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vagrantblvrd · 5 years ago

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In from the Cold, (1/1)

Summary: The past couple of months have been busy for Ryan.

Notes: Prompt fill for Anon who asked for Freewood with flowershop owner and hitman/spy AU way back at the start of May. :D?

(Read on AO3)

The past couple of months have been busy for Ryan. Running back-to-back missions with operatives from allied agencies that took him all across the globe until a lucky bullet put him down for the count in Bangkok. Left him bleeding out in an alley until a Good Samaritan happened by and took him to a local clinic.

Everything after that was something of a blur until he woke up to Geoff by his bedside with his face in his hands.

Relatively new to the agency, but he looks like he’s been there since the beginning. Takes his agents’ welfare far more seriously than his predecessors ever did and Ryan knows he’s not alone in adjusting to the way things have changed since he was appointed. (No idea what to do with someone who cares.)

Tired and drawn-thin with orders for Ryan to stop fucking doing this to him because he’s an old man and getting older every time one of his idiots ended up at death’s door, fucking hell, Ryan.

Dramatic of him, but Ryan had taken his point.

Promised to be good, once they got him back stateside. Listen to what the medical professionals had to say and let himself heal up before he went out and did something insanely stupid again.

So here he is, puttering around his apartment that feels more alien to him than the hotel rooms and other assorted hovels he tends to live in on missions.

A bit on the dreary side of things, since he hasn’t had the time to put personal touches into the décor. Most of the plants that were gifted to him when he moved in from coworkers and friendly neighbors are dead.

Dry, withered things that make him wince at the sight of them because he’d meant to ask someone to check in on them for him, but things had gotten a little out of hand. Gone from infiltrating a posh gala to gather intel on suspect characters and ended with him teaming up with fellow agents to retrieve nuclear codes and it’s a long story. (Ends with betrayal in the rain and a bullet in his shoulder.)

“Well this is fantastic,” Ryan says, and the little stray staring at him through the window screen in his kitchen meows agreement.

Scrappy little thing, loves to sunbathe in the flower planter attached to the window frame and not at all scared of Ryan.

Won’t come any closer, but the food he leaves out for her on his balcony disappears like clockwork, and she’s no longer so scrawny he can see her ribs.

Small victories.

Ryan looks around.

Thin layer of dust everywhere and nothing feels like the home it’s meant to be. Place to go after the briefings and missions and reports, to remember how to be human.

“Okay,” he says to himself quietly. “Okay, I can do this.”

He can’t roll his sleeves up at the moment, because one, he’s not wearing a long-sleeved shirt, and two, one arm is in a sling, but.

Tackling a task like cleaning his home up and making it suitable seems like something where you’d do that.

Instead Ryan flips the baseball cap he’s wearing around and wades into things armed with a feather duster, garbage bags, and sheer determination.

========

“Oh dear God,” Ryan says, an hour into things, because he forgot about the food he left in the fridge, and it’s not a pretty sight at all.

========

Several hours and a shower later, and Ryan’s apartment is starting to look like someone lives there now and there are no things in the refrigerator.

He’s tired, pleasantly so. Sense of accomplishment and hunger gnawing at his belly that drives him out to the little grocery store on the corner for groceries.

Smiles at the little old lady who asks him to get something off a high shelf for her. Makes small-talk with the cashier as she rings him up. Feels more human as he walks home, feet slowing when he comes across a flower shop he doesn’t remember seeing before.

Quaint place with a sandwich board on the sidewalk in front of it advertising daily sales. Curious stand set up for passersby to pick up a free flower as a courtesy. Brightly colored things with a vial attached to keep them fresh for the trip home.

Ryan thinks about the houseplants he threw out earlier and the lingering guilt in the back of his mind at the waste. How lifeless his apartment feels without them, and chooses a deep red flower, somehow managing not to drop the bag of groceries he’s carrying as he does.

When he gets home he realizes he doesn’t have a vase for the flower and settles on a drinking glass. Sets it on his kitchen counter where he and the stray can see it and laughs at himself because it’s ridiculous, isn’t it.

Government agent (spy) like him, and a silly little flower (unnecessary, frivolous) in a glass on his kitchen counter and it feels nice.

He keeps glancing at it while he cooks dinner for himself while saving tasty tidbits for the stray, and wonders if the shop sells houseplants.

========

They do.

========

Ryan is...not a plant expert.

Has no idea what he’s doing, really.

Ends up browsing the plant selection along one side of the shop. Flowering houseplants and herbs and other things he doesn’t know the names of. Recognizes from seeing them on the desks of his fellow agents and support staff at work and wonders if he’d be able to keep any of them alive given his frequent trips.

He’s considering an odd looking succulent when someone bumps into him. Ryan stiffens, turns to face whoever it is, cold voice voice in the back of his head admonishing him for not paying attention to his surroundings. For forgetting. (It sounds like his former superiors, and leaves him unsettled.)

“Are you alright?”

The man who bumped into him is wearing a work apron with the shop’s name emblazoned across the front. A handwritten name tag that says “Gavin”. British accent and a wild shock of hair. Too-big nose and blue-green eyes.

Frown on his face as he looks Ryan over, checks to see if he’s alright since Ryan still hasn’t answered him. The apologetic smile on his face drops away to open concern when his gaze lands on Ryan’s sling.

“I’m fine,” Ryan says, smiles to back that claim up. “Don’t worry about it.”

Gavin’s frown deepens, as though he’s not entirely convinced, but he huffs out a little laugh along with another apology.

Notices the small succulent Ryan’s still holding and makes this little cooing noise.

At the plant.

“Oh, she’s a lovely one,” he says, looks up at Ryan with this smile. “Do you have any at home?”

Ryan isn’t sure what’s going on.

“Uh, no,” he says. The plants he’d been given were hanging plants and flowers. Nothing like this strange little plant. Looks a bit like aloe but with prominent white stripes. “But I’ve heard it’s supposed to be hard to kill.”

Might survive him and his absences, even.

Gavin grins, and Ryan’s sure he must get customers in here all the time who say something along the same lines.

“Do you have pets?” he asks, something Ryan hadn’t considered before.

Thinks about the little stray and the fact that fall is just around the corner, and cooler weather with it. Rain. Frost. Early snow, if last year was any measure.

“...Yes,” he says, even though he’s not sure the stray would agree with him.

