#𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦 . you've become familiar with destruction‚ season three.

[peacespun]

" if you've got a problem with the way i handle things, just say so. " it was easier to work his way toward forgiveness than permission, that has never changed. the company towered like an entity over his shoulder, leaving him shrouded in a darkness he has grown accustomed to. it was easier there, a certain comfort he found in it. the limitations were almost nonexistent. and of course that was part of his job: work under their noses, do the dirty work so their hands stayed clean by any means necessary. he knows this play by now, acutely aware at all times which pawns are in play and the cards he has tucked into his sleeve.

a crooked smile finds his lips as he reaches to his breast pocket, pulling a cigarette from the pack. three taps against the case before he sticks it between his teeth. " the situation is under control and being resolved, i don't see what the issue is. " / @devilsnare, for ashley

[nonsupe]

" they warned me not to trust you. " it takes everything in him to bite his cheek and swallow a laugh. of course they did. the caretaker isn't someone to be trusted, not with his history both with and long before the company ever discovered him. they were right to be cautious, to warn others of him when they could or felt the need to. priority or scare tactic. he's a wolf in sheep's clothing: blends in where he needs to, ready for an attack.

" did you expect anything less from them? " in a way, he likes that his presence is proceeded with a warning. they know exactly what he's capable of and now so does everyone else. but he doesn't want to give off the wrong image to @artisanals. they need each other out here, like it or not. she may be the one person he might not be able to fool. but it is still impossible to hide the smile that comes forward as he speaks his next words, " do you trust me? "

[peacespun]

the whole thing was a fucking mess. smoke still rises from the building half destroyed, large pieces collapsing despite the efforts of a rescue crew which arrived only moments prior to shiloh. the idea was to pass it off as a gas leak, like somehow that was supposed to be convincing to anyone that had an actual pair of eyes and a brain. but whatever message vought wanted ... his job to push the narrative, clean up whatever nightmare this was. start to finish.

he already knew coming onto the scene it was going to be a bitch of a sell. it was already surrounded by a sea of people, witnesses. too many to count, too many for him to have a handle on. priorities first: media, rescue team, fire marshal, supes, then the crowd. but each time a body came out of that building, each time a new piece of the structure collapsed, it was like an inevitable strike through his story.

then little miss sunshine has to fucking nuke the thing. it was everywhere, it was getting out of his control. there was no recovering this after the publicity stunt she just pulled and he knew it. but vought was desperate. his phone vibrated in his pocket, messages flying in at a moments notice and he knew what they were before he even looked at them: you have 48 hours. get a handle one this. NOW.

" that was one explosive way to quit. " no pun intended. he waits until the phone is down, buried into her pocket before he approached, much less spoke to @herosupe. he doesn't need this out there for the media to take as a frenzy attached to hers, much less have anyone from the company clawing at his throat for what he may or may not say to her. " sometimes you singlehandedly make my job a fucking nightmare, you know that? "

[nonsupe]

" they have you wrapped up tight, don't they? " one attack dog to another, he knows the type. wounds behind the eyes and the ready stance to strike. indira's had her hands in this one too long, pulling strings so tight they've begun to fray under the strain. there's sympathy in tone, a delicate approach when he'd come to her. given the circumstances, he would be stupid not to tread lightly.

they've met a few times in the past, but he's not too sure that she remembers exactly: the man indira whispered to in the shadows, introduced them once and only contacted him when it was necessary that he be there. a contracted cleaner, a web-spinner. but he was a different man back then, under a guise that he'd been doing the right thing. now he knows better.

@mindcaterol is just a kid. so young and already looks as if she's lived too many horrific events, those wounds behind her eyes have been carved deep into her being. what have you seen? what did she ask of you?

it never changes. they always have someone getting their hands dirty and this time they've chosen her. he won't let them destroy her as they've destroyed him. " you're safe now. everything is going to be okay. " ♡

[nonsupe]

@v0ughtsfirst, are you trying to butter me up ?

" what? what makes you think that? " while it held, in part, some truth, shiloh still couldn't pass the opportunity to play into it a little more. its not every day that he gets to cook, much less for him. so when an opportunity arises and they both have the time, both finally away from the tower, and nobody needs them to be god knows where doing fuck all, he knows to take it and run because these moments are rare. they won't get another like this.

the table is arranged for them. dinner already set in the middle, a bottle of expensive cabernet sitting on ice between them. if he was going to treat him to dinner then he was going to do it right.

a hand falls over his heart, clutching his chest. a huff falls from him and a pout finds his lips, dark eyes filling with a playful hurt. " can't a man do something nice for the guy he's fucking? " shiloh reaches and pulls out a chair for him, motioning for him to sit. then he smiles. " or is that not allowed? "

[nonsupe]

he's been asking himself that same question for a long time: why now? why not all this time? what makes now any different than six years ago, twenty years ago, forty? and he comes up with too many answers, some not as simple as he'd like, nor as selfless. because he can't recognize himself in the mirror anymore since reopening his eyes. because this isn't who he wanted to be, what he wanted to be. the boy who wanted to be like his father feels too far away. because every time he fell in line with them he could feel harry's disappointment, and that hurt more than anything, than the realization that he'd been working for snakes. right and wrong were blurry lines in the sand, easy to toe the line when necessary, still is ... but he hopes to set a few things right. starting here.

