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hesbuckcompton-baby · 1 year ago

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Damage Gets Done - SAS Rogue Heroes x OC - Chapter 7

Summary: As L Detachment is granted leave in the wake of Jock Lewes' death, more of Diana's personal life comes to light, and her friendship with Reg is cemented more than ever

Relationships: L Detachment x Platonic!OC, eventual Reg Seekings x OC

Warnings: Language, drunkenness, violence

Word Count: 5.2k (Got a bit carried away with this one)

Tags: @20th-centu-fairy-girl @trenchenjoyer @dcyllom @footprintsinthesxnd

A/N: Sorry for the slow updates! Anyone who's been to university knows November is ROUGH and I honestly had zero time to write until now, but I hope you enjoy this chapter!

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"We're all down right now - give it time, give them time, let them get some rest. We'll bounce back soon enough."

David Stirling would never admit how desperate a bid it had been when he first gave the order for the men of L Detachment to disperse - to take some time away from the bleak desert wasteland and dwell amongst the living for a while, to see what Cairo had to offer and wash the taste of grief from their tongues. The loss of Jock Lewes had hit every single one of them in a variety of ways, the stagnation of death hanging thick in the air at Jalo, and it seemed they were hanging on by a thread. They could only live at half mast for so long before something went wrong, before they lost someone else too.

And so he had sent them packing - dispelled the group with the distribution of their uniform, and L Detachment had been allowed to descend on the streets of Egypt's capital. He almost pitied the rest of the city, but from high up in his apartment, Eve resting comfortably in his arms, he found he couldn't quite give a shit about what the rest of them were getting up to.

The Cairo sunshine was beating down on Diana Fayed's scalp as she made her practised way through the city streets, a stack of bangles jangling on one wrist, an antique watch ticking away on the other. A cigarette hung from between her lips, a long stump of ashes building up on its tip as she wove through the bustling crowds, narrowly avoiding a few stray Brits and carefully dodging the street vendors she had come to know as the most persistent. It was a hub of life, and she knew its walkways like the back of her hand, each step so rehearsed she scarcely had to think, years of repetition ingrained in her very bones.

It was this intimate knowledge of the place that made it so easy to tell when something was off. Which was why the din of a brawl down a nearby alley made her ear prick as she passed, pausing to stomp out her cigarette against the pavement.

The alley in question was usually quiet, especially during the day, its path better trodden at night when the brothels on either side were most active. Shuttered windows, often used to lure in customers from the street below, had been bolted tightly shut, the inhabitants of the two establishments decidedly ignorant of whatever was going on outside. In cities such as these, people perfected the art of minding their business very quickly.

Dian leant her shoulder up against the brick arch that lined the entryway, peering through the rabble as the uniformed men scrapped and beat each other senselessly, and she fought to suppress a sigh at the familiar-looking berets she spotted in the crowd.

Only had the uniform for a day, and already they're showing us up.

As the chair in Fraser's hands collided swiftly with the back of another soldier's head, she winced, beginning to rather enjoy the spectacle as it went on. Here in Cairo, she wore no uniform - here in Cairo, she didn't have to worry about being associated with this band of beloved morons. Bill's decisive blow seemed to end the squabbling, and a moment of stillness almost had a chance to descend upon the group before the far-off sound of the MP's whistle shattered any illusion that this was over, that there might not be a consequence for their actions this time.

There wouldn't be if she could help it.

Roughly shouldering past a confused-looking soldier, necklace bouncing against her chest with each forceful step, Diana raised her fingers to her lips, filling the absence of a cigarette, and released a sharp whistle. The sudden sound drew the attention of every man in the alley, alarmed expressions of recognition spreading across the faces of her comrades.

"MPs. Move." She barked, the others bolting to flee the scene before they could be reprimanded or returned to the military prisons some of them had been recruited from.

Reg fell in step beside her as they hurried to escape through the opposite end of the alley, fidgeting to adjust his beret as he spoke. "Y'know, we only did it 'cause they were-"

"Yeah, I don't care," Diana interrupted, tugging at his arm and gesturing for the others to follow as she led them through a labyrinth of dark, narrow passages - remnants of what had once been streets, now built up and over so much so that they were little more than tunnels, hidden from even the sunlight above. They could hear people walking over their heads as they navigated the alleyways, the MPs' whistles growing fainter and more distant with each turning.