Gavin doesn’t question it though, just turns to the plants on display on the low tables set out and selects another succulent. Fat little leaves growing in a rosette pattern, touches of color at their tips.

“You might want to try one of these,” he says, cheeky little sales pitch. “The one you’re holding is safe for pets, but this is another lovely one and also on the hard to kill end of things.”

Ryan considers the plant, short stubby thing, and realizes he’s more than a bit out of his depth here in more ways than one.

Looks up at Gavin, that little smile on his face like he knows, and sighs.

========

The stray’s curious today, pacing back and forth on the other side of the balcony kitchen window as Ryan contemplates the best arrangements of his new houseplants.

The zebra plant he was initially drawn to and several other succulents. A spider plant for the living room. Several others he’s worried will die in his care sooner or later, but Gavin had been so enthusiastic about them and Ryan -

Well.

He’s a weak, weak man at loose ends until his shoulder heals and Lindsay’s always telling him he needs hobbies, isn’t she? Things unrelated to work, something that will help him wind down after a stressful mission.

So.

Looks like he’s going to give plants a try, see if he can’t keep them alive long enough to count as an actual hobby and not an impulse buy.

“Fingers crossed, huh?” he asks, and gets a flatly unimpressed look from the stray.

Ryan laughs, and turns on the television to watch the news as he fusses with the plants. Frowns at a reporter looking solemn as they drone on and on about a string of jewelry store robberies and rise in unrelated break-ins and daring burglaries and the like over the last few months. Only thing of significant note the fact they take place around sunset.

No new leads but unusual for the city, local police concerned about the rise in crime asking viewers to call a hotline they’ve set up it they see any suspicious activity.

Ryan hums to himself, and spares the stray a glance when it lets out a plaintive cry.

“I don’t suppose you know anything about that, do you?”

Ryan’s odd sense of humor and an old, worn out joke involving cats and burglaries and honestly, part of the reason he gets along half as well as he does with his co-workers.

========

Ryan’s not completely off the hook when it comes to that last mission, no.

There are meetings and conferences. Investigations and Ryan tired and hurting and facing down official and legal counsel from their sister agency over their operative who’d gone rogue on them. Sold their country out for the guarantee of a cushy retirement somewhere tropical – Ryan’s never seen the appeal, all that sand – and done their level best to kill Ryan as well.

Didn’t seem to think the fact better people had tried and failed, thought they would finally be the one to succeed.

He gets Geoff’s tired sighs, aggravated noises in private before they face the long, exhausting spectacle of it all. His staunch support at his side while others are trying to tear apart Ryan’s accounts of events. Insist he’s lying, dragging a dead man’s name through the mud to cover his own wrongdoing as though Ryan wouldn’t be more clever about things.

Laughs to himself when he mentions that to Geoff over lunch one day, and gets to see the man choke on his salad, sputtered “Jesus Christ, Ryan, don’t say shit like that,” because spies and paranoia and Geoff’s a good man but also a naive bastard if he thinks Ryan’s enemies don’t already know that about him.

Lindsay and the others check in with him when he’s not facing an inquisition, text him random things they think he’ll find interesting or at least entertaining. Call him up to pick his brain over some technical snag or logistic problem with a mission still in its planning stages.

Strange little community, family they’ve become over the years due to the nature of their jobs and the bonds it creates. (Out of familiarity and necessity at first, although it became choice a long time ago.)

========

Ryan’s understandably wary about buying too much in the way or perishable foods in case he’s called away for work longer than expected after the Fridge Incident. Makes daily trips to the corner grocery store, which somehow ends up with him stopping by the flower shop on the way as well. (Picks up one of their free flowers to brighten his apartment up, add a little cheer.)

Gavin’s always happy to see him, comes over to talk if business is slow at the time. Ask after Ryan’s plants, helps him when one of them is doing poorly. Shares pictures of the strays that loiter in the alley behind the flower shop he’s trying to befriend and all the ridiculous names he’s come up for them when Ryan mentions the stray that’s adopted him in its own way.

Ryan’s not completely socially inept, but this is definitely different from charming a target or dealing with fellow agents and support staff. This is -

It’s kind of terrifying, because he’s startlingly fond of Gavin and his rambling nonsense. Little stories about his coworkers at the shop, people Ryan’s met in passing and always seem busy. Delivering orders to customers or handling events for clients, in and out all the time.

Leaves the two of them time to talk, and Ryan’s not sure if that’s a good thing or not.

(Unnecessary, frivolous, but.)

“Ryan!” Gavin’s smile lights up his face and Ryan -

Oh, he thinks a little helplessly. Oh, no.

========

Ryan is an idiot.

========

“I mean, yeah,” Geoff says, snatches the unopened can of diet soda from his hand. “You really are.”

Ryan’s not sure why Geoff’s here, poking around his modest apartment and stealing his diet soda, but here they are.

They’re not friends in the conventional sense, but there’s something more to it than their working relationship. Something that lets Geoff unwind in Ryan’s apartment, loosen his tie and kick his shoes off. Give Ryan this little smirk like maybe they are friends, and Ryan just hasn’t caught on yet.

“To be fair I don’t know what you're talking about? But you, Ryan. You are definitely an idiot.

Ryan sighs, getting up to take another can of diet soda out of his fridge. Watches Geoff sitting in his kitchen looking as relaxed as Ryan’s ever seen him. He’s got the newspaper Ryan picked up on his morning jog spread out in front of him, frowning over a news story concerning another jewelry store robbery. (Used to work for the FBI, according to the rumors, before Burnie lured him to the agency to make things right.)

“Thanks, boss.”

Geoff cackles, gestures to the kitchen window and the stray watching them through slitted eyes. Basking in the warmth of the late afternoon sun in its planter.

“When did you get a cat?”

Ryan shrugs.

“Hell if I know.”

He’s a dog person, but the damn thing has claimed Ryan’s planter as its own and climbs into his lap when he sits out on the balcony with a drink and book to read and what is he supposed to do about that?

Geoff eyes him, thoughtful edge to it, and laughs.

“See that? Right there, Ryan? That’s you being an idiot.”

========

He’s not wrong.

========

Gavin’s coworkers are...odd.

Strange.

Suspicious as hell.

“Gav’s not here,” Trevor says, light, airy tone, but steel in his eyes.