" because you can't do it on your own, a lot of people have tried and ended up dead. " and who does she think made that happen? by any means necessary were their exact words. some took a bribe and ran, others weren't so easily bought for their cooperation and silence. " and sometimes you have to root for the underdog. " what was that saying? you either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain.

i care about saving people from this place. not about punishing its victims. maybe they were right about her, she is too good. he thinks about asking her about those who can't be saved because it will never be that easy. vought has never made it that easy. do or die, them or the enemy, dog eat dog. its been that way for a long time, for the last few decades. especially since certain figures have either died, disappeared, or simply stopped caring. she may be right to not resist that hint of hope, no matter how misplaced, but shiloh will be the cynical one. " it won't be that easy. " a pause, then quietly, " but i hope you prove me wrong. "

its the next words that make him huff with some amusement. i won't hurt you. maybe she isn't too good then. he believes it when her eyes tell him to watch his step, the wild kind of determination thats all too familiar.

he reaches then for his cigarettes in his jacket pocket, sticking one between his teeth and lighting it, taking a long drag. fuck that felt good. almost puts the pack away before ... a glance to her, a beat, then offering one. " so, tell me, how can i help? "

AH,    SO    THEY’RE    AT    AN    IMPASSE.    both    of    them    holding    a    knife    at    the    other’s    throat,    mentally.    leans    back,    arms    crossed    over    chest    while    almond    gaze    rakes    the    other.        they’ve    both    spent    far    too    long    being    vought’s    lap    dogs.    starlight    and    the    caretaker.    gaze    narrows    a    moment    in    thought.    “      why    now    ?   after    you’ve    spent    so    long    here,    why    are    you    helping    us    ?     ”        she    thinks    it’s    a    valid    question!    she    was    disenchanted    two    hours    into    arrival    at    vought.    thanks    to    the    deep.    leans    forward,    arms    still    crossed    &    rested    atop    her    knees.         “      i    care    about    saving    people    from    this    place.    not    about    punishing    its    victims.     ”        him,    her,    all    the    children    injected    with    v,    they’re    experiments.    lab    rats    to    tweak    and    observe.        “      and    you    have    mine.    i    won’t    hurt    you.      ”     not    unless    she’s    threatened    first.

[nonsupe]

you’re not my takeout. that was the first thing he said to him. four decades and that, of everything he thought he would have to say if -- when he saw him again, the thousand and one things he thought he would start with; hundreds of questions he thought he would have, and that was the first thing he said to him. on a dime, only a moment to react before he was finally able to process what was happening and who exactly was standing before him. humor on the spot. the thought of it now makes him cringe, nevermind that the response leon gives matches: i’m better than. never had something been truer. “ yes you are. ”

he can’t imagine what he’s been through in these four agonizing decades, but he can tell that they were exactly that: agonizing. he can see it in his eyes when he looks at him, certainly not everything but enough. enough that it casts dark shadows behind his eyes. could feel it in his shoulders too, when he impulsively went to embrace him after guiding him into his home. clear as day. forty years weren’t kind to him. they weren’t. it burns something in of him, and maybe it’s kind of pointless coming from him, that he feels a blinding rage that it happened to leon, that there was nothing he could do for him. couldn’t help him, drag him out of it. certainly not for the lack of trying but it was already too late by then.

payback came back without him, and it took everything he had to stay upright. he fell for it at first, sometimes he can’t believe that he did. but that was the thing about grief, its blinding. worse still when its the heaviest he’d felt in years. losing leon felt like someone had ripped a lung from his body and went for the heart next. it was excruciating and exhausting, and it created a hole that even now, even knowing what he does, with the man standing in front of him, ragged and dirty but alive, hasn’t healed. its raw and open still. and maybe it always will be, regardless of leon marshalls presence in the aftermath of that "loss."

sign number one that he should have taken was that payback, every one of them, returned with false sorrow and shit excuses. he just … died. we got ambushed and none of us could get to him on time. i tried … we all tried, but it wasn’t enough. “greatest company of heroes,” they claimed to be and not a single one of them was competent enough to look out for the one person that actually mattered. they came home and avoided eye contact, made various statements, wore black to a quickly arranged funeral and one of them even put on quite the performance with the tears and the wavering voice during the eulogy. but there was no mourning. no remorse. they stuck together like a pack in silence and moved on like nothing ever happened, like they weren’t missing a vital piece. sometimes it seemed like they were even happy that he was gone.

that was when he knew. at least that it wasn’t what they said it was. they had everything to do with it, which meant the company did too. edgar. all of them. they buried him somewhere, somehow, and then made a mess of the cleanup. shiloh spent months untangling the web he’d caught himself in; learning of the lies and who they paid off too keep silent. but that was as far as he got. they shut him out after that; someone probably caught him poking around and asking the right questions, limited the access he had that led back to leons disappearance. they stopped him from finding him. he fought it though, tooth and nail for as long as he could. he fought it until be barely had anything left to fight with: it was the same answer every time, the same conclusion, brought him back to the same people that hadn’t talked to him before. some of those people were dead the next time he came around.

he should have tried harder. fought longer.

he knows better than to offer, even silently, any kind of pity. knows better than to let it show on his face, biting his tongue when the other man grabs his arm to anchor perhaps both of them, when his other hand mirrors shilohs and cups his cheek. first time in forty years he’s touched him and all at once it feels like the first. warmth floods his chest, melts him through to his core, and he can almost begin to feel the weakness in his knees like some fool. he missed his touch, craved it. immediately it is everything and not enough.

i was a little tied up, he says. shiloh can’t help but realize how literal it likely was. the truth dressed in humor. but he moves on from it quickly, not a moment to allow himself to get stuck on the reality that was, instead goes on: i’m also parched. ravenous.

food. right. more than that too, he can tell. but essentials first. letting him clean up, eat, drink. then sex, and that knowing causes pools of warmth to spread through his belly. remarkable that after all this time, in face of this, leon marshall still has such a firm grasp of every fiber of his being.

