit  almost  as  well  )  -----  or  help  herself  to  a  fistful  of  shirt  fabric  for  the  last  two  weeks  to  set  off  a  spark.

〝      my  girl,      〞  he  growls  into  her  skin  where  her  jawline  meets  her  ear. lips  hungrily  about  the  sensitive  skin,  letting  his  teeth  nip  and  tug  gently  as  he  pleased. 〝      you're  my  girl,      〞  his  fingers  find  her  hair  and  take  a  large  fistful  of  it  into  his  hand  and  tugging. 〝      say  it. 〞      /      @dicbolical​.

she  can  feel  the  way  his  voice  rumbles  against  her  just  as  much  as  she  hears  it;  breath  and  lips  and  teeth  sending  a  shiver  down  her  spine. eyelashes  flutter  as  she  attempts  to  stifle  the  beginnings  of  a  moan  by  pressing  her  lips  into  a  thin  little  line  as  best  she  can. he  reacts  just  as  she  expects  him  to;  fingertips  clawing  at  the  back  of  her  head  until  he's  able  to  gather  up  an  ample  amount  of  blonde  hair. he  tugs  and  her  head  lolls  back;  neck  exposed  now  that  her  chin's  angled  up  towards  the  ceiling  --------  a  slow,  thick,  swallow  not  being  enough  to  keep  the  sound  from  passing  her  lips  the  moment  she  lets  them  part.

it  starts  as  a  hum;  sharon  taking  a  moment  to  simply  relish  the  feeling  of  his  hand  knotted  up  in  her  hair  (  while  maybe  delaying  the  inevitable,  hoping  he'll  tug  again  to  help  her  find  her  voice  )  before  tongue  -  wetted  lips  comply  with  his  request.

      "i'm  your  girl,"  a  grin,  mischievous  as  she's  ever  had,  "i'm  your  girl."

[whitesuited]

she's  so  far  within  her  own  head  that  she  doesn't  notice  him  until  he's  on  the  other  side  of  the  table  from  her  -----------  too  close  and  too  late  for  even  an  attempt  to  alter  the  way  she  must  look  right  now.

being  unsure  of  how  long  she's  been  sitting  here  alone  doesn't  help;  head  bent  and  half  her  face  hidden  by  a  combination  of  hands  and  hair. (  she  just  knows  it  hasn't  been  long  enough. )  this  isn't  the  first  time  he's  seen  her  after  everything's  gone  to  shit;  and  while  she  knows  it  certainly  won't  be  the  last,  it  doesn't  mean  she  particularly  likes  him  seeing  her  on  the  verge  of  caving  in. (  falling  apart  isn't  something  she's  supposed  to  do,  and  certainly  not  in  front  of  company.  )

          "they  lost  contact  this  morning  with  three  agents  we've  been  coordinating  with  in  latveria,"    she  still  refuses  to  look  up,  or  reveal  just  how  much  the  news  has  already  taken  it's  toll  on  her. all  she  can  see  is  a  sliver  of  him  between  the  tabletop  and  the  bottom  of  her  hands  ---------  waiting  for  him  to  shift  one  way  or  the  other. "they  fucked  up,  or  i  fucked  up,  i  haven't  figured  it  all  out  yet."  but  it's  only  a  matter  of  time  before  she's  putting  that  weight  on  her  shoulders  regardless.

❝      i’m  not  really  the  advice  type,    but  i  am  damn  good  at  coming  up  with  distractions  to  forget  the  bullshit  for  a  while. ❞      /        @dicbolical​.

he  can't  see  the  way  she  chews  at  her  lip,  letting  his  offer  sink  in. "that's  fine,"  she  exhales  a  half - hearted  laugh  as  fingers  push  their  way  through  her  hair. "i'm  shit  at  taking  any  advice,  you  know  that."  finally  pulling  the  blonde  curtain  off  her  face  long  enough  for  her  to  see  him  fully  (  and  he  can  see  her  ), she  offers  up  a  smile  as  best  she  can  before  it  falls  back  into  place  as  soon  as  she  lets  go. 

          "what  kind  of  distractions?"

[whitesuited]

it’s always going to be a part of who they are; falling in and out of the shadows on a moments notice, only to pop back up again ( usually ) unannounced. but billy --------- he’s always had more of the showman in him than she does; a flair for the dramatic that’s always proved at the very least thoroughly entertaining ( or completely maddening; depends on which end of the show you happen to be on ). so when it comes time for him to make an entrance, he does it in a way that no one else can ever hope to compare to.

or maybe he just does this with her because he knows no matter how long it’s been since the last time she got to have him this close ----- so long as he’s not showing up covered in blood and looking as if he’s been dragged through a hedge backwards ----- most ( not all; but most ) is forgiven in the time it takes for him to curl the corner of his mouth up into one of those devilish grins and her to hook her fingers around the fabric of his shirt.

( it almost makes her regret ever telling @huntsupe​ just how partial she is to that expression in particular; how it only instigates and encourages her to rise to the occasion ------ but what better way to convince him to keep it in his repertoire than to outright give it her unique stamp of approval time after time? ) this time, that stamp comes in the form of a kiss against that smirk before he can get so much as a word out. ‘trick or treat. miss me, love?'

quite the choice he’s gone and given her, especially with no prior warning. 

            “i know better than to try a trick with you i think,” and while she’s keen on maybe taking her time weighing her options and drawing out this part of their reunion ( another kiss certainly helps those wheels in her brain continue to turn; at least that’s what she’ll insist if he has the cheek to question her methods later on ), the answer feels a little more obvious than perhaps he likes to think it is. “but a treat ----” and a gentle tug at the collar of his coat to help the both of them along, “pretty sure i can come up with one of those easily enough.”

[whitesuited]

her fingernails have been digging into the fabric of her jeans for at least ten minutes now -------- at least she thinks it’s been that long; her attention hasn’t exactly been directed at the clock on the wall over his shoulder, or the watch face on the underside of her wrist to get an accurate estimate. instead, she’s been dividing her focus on watching him ( especially the way his brow creases before he comes in with another folded square of gauze, or the concern concentration in those hazel eyes when he drags it along the gash on her cheek ) and trying not to let each pinch and shooting pain register on her face while he works. those moments of weakness are usually reserved for herself ----- when it’s her and only her tasked with sorting out the aftermath of a night out. tonight’s isn’t even all that bad; a solid knock on the cheek and a busted lip. a combination she’s mitigated pretty well countless times before.

so why break tradition? she’d argued that she didn’t need his help this time anyway; one good eye was more than enough to take care of the rest of her face while she sat perched on the counter and leaned into the dimly lit mirror of their motel room. but he’d insisted ( as much as she’d allow him to before finally giving in, anyway — any fight she’d had left in her after the last few hours petered out along the adrenaline once they’d gotten back ) and now here she was, still sitting on the cold bathroom countertop, only now he’s the one hunched over in that same terrible lighting instead of her.

@huntsupe​ warns her that the next part is going to hurt a little bit more than the rest, a cautionary prediction that doesn’t take long to come true when alcohol gets put into the mix so he can move on from the clean - up to the patch - up portion of their evening.

               “ah, fuck … fucking fuck,” it stings, of course, and she hisses --------- a reaction she quickly tries to temper with a crinkle of her nose and a second run  - on sentence that comes out bluer than her eyes but this time, under her breath. “what fucking proof is that shit?” her nose twitches something furious in an attempt to dull the sting through constant motion, enough that he pulls back his hand to watch the way her face contorts for a beat before her composure attempts to make a comeback through watery eyes.

“ you're really cute, you know. “

she’s too tired by now to make much of a fuss about it, and she’s sure he already knows that if it was anyone else saying it she’d make a point of letting him see the specific way she rolls her eyes at compliments like that ------- offered up with sarcasm ( usually, at least; but that’s not entirely the impression she gets when he says it. but if he’s trying to make her smile, he’s going to have to deal with one that has two cracks running along it like a chip in a porcelain cup. )

              “are we sure i was the only one hit in the head tonight?” she dabs at the swollen bit of skin just under the cut with the bottom of her palm, hoping to appease the nerve endings that feel like they’re on fire ----------- all while trying not to smile. that’ll end up hurting too. “unless it’s the black eye ---- it’s totally the black eye, isn’t it?”

[whitesuited]

she's well aware of the fact she isn't always the easiest to get along with ------------ all it takes is a five minute conversation with her old superior to see she has no issue being a thorn in someone's side ( when she feels it's justified, of course ). with that in mind, it still surprises her that more of her reputation hasn't found its way over from SHIELD in the shuffle. not that it's from a lack of trying, of course; but the chaos that she'd left behind in the wake of a total and complete meltdown ( not that vought seems like it's got it's shit together any more than SHIELD did -------------- they just seem a lot better at hiding it ) makes it more difficult for her personal record and all those red marks to pass from one entity to another.

so she's long been expecting this particular topic to come up with someone; hardly even sparing a blink when 'i don’t like you' gets tossed into the conversation, aimed at her specifically. the fact that it's @failedcrown​ making it much more amusing than it should be, all things considered, the revelation coming fairly late into her tenure as a not - so - newly minted member of vought international. ( especially because it's maeve ----- she hasn't exactly made the effort to back up that statement with action. )

          "that's a bummer," she says with a half - formed smirk; strategically planted on the side she won't be able to see ------------ all maeve gets is a raised brow as sharon's eyes stay focused on the grainy CCTV footage on the screen in front of her, posture bent and hunched over the computer as she opts to stand and lean instead of sitting down properly. "i must really be losing my touch. last time it took about a week for another agent to tell me they hated my guts."

alright ------------ she'll let that smirk stretch to both sides; a subtle tilt of her head hinting that she doesn't believe a word of it. "i guess that just means i'll have to try a little harder from now on."

[whitesuited]

it's  dangerous  how  easily  she  forgets  that  she's  not  on  the  same  level  physically  sometimes  -------  the  constant  determination  to  not  only  keep  up  with  enhanced  individuals  but  hold  her  own  is  something  she's  prided  herself  on  since  she  left  shield's  academy  and  got  tossed  into  the  field. (  though  she  has  to  admit,  she  doesn't  really  miss  the  amount  of  rooftop  parkour  she'd  had  to  endure  in  those  early  years  --------  chasing  after  someone  else  wrapped  up  in  red,  white,  and  blue  who  treated  new  york's  skyline  like  his  own  personal  obstacle  course. )  but  old  habits  die  hard,  and  her  thoroughly  human  limits  haven't  decided  to  go  and  upgrade  themselves  without  telling  her.

so  her  immediate  reaction  is  frustration  -----------  quickly  followed  by  the  collective  protest  of  a  pair  of  legs  that  are  keen  on  reminding  her  she  isn't  going  to  be  scaling  buildings  without  the  aid  of  a  rope  any  time  soon. (  an  objection  that  soon  turns  into  a  sit  -  in;  she's  resigned  to  taking  up  space  on  the  sidewalk  waiting  for  her  legs  to  stop  screaming  at  her.  )

              "don't  you  dare,"  she  doesn't  look  up  seeing  a  familiar  shadow  come  into  her  peripherals,  picking  at  the  laces  on  her  left  boot  instead  of  acknowledging  the  smirk  she  knows  is  sitting  there  on  maeve's  face. (  and  she  knows  it's  not  going  away  anytime  soon  -----  it's  going  to  be  there  waiting  for  whenever  she  does  glance  up. @failedcrown is  just  as  good  as  she  is  at  this  little  game.  )  ❝  yeah. looked  like  you  had  it  all  under  control. ❞    

alright  ------------  she  might  as  well  take  her  lumps  and  indulge  maeve  in  the  moment  she  clearly  wants;  lifting  her  head  with  a  half  -  hearted  scowl. "if  you  say  'i  told  you  so'  next,  i'm  going  to  kick  you  in  your  shin  and  risk  the  consequences."

[whitesuited]

she  won't  come  right  out  and  tell  him  she  was  worried,  even  if  the  expression  on  her  face  might  betray  her  --------------  she  knows  the  risks  that  come  along  with  his  job;  and  she  knows  just  as  well  that  even  the  best  of  plans  don't  always  run  smoothly. (  there's  no  need  to  point  out  that  what  he'd  said  would  only  take  a  couple  days  time  had  turned  into  twice  as  long; what’s  done  is  done.  ) she  won't  even  say  she  was  worried  after  his  hands  have  barely  had  a  chance  to  settle  along  the  curves  of  her  face; and  the  way  she  leans  into  his  touch  is  instinctive  by  now.

even  without  outwardly  acknowledging  any  of  it,  she  lets  the  relief  she  feels  in  having  him  back  wash  over  the  first  kiss  @dicbolical​  presses  to  her  lips;  her  fingers  quick  to  curl  around  his  wrists  and  keep  him  as  close  as  she  can. 

           "hi,"  it  almost  sounds  silly  when  it  leaves  her  lips  with  a  hint  of  a  smile;  short  and  sweet  and  a  fraction  of  all  the  things  she's  got  buzzing  around  in  her  head. but  for  the  moment  she  just  wants  to  drink  in  the  sight  of  him  standing  there,  focusing  on  the  arcs  his  thumbs  run  over  her  cheekbones  and  mirroring  them  in  the  ones  hers  sweep  over  the  backs  of  his  hands.

the  tip  of  her  tongue  peeks  out  to  wet  her  bottom  lip,  a  not  -  so  -  subtle  request  for  another  kiss;  and  the  "i  missed  you,  y'know,"  that  follows  tumbles  out  a  little  faster  than  even  she'd  expected. (  but  if  she's  going  to  pick  and  choose  which  pieces  of  her  truth  to  tell  him  right  now,  missing  him  is  the  better  slice  of  it.  )  and  now  that  it's  been  said; the  relief  of  it  all come  and  gone,  she  leans  in  this  time;  catching  his  bottom  lip  with  a  pleased  little  hum. "come  inside  already."

[whitesuited]

her  entrance  is  exaggerated  from  the  start,  leaning  there  in  the  doorway  with  a  cat  -  that's  -  caught  -  the  -  canary  grin  -----------  she  makes  a  point  of  giving  the  frosted  glass  of  the  open  door  a  series  of  knocks  before  she  steps  inside;  even  going  as  far  as  to  put  a  literal  skip  in  her  step  across  the  room  once  it's  obvious  she  won't  be  explaining  her  demeanor  to  an  audience  larger  than  the  one  she's  here  to  see. (  not  that  she  doesn't  expect  him  to  be  any  less  confused  than  the  rest  of  them  would  be  if  they  were  here;  but  butcher's  got  the  rare  advantage  of  actually  seeing  her  in  this  good  of  a  mood  before  for  comparison. )  

❝    with  a  smile  like  that,    i  can’t  help  but  want  to  know  your  secret. what’s  got  you  so  cheery  today?    ❞      /    @dicbolical​.

which  of  course,  only  makes  her  grin  a  little  bigger;  dimples  and  all  as  she  claims  the  corner  of  his  desk  for  herself  without  asking;  avoiding  a  scattering  of  papers  before  she  pushes  herself  up  to  sit. "aren't  you  a  charmer  this  morning  ------  just  for  that,  i'll  share."  she  takes  her  time  pulling  her  phone  out  of  her  jacket  pocket,  her  feet  swinging  slightly  as  she  goes  through  the  motions  of  unlocking  the  screen  and  gliding  her  thumb  along  the  bottom  to  relocate  what  it  is  she's  here  for  in  the  first  place. (  with  the  occasional  glance  in  his  direction,  of  course;  delighted  that  he's  apparently  equally  as  amused  by  all  this  absurdity  as  she  is  ).

               "all  by  yourself?  how'd  you  manage  that?"  not  what  she's  here  for,  but  a  valid  question  all  the  same  as  she  finally  finds  what  should  at  least  begin  to  answer  his  ------  it  might  not  look  like  much,  mostly  diagnostics  being  run  and  files  being  copied,  but  the  real  magic  is  happening  back  at  her  apartment  across  town. "guess  who  hacked  into  one  of  fury's  old  personnel  servers  this  morning  because  she  was  bored?"

[whitesuited]

despite  doing  this  for  as  long  as  she  has,  she  still  has  to  remind  herself  sometimes  that  the  mission  has  to  come  first  -----------  and  in  the  midst  of  those  missions,  not  everything  she's  done  has  been  on  the  up  -  and  -  up. SHIELD had  her  good  for  a  while  there  -----  convinced  she  was  doing  not  only  what  was  right,  but  in  the  right  way.

what  a  difference  a  fall  from  favor  makes. (  there's  been  plenty  of  things  she'd  had  to  do  to  survive  that  she's  not  exactly  proud  of  -------  a  fact  she's  finally  been  willing  to  admit  nowadays,  to  herself  more  than  anyone  else. )  all  it  took  was  being  on  the  shittier  side  of  'the  ends  justifying  the  means'  one  too  many  times  has  put  things  in  a  new  perspective.

and  now  in  another  one  of  those  moments  of  reflection,  she  finds  herself  looking  for  a  little  commiseration  as  well.

  ❝  have  i  made  a  few  bad  decisions?  sure. do  i  feel  bad  about  it?  sometimes. ❞        /      @dicbolical​.

she  takes  another  sip  of  her  beer,  letting  her  grip  slide  from  the  center  of  the  glass  and  up  the  neck  of  it  as  she  pulls  it  away  from  her  lips,  "i'm  getting  sick  of  the  shitty  feeling  that  i'm  carrying  a  load  of  rocks  around  in  my  stomach,"  is  it  just  her  personal  way  of  dealing  with  guilt?  or  does  the  sensation  of  having  your  gut  constantly  making  a  break  for  the  floor  effect  him  too  -----  sometimes  at  least. "i  dunno  if  that  means  i'm  getting  better  at  this,"  or  maybe  it's  really  her  getting  worse,  "or  if  it's  just  me  losing  a  layer  of  thick  skin."

[whitesuited]

teeth  slowly  chip  away  at  the  neon  pink  varnish  on  her  thumbnail  -------  a  habit  that  only  crops  up  when  she  has  too  much  on  her  mind  and  nowhere  to  put  it  all. (  a  habit  that  could  always  be  worse,  but  it  doesn't  mean  she  won't  be  cursing  herself  out  for  it  the  next  time  she  catches  a  glimpse  of  her  left  hand  and  wonders  why  it  looks  like  it'  s  been  fed  through  a  shredder.  )  she  only  stops  when  a  nudge  against  her  leg  reminds  her  she's  not  the  only  one  in  the  room.

❝  you’re  not  here  at  the  moment. you’re  distracted. i  wonder  why. ❞      /      @developedniche​.

her  usual  go  -  to  in  all  this  would  be  to  simply  deny  it  outright  ----  insist  there's  nothing  wrong,  that  she  has  in  fact  gotten  some  measurable  amount  of  sleep  in  the  last  few  days. but  with  him  it's  always  been  far  more  difficult  to  lie  in  general  ----------  let  alone  get  one  past  him  those  few  and  far  between  moments  she  attempts  to  do  so.

it  doesn't  help  that  he's  sitting  there  on  the  other  cushion  of  the  couch  (  a  couch  she's  still  hesitant  to  ask  just  where  butcher  managed  to  find  one,  along  with  the  rest  of  the  room'  s  'furnishings'  without  a  follow  -  up  about  how  just  because  something  on  the  sidewalk  around  here  says  free  you  don't  have  to  feel  obligated  to  take  it.  )  like  her  own  personal  polygraph  -----  catching  hints  she  hadn't  even  realized  she'd  been  dropping.

what's  distracting  her  is  the  feeling  of  the  walls  closing  in  on  her  over  at  vought. paranoia's  running  higher  than  ever,  and  with  loyalties  being  called  into  question,  she's  not  so  sure  even  on  her  best  day  and  with  her  entire  spy  -  toolkit  she'll  be  able  to  pass  the  'team  player'  test. (  it  isn't  that  she'  s  not  a  team  player,  per  see  -------  just  not  the  team  they  think  she's  on.  )  

      "i'm  thinking  it  might  be  time  to  update  my  resume,  that's  all. know  anyone  hiring?"

[whitesuited]

it's  a  side  of  him  that  no  one  else  among  their  peers  ever  really  gets  to  see  -------------  mischievous  almost;  a  look  in  his  eye  that  he  seems  to  reserve  only  for  her. it's  an  exclusivity  she  that  she  hadn't  expected,  of  course;  never  saw  him  coming. which  means  that  each  and  every  time  she  gets  to  see  him  like  this,  she  only  wants  to  encourage  that  look  even  more. (  even  if  it  means  seeking  out  abandoned  hallways  and  quiet  corners  for  a  moment  or  two  alone  in  a  headquarters  full  of  hundreds  of  agents.  )

but  it  has  to  be  brief  ------------  they're  both  supposed  to  be  walking  (  separately  )  into  a  meeting  with  fury  in  the  war  room  for  the  morning's  debriefing  shortly;  a  protocol  that  seems  a  lot  more  like  purgatory  these  days  standing  on  opposite  sides  of  the  table  and  exchanging  glances  whenever  they  think  they  can  get  away  with  it. so  for  now,  she's  got  to  drink  up  as  much  of  him  as  she  can  before  parting  ways.

@dicbolical​​  reaches  up  and  gently  runs  his  thumbs  along  her  dimples;  the  divots  in  the  lines  he  draws  over  her  cheeks  only  seem  to  grow  along  with  the  playful  grin  that  helped  lure  him  into  this  little  alcove  in  the  first  place. 

              "you're  gonna  make  us  late  if  you  keep  looking  at  me  like  that,"  but  her  concern  doesn't  really  have  any  teeth  ------  and  she  hasn't  exactly  tried  to  shoo  him  away. she  turns  her  head  slightly;  enough  for  her  to  catch  the  palm  of  his  hand  with  her  lips  and  press  a  kiss  against  the  callus  there  ----------------  followed  by  a  little  nip  of  her  teeth. "see  you  in  there,  tiger."

[whitesuited]

she knows she’s only going to be able to hide it from him for so long before he starts getting curious as to why she’s got her hair pulled down in front of her face instead of tucked back behind her ear like she always does ------------- its a poor excuse for camouflage, just as flimsy as whatever excuse she’s planning on giving him for why she’s hiding it in the first place.

@huntsupe makes it hard enough as it is not to notice when his eyes are on her ----- considering how much she looks forward to glancing up and catching his eye, avoiding it feels strange ( and unfortunately doesn’t make the pinch she feels every time she moves her face behind that blonde curtain any less uncomfortable ).

maybe he hears that last sharp intake of breath that comes along with a wince he can’t see, or maybe he’s just gotten tired of talking to a cascade of hair instead of her ---------- but he says her name in a tone that lets her know this little game of hide and seek has worn out it’s welcome. ( not that it ever had much of one to begin with. ) she reaches up and tucks her hair behind her ear like she’s done countless times before, revealing the mess of purple and blue and red from the recon she’d done on her own earlier in the evening. 

he holds her chin between index and thumb, tilts her head to the side so he can look at the damage left behind on the peak of her cheek.  

           “it’s okay ----- tomorrow morning you won’t even notice it,” jury’s still out if she’s trying to convince just him or herself too. “i didn’t want you worrying.”