The three of them don’t seem to have set days off, rarely work together the same days. (Not that Ryan’s looking for patterns, routines. Using those observational skills of his the agency honed to use because he still feels at loose ends, no.)

There’s just something about Trevor that unsettles Ryan.

Co-owner of this quaint little flower shop who as it happens is not Ryan’s biggest fan, and sure as hell not shy about letting Ryan know.

The door to the shop swings shut behind Ryan and he feels trapped.

Hairs on the back of his neck and urge to go for his weapon, but this isn’t a mission.

This is a quaint little flower shop a few blocks from his building and the coworker of someone Ryan’s gotten far too attached to for anyone’s good.

And yet here he is.

Trevor’s watching him with this frown – one Ryan belatedly realizes is only for him. Eyes sharp and assessing in a way that unsettles Ryan.

“Ah,” Ryan says. “I see.”

Trevor’s eyebrows go up, and Ryan winces.

Government agent of the “spy” variety and an absolute disaster dealing with anything not related to his work. Amazing.

“Maybe you can help?” Ryan asks, even though he’d prefer to slink out of the flower shop with the way Trevor’s looking at him. “One of my plants isn’t doing well, and I’d hoped I could get advice on what to do?”

Trevor tips his head to the side as he squints at Ryan. Pinpointing weak spots perhaps, or the best way to kill him and hide the body afterwards. (Ryan’s mind flashes back to plays he was in, once upon and time and smothers a laugh, barely manages to keep from asking if they have Venus flytraps in the back.)

“Maybe,” Trevor says, mimicking Ryan. Smiles, faint. Definitely amused by Ryan. “Why don't you tell me what you’ve done to the poor thing and we’ll see what we can do, hmm?”

========

Alfredo is another odd one.

Friendly smiles and bright laughter that covers this sharpness to him Ryan’s hard-put to describe.

Easy to see why the customers in the flower shop linger when he’s helping them. Like to chat about things going on in their lives, tease and joke with him.

It’s not just good salesmanship, it’s -

“Oh, hey, Ryan!”

Unsettling in a completely different way because he’s disarming. Makes people want to trust him, and Ryan can feel himself being drawn in despite himself from time to time.

“Alfredo,” he says, not surprised they’re the only ones in the shop.

It’s early still, on a weekday and people are headed off to work and dropping their children at school. A million and one things to do and not enough hours in the day.

And then there’s Ryan, fresh from his morning jog and still this restlessness to him afterwards.

“Is it here?”

Alfredo grins as he looks through the notes they keep behind the counter. Service numbers in case something goes wrong in the shop and repairs need to be made. Delivery numbers for online orders and so on. A handful of customer numbers and the relevant information for those like Ryan who’ve requested a special order for plants and supplies they don’t keep on hand due to lack or space or wider interest.

“Oh-ho,” Alfredo says, and flashes Ryan another grin. “Look at this!”

A delivery receipt for a company in town, and Gavin’s signature at the bottom.

“Hold on a minute and I’ll get that for you.”

Ryan doesn’t fidget while Alfred goes into the backroom, he just.

Explores.

Wanders over to a display stand on the counter a little further down. Odd little plants in tiny terrariums that claim to be hardier than other indoor plants Difficult to kill and perfect for those looking for a unique plant for their homes or offices.

Hand-painted pots from local artisans. Odd bits and bobs like keychains and refrigerator magnets for plant lovers. Seed packets for those looking to start butterfly gardens and so on.

“Here we go,” Alfredo calls out, singsong note to it as he emerges from the back and sets Ryan’s order down on the counter.

Looking at it, Ryan feels ridiculous because it’s –

< i>Unnecessary, frivolous.

“It’s a beauty,” Alfredo says, giving Ryan this smile like he knows. “You have a name picked out?”

Ryan laughs, little huff of breath as he pulls the small potted plant closer.

“Still thinking about it,” he says, and wonders how much grief he’d get from Geoff and the others for naming is new Venus flytrap it after a certain killer plant from outer space.

========

If Ryan’s being honest with himself – and to be honest, he rarely ever is – Gavin’s a bit on the odd side of things as well.

Little things about him that ping the edge of Ryan’s finely-tuned radar for trouble that he pushes aside because...Because.

That smile of his and his cheerfulness. Way he laughs at Ryan dumb little jokes and stands far too close for someone he barely knows when Ryan stops by the flower shop for advice on his plants (and honestly, the internet is right there at his fingertips, isn’t it?) or pick up something he didn’t know he needed for them. (It’s a learning process he’s woefully slow about.)

Gavin is sharp in a way Ryan’s learned to watch out for. Covers for it well with that aforementioned smile and cheerfulness, but he’s...there’s something to him that doesn’t quite sit right with Ryan.

Clever and bright and as he learns one day when he walks into the shop to find it empty, part mountain goat.

“Hello?” he calls out, instantly wary because it’s the weekend when there tend to be a fair amount of customers about the place, Gavin or one of his co-workers behind the counter or helping said customers.

There’s a clatter from the back storeroom. A clunk, a rattle and then a harried sounding Gavin.

“I’m in the back!” he yells out, and, “come on back!”

Ryan glances around as though he could be talking (yelling?) at anyone else, and hesitates before he steps behind the counter and heads through the doorway into the storeroom.

He doesn’t see Gavin at first, but it’s easy enough to follow a trail of knocked over supplies and other things to a corner of the storeroom. Look up, and there Gavin is a good ten feet off the ground and moving about the storage shelving there instead of using the ladder Ryan can see less than five feet from him.

The height doesn’t seem to bother him, let alone the dangerous footing. Moves as easily as he would if he were on firm ground, and glances down at Ryan with a cheerful grin.

“Ryan!” he greets, “just the person I wanted to see!”

Ryan’s glad for the dim lighting back here, because spy he may be but he he still hasn’t mastered involuntary reactions like blushing. (A failing for someone in his line of work, surely.)

“Oh?” he says, and bites the inside of his cheek when Gavin laughs at him as he snags a box on the shelf above him and makes his way down the shelves with easy confidence.

Gavin drops the last foot off the ground and turns around to show Ryan the box he grabbed, and gestures for him to follow him into the work area.

Ryan follows him, curiosity piqued as Gavin sets aside pieces of foam and cardboard to reveal a little clay pot with stylized flytrap plants painted on it and curving, twisting vines curling around the entire thing.