“ right, of course, ” as much as he doesn’t want to step away, he must. but shiloh does grab his hand, one that rests over his cheek, and guides him to the kitchen. fills a glass with water and slides it across the counter to him. “ i can just double my order. unless you want something specific? ”

continued. @antisupe.

the way he doesn’t remember much after rounding the corner,  stereo had long since ended it’s song;   the trigger,   escape,  escape,  escape.   it’s the hair-pin trigger being yanked straight from a grenade,   in this case :  a nuclear bio-weapon capable of destroying entire structures with a simple momentary build-up—   to think what he could do if it really built-up,  if it was properly directed.   his blocked vision returns,   and the damage is done.  malachite hues frantically dart scanning for anyone that possibly could’ve survived,  upon the wreckage.   his helmeted self stood next to him,  nail file in hand,  filing them down,   “yeah,  we did that.  should’ve finished us off when they had the chance.”   his mirage stops,  turns his hand up to look at his finished handiwork.  leon waves him away and with same trembling hand he reaches down to pick up the duffel bag,  slinging it back over his shoulder.

“oh— come on, don’t be that way.”   helmeted self echoes in his head,  “we don’t know who they were,  statically specifically at least one of those men was beating his wife…”   as if by some miracle that made it all okay.  he ignored himself,  ignored the dark parts of his thoughts and   SOLDIERED on.   his teenage self soon appears,   “we didn’t mean to hurt them right?  just like we didn’t mean to hurt matthew?”    ghost-like, “of course we didn’t mean to hurt them.”   helmeted, “speak for your fucking self,  they might’ve deserved it.”     “  fucking STOP!  FIVE MINUTES PEACE!”     𝙲𝙰𝙿𝚃𝙰𝙸𝙽 𝚅𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷𝚃  erupts aloud,  causing if only just a minute glance in his direction from another pedestrian.

another few steps,  he scratches at his beard,    “we’re walking in circles,  don’t tell me we’ve already forgotten its a grid….”  helmeted self calls after him,  trailing,   ghost-like shoves the other,  “we have not forgotten,  this is shiloh warrens building.”   “oh….. rejection,  attachment,  weakness.”   leon stops finally,  after many circles around the building at the front of it.    an inhale that inflates his chest before releasing it out.  his mirages had found purchase expectantly sitting on the front stoop of the building and he sits in his ass right into his ghost-like self that morphs into him.   helmeted self snarls and dissipates.   both hands move to cover his face,  finger tips reaching through wild locks,  scratching lightly at his own scalp.   “we might as well, we risked being spotted. it’d be a shame to waste it if he was still here,    if he missed us.”  that is if he wasn’t involved,  “we have no where else to go.”

jaw clenches,  and his hands drop and he rises from the stoop,  if @nonsupe​ rejects me then I’ll know.    courage, dear heart, courage.   leon yanks the door open past the moment,   body passes the mailbox inside labeled    𝑊𝐴𝑅𝑅𝐸𝑁  and onto the six flights of stairs.      ６Ｆ      hand in sort of a make-shift rises,   stays a good distance from the door.  ghost-like,  bald head as he adjusts the beanie back on his head,  then gestures to the door.  helmeted now stands opposite,  arms crossed leaning against the wall, tapping his foot expectantly again.    he knocks on the door.

next:

he remembers the day he disappeared vividly.      another metal spike driven into his heart,     right through the back:   never saw it coming.     a heaviness in the air when the rest of payback returned without him,      the typical scripted bullshit they fed the public every time one of their precious heroes disappear under any circumstances or even died had been parroted by each member of that stupid team until it became repetitive.      they each played the mournful eyes,      faked their desire to want to find answers only to ultimately do nothing when they came back to the tower,      sat in their useless fucking chairs and twiddled their damn thumbs like a vital piece of them wasn’t missing;   like they hadn’t just played a whole nation   –   no,     it was worse than that,     they played the whole world into the palm of their hands,      remorse poured in from across the globe and it didn’t stop for months.

but shiloh took it the hardest of all of them.      a grief that dark hadn’t struck him for decades,      not since the passing of his mother.      and it hadn’t truly settled into his bones until it was very clear that no effort,      nothing at all,      was being taken by vought or anyone else within that cursed tower to bring him home.      it would be a suicide mission even trying,      someone said.      the best we can do is hope it was quick,     said another.     but the worst had been:   he’s gone and he’s not coming back.      and those were told directly to his face,      not even an ounce of sympathy or pain or regret.      they’d moved on while the world still held out hope,      while shiloh did.      he can’t really be gone,      they’re lying to you and you know it,      he’d attempted to convince himself;   the same night he found some liquor tucked away in the cabinets of leons suite.      he poured two glasses out of habit,      out of respect,      to mourn.      the liquid burned going down but it was his only release from that stupid bleeding heart in his chest that was still beat,      beat,      beating in his fucking chest when he didn’t even know if leon was still alive.      another glass,     then came the anger:   vision tunneling black when he knocked the second glass of expensive whiskey off the counter and sent it flying violently across the room,      shattering onto the floor.      the other is smashed down under his hand when he set it down too hard,   shards of glass stabbing into palm of his hand and drawing only the tiniest bit of crimson.      he doesn’t even feel it,      another thing they’ve stolen from him.      “   you better not be fucking gone.   ”      he muttered,      certainly before he crossed the suite and picked each of the pieces of glass from the floor and cleaned up the whiskey.      wasteful,      he could hear him say.      and it makes him smile just a little bit for only a few seconds,     then it was back to drinking.      drinking until that bottle was gone.      still two glasses poured.