The men squinted in the sun as they emerged back into daylight, the maze of back streets opening out onto an actual road, trafficked by the expensive cars of the city's richest, men dressed in military uniforms with women on their arms traipsing the pavements. She had not taken pause even once since their escape had begun, taking each twist and turn on their route without an inkling of hesitation, and the others noticed. Reg had never known her in the city she'd grown up in, but it was as if Cairo became an extension of her own body, the streets so familiar beneath her feet it was as if they had been born as one, created as a single entity. She was almost a different person here - above them in every conceivable way.

Reaching the front door of a large residential building, he paused to frown at the armed guards posted on either side of the doorstep, Diana fumbling for a key in her pocket before sliding it into the lock and herding them inside with a sweeping arm. Whatever this place was, Reg had never seen anything like it - Persian rugs lined the stone floors, pieces of stained glass dotted in every window, the hallways leading inwards to a huge central courtyard, visible from the foyer, a fountain bubbling away peacefully within.

"Where are we?" Fraser asked, passing his weight from foot to foot as if still expecting the MPs to burst in at any moment.

She turned to reopen the door they had entered through, craning her neck to survey the street outside before addressing his question. "My house."

"Fuuuuck me," Seekings muttered under his breath, taking a moment to look around, pausing as he noticed a painting hung on the wall at the base of the stairs. He could tell it was Diana - or supposed to be her, at least - although the resemblance wasn't quite there. Her hair hung in the elegant, artificial curls he saw the Englishwomen sporting, far from the wild, tight ringlets he was used to. Her eyes were gentler, her smile softer, as if every bit of hardness she possessed had been filed down and dulled. The woman in the painting was beautiful, but she wasn't Diana - not the way he knew her. She wouldn't even spare the artwork a glance as they stood there in the hall, as if she were ashamed of its existence.

The low hum of conversation could be heard from somewhere upstairs, and the men turned their heads at the sound of footsteps against tile, the figure of General Hannigan strolling merrily towards them. Even the months of SAS conditioning had not removed the deepest impulses of military training, and their small group snapped to attention, hands raised to their foreheads in salute as the General approached, jacket emblazoned with medals yet hanging unbuttoned, one of his shirt tails hanging untucked from his trousers.

The General surveyed their appearances, left a mess by the alleyway brawl, bruises already blooming on the skin left bare. "These are your boys then, eh?"

Diana was perched on the bottom step of the staircase, untying the laces of her shoes, the bangles on her wrist jangling noisily with the movement. "Aye," She nodded, a slight smile curling her lips. Her boys. Reg supposed they were really. There was very little she could ask of them that they would not do.

"Well, I'm sure you lot have some stories under your belts. I'll have to have you round to tell me about them soon, don't you think Diana?"

"Yeah, sure," Diana replied, padding barefoot across the hallway to an opening out into the courtyard, attempting to wrangle a stray cat that had made its way in as it lapped at the water in the fountain. Reg's brow furrowed, and Dave struggled to suppress a laugh beside him as she reached out and grabbed the creature, holding it at arm's length as it hissed and scratched the backs of her hands. Letting out a flurry of curses under her breath, Diana hurried to the front door, her father holding it open just long enough for them to expel the beast and bar its re-entry.

"Damn things," She muttered, sucking one of the cuts on her knuckles as the General straightened his jacket.

"Right, well, I've got half of senior command upstairs drinking their tea and wondering where I am, so I ought to go. Will you join us, Diana?"

"I'd rather be shot," She replied without hesitation, her jovial tone making Pat snort loudly. Hannigan seemed unphased by this response, giving his daughter a pat on the shoulder before disappearing up the staircase.

Silence hung among them for a long, awkward moment, droplets of blood blooming against her skin from where the cat had scratched at her. Diana looked up after a while of nursing her wounds, noticing the frown creasing Kershaw's expression. She shrugged. "We get them in here all the time. Dad keeps birds, so we've got to keep them out as best we can."

"... Right."

"Do you usually have half of senior command drinking tea in your house?" Fraser asked.