“I almost forgot this,” he says, little grin on his face as he glances at Ryan. “That special order you put in reminded me about it.”

Ryan stares at the pot and can’t help the stupid little smile he can feel stealing across his face thinking about re-potting Audrey II into it like the dork Lindsay and the others are always accusing him of being.

========

Ryan’s always had the worst luck.

========

It doesn’t seem to matter how careful Ryan is, something like this always happens.

Always.

He’s moved several times since he joined the agency, made it a habit after the first few years and one too many coincidences he suspects weren’t.

Past time to have moved from his current apartment, to be honest, but sentimentality and something else has kept him here. (Someone.)

Whatever his reasons it’s a moot point, considering the current situation.

Annoyed, because things were going so well for him for once. He was so close to being reinstated, had something of a life outside work, and now there’s another hole in his shoulder. Too damn close to the first and bleeding like a son of a bitch.

His fault, for allowing himself to develop routines while he’s on medical leave. Patterns. Made himself predictable, allowed his enemies to set up a trap and bait him into it.

And now there’s a broken off blade in his sill-healing shoulder (it seems to be a magnet for things like that) and a dead enemy agent behind him along with Ryan’s phone that bravely took a bullet for him.

Something close to fear in his chest and too far from home. (Guilt building up with each painful step because there’s someplace closer he thinks might be safe, and resignation because somehow it would turn out like this.)

He makes it to the alley behind the flower shop, thankful for the heavy downpour that’s driven people inside, fewer potential witnesses. Knocks on the back door and hopes like hell someone’s close enough to hear it.

That there aren’t any customers to deal with, other complications he hasn’t considered -

And then the door opens.

Ryan stumbles back, hisses softly as the motion jars his wound, and looks up to see Gavin standing there, eyes widening as he takes in Ryan’s battered state.

“Ryan?”

Ryan opens his mouth to answer, but the words don’t come.

Doesn’t know what he could say to explain himself even if they did.

Thankfully Gavin doesn’t seem to care, already moving to help him. Slips a shoulder under Ryan’s good arm and guides them inside. Leads Ryan to a stool in front of a workstation of sorts and eyes him with something more than concern.

“Can you sit up on your own?” he asks, strange sort of familiarity in this sort of situation that speaks of past experience.

Ryan nods, hand pressed to his shoulder as he watches Gavin go over to a counter and pull a sign out of a drawer. For the front door, and he catches a glimpse of it before Gavin slips into the shop proper, an apology for being closed but Gavin’s gone before he can read it fully.

He recalls seeing it in being used before and the excuses one of the others gave him afterward and not thinking twice about it. The way Gavin’s moving now, with such purpose makes him wonder if he should have.

Hears the sounds of Gavin pulling the blinds and shutters closed, locking up behind him before he comes back, phone in hand.

Pauses with his thumb over the call button and glances at Ryan.

“Ambulance?” he asks, and nods to himself when Ryan shakes his head.

Bad idea at the moment, speaking from personal experience. Ryan should put a call in to Geoff, the agency. Get a team out here to deal with the mess, have their people handle things, but he’s so tired.

Doesn’t know what he’s doing here, why he’s not doing a damn thing as Gavin calls someone. Talks too quietly for Ryan to make out what he’s saying and the concern he should feel nowhere to be found.

Tired.

Aware that whatever else happens now, things are going to change between them. Already have, with the way Gavin’s acting.

No longer the slightly clumsy co-owner of a quaint little flower shop and more...something.

Someone who knows how to react in a situation like this, isn’t nervous or panicking. Flustered. Just this calm sort of efficiency to his actions, clear protocol in the steps he takes.

From the quick assessment of Ryan’s current state to making sure other people – civilians – don’t wander into this little mess unsuspecting, to whoever he’s called to alert them.

Gavin hangs up and turns to Ryan, expression Ryan can’t read on his face.

Shaky little sigh and then Gavin pockets his phone and goes over to the counter he pulled the closed sign from. Takes out a hefty looking first-aide kit and comes back over to him with a little detour to turn the heat up as he does, wry twist to his mouth.

“Well then,” he says, tries for a light tone even though the look in his eyes is anything but. “Why don’t we see what we can do about that nasty wound of yours, hmm?”

Ryan blinks up at him, feels like he should be asking questions. More so as Gavin picks through the little plastic box, setting out medical supplies and muttering to himself.

Little laugh as he brings a desk lamp over for better lighting and Ryan tries to help, get his shirt unbuttoned, but his hands are clumsy from the cold and everything else and he makes a mess of it. Stops when Gavin places his hands over his and laughs, eyes sliding away fro Ryan’s as he helps him out of his shirt.

“Can’t say this is how I saw things going,” Gavin says, another awkward little laugh and dusting of red high up on his cheeks.

Ryan – doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything at all.

Gavin clears his throat and mumbles something Ryan doesn’t catch as he shakes off whatever nervousness took hold and sees about doing what he can with the supplies at hand.

There’s this...Gavin makes this noise when he sees the bullet wound, fingers ghosting over it before he moves on to seeing about the knife wound.

“I don’t have the proper medical tools to remove it,” he says apologetically when Ryan tells him the blade’s still in there. “Probably for the best you get someone qualified to see to it anyway.”

He keeps Ryan engaged, chattering on about nothing and handing him things to hold. Nudges him with his knee when Ryan’s mind starts to drift, presses his fingers into his shoulder causing a slight sting and yanking his mind back to the present with a murmured apology.

Trevor and Alfredo show up just as Gavin’s double-checking his work, stopgap measure at best that he apologizes for several times, but he’s already done more than Ryan expected when he made his way here.

“So,” Trevor says, taking in the mess before him, Ryan included. “This is quite the pickle.”

Gavin continues cleaning up, neatly avoiding Trevor’s eyes and ducking around Alfredo who seems content to watch things unfold.

Ryan...should definitely be more concerned about all of this, the way Trevor’s looking at him, but can’t seem to when Gavin comes back to stand beside him. Puts himself between Ryan and the others and his heart trips over itself in his chest at that.

“Trevor,” Gavin says, layers of meaning to it Ryan can’t hope to understand as they stare each other down.