and one could argue he never moved on.      he was always looking,      turning over the pieces he could reach his hands into,      bits of information that turned out were useless without another piece he would never find.      some things in vought he knows he will never see,      will never know of,      will remain in the dark until the very last second or until it becomes a fucking issue that he needs to suddenly contain.      that was life at vought:   half the fucking details and shit for explanations.      king takes pawn.

but it never stopped him.      never would.      he tried,      best as he could with what little he’d scrounged around for,      nevermind how little it actually meant in getting him closer to finding out the truth about leon marshall.      he did try and he’s still trying.      they’ll have to kill him to get him to stop,      and they’re not prepared to do that.      not yet.

knock at his front door is unsurprising   —   mostly because he’d ordered food a little while ago,      though its unusually fast.      shiloh rises from his seat on the couch and goes to the door,      pulls it open and then…   

him.      you.      leon.     shiloh blinks at him,     the words lost as he takes in the man standing before him:   wild and dirty.      a beard has grown in place of that familiar stubble,      long hair that touches his eyebrows,      he looks very much unlike the man he was when he left and promised to be back.          “   you’re not my takeout.   ”          really ?      thats the best you can do ?      before anything else can be said,      shiloh reaches out to him and tugs him close to embrace him.     second nature when he noses into the crook of his neck.      a long moment,      maybe a little too long,     before he releases him and instead takes his hand to guide him into the loft and closing the door behind him.      

tears have welled in his eyes in those moments,   finally he halts and he reaches to him once more,      fingertips gently caress his cheek.          “   what the fuck-   you…      you’ve been gone for so long,      i–.   ”          what does one say to a lover who has been gone for forty long years ?

next:

leon should’ve seen it, it should’ve been top on his list of things he actively paid attention to. however, his attention span with vought had been dwindling in those years;   it feels wrong of him to have assumed he’d get to RETIRE as if it was a normal nine to five job. perhaps it was the promise of that,  the hope that one day he’d be able to stop when he wanted. but he knows it wasn’t wrong of him,  it’s something frederick had advocated to him though all of it seems like such a distant memory,  a dream that lingers in the back of his mind.  did he actually mean it or had it been some other way to placate him into the falsehood of it all.   he wasn’t a superhero,  at least he didn’t feel that way.  within the war,  he did what he had to do,  what any good man would have done,   any good man did.  WAR HERO. MURDERER.  two sides of the same coin,   heads  &  tails both make up all that is 𝙲𝙰𝙿𝚃𝙰𝙸𝙽 𝚅𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷𝚃. somewhere, somehow he probably deserved what happened to him. he remembers the feeling he got when he finally came to in the helicopter,  head tilted towards the open sliding door—  the rotating of the blades calming in a way he didn’t think was possible something to focus on instead of the way he couldn’t move,  couldn’t find the strength. unless the comfort of a distraction was no more until it was the cold slab of the metal table,  until the only comfort was that maybe there’d be a longer stretch where no one would touch him.

 at some point he stopped truly fighting,  stopped trying to escape and took whatever they did to him in stride.  not until a day of heightened emotions brought to light the abilities that had formed due to the radiation.  one of the men,  holding his chin rather aggressively,   assault rifle aimed once again,   jammed right into his mouth;   had become such a past time,  no doubt because it was amusing to them each and every time.  with a single tear down the side of his cheek,   he squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the inevitable piercing sounds of the gun, the bullets ricocheting inside of him.  however,  that moment never comes this time, instead the rifle falls away slipping from his mouth.   hand of the other man from his chin as well,  feeling his head droop before picking itself back up and blinking up to the two men as they dry-heaved with crimson coming on the upchuck before they dropped dead.  the sight and feel of relief was enough to cause a build-up in his chest, which melted away the straps around his wrists and across the center of his torso.  the shock of it was enough to keep him from the escape that could’ve been granted to him.  it was the moment in time,  he remembers as the only time they had ever moved him while he was conscious enough to form sentences if he had chosen to speak.  memory rings of the crunch of snow beneath his bare feet,  the windchills had it not been for the compound v within him would’ve cause frost-bite to set in. a showcase of his power,  the capacity at which he could draw power before the world around him was an enclosed space.

The feeling he gets isn’t too foreign,   doubt,   doubt in everything he does.  It’s a self-esteem thing he thinks somewhere in his mind;  doubt that even if he knocks on this door that shiloh will no longer want him.  the passage of exact time is unknown at least clearly in his mind.   he knows it’s been decades because time marches on,  the world keeps turning—   people move on.   unrealistic to believe that shiloh hadn’t found anyone in that time,  even for a little.  though his brain also believes that even if he had,  the feelings would never be as strong unless they were for him.  it’s the doubt,   the lack of self esteem swirling with the pompous arrogance that keeps his head swimming   &   his feet itch to flee from this situation entirely.

knock on the door comes and he’s stronger than he thought he’d be in the moment, was for sure certain he wouldn’t end up standing tall and proud here in the door-way,  when it opens. shiloh looks almost exactly the same as when he’d left for the mission he hadn’t returned from.    the only unmistakable difference was the soft creases in his brow,  the developing crinkles at the corners of his eyes though he think it’s more of what he had to deal with at vought than actual age but he knows while physically the younger man hadn’t aged.  leon knows his appearance shows his own age however not in the complete traditional way. the shoes upon his feet a tad bit too big,  russian cathedral dirtily cast over the center of his torso.   his hair reaches his eyes causing him to peer through his bangs,  beard stretching down beyond the simple stubbled beard he’d had when he’d first gone.    you’re not my take-out.   the older man can’t help but let out a chuckle,   “  I’m better than. ”  which he isn’t too keen on how accurate that statement is—-    he could really go for some take-out himself,  so maybe he retracts that statement a little in his mind.

