#actually wrote something bianca-centric yayyy!!

[our-future-is-up-to-us-2]

Chain Reaction

Kinda just posting fics on both Tumblr and AO3 now? It's fun <33 (I've posted WAY MORE on my AO3 tho, and I'm consistent there)

BUT BUT BUT IT'S ANOTHER DAY OF THE JACKAL FIC, YAYYYY!!!

PLEASE BEWARE THO. SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 8 ARE AHEAD. IF YOU DON'T WANNA BE SPOILED THEN DON'T READ THIS <3

Word Count: 878

Relationships: Bianca Pullman & Vincent Pyne

Warnings: Murder, blood, canon-compliant things related to episode 8 (which are triggering to most but I won't spoil)

~ Read the fic under the cut ~

“Hey, hey– Bianca. Listen to me. Listen to me, I swear to god, you’re ok!” 

The bathroom is cramped and she is shaking, trying to breathe again. She’s spinning out of control, and she hates every second. How the fuck does this happen?! And to her, of all people. 

It drives the knife right in. 

The images flash through her mind, unrelenting: Larry, there, in prison, actually talking to her, talking to her– And she swears she hears something rattling, but that could be anything, anywhere. And the poor guy scoffs at her and refuses her help, her genuine check-in on his life and wellbeing. 

Well, so much for a truly spoken apology. With her reputation, it doesn’t get her anywhere. 

It’s fair enough that Bianca Pullman, black, woman, MI6, is treated poorly. People look the other way. Most don’t expect someone like her at the investigative helm, and the rest don’t expect her to be this fucking ruthless. 

It’s in her nature, with what she’s surrounded by, and what she’s dealt with. 

This mission is worse than the last, though, by far. Her determination to track down The Jackal has led her to murdering a family, one by one. 

Emma was the first to fall. A cardiac arrest killed her, but who got her into police custody in the first place? 

Second was Alison, if she even remembers correctly. She remembers the clouds forming in the sky, grey and dismal, as they inspect the hotel where her body remained. 

“Yeah,” Bianca had said, “That’s Sparrow. My asset.” 

Not just an asset, a friend. But it doesn’t feel like that. 

She only fell thanks to Larry, and Larry wasn’t even the next one to go. 

Norman Stoke. The gunmaker. Right, he was a fine fellow. Taking his sweet time in Belarus, only to rush like the wind… Hosting The Jackal in his company, too. 

She wonders, in that moment, how people even become friends with an assassin. 

Someone killed Norman before they could get him to talk. She shudders at those dull tones that rattle through her skull, “ I don’t have the foggiest idea what you’re talkin’ about… ” 

And finally, Larry. Brothers to the end, they were. 

And he admitted it to Bianca, exactly what she’d done: The connections, she’d used Alison to get to Emma, and vice versa, and the same cycle with himself and Norman. 

That drove him to one place, a place she didn’t expect him to go. 

The rattling noise grew louder, until the man yelled something, and he was gone. 

‘Rattling noise’ was, of course, the cause of death. 

The blood is on her hands with that one, well and truly– 

“I’ve got you, Bianca.” Vincent has to repeat, “You’re in a fucking bathroom, with me, and nowhere else.” 

The MI6 agent gasps and rests a hand over her heart, hearing its erratic beats. She is alive. She is safe. Her best friend is here. 

“Fuck…” She whispers, tears blurring her vision, “Vincent, you don’t get it, I’ve got blood on my hands. Fucking blood! ” 

Vincent takes a deep breath, holding her hands tightly. He only does so because the blood has been washed away. Because Bianca stood at the sink and let the water run and did not remove her hands for thirty-odd minutes. 

“This job is difficult. It’s complicated as fuck, and you of all people would know that. I’ve never seen you this affected before.” His eyes narrow while his voice softens. 

She shakily nods her head, “I wonder why, Vince. Everything’s finally caught up to me, and I thought I’d fucking escape it! God!” 

“But you’ve dealt with the targets constantly. When you know nothing about them, you take hits, you do whatever is necessary, easy. When it’s your next-door neighbour, it’s harder. And then, imagine if it’s– I don’t know, your mum.” 

“ Bad example. ” Bianca hisses, giving his hands a forceful squeeze as though to punish him, “ Really bad example. And now I’m all out of shape, and it’s like I can’t go on.” 

“You can go on, though. I know you can. You nearly got shot the other week and took it like it was a regular Tuesday!”  

“Because it was a regular Tuesday, Vince, but this?! It’s hardly the same.” 

He lets go of her, gives her the distance she must be craving. The last thing that Bianca Pullman is, is touchy-feely. But Vincent knows her better than anyone, knows her limits and what is safe. 

“I’ve got something that might help.” He steps back towards the bathroom door, “What if I told you I had Alexander Duggan’s file in Conference Room Two?” 

Her eyes brighten as she looks down at her hands. They’re shaking, of course. She balls them into tight fists and sucks in a breath. 

“Don’t fuck around with me, Vince.” 

“No, I’m serious.” He says, “With Isabel and Osi, probably. We can always reschedule if you need more time. You’re entitled to more time.” 

“Fuck it.” She sighs, motioning her head towards the door, “You lead the way. Fucking need some advancement on this.” 

“To clear your head?” 

“Yes,” She hums, cracking a smile as he holds the door open for her, “Yes, to clear my head, mate. Why the fuck else?”