Alfredo shuffles his feet and clears his throat pointedly when the tension in the room rises, gestures at Ryan who’s just sitting there like an idiot. Thoughts slow and stupid, far from the top agent he’s supposed to be because he’s not doing anything about this, is he.

Just letting things play out like it has nothing to do with him and honestly, it would be nice if that were true, wouldn’t it.

“This changes things,” Trevor says, and Ryan knows that tone of voice, doesn’t he. The slight shift of his stance from an odd sort of civilian to someone who very much is not. “We can’t - “

Ryan gets to his feet because nothing good ever comes after a statement like that, and it’s clear he’s made a mistake. Let his guard down when he shouldn’t have, forgot his training and all the lessons he learned the hard way.

Much as he tried to ignore the signs that something was off about this quaint little flower shop and its owners, that he just couldn't turn his training off there’s no way to interpret the shift in the three of them.

Trevor’s a threat. Alfredo’s a threat. Gavin’s a threat, much as it hurts to think of him that way, and he can’t continue to sit there letting things play out any longer.

Ryan stands, but his body betrays him. Blood loss and pain, shock, strain on his body – all of it – finally catch up to him as the world tips sideways on him.

He hears Alfredo's low swearing as he reaches for him, sees Gavin start to turn back and the world fades out before he hits the floor.

========

“You’re an idiot.”

First thing Geoff says when he gets to the hospital Ryan woke up in, which had been a surprise given the last thing he remembers. (Honestly a surprise he’d woken up at all, with the way Trevor had been looking at him.)

Geoff is in a chair beside his bed radiating an enormous amount of disapproval at him, and Ryan?

He’s just confused.

“I know,” Ryan says, pokes gingerly at his shoulder and the thick swathe of bandages there. “Thanks for the reminder, though. I really needed it.”

He’s not even being sarcastic about it, which seems to throw Geoff for a moment. Has him eyeing Ryan like he’s worried he hit his head and failed to tell the doctors. He might have, actually, that last little bit in the back of the flower shop.

“Ryan - “

Ryan’s not looking at him now, watching a bird winging its way past his window. Sky cold and gray, storm clouds rolling in over the city to match his mood since waking earlier that day.

“Any sign of them?”

Quaint little slower shop setting up business in Ryan’s neighborhood while he was gone on a mission and hadn’t given a second thought to being there. New businesses popped up all the time like it, shopping about for good locations to set down roots and hopefully turn a profit.

Nothing suspicious about it, and the young men running it were so sweet and charming. Kind, and so knowledgeable about the flowers and pants they sold. Ingratiated themselves with the other local business, the community.

No reason to be suspicious about it, even when he should have known better. Trevor and Alfredo and the way something about them seemed ever so slightly off, but he’d been distracted, hadn't he.

Saw a pretty face, fell hard, because Gavin was kind and didn’t push, wonder, about the half-hearted lies Ryan fed him. Had this energy, light to him that drew Ryan in. Snared him easy as anything, even though he knew better. (Should have.)

Never would have pegged him as a thief, though. Three of them leaving behind enough clues to point to a heist they were forced to abandon, months in the making and Ryan nearly bleeding out in their little flower shop to ruin it.

The spate of jewelry robberies and other burglaries that had happened since the flower shop opened. Odd days off one or more or the three of them would take, easy explanations for it that just rolled off the tongue.

No trace of them aside other than a handful of clues about their next target, a rare set to be on exhibit at the museum in a few weeks time. Only window for them to grab it when it arrived in the city, jumble of faces around it and risky as hell but doable.

Sounds too bizarre to be true, and yet -

And yet.

Ryan’s always had the worst luck.

He’s surprised they didn’t leave him to die in the back of their shop. Sure as hell no incentive for them to help him, even less reason knowing they’d have to abort their heist. Run, before their...activities were discovered, careful lies and plans unraveling under the agency’s scrutiny, police involvement.

Geoff’s staring at him.

“You know,” he says, quiet, thoughtful. “When we got the call from them, we thought you were dead?”

Wouldn’t be the first time, the way Ryan’s luck runs.

Presumed dead several times over and always coming back like a bad penny.

He says as much, and can’t help the touch of amusement at Geoff’s aggravated sigh, frustrated growl.

“Jack warned me,” he mutters, scowling now. “Asshole warned me when I took the job. Told me what assholes you all were and I’d be lucky if I didn’t have an ulcer in the first six months.”

Ryan looks over at him then, curious.

Geoff cares, and the rest of them have long resigned themselves to working for people who didn’t. Saw them as expendable. Assets. Threw them at the current problem and no skin off their nose if they didn’t survive, because God knew there would be more recruits fresh out of the academy to take their places.

Geoff, though.

He cares.

Worries about them, the kinds of missions they get handed because their agency’s gained a reputation for taking on the most dangerous missions. Incredible success rate and never mind the cost.

They’re still adjusting. Learning to trust Geoff’s different, that he and his people are working to change the way the agency works. Put their people first. (When they can, because sometimes there’s no other choice.

“Just out of curiosity,” Ryan asks, “how long did it take?”

========

There’s a big to-do about the attack on Ryan.

All these security concerns and everything else that turns the agency even more on its head than when Geoff came in and started to rip out the roots past Directors planted years ago.

Something of a conspiracy from the remaining old-guard and those loyal to them and Geoff and those loyal to him have Ryan quietly relocated. And relocated again, because paranoia and all the things that come with his job.

No one can confirm if the attack was related to his last mission or something else. Old grudges from enemies he’s made over the years or someone discovering his status as an agent, to some as of yet unknown reason.

It’s the least reassuring thing in the world, and exactly what he was expecting to learn.

Ryan’s own bad luck and the nature of their jobs.

They put a security detail on him while he’s recovering from his latest injuries, because Geoff won’t take no for an answer and Ryan’s learning to accept that.

Still.

“Hey,” Michael says one day, disgruntled look on his face as he lets himself into Ryan’s place. “Got your mail for you.”

Ryan looks up from the newspaper he’s reading where he may or may not be looking for stories about recent robberies or burglaries. (Stupid of him, he knows. Foolish in the worst way.)

It should be annoying, really, the way the agency’s handling this. Michael and the others assigned to it not quite barging into his private life as...he doesn’t have the words for it, and is surprised he doesn’t mind it as much.