however,  no words follow as he’s very soon embraced.  his body stiffens as if adjusting to the foreign action,  something he wishes would never be foreign to him.  but it takes him a minute to allow his shoulders to relax down,  to have his arms come around,  ghosting over shilohs clinging form until they finally come around and they stand like that over the threshold for what seems like an eternity, not that leon would have any complaints but he’s pulling back not long after him settling.   with hand traveling down his arm, over the filthy sleeve of the track jacket to reach his fingertips and pull him into the loft to shut the door.  duffel is half dragged  –  half lifted,  set down with the clink of his chest piece connecting with his shield within.  leon stands,  gazing around the room at the mixture of what could be retro furniture mixed in modern day electronics and other furniture.

it’s hard to focus on shiloh crowding his space, to the tears welling in his eyes until hand is brought up to the beardless part of his cheek,  that is when his gaze is upon the younger man.  arm is brought up and he takes hold of shilohs arm, the one that leads to the fingertips upon his cheek,  brings his other hand up to cup others cheek,    “ yeah. ”    an exhale through his nose,  pressing an inhale and exhale visibly seen with his broad chest.  “  I was a little tied up.  ”  ever the humor that strikes with his deep voice,  which still sounds like mild croaks with the disuse of his voice.   “   I’m also parched,  ravenous.  ”  hopefully hint was taken,   water, food,   sex.

[nonsupe]

" our jobs are a far cry from being easy, aren't they? " more alike than some would give credit for, than he wanted to at first. but they go hand in hand: one of them teaching mindless wannabe's how to market favorable supes to public eye, the other cleaning up the mess their charge would leave in their wake to make sure its maintained, that vought and co. maintain good standing to the outside world. supes can do no harm, after all. right? give and take.

a cigarette is lifted to his lips and he takes a long drag, the smoke falling as he speaks, " keep them clean, keep them from burning the whole fucking city to the ground. one shit show after another. " @gadflies, ♡

[nonsupe]

" you don't exactly have a trust worthy face. " shiloh wants to assume that the words "not here" were omitted by accident. but in the long run, he may be right. times have changed since the cold war, people have become far more skeptical and paranoid. some people won't look at him and see a man they can entrust secrets to, regardless of how high or mediocre the stakes are. leon though ... he has a face that people trust. he's familiar. shiloh is a shadow crawler, a man that does not and cannot exist. with @antisupe people are more likely to feel at ease and to trust him with something valuable. he has some experience with that.

the smile is near impossible to fight though he does manage, barely, if only for appearance when he looks him in the eye, no emotion reflected in his own when question is asked, " are you saying that i'm scary? " could be true for many people, but ...

" i think that depends on who you are and what you're trying to hide. " and which side he leans on. in the past it was clearer. now? now he plays both just to have an upper hand in what comes next. the aftermath he'd see at the end of the day. " i knew some people that would be inclined to agree with you once... course that was after i had their state secrets. "

[nonsupe]

i do. usually that answer doesn't swell something in him akin to pride. his guise is to be trusted, that's how he worms his way in. but its different with her, has been since the start. she trusts him completely, its there behind her eyes when she looks at him and as she smiles. its unwavering in a way thats staggering, to have it does something unexplainable to him. there's a warmth that comes with it that isn't familiar, but feels welcoming nonetheless. " good. "

something like that they can't take away, not easily. they can say what they want about him, create their own narrative, use one scare tactic after the next, warning her of the potential dangers that accompany him, true or not and it wouldn't matter. she knows the truth.

then question is returned to him: do you trust me? the instinctive answer is a resounding no. but it comes from that part of him that demands he be ready for anything, including a brutal betrayal. given the history of vought itself as the company and the people within it, it was better to play it safe. he wouldn't be the only person they fucked over if it came down to it. watch your back out here because you're the only one who can. you know the signs. he gives it a long moment, watching her before he finally finds the voice to speak his answer. quietly, " explicitly. "

she's told him what she'd been told — though, of course, she'd come to her own conclusions. it was them ( that horrible amorphous them. scientists behind masks and googles that poked and prodded you to the verge of death ) that she didn't trust. but her words don't seem to cut him, and they hadn't been intended to harm. he seems to bite back something of a smile, if she didn't know better. it makes him look handsome.

❛ i didn't, ❜ she agrees, now her own lips curving up against the desire to hide any sort of response that may give her away. ( give what away, you're not too sure ). it's only when he smiles that she allows the same curve to her own exhausted lips. she gives him a singular nod, lips quirking to the side in some girlish, pleased expression. ❛ i do. ❜ yes, they needed one another — ( you need him more than he needs you, you think ) — but she found herself erring on the side of want, rather than need. ❛ do you trust me ? ❜

[nonsupe]

" there  …  there you are.   i see you now. " she says it as if she peered through a window to his soul, searched beyond what she holds between both of her hands and found what little there is after the mask, the outward shell he created many years ago to stand in place of what lies beneath. to protect or cage it, that still isn't clear.