"Only on Wednesdays."

"Ah."

The coast outside had cleared, not a single MP in sight amongst the hustle and bustle of wealthy Englishmen sweating through their expensive suits in the Cairo heat. Diana had made sure to lightly scold them before letting the boys go, writing a shortlist of clubs they could actually enjoy and get appropriately hammered without military intervention. Kershaw took the list with a grin, tucking it into the breast pocket of his shirt with as much care as if it were the holy grail itself. Their evening plans secured, the small group made to leave, filing back out through the front door, keeping a keen eye open for any more cats attempting to gain entry.

Reg was the last to leave, pausing in the doorway to look back at her one last time. The afternoon sun slipped through at an angle, and in the light, he could see light shades of brown running through her dark curls. Whoever had painted her had been a fool. They hadn't looked close enough - they had missed everything that made her truly beautiful.

"Forget something, soldier?" She asked softly, a smirk teasing her expression. He reached out, taking her hand in his with all the care he had the day Jock had died, brushing the pad of his thumb across her scratched knuckles, leaving a slight smear of blood in his wake.

"Look after yourself, eh? Have a good night." Reg nodded, dropping her hand as swiftly as he had taken it and leaving without a word.

The sensation did not come easy to him. Reg Seekings had only ever been familiar with anger - with rage, violence, and the feeling of adrenaline coursing through his body after he committed it. It was hard to be gentle - hard to force his hands to work softly, as if he were reeling back every muscle in his body that knew how to hurt, tucking what seemed the biggest part of himself away and digging down deep in the hopes he might find something better. As they headed down the street, getting further and further from the house with each step, he looked down at his hand, a smudge of Diana's blood dried and dark against his thumb. It was the first drop of blood Reg had felt on his hand that had not been born of violence - that had not come from the force of his fists.

"Y'alright there, Reg?" Kershaw's voice came from ahead, looking back over his shoulder.

He pushed his bloodied hand into his pocket and out of sight. "Yeah."

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When Reg, Dave and Pat had decided to go out that night, they were almost certain the address Diana had given them was incorrect. She had doodled a star beside the club's name - a sure sign of its quality - but the men could not help but share a look of uncertainty as they were led down a dark, narrow alleyway, silent in the cool evening air, the only sound the whirr of engines a few streets over.

"We better not be lost," Dave muttered, tearing the map from Pat's hands who surrendered it with an almost insulted scoff.

"The address is wrong, it ain't my fault."

At the other end of the alley, a basement door opened, a sliver of warm light escaping towards them along with the soft sound of music. A man and woman emerged, arm in arm, swaying side to side, clearly intoxicated as they staggered past the three of them and disappeared around a corner, the heavy metal door they had existed through being pulled shut with a creak.

"Well. I s'pose that's it then," Kershaw said, ignoring Riley's sideways look of 'told you so, asshole'.

They approached tentatively, Reg's knuckled rapping against the metal with a loud thud thud thud. A letterbox-sized slot was tugged open, a man peering at them from inside, bathed in the golden glow of lamplight.

"What d'you want?" He demanded.

They could not simply demand entry. That wouldn't work, they were smart enough to know that. Reg opened his mouth, hoping something smart would come to him, but nothing did. Shouldering his way to the front of the group, Pat spoke up, turning on his American charm, his voice coming calm and smooth.

"We're friends of Diana Fayed."

The door was hauled open wordlessly, creaking on its hinges, and the trio looked at each other in disbelief at their luck, Dave clapping Pat on the shoulder in approval as they headed inside. The sound of live music hit them the moment they entered, the club opening out before them with as much wonder as a distant mirage in the desert. They entered through the basement into the club's second floor, balconies adorned with tables running around the walls, the centre open above the main floor below. Despite being burrowed deep in the ground without a window in sight, they had somehow created the illusion of daylight, and it felt as though they had stumbled upon a time machine, transporting them to the heat and brightness of midday sunlight.

A band was in full swing on the main floor below, playing raucously atop a small stage that had been built up opposite the bar, the tiled floor dotted with tabled and dancing couples, Cairo society mingling freely as the alcohol ran ceaselessly.