Blames Geoff for that, changing the way the agency operates and encouraging them to forge bonds with one another that was once frowned upon. Going from what amounted to work acquaintances to something more to the point Ryan doesn’t bristle at the thought of someone else collecting his mail.

(Security reasons for it too, scans and checks and that paranoia in action.)

He’s not an invalid, can make the trek down to his mailbox just fine, but he gets tired easily and some days it doesn’t seem worth the effort.

“Oh,” Ryan says. “Thanks, Michael.”

Michael eyes him when he notices what section of the newspaper Ryan’s reading. Looks like he wants to say something and just shakes his head before dropping Ryan’s mail in front of him.

“Yeah, sure.”

Ryan knows the agency is looking for Gavin and the others as well. Unsure if they were somehow involved in the attack or otherwise connected. Why they bothered to help Ryan knowing it would compromise their own operations and concerned at how completely they’ve disappeared off the face of the Earth.

A lot of questions there, and no luck in finding a hint as to where they’ve gone.

Ryan sets the newspaper aside and sorts through his mail, pausing on a brightly colored postcard. Gorgeous photo of a beach in Miami from the name emblazoned across the front in elegant script and brief description when he turns it over.

No message, just a little doodle of a Venus flytrap that has Ryan staring at it too long, because Michael notices.

“Something to be concerned about?”

Nice and casual, but when Ryan looks up it’s clear Michel knows the postcard means something. He might not know what the significance is, but he’s far from stupid.

“...No,” Ryan says, knowing what a risk he’s taking. With whoever sent the postcard (he knows, though, he does) and with Michael.

They’ve known one another or years, and Ryan’s always counted him among the small group of people he works with he could trust. (For whatever that’s worth.)

Michael gives him a long look – far from stupid – and shrugs.

“If you say so,” he says and goes off to check in with the team across the way.

========

Later that night Ryan does a quick online search and discovers several news articles about a spate of jewelry store robberies ad daring burglaries that took place in Miami recently.

Unknown suspects and so on and so forth that sounds far too familiar.

Ryan should, he knows, should bring it to the agency’s attention. Inform them there’s a possibility said crimes are related to Gavin and the others, too coincidental to be anything else, and yet?

He doesn’t.

No.

He deletes his search history, scrubs it from his laptop and harddrive, goes overboard with it because it’s what he knows and tucks the postcard away in the drawer of the table Audrey II sits on.

========

He gets more of them over the next few months. Always a new city, new state and all these news reports from those locations he uncovers after the fact.

Enough to make him wonder what Gavin’s playing at, hoping to gain from any of it.

Michael pretends not to notice, and the others assigned to babysit Ryan do the same.

And it would be fine, it would until Ryan comes home from his morning jog one day to find Lindsay cooing at something on the other side of his kitchen window while Geoff looks on.

“Uh,” Ryan says, sharing a look with Michael. “Lindsay? Geoff?”

Lindsay continues to coo, babbling nonsense and tapping her nails against the screen. Geoff turns to look at them, expression on his face that has Michael going to Lindsay to drag her out of Ryan’s apartment.

She protests, calls Geoff and Michael heartless buzzkills, but still lets Michael pull her away.

An impressive enough feat once Ryan goes over to see what had her so entranced.

It’s the stray.

Happily sunning itself in Ryan’s new planter he hasn’t bothered to plant anything in with the fall in full-swing and colder weather on the way.

“Oh,” Ryan says, because he hasn’t seen it since the agency relocated him. Tried his best to put it out of his mind because there were other, larger concerns than one small stray he wasn’t sure he wanted in his life anyway.

He’d done a terrible job of it though, sneaking away from under the noses of his babysitters to go back to look for it more than once with little luck. Realized it had run off to harass some other unsuspecting idiot, worm its way into their reluctant affections the way it had with him.

“Looks like your cat found you again,” Geoff says, and it’s a mix of Ryan’s boss and Ryan’s friend looking back at him.

Worried about the implied security risk to Ryan and God knows what else, because.

It’s fall and while the weather hasn’t turned terribly cold just yet, there’s a definite chill in the air once the sun goes down. Noticeable shift in temperature.

The stray’s sunning itself in the planter, yes, but there’s also a pet bed with blankets place on the small balcony that Ryan knows for a fact wasn’t there when he and Michael left for his morning jog. Bowls of food and water.

Ryan tears his gaze away from them to look at Geoff, unsure what to say.

It’s possible the stray might have somehow found him all the way across the city after being relocated twice. He’s heard about the incredible journeys pets will go on to find their owners after being separated from them, but something like this is more difficult to explain away as part of that phenomenon.

But like Michael before him, Geoff just gives him a look.

��I always heard you don’t choose a cat as much as it chooses you,” he says, sarcastic as hell. “But I never expected to see proof of it like this.”

The stray opens its eyes and lets out an accusatory cry when it spots Ryan, right on cue.

========

The postcards trail off after that, so slowly Ryan almost doesn’t notice. It coincides with Geoff lifting the extra security precautions and being cleared to go back light duties so he doesn’t have time to dwell on it.

The fact that Geoff saddles him with a rookie lifted from some shady government agency or other around the same time helps in that regard too.

Jeremy’s bright in a way Ryan doesn’t remember being when he came to the agency, but he supposes that makes sense.

Ryan had half a decade of experience by the time he was handpicked by the agency’s former Director. Knew the dangers and risks inherent in their job all too well by the point and already had quite the collection of scars to show for it.

He’s also a quick learner, and a few short months after the two of them are partnered together the two of them end up in a coastal city in Italy.

Scenic, picturesque.

Enough so that Ryan finds himself playing the part of tourist while he and Jeremy scour the area for signs of the target they’ve been sent to find. (Eliminate if necessary, although Ryan’s hopeful it won’t come that.)

Jeremy’s snooping around a mansion overlooking the town while Ryan listens in to his end of things over their comms. Wry observations and quiet humming as he evades security guards and staff alike, no nervousness or alarm in his voice.

Ryan finds his eye drawn to a rack of postcards at a little kiosk in a marketplace and is looking though them when someone bumps into him. Ryan stiffens, turns to face whoever it is, voice voice in the back of his head chiding him for not paying attention to his surroundings. (It sounds like Geoff. Tired and long-suffering and this underlying concern for the lives, people he’s responsible for, Jesus Christ, do not make me have to do the paperwork on you if you get yourself killed on the clock you assholes.)