" do you? " the smile that appears to his lips doesn't feel real, doesn't feel as genuine as he hopes it might. he asks with both curiosity and the grain of uncertainty that exists only to him: 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙰𝙼 𝙸 ? what is he supposed to be? depending on when someone could have voiced a similar question to him, the answer would vary. a child, a soldier, a shell of a boy that had been hollowed both by grief and anger. a test subject. now? he's not sure there will ever be an answer.

but what does @firedblanks see? what lies beneath the fragments of shiloh warren now? which of those fragments exist only to him that she did not see -- cannot see as she looks at him the way she does and always has, holding pieces of him together without so much as a grimace when they might slice open a broken piece of her as she tried to fit hers with his.

" are you sure? "

[nonsupe]

@v0ughtsfirst, i can’t find my room  &  i need a fucking cigarette .

he should have gone home. his home. where he knows the bed or at very least the couch. where he knows he can't be watched like he were a mouse playing into a trap ready to snap its prey. don't get him wrong, this place is decent enough. its outfitted to be comfortable, accommodated to his needs and requests -- or at least most of them. but still he doesn't feel any sense of ease, there is no essence of home here in this fucking tower. city lights glimmer in the distance when he looks out the window and while the view is the same as he's always had, the same he can see from his own place, it still feels different. but its easier to stay here when he's on the job, easier for him to watch out for leon if he's close by. just a couple doors down in fact, at least temporarily. until they cleaned out the suite at the top they essentially used as storage for years after him, added a few new features to it that were simply a must for leon upon his "miraculous return." if you're going to make them beg to have you back then you may as well do it right.

until then he's stuck here. they both are. the idea has crossed his mind about bringing leon into his home, where at least they could both share far more privacy than this tower has ever known. but the logistics of getting him out of this forsaken place without someone asking too many goddamn questions about where he'll go, when he'll be back, the nonsensical works that has become this company; the thought of even sneaking him out of here with as many eyes and ears on him now is laughable, even for someone like either of them with such a skillset. they are truly stuck here.

but here shiloh can offer some sense of familiarity, maybe even some sense of peace to him should he need it. and sure enough, he was right to do so because in the end he does. he lets himself in, doesn't knock -- not that he needs to. he never needs to. he knows he's more than welcome to let himself in at any hour, for any reason. i can't find my room, he'd said, and i need a fucking cigarette.

so many things have changed and he can't even begin to imagine what it must be like for him. to come back and all that you've known has completely changed...

" well, you've found mine, " and before another word is said, he's reaching to grab the pack of cigarettes from the coffee table, pulling two from the box and a lighter, gifting him one cigarette. " and you can join me for a smoke. "

[nonsupe]

glad all this time hasn't skewed your judgement. " not a chance. " there are a thousand questions he wants to ask him, a thousand things he wants to say but bites his tongue. he needs time before all else, room to settle and breathe. the world is all together different and the same since he last saw of it, and he can't begin to imagine the toll that takes, even if minute in comparison to everything he'd been through. its one card stacked on top of the other in a fragile game waiting for the inevitable. forty years is a long time. stuck in a hellscape he couldn't get out of, it does something to the mind and shiloh has already heard the news of one break.

it wasn't his fault. none of it was his fault. everything that happened and will happen is on vought as a company, stan edgar, the individual members of payback and them alone. they have no idea whats coming for them. all in due time. there are things they have to take care of first, things shiloh has to take care of. namely him, leon. who takes steps cautiously after shiloh had taken his hand and led him to the kitchen. i won't hurt you, i could never hurt you, he wanted to say. deep down he's sure he already has.

he didn't find him. there are years worth of documents scattered in his office, newspaper clippings from every source he could get his hands on that held frankly zero leads but gave him a hope in earlier years; articles with theories and hundreds of satellite pictures of a frozen tundra, buildings circled in blood red ink and still, in spite of all of that, he never came. he doesn't even know if he came close. vought was good about burying certain secrets they never wanted to see the light of day again, most especially this one.

and it almost doesn't feel real, he hates that perhaps the most. that at any moment he swears that he'll wake up in the darkness of his home and there will be a familiarly empty space next to him: cold beckoning. he doesn't want this moment to end. he doesn't want to wake up.

double the order, he said and shiloh can only kind of laugh. it takes only a few clicks on his phone and its done, tucked away into his pocket when he's finished downing his water and already asking for something stronger. to which shiloh smiles and holds a finger up to him. i have just the thing. back turns to him for only a second, reaching above the fridge to pull down a saved bottle of scotch. a leon marshall favorite. " remember this? " a glance over his shoulder to him. he's still there. he's real. shiloh grabs two glasses on his way back to him, sets both on the counter and cracks it open. " i saved this after ... " after you disappeared, after i thought you were never coming back. steadily he pours leons glass first, then his own and sets the bottle between them. " for a rainy day. or a special occasion. "

it had been deadpan, the way he’d responded to shilohs first words after decades had passed between them.    𝗬𝗢𝗨'𝗥𝗘 𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗠𝗬 𝗧𝗔𝗞𝗘-𝗢𝗨𝗧, but something told leon that given the choice between take-out and this reunion that splayed between them, the other man would’ve chosen this—— this very moment.  because frankly leon would’ve chose it as well, especially with the agreement that yes he was indeed better than any take-out shiloh would get in the previous lifetime, in this lifetime and the lifetimes beyond it however many there end up being. the moment felt like no time had passed, like he hadn’t stepped out of what essentially had been a time capsule, like he was just coming home from the   ‘ routine ’ mission it was supposed to have been. “ glad all this time hasn’t skewed your judgement. ” and those are the reminder words that snap him back to the reality in front of them.