"She knows her stuff, our Di'" Dave chuckled, unable to wipe the giddy grin from his face as they made their way to a table. Reg lowered himself into a seat, doing a double-take as he noticed a pair of beautiful women nearby, gossiping amongst themselves as they stared at the uniformed men. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling a smirk coming on. But there was an inkling of hesitation, a sense of unease somewhere deep in his stomach. This wasn't like him. He needed a drink.

"Speaking of Diana," Pat frowned, peering over the balcony railing at the crowd of people below. Reg looked down, spotting her almost instantly.

She was making her way from the bar, a glass of whiskey in each hand, red lips spread in a grin as she chatted to a uniformed soldier next to her, his shoulders carving a way through the crowd for her as they headed towards a table. Her curls fell neatly without the disruption of the desert wind, the dark hair in stark contrast against the white silk of her dress. It held her close in all the right places, a flattering v-neck in the front, and a deep back exposing the curve of her spine. It was as if she had been carved from marble, so perfect did she look in Reg's eyes. He felt his mouth turn dry.

"Hey, Di'!" Dave called, and she met their gaze, lifting one of the glasses in something between a wave and a toast. Whatever she called back had been lost beneath the din of the music, but Reg couldn't tear his gaze away from her, try as he might.

"She looks good," Pat observed. Seekings almost glared at him.

"Oi Reg, look out, got an admirer over there," Kershaw teased, gesturing towards the pair of women who had been watching since they entered. He spared another glance to Diana down below. She had reached her table, sitting amongst a crowd of military men and well-dressed women, the group chatting and laughing like old friends. She didn't need him looking out for her, even if he wanted to.

Fuck it.

Reg picked up his glass as their drinks arrived, taking a sip and rising from his chair. "Fellas," He nodded, the others jeering in encouragement as he made his way over.

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It had been the first drop of real, good alcohol she had felt on her tongue since everything had happened. She hadn't had a drink when Eoin died, she hadn't had a drink when Jock died. Tonight it seemed Diana was drinking for both of them. No more sipping out of scavenged bottles they'd stolen from the New Zealanders. This was the good stuff.

"You sure you're good?" Jas asked from beside her. Jaspreet Nadar had been her best friend since they were children, since her father had followed the flow of cash from India to Egypt and decided to set up his business here, becoming friends with the General along the way. The pair hadn't seen each other in months, but their much-awaited reunion was becoming somewhat tainted by the tragedies Diana had witnessed. The moment the first drop of drink rolled down her throat it was as if she remembered everything she could be drinking for - and with that came the urge for another glass. And another.

Diana reached over and took Jaspreet's hand in hers, their palms slotting together perfectly. "Will you get drunk with me?" She asked sincerely.

The corner of Jas' mouth curled upwards in a smile both sympathetic and mischievous. "You know you never have to ask me that twice," She said, and Diana laughed as she watched her best friend upturn a shot glass and let its contents spill down her throat.

Their company for the night was largely comprised of the sons of Diana's father's friends - young, bright, military men hoping to live up to their fathers' legacies - and university students who had crossed the river in search of a good time. Neither Diana nor Jaspreet knew any of them as more than acquaintances or drinking buddies, but the atmosphere was jovial, and for a moment one could almost forget there was a war going on outside of that basement.

Except Diana couldn't forget. Sometimes she would wake in the dark, and for a moment find herself back in the desert the night of her first jump, staring up at the endless blackness, Eoin McGonigal's corpse a dead weight behind her, every muscle in her body screaming for release. She had ached for a week after that night, and was beginning to suspect Paddy had noticed her reluctance to meet his eye. In the SAS there was no time to stop, to process, to find a healthy way to cope instead of drowning in the horrors you had seen - and those you had committed yourself. The warmth of the alcohol in her throat was a calming presence, a mellowing influence that held the memories at bay. She began to find herself reaching for the next glass before she had finished the first.

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Reg's night was coming to a close. Comfortably buzzing from the alcohol, a beautiful woman ready to accompany him home - it was everything a night should be in a place like this. Downing the last of his drink, placing the glass down with the finality of a man ready to leave, he held out his arm to the woman - whose name he found he was struggling to recall - and she took it as they rose to their feet, a sense of anticipation hanging between them for what was to come.