“Are you alright?”

The man who bumped into him is wearing a button-down shirt with the top two buttons undone. British accent and a wild shock of hair. Too-big nose and eyes obscured by a pair of sunglasses.

Seems friendly enough, but there’s this touch of wariness to him like he’d bolt if Ryan says the wrong thing.

He frowns as he looks Ryan over, checks to see if he’s alright since Ryan still hasn’t answered him, gaze lingering on Ryan’s shoulder before meeting his eyes.

Ryan, for his part, can’t seem to stop staring.

“I - “ he manages after a long moment. “No, I’m fine.”

Gavin smiles.

Small, crooked.

“That’s good to hear,” he says, and glances at the postcards Ryan was looking at before he picks one up.

Photo of the coastline with the town behind it as the sun sets in background and breathtakingly gorgeous.

“I’m rather partial to this one,” he says, and there’s a note of mischief to his voice Ryan doesn’t remember hearing before but finds that it suits him perfectly.

Thinks back to the postcards he’s received, most with photos taken at sunset or just a little afterwards with the sung hanging low in the sky and night starting to set in.

“Oh?” Ryan hears himself say as he takes the postcard from him.

Gavin laughs, and then winks as he pays the kiosk owner for the postcard.

“Consider it a gift for running into you,” says, as the two of them amble along to avoid drawing attention to themselves. “I’d offer to buy you a drink instead, but I’m afraid I’m just passing through.”

Ryan looks at him from his peripheral when they stop on a section of the marketplace overlooking the docks. Notices the way Gavin’s watching a boat down there, pair of figures already on board.

He still seems calm, relaxed but still has that edge of wariness to him.

Ryan’s sure he’d be gone like a shot if he says the wrong thing. Hop over the railing and down the pier faster than he could hope to catch up to him along with Trevor and Alfredo. Maybe he’d just turn and bolt into the crowd around them, lose Ryan in the crowd while the other two take off to rendezvous somewhere else.

Some other scenario Ryan hasn’t even considered.

And maybe, maybe, if Ryan wasn’t here for a mission, if he was still the same Ryan from a year or even a month ago he would do what’s expected of him.

But he is here on a mission, and he’s definitely not either of those Ryans.

Isn’t really sure what kind of Ryan he is these days, is still working on finding that out for himself.

“Maybe some other time then,” Ryan suggests, because there’s always something with them, isn’t there.

Timing gone wrong somewhere and no way to change it he can see right now. Maybe one day if they’re lucky.

Gavin laughs, and it’s the same as Ryan remembers. So is the bright smile on his face when he looks at him.

“Sounds lovely,” Gavin says, and Ryan’s sure it will happen when the time is right for both of them. “I rather think I’d like that.”

========

The mission is a success and Ryan comes home to find Lindsay’s coaxed the stray to come inside when checking on things for him while he was in the field.

“Only for a few minutes at a time,” she says as she lets herself out now that he’s back, “but, hey, it’s a step in the right direction.”

A welcome one at that, with winter nipping at their heels and threats of snow on the way.

The stray’s skittish, hides under the couch and whatever else it can find but willing to be talked into coming close for a tasty treat.

There’s an envelope waiting for him postmarked from Italy. When he opens it he finds a postcard inside with a collage of landmarks of Rome across the front and a message on the back.

”For that other time,” with a phone number to go along with the Venus flytrap doodle.

Ryan’s sure of what he’d find if he looked up news reports from Rome around the time Gavin and the others would have been in the city, so he doesn’t. (Wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise when Geoff comes to him about it because he’s been keeping tabs on a certain group of jewel thieves.)

No.

Ryan laughs as he commits the phone number to memory and adds the postcard to the collection already there and looks forward to what the future holds in store.

#freewood #ragehappy #spy agency au #Anon #prompt fills #Kings of Nowhere #vagrant fic #this is somewhat what anon asked for #kind of #sort of #:D???#¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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ebhenah · 6 years ago

Text

Sunkissed (Original Fiction)

Fictober 18 Day 16

Prompt: “This is gonna be so much fun!”

Original fiction, Original characters (a continuation of my Fictober Day 7 story: Uncharted, Day 8 story : Anchor and Day 13 story: Soulmates. This one featuring Spook and a new OC: Grift)

Rating: T Mentions of war, death, gun violence

So, there were lots of things that sucked about being stranded in a new timeline, almost a decade before your own birth and staring down the early days of a war that you really hoped turned out differently this time around than your own history would suggest. Little things like being out of touch with pop culture, or not being able to find your favorite tool because it hasn’t been created yet, or craving a food no one knows how to make. Weird things like realizing the new baby that everyone is cooing over is your favorite babysitter from when you were six, or seeing vehicles you consider ‘classics’ being billed as the cutting edge of technology, or fixing your aunt her favorite drink only to have her choke on it, because it was the first time she’d ever tasted alcohol. Oops.

There were big things, too. So few of the people she was meeting now were alive in her timeline, even though they were young and healthy. Her history knowledge told a story of a world that was wholly unprepared for the might of the invaders that came seemingly out of nowhere, attacked using technology they couldn’t even grasp, and operated under a moral view that was unfathomable to humans. Losses had been staggering, to say the least. The devastation unthinkable for anyone who hadn’t witnessed it for themselves. That’s what she and her family had been sent back to try to avoid. They’d done everything they were supposed to- and a bit more… but she was never supposed to stick around to see how those changes played out.

In her childhood, the Earth had been teeming with alien life from across multiple galaxies, humans making up only a small portion of the population. The skies had been grey and dull, air quality poor except in areas where massive purification complexes filtered dust and other fallout from the air and water. It had been HOT, the destruction of hundreds of cities within the span of a few months too much for the planet to correct on its own and throwing ‘greenhouse effect’ into being almost overnight. Most of the surface was water, the majority of the rest was desert, and massive sandstorms raged outside of cities built under the protection of huge forcefields or physical domes- much of the population living underground or in orbit. Now, she was one of less than a thousand individuals with even partial alien heritage, and the Earth was green and lush and thriving. No air quality alerts, no radiation alarms, no food shortages. She was now getting to see the Earth that her family loved and spoke about. The Earth that so many people had died trying to protect.

Sometimes, the weight of that gift got to her. People already thought she was the strange alien traveller, stranger even than the other aliens she had brought with her. It didn’t help that it had been decided it was best not to mention the whole ‘time travel’ thing and instead a cover story of being a science experiment that had been force-grown on a world that no longer exists and growing up in the resistance had been built for her. (Actually, it wasn’t even all that far off from the truth). She was seen as someone not to be trusted, despite being vouched for by the planets most celebrated heroes. Despite the knowledge she had offered them. That was alright. She was from a much more paranoid world than this one, so the mistrust didn’t really bother her much.

But the odd looks when she would get overwhelmed by the little things she’d only ever heard about were frustrating. She wanted to scream and yell at them to appreciate it all, because it could still be lost. Her timeline might not be that different from this one, even with all the work they’d put into changing it.

Seeing a butterfly was a MIRACLE. Swimming in the ocean was a GIFT. Being able to stand, on the Earth’s surface, and feel the sun kiss your skin, no need for breathing apparatus, no need for thick suits to protect the skin from being sanded off by the grit in the air, no need for heavy goggles that protected the eyes from pollution and radiation? Just your feet, on the ground; soft sunshine warming you; clean, salty spray from the nearby beach tickling your flesh; sweet smelling flowers wafting on the breeze? That was something out of a fairy story… and she was going to make the most of it every chance she got, dammit. And if people looked askance at her for it, well, they could stuff it.

“So,” came an awkward voice from somewhere behind her. “When they said you were getting some sun down by the water… I wasn’t really expecting to find you naked…”

She turned toward the newcomer, “you squeamish about nudity, Grift?” He was, by her math, maybe a year her senior at this point. Elite pilot, fast track for military leadership- a rising star by all accounts. In her memory, he was one of the highest ranking members of a military force that was getting younger and younger by the year as losses continued to mount. But he’d been on the front lines of the fighting since the very first assault, and not only had he survived, each and every one of his squadrons held some of the highest survival rates on the books. Smart. Talented. Responsible. Respected… and an arrogant asshole who CONSISTENTLY butted heads with her father and with the aliens that held the power to make tactical decisions. Not a particularly well-liked guy among her loved ones when she was growing up.

She could see all those traits in him now, too, for all that he was younger, brasher, less worldly, more innocent. Green. He was also a xenophobe, which had surprised her, because the man she’d known ‘back home’ was not. Of course, by the time she’d been born, he’d had almost a decade of fighting side by side with aliens to rid him of any initial distrust.

“That’s not my name,” he said, as he always did when she called him that. She was starting to wonder how long it would take him to clue in that the main reason she did it was BECAUSE it got to him. It seemed pretty obvious to her. He didn’t even know yet how much of an insult it actually was. Man, she could not WAIT until the Byx/Sieb made contact with the humans and he found out what ‘grift’ actually MEANT! “Not squeamish about it, no. Just wasn’t expecting to see you… without clothes in public at high noon. You immune to skin cancer or something?”

She tipped her face up to the light, loving the way the sun tickled her markings. “I don’t actually know,” she answered, shrugging, “I’m not really used to worrying about things that might kill me in a few decades. Usually, I can barely keep up with the things that might kill me this week.”

“Yeah, that makes a certain amount of sense,” he chuckled. “You don’t mind people staring?”

“I’m purple, Grift. I’m purple with color-changing rosettes, pointy ears and sometimes my eyes glow… and I blush blue. I’m used to people staring.” She bent down to pull a pair of shorts and a tank top out of her bag, clearly her alone time was being cut short. “What’s going on?”

“Word from on high,” he joked, referring to the tactical ships that were in orbit above them. “I’m supposed to test your firearm conflict competency. The new allies are pushing for you to get a security clearance with Earth’s military… even though you aren’t military.”

“How are they justifying that?” she asked, slipping into the shorts, curious to see what loopholes the younger versions of her family were coming up with.

“Diplomat status,” he said dryly.

She stopped short, waistband sitting at mid-thigh, and gaped at him. “DIPLOMAT?!?!” she laughed, “me??? That’s rich. I suck with diplomacy.”

“Looks like we are in agreement on that front,” he answered.

She glared, tugging the shorts into place and getting to work on the button fly, “listen up, pretty boy- you are no better with people than I am, and you are WELL aware of that.”

“Pretty boy?” one of his eyebrows quirked, he seemed surprised that she’d said that.

“What? You have symmetrical features, good hair, are in good shape, high cheekbones, straight nose, full lips, delicate features… objectively, you are pretty- which you KNOW and have no qualms about exploiting. It wasn’t a compliment. I’m not swooning.”

“You don’t strike me as the type to swoon,” he said on a short bark of laughter.

“You don’t know me,” she reminded him, pulling on the tank top as she walked toward him, “I’m a notorious swooner. You’re just not my type.”

“Not a fan of pretty?” he teased.

“Big fan of pretty,” she replied, her eyes glowing a soft, warm yellow, “all kinds of pretty. Pretty hair, pretty eyes, pretty legs, pretty wings- annnd there you go. That face. The one you made when I said wings. That’s why you aren’t my type. It’s not about how you look, Grift. There’s something ugly in you. You’re pretty like Vokarin Crystal is pretty. Lovely to look at, but get too close, and it poisons you. I’m not human, and I can’t change that. So, I stay away from anyone who thinks that makes me some kind of monster. You can smile and charm, but I see that ugliness in you- just as easily as I see your pretty hair and perfect bone structure. It doesn’t blind me to the fact that you are VERY good at your job, though… so, how do we assess my firearm conflict competency?”

“There is a specific set of training scenarios you need to pass,” he answered, falling into step beside her as they walked back to the building, “all done with non-lethal munitions.”

She turned to him, a predatory smile stretching her lips, and she could feel her ears flatten back in anticipation of something that stirred her hunting instincts, “shoot’em’up sims? I love shoot’em’up sims!”

“Don’t get cocky,” he warned her, voice stern. “I’m the one you are facing off against, and I have HIGH standards.”

“Shoot’em’up sims against YOU?” she could feel her rosettes cycle through a few different colors in response to her shifting mood, “ohhhhh man! This is gonna be so much fun!”

#fictober18 #fictober18day16 #Day16ThisIsGonnaBeSoMuchFun #scifi #ThisIsGonnaBeSoMuchFun

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