leon could feel shiloh’s chocolate eyes upon him, and he isn’t sure if the other man was waiting for an explanation as to why he’d been gone so long. then it dawned on him, shiloh probably knew, not the details but that vought had something to do with it—— they always had something to do with something. it was something leon held within his mind, ever since frederick vought died, the father of compound v, the company would never look out for his, for shiloh’s, for anyones well-being. that much had been evident when he’d found out vought had been behind his ‘death’, when he’d seen stan edgar standing up in that window on his special training grounds in russia. for that moment he thought the novichok and everything else they had been pumping into his veins had finally made him completely insane.

he doesn’t even want to think about kenneth baker his imposter, the rest of payback, how they’d put on the crocodile tears. doesn’t want to think about how they’d constructed multiple memorials in his honor only to be the ones responsible for it, orchestrated for months. if voughts first and golden boy wasn’t safe, it truly meant anyone under the companys thumb was too. somewhere along the span of time, it had become less and less about ‘doing what was right’ and more about how much money they could make, how much their companys empire could grow. and it seemed shiloh had become subdued to it, not that leon exactly blamed him for it. the lesson not to speak against vought, was learned perhaps at his ‘death’.   leon was glad the other man was there, standing before him, seemingly physically unharmed. he doesn’t know how much his anger would hold if he had returned and the one person he could trust  (loosely) was no longer breathing.

from what legend told him, bits of pieces that he didn’t care to take too much to heart because the older man was a pathological liar afterall, payback was no longer team. in fact, they’d somehow dropped in ratings which had made him snort. while leon had remained high in ratings even after all those years, no matter how much of him vought tried to bury—— they’d still wanted to make money off of him. typical. it also had been a big risk of him to show up there, considering his explosive exit from his captivity back in russia. but the moment he’d learned about where his actual ‘relics’ ; his shield, his eagle-headed knife, his helmet, the complete package of his suit, that was the end of his interaction with all people of his former life until this very moment.

when it came to payback, he had and still was infuriated, when it came to anything vought he was infuriated. at one point in time, he’d been infuriated with everyone in his life, including shiloh. It was hard not to think of EVERYONE else as the enemy when no one came for him—— strapped to that table naked, the most vulnerable he had ever felt,   ( save for the time he had to wait three days before his legs grew back, but the situation had been entirely different,  there were people he could rely on ). on that cold table, taking whatever they decided to do to him that day, wishing so desperately that he could go home;    if the iv wasn’t such a high dose, if he hadn’t have felt so powerless. those moments were perhaps the ones where he was the most scared, considering the varying change in the way he was before compound v, bruising so easily   to being the strongest man in the world. but standing here before shiloh, he wondered why he even grouped the man with the rest of them in the first place. 

there was visible sadness etched behind the other man’s chocolate eyes he sought to hide, and leon knew there was an echoed sadness behind his. but it’s there, and he knew it was because he’d spent fighting alongside the other man, the soft way his heart raced when leons dirty hand found it’s way to cradle shilohs face. he allowed his thumb to brush over his cheek, no words uttered because he was afraid he’d sound unsure of him, of the moment he was reading between them. shiloh loved him there hadn’t been any doubt beyond what happened prior. he hadn’t flinched away from his touch but felt like he moved closer to that touch. and what leon felt back upon his own cheek, shilohs rough hands with the most reverent touch he’d had in over multiple decades. no, he didn’t wish to speak because there would’ve been a crack to his voice.

instead, they lingered like that in disbelief of each other when finally leon had spoken. humor, clipped phrases almost to disguise himself, to keep the appearance; calm  &  collected. he had to be reasonable with this but he’d also been hoping that shiloh would catch on to the double entendre implicated with his   ravenous. because food wasn’t the only thing his body was craving. he hadn’t even touched himself since he’d escaped, hadn’t allowed himself a moment to spare for it not without footing in this strange new land, yet still the same.

the awkwardness was not missed from the other man, but in-fact when it reared it’s head, leon had often been too amused by it to tease him,  this time was no exception. shiloh stepped away, let his hand fall from leons bearded cheek. other hand came up to take leons own hand away from shilohs cheek. he could fight it, stick close to the door just in case shiloh had become a good actor in his feelings,  however, he doesn’t. dirty sneakers squeak as he shuffled after the other man being lead deeper into the apartment.

hand now rested upon the counter, things were different yet still the same. the same counter where he fucked the other man senseless,   the different appliances and products residing there in the kitchen.  the same hands that now gathered a glass with water and slid it over.  his hand lifted to catch the glass as it glided across the counter. from the tap, otherwise he knew he would’ve questioned it.  his finger circled the rim of the glass, he shrugged…. “ double the order. ” before lifting the glass to his lips and downing the whole thing in almost record time. It’s placed back on the counter, “ you got anything fucking stronger?     ”

[nonsupe]

it was one disaster after another,      bad news piling on by the second.      first it was this job:   neither of them wanted to do it.     some asshole politician in need of a rescue after getting his hands too dirty and reaching too far into a damning abyss,    suddenly needing help from the very people he actively worked against in his every day job,      the very people he despised.     certainly kept no secrets with his distrust and disdain for supes,     even now when they come to his aid in the middle of this godforsaken jungle in the middle of the night.      shiloh could hear some of the bullshit he spews from the open channel they've used to keep in a constant communication   (   at least that was the idea.      there were times that maintaining it was a struggle,      and it certainly doesn’t help that leon is still new to the tech   ),     their less than pleasant company going on and on.      he’s sure he caught something about how supes were the things wrong in this world,     that they’re freaks and falsehoods to evolution;    maybe even used the word abomination a few times.     shiloh is miles away from leon and still somehow he could feel his blood boiling, and his own begins to simmer under his skin,      feeds the temptation to speak his own choice words to their ungrateful rescue.    and while its not an easy restraint, already felt teeth biting into his tongue, shiloh knows he must maintain a certain sense of professionalism regardless of personal feelings.      leon is a big boy,      he’ll handle himself.

then, to make matters worse,      there was a change in plans to their method of extraction.      was supposed to be a helicopter drop,      twenty seconds max to get them on board and the hell out of dodge,      but there was too much ground fire that interfered with that plan,      so much that it took their bird out of the sky completely;   fiery explosion seen over the tall mountaintops.      which meant leon had to suffer on foot with their less than fortunate friend and shiloh simply had to hope that he made it through the thick jungle alive with the fucking mouth he had.     this is why supes never fucking work.     you’re all walking targets.     civilians or our military personnel get anywhere fucking near you and they drop dead from a bullet meant for you people.      and on and on and on ....