It was just as he was about to leave when a hand seized his shoulder. He felt his entire body tense, mind suddenly racing in an attempt to pin who it could be. An off-duty MP who recognised him from the brawl? One of those cunts from the alleyway looking for a round two? Reg squared his shoulders in preparation for a confrontation as he turned, only to fall limp again as he found himself face to face with Kershaw, his brow furrowed in concern.

"What is it?" Seekings asked, tilting his head towards the woman on his arm to signal his preoccupation.

"We've got a... situation," Dave frowned.

"What the fuck is it?"

"Well..."

Over the din of the band, Reg heard a familiar cackle erupt from down below. Expression furrowing to match Dave's, he stepped towards the balcony railing, peering down at the main floor below. Diana's table was now empty save for her and another woman he didn't recognise - thick black hair curled fashionably, draped in a dress of purple silk - and the both of them were visibly, utterly, unmistakably shit-faced. Pat had already gone down, and had a gentle grip on Diana's arm, attempting to help her up from her chair as she continued to tell the other woman a very loud story, her words coming slurred as her companion struggled to contain her giggles.

"Oh, fuck," He muttered, his companion for the evening suddenly forgotten as he made his way to the stairs, descending with Kershaw close behind him.

Riley was visibly embarrassed by the attention they were drawing from nearby patrons as he attempted to steady Diana on her feet, ankles almost buckling as she tried to balance in her heels. "No, because he had a gun!" She slurred, halfway through her story, the other woman at the table letting out another laugh.

"Jesus Christ, how much have you had?" Reg scolded, wrapping an arm around her torso as he reached her side. Diana's brow rose in surprise at this, peering down at where his hand had a firm grip on her waist.

"Handsy," She noted, snorting back laughter.

"Fucking hell. Let's go."

The men attempted to steer her towards the exit but she tugged against them with all her might, craning her neck to look behind them. "Nooo, we have to bring Jas!"

"Who?" Dave asked, preoccupied with shouldering his way through the crowd ahead.

"She's my best friend, we have to bring her!" Breaking free of Reg's grip, he let out a frustrated sigh as he realised she had kicked off her heels, leaving them discarded in the middle of the floor as she returned for her friend, the pair swaying against each other as Jas stood up. "If you don't bring her I'll shout kidnap. I'm not fuckin' around."

None of them had the energy to argue, and so they helped the two women up out of the club, emerging into the cool night air, squinting in the darkness. Kershaw had a firm hand on Jaspreet's arm, and it was only once she was certain the other woman was with the group that Diana let Reg help her along, leaning into his side as he kept an arm around her.

"What happened to all your fancy friends, eh?" He asked quietly, feeling the warmth of her skin through her dress.

"They got bored - we got loud and they got embarrassed - went off to find somewhere else to sit."

There was that anger Reg knew all too well, bubbling up inside his chest so quickly he had to keep himself from clenching the hand that had a hold on her. She had been vulnerable, and they had ditched her. Who knew what could have happened, where she could have ended up had someone less savoury showed up? The possibilities flooding his thoughts made his blood boil, and his grip on her tightened slightly.

It had taken almost a half hour of wandering for the three soldiers to admit that they could not remember the way to Diana's home, the realisation hitting them with a sense of slight panic. Even with her knowledge of the city, there was no way she'd be able to guide their way back in this state. After some time deliberating, it became clear that they had only one option.

Stirling's butler opened the door to his flat promptly, an immediate expression of dread crossing his face at the sight before him. Reg, Dave and Pat were stood in the hallway outside, smiling hopefully as Diana and Jaspreet attempted to recall the lyrics to a song that had been playing in the club, giggling as they failed to find the words.

"No. No." The man protested, shaking his head despite his willingness to step aside for the group, the men shuffling past him and into Stirling's living room.

"Where's Stirling?" Kershaw asked, guiding Jas into a nearby armchair.

"He's out. You're lucky he doesn't have anyone over tonight, or you'd be in real trouble."

"Yeah, well. If he had a problem with this, tell him to call General Hannigan," Reg grunted.

The butler left the room swiftly, clearly choosing to pretend he hadn't seen anything at all. Diana was half-lying down on the sofa, her head pressed against the armrest, kicking off the shoes Reg had made her put back on before they left.

Without a word, Seekings turned to leave, fists clenched. "Woah, where are you going?" Pat called. He was satisfied that Diana was safe, but another pressing issue was tugging at him.

"I'll be back soon," He said simply, the door to the flat closing behind him with a slam.

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It was well into the early hours of the morning when Reg returned, entering far more quietly than he had left as he eased the door shut behind him. The flat had slipped into a comfortable silence, the only light creeping in from the streetlamps outside, a faint orange glow bathing half of the main room.

He collapsed backwards into the nearest armchair with a sigh, exhaustion tugging at his eyelids as he nursed the cuts and bruises that now littered his knuckles. The sudden shift of the light somewhere to his left startled him, sucking in a loud, sharp breath. "Fuckin' hell," He whispered.

"Sorry," Diana's voice replied from the darkness, and as his eyes adjusted he realised she was crouched on the hardwood floor, gently removing the pins from Jas' hair as the other woman slept soundly, her face pressed into the sofa cushions.

"Oh, it's you," Reg sighed, relaxing into his seat once more. "...What are you still up for?"

"These'll hurt when she wakes up," She pointed out, forming a neat pile of hairpins in the palm of her hand as she removed them one by one. It was such a caring gesture that he couldn't help but smile, almost forgetting the twinging pain in his fists.

"... Where did you go?"

"Oh, uh..." Reg looked down at the cuts on his hands. Diana shuffled across the floor towards him, the skirt of her dress creasing and bunching up around her hips with the movement. Even in the dark, he could make out the exposed skin of her thighs, and tried his damndest not to look. She was still drunk, after all. "Had some shit to deal with."

She reached up, taking one of his wounded hands in hers and squinting to make out the blood that was now beginning to scab. "Did you beat someone up?" Diana asked, almost teasingly.

"Went back to the club," He admitted. "Found one of the blokes who ditched you..."

He could make it out in her expression the moment she realised what he had done. Reg tensed, half expecting her to be angry, but in her intoxicated state, she merely smiled, letting out a giddy chuckle.

"Well, I am flattered," Diana grinned, and he had begun to do the same when she pressed her lips against the cuts that covered his knuckles, holding them there for a moment before turning her head to rest her cheek against the back of his palm, curled up on the floor beside him.

Reg sucked in another deep breath, fighting hard to bury anything he might have been feeling in that moment. In the dark he could feel the band-aids wrapped around her fingers from where the cat had scratched her, could feel the warmth of her cheek against his hand and hear the slow lull of her breathing. He could have stayed in that moment forever, but all at once it began to seem selfish.

"Right, come on," He grunted, pushing himself up from his chair. Diana looked up at him in confusion, and he spared a glance around the flat. "Where's the others gone?"

"Bed," She shrugged.

"Right then, that's where you're going too," Placing a hand on either side of her rib cage, she gripped his wrists as he hauled her up onto her feet, her skirt falling back down past her knees. Suddenly it was a little easier to breathe. Reg manoeuvred her awkwardly towards the sofa, accidentally stubbing his toe on something hard in the dark. He almost swore, and she pressed a finger to her lips, fighting a laugh as she shushed him, Jaspreet still sleeping soundly close by.

"Yeah, yeah," He whispered, shaking his head dismissively as she lay down along the length of the couch, curls splayed against the cushions. "Goodnight then," Reg nodded affirmatively, taking a step back.

"I think, technically, it's morning."

"Oh, shut up," He muttered, fighting a grin as he turned to leave, heading towards the spare room Stirling kept for guests on nights like these.

Just as he was about to leave, Diana's voice came, quiet and soft, from the darkness. "Thank you. For beating someone up for me, that's very sweet."

Reg nodded, a long pause lingering in the cool night air as he fought to find the right words.

"I will always be there to beat someone up when you need me," He said. Even in the dark, he could tell she was grinning.

"How romantic."

#sas rogue heroes #sas: rogue heroes #sas rogue heroes oc #sas rogue heroes fic #reg seekings #reg seekings x oc #dave kershaw #pat riley #david stirling #eoin mcgonigal #oc: diana #fic | damage gets done

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