“   get a load of this guy...   ”     one of the other men said from behind shiloh and he doesn’t have to look back at him to know that he’s shaking his head,      his own disdain in his voice.      “   son’uva bitch should be grateful he’s even out there for ‘im.      he knows who he’s bitchin’ to right ?   ”      an open question and shiloh simply sighs,      adjusting the gear over his shoulders as he rests against the hood of their armored car.          “   he knows.   ”      too well.

minutes turned to hours,  beginnings of twilight as the suns rays reach over the horizon.     he knows they’re close now,     and that patience and calm is running incredibly thin;   leon keeping their position updated from time to time:   eta on the minute mark.      and when they did finally come through the thick trees and into sight,      it was another relief to see that he hadn’t yet lost his cool in spite of how relentless the other had been and continues to be even as he’s finally in the safety of one of the most important supes and another powered individual.      running his mouth as they both kept moving forward,     but the last thing he says,     shiloh isn’t quite sure what it was   --   busy giving updates on extraction to command,      but suddenly the calm and patience was gone and it all erupts in an instant.

the moments blur together from when leon nearly grappled the other man,      an indistinct shouting of a thousand and one things that he had wanted to say to the other but were bitten back the entire time,      followed by more shouting from the others that accompanied them.      a few of them put their might into pulling their priority one rescue away from leons hands, and shiloh had put himself in the middle of it all.     immediately in front of @antisupe​,     almost like he read his mind,      like he saw the snap before it happened and was prepared,     shoving with all his might the stronger man backwards.     and when that wasn’t enough,      he used all of him instead,      wrapping his arms around him and pulling him further away.

“   hey !      he’s not worth it      ...      he’s not worth it,      marshall.   ”          he manages to get between the others words.          “   let it go.      its done,      he’s done.      let it go.   ”

[nonsupe]

god save me this was the worst part.

[peacespun]

there was something amusing about watching someone scramble, to look him in the eyes or watch his unchanging expression as they went on. ashley wasn't much of a bumbling idiot like the others are, he'll give her that, but there is still something amusing about watching her try to recover grounds of authority. shiloh has put over seven decades of work into this place but easily the most fun he'd had in watching someone squirm in their newly found seat of acting power was with her.

i just wish that things could be a bit cleaner, she says. his chin lifts slightly and corner of his lip turns in a half smile. " if you're worried about it getting back to you, don't. " that's not the plan. not yet. " i'm far better at my job than that. anything cleaner would've been too easy and, frankly, more suspicious than what had been done. " tie in gambling debts with a few meticulously placed encrypted files with damning evidence, then watch as different agencies crack down on at least half a dozen people who quickly become number one suspects, this company and her among the very last of them.

" you do this long enough and you learn to get creative. one day you'll do the same. " he says, fishing a lighter from his inside pocket. and just as he's about to strike it, he catches her expression. there is uncertainty in her gaze, and after a moment he decides that she's fighting a craving. it feels like her eyes are on the cigarette more than him. or, in her new found seat and something to do with rules, is about to tell him not to smoke in the building. either way, there is a moment he considers offering her one. he is still a gentleman when he wants to be. his turn to quirk a brow, reaching back into his pocket for the pack and placing it upon the desk, sliding with index closer to her. " but right now, your hands are clean. "

          SHIT,  ASHLEY  THOUGHT  AS  SHE  PUSHED  A  FEW  STRANDS  OF  HAIR  OUT  OF  HER  FACE.  Shiloh,  unlike  most  of  the  people  she  worked  with,  wasn't  an  idiot.  her  passive  aggressive  smile  and  small  hmmms  and  hufffs,  didn't  slip  past  him.  He  could  read  the  room.  She  supposed  that  was  a  skill  one  would  want  in  a  man  like  him.  Competent  and  able  to  read  a  room.

          ❝ I  appreciate  your  work,  I  really  do, ❞  the  beginning  of  a  compliment  sandwich.  ❝ I  just  wish  that  things  could  be  a  bit  cleaner. ❞  But  really  what  was  clean  about  murder  or  espionage ?  Still,  Ashley  worried  about  things  getting  back  to  Vought  and  her.  ❝ But  I  know  you're  the  best  there  is. ❞  So  what  more  could  she  really  ask  of  him ?

          Ashley  raised  a  brow  at  the  cigarette  in  his  hand,  and  pursed  her  lips.  She  was  caught  between  telling  him  not  to  smoke  inside  and  asking  to  for one.  She  missed  smoking,  bumming  cigarettes  was  a  way  to  approach  someone  at  a  bar  or  party.  it  added  to  the  moment,  the  warm  smoke  filling  your  mouth.  The  buzz  that  vibrated  through  your  whole  body.  and  then  finally  the  exhale,  a  small  shear  wall  that  dissipated  as  quickly  as  it  arrived.  Vaping  wasn't  